“I like to think of myself as an equal opportunity offender.” — Rick Mercer
I first clapped eyes on Rick Mercer when I was a university student and he — four years younger than me — was already a scene-stealing standout on stage at the LSPU Hall in St. John’s through his work with the theatre troupe Corey and Wade’s Playhouse.
Next time I saw him was a few years later in an interview on CBC’s fledgling Newsworld station — a bright spark amid the constant cycle of a handful of staid commercials aimed at the senior set, including the “I’ve-Fallen-and-I-Can’t-Get-Up” Lifeline Alert system, and pitches for walk-in bathtubs, adjustable mattresses and stair lifts.
It was 1990. He was in Ottawa to perform his edgy and hilarious one-man show “Show Me the Button, I’ll Push It, or Charles Lynch Must Die” at the National Arts Centre (NAC), and I was a young thing trying to be some sort of journalist at The Hill Times newspaper.
So engaging was his presence, with his obvious intelligence, quick wit, mischievous smile and dark curly hair, that my partner-in-news-and-fun Kate Malloy (now editor-in-chief of The Hill Times) and I were determined to wrangle a way to meet him.
And so it was that I found myself backstage at the NAC, interviewing Rick Mercer and Charles Lynch together, while Kate took charge of photography.
It was completely thrilling, and I felt like an honest-to-goodness reporter. That is, until Rick told me good-naturedly afterwards that while he had been prepared to tear a strip off of Lynch, for the column he wrote during the Meech Lake talks suggesting that Newfoundland should be booted out of Confederation for opposing the accord, he’d had no need to do it, since I had done such a fine job.
As a young and idealistic reporter who planned to make a name for herself based on complete professionalism and total objectivity, I found myself blushing to the roots of my hair.
Rick just laughed. I must say, even Lynch, whose death was threatened in the title of Rick’s show, took it all in good stride, even my impetuous and passionate defense of Newfoundland. (A veteran journalist, he died of cancer — and not at the hands of Rick Mercer — in 1994 at age 74.)
Since then I’ve pretty much admired Rick Mercer’s work from afar — from his riotous second one-man show “I’ve Killed Before, I’ll Kill Again” to “This Hour Has 22 Minutes” to “Rick Mercer Report.”
And so it was that I found myself backstage at the NAC, interviewing Rick Mercer and Charles Lynch together, while Kate took charge of photography.
I’ve envied him — as any commentator who likes to occasionally wade into the political muck would — his well-earned moniker as “Canada’s unofficial opposition.”
But much as I admire his sharp tongue, his self-deprecating humour, his way with words, I think what I’ve always respected most about Rick Mercer is the fact that he fights clean. He can home in on a satirical target — like Charles Lynch — with laser precision, but you never get the feeling that there’s any hatred or personal contempt involved. He might take issue with a political stance or philosophy, but not the person.
In fact, one of the most winning things about “Rick Mercer Report” is that he humanized Canadian politicians, even as he gently skewered them.
Watching his last show this week was bittersweet; I’m glad he left that project after 15 years on his own terms, and I feel pretty confident it won’t be too long before he finds a new way of talking to Canadians in his singular voice.
The country — and the world — needs more satire, Rick.
We need it now, more than ever.
You’ve killed before. Please kill again.
Pam Frampton is a columnist whose work is published in The Western Star and The Telegram. She is The Telegram’s associate managing editor. Email [email protected]. Twitter: pam_frampton
