We like you just the way you are
‘Won’t You Be My Neighbor?’ an intimate portrait of Mister Rogers
In the intimate opening of this riveting documentary, Fred Rogers (circa 1967) is ruminating about musical modulation: Moving from the key of C to F is easy, but going from F to F sharp is more complicated, he says. That strikes a chord, in his mind as well as his piano: “We’d like to help children through some of the difficult modulations of life.”
Oscar-winning director Morgan Neville’s “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” is no syrupy hagiography but the potent portrait of a unique figure in TV history who forged a uniquely personal relationship with multiple generations of little viewers, thanks to his own unique combination of musical, ministerial and child development skills.
Nobody ever ruminated about modulation, or modulated his ruminations, the way Mr. Rogers did — for kids on TV and adults lucky enough to know him in real life. Permit me a reminiscence?
For 25 years, I had a little local Sunday mini show on classical WQED-FM that often crossed taping times with Fred’s mega show for national distribution on WQEDTV, which gave us many chances to schmooze while waiting around for technicians. I also had Ben, a problematic and hyperactive 4-year-old, who could rarely sit still but never missed “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.”
On househusband duty one day (circa 1983), I decide to watch the show with him. Fred enters with the iconic sweater and slippers routine, settles into his chair and says, “Do you ever like to think about things sometimes — not say anything, just think about things? Sure you do. I do. Let’s just think for a while ….” He locks his arms behind his head, leans back and closes his eyes.
How long is he going to do this? I wondered — and how long is Ben gonna keep watching in the total silence? I was amused, then amazed. Fred kept silent and motionless for a full minute, maybe two — it seemed like 10 — while Ben never stirred or took his eyes off the TV set.
A few days later at ’QED, I kidded him about the sheer audacity of it: “Fred, tell me the truth — did they tell you the show was coming up short and you needed to fill some time?” To which he just smiled enigmatically and said, “Oh, Barry, don’t give away my secrets.”
To this day, I don’t know if he was confessing or finessing me.
I do know, from Mr. Neville’s documentary, that Fred believed “silence is one of the greatest gifts we have.” He listened and waited before ever replying to anyone — brilliantly illustrated by his heroic defense of the Public Broadcasting System during Sen. John Pastore’s defunding hearings. Mr. R. single-handedly saved the day then for a crucial institution that’s under even worse attack today.
We also know that Mr. Rogers, a lifelong registered Republican, was also terrific on racial equality — washing the feet of wonderful Francois Clemmons, a black “Neighborhood” regular, in an amazingly powerful parallel to Jesus and the Apostles at the peak of the civil rights movement.
On the other hand, he was no saint on LGBT issues. Having seen news reports of Mr. Clemmons frequenting homosexual nightclubs, Fred ordered him to stop doing so — or leave the show. It was too close to home for the times, and for an icon who was coy on the subject of his own sexuality. One of the documentary’s most fascinating moments is interviewer Tom Snyder’s hilariously awkward struggle to work up his nerve to essentially ask, Mr. Rogers, are you gay?
The answer to which — you’ll have to see, hear and decipher for yourself.
Director Neville’s “20 Feet From Stardom” — about the predominantly black female backup singers’ dilemma in the
shadow of predominantly white male rock ’n’ roll stars — won the 2014 Academy Award for best documentary. Even better, in my humble opinion, was his followup, “Best of Enemies” (2015), a tremendous doc of the 1968 debates and bitter feud between conservative William F. Buckley and liberal novelist Gore Vidal — America’s two greatest “public intellectuals” of the day.
I was a more elderly Pittsburgh baby nurtured not by Fred but by his mentor, sweet Josie Carey, a delightful pioneer in her own right, who never got over a certain bitterness that he turned into a superstar while her name faded into obscurity. Fred eliminated her slapstick (pies in the face) from the refinements of his neighborhood. But, oh, how I loved Soupy Sales and the Three Stooges — and regret that I always meant but failed to ask Fred about their delights.
Never mind. This doc’s well-written script and excellent editing of fab archival footage does the trick, coupled with interviews with the delightful Mrs. Rogers (aka Joanne), his sons and colleagues — Johnny Costa, Joe Negri, YoYo Ma, Wynton Marsalis, Betty Aberlin. I only regret that my two personal favorites — Michael Horton, the voice of Betty Okanak Templeton-Jones, and Mary Rawson, the voice of Cousin Mary Owl — weren’t included.
But what is included is the essence of the man’s humanity, tolerance and kindness — a pastor who put his Christian values to work every day, without ever preaching them. It’s a bit overly sentimental, and there’s a more complex human being beneath the surface who might have been further plumbed. In Joe E. Brown’s immortal words at the end of “Some Like It Hot,” “Nobody’s perfect.”
But Mr. Rogers and this documentary are pretty damn close.
Opening today at the Manor in Squirrel Hill and Waterfront 22.