http://www.salon.com/ent/tv/review/2004/12/03/sellers/index.htmlThe mystery behind Inspector Clouseau
Geoffrey Rush brilliantly embodies the grandiose visions and callous self-involvement of a comic genius in HBO's "The Life and Death of Peter Sellers."
By Heather Havrilesky
Dec. 3, 2004 | "The main character is a man with no self, no discernible personality. I find myself thinking about this man a great deal, about how marvelous his life must be! He has no future, no past, no responsibilities. He's simple, boring, an absolute plank. People expect nothing from him, and then love it when they get just that." -- Geoffrey Rush as Peter Sellers, discussing Chance from "Being There," in "The Life and Death of Peter Sellers"
The riddle of narcissism is this: While narcissists live for admiration and adoration, while they depend on companionship and hate to be alone, while they can pull others into the grandiose worlds they create with their imaginations, they tend to want to escape all expectations and responsibilities in life, seeking out an external numbness to match the numbness they feel for others.
This is the essential conflict director Stephen Hopkins brings to life so brilliantly in "The Life and Death of Peter Sellers" (Sunday at 9 p.m.; HBO). Like many narcissists, Sellers was an intensely charming man, brimming over with mercurial wit and affectionate embellishments and flights of grandiosity, and it's all embodied with agility and grace by Geoffrey Rush. But when his mood sank or the pressure of entertaining endlessly was too much to bear, Sellers' essential emptiness and lack of empathy for others became painfully evident.
The resulting roller-coaster ride is as thrilling as it is horrifying. Without any guiding beliefs or concerns for others, the narcissist is a wildly unpredictable presence, shifting from rapture to despair without warning. Somehow, Hopkins manages to capture this bewildering state without turning Sellers into either a monster or a genius worthy of our unconditional love in spite of every misstep. Hopkins fearlessly takes on the strange lightness and absurdity of even the most disastrously callous moments, an odd mood that's familiar to anyone who's been close to a narcissist. When Sellers discovers that his son has painted a racing stripe on his luxury car, he marches upstairs and smashes his son's train set to bits. Later, when Sellers decides, in a deluded state, that he'll be leaving his wife and children for Sophia Loren, he announces his plans to all three of them. When his daughter asks doesn't he love them anymore, he answers, calmly, that he simply loves Sophia Loren more (his affections, naturally, are not returned). These are the words of a man who has less of a grasp of (or concern for) the feelings of others than a small child.