Due to the recent faux news of Morgan Freeman’s death, I have been inspired to write a eulogy in his honor. It is hoped that my exceptional writing skills may be brought to his attention and he will ask me to read at his funeral when he actually does decide to take a dirt nap. Or if not, he will at least be impressed enough to ask me to costar in his next movie. Anyhoo, here we go….
What will we do now, Morgan Freeman? Without your soothing voice to lead us through penguin marches and car commercials, we will now be subject to a new black celebrity voice that will continue the long line of recognizable black celebrity voices that began with James Earl Jones and will carry on the tradition of becoming insanely famous and then selling out just to be heard. My bets lie with Cee Lo Green.
You have entertained the world for decades, though I’m not certain I could name anything you starred in before Shawshank Redemption. Your best performance in my mind was in a little known movie called Feast of Love, which my Auntie and I viewed in the theatre; and while we were slightly disturbed and yet highly entertained by the number of sex scenes in said movie, we both heaved a great sigh of relief when the director decided to cut short your scene with your onscreen wife- no offense, but as it is sweet to believe couples in their 70’s still bump uglies, you must admit that it is best left to the imagination. I do not believe there is a way to tuck saggy balls away so as not to offend.
But I’m getting off subject. In the movie I mentioned, your performance was heartbreaking and wonderful when you spoke of your dead son and how it was all your fault he turned to drugs. It was equally inspiring to see you redeem yourself by almost adopting the young pregnant girl featured in the movie. Hoorah for you.
I must state that in your later years, I was a bit appalled at how many movie roles you procured. True, your acting is superb, yet after you started scooping up every wise elderly gentleman role, I could scarce recall any other Hollywood celeb that was in your age range.
It’s true, the news that you were to marry your step-daughter came as a slight shock, though I applaud you for doing someone that is less than a third your age. I wonder, did you need Viagra? I can tell you from experience though that dating someone of a different generation matters not- it may even be the natural Viagra every man needs.
I adore you too, for not making a big stupid deal of Black History Month. I agree that every person should take pride in their heritage, but to have a whole month dedicated to them? I do not go around spouting about Swede History Month; by rights I should be furious that there isn’t such a thing. But you, Morgan, as I, appreciate that people are people, no matter their skin color, though I am admittedly intrigued that you had freckles, if, in fact, that’s what they were.
Morgan, you have played God, Batman’s machinist, Clint Eastwood’s sidekick, Miss Daisy’s driver, and a plethora of other wild and exciting characters. Yet, I will fondly remember you best as the assassin who yells out “Shoot this mutha fucka!” at the near-end of Wanted.