Roadrunner

 

When Anthony Bourdain came to Hawaii a few years before his death to film an episode of his CNN series “Parts Unknown,” someone threw a big party in his honor. I have friends who were there. It hearkened back to the luaus that greeted Mark Twain on his visit to the islands a century and a half earlier. 

Bourdain and Twain were cut from the same cloth – world traveling adventurers whose glib humor and popularity with mass audiences masked the deep compassion and wisdom of their writing. They were working class, men of the people. Guys whose curiosity and love for life stemmed from not placing themselves above it.

Memories of the CNN episode are fading now, but I recall that the star of the Emmy- and Peabody- winning series went spear fishing with some bruddahs off Molokai. They snagged an octopus, and Bourdain, as instructed, gamely proved his mettle by chewing on its head to remove its brain as they all bobbed in the channel. 

He was into karate at the time, pursuing it with the same obsessive zeal he brought to all his passions. I heard he made regular visits to an Upcountry martial arts studio during his Maui stay, getting beat up each day, then coming back to do it again tomorrow.

His Hawaii episode was, as you would expect, off the beaten track, going for the rubbah slippah soul of the islands, as far as any short-time visitor could get from looking like a – God forbid – tourist.

I never actually met the man, but like millions of others, I felt I knew him. Intimately. That was his effect. Accompanied by glorious visuals of bucket-list destinations around the planet, he would offer wry observations – jaded and world weary in one moment, childishly enthusiastic in the next. He was a terrific  writer and a fun-loving traveling companion.

Bourdain's suicide at age 61 in a French hotel in 2018 was a shock. Not just to those who knew and loved him, but also to the huge TV audience for whom adoration took the place of actual love. While his quick wit, his bad-boy fearlessness and his looks straight out of a Tommy Bahama fashion spread were trademarks, his apparent candor and willingness to reveal chinks under his ultra-cool demeanor were what endeared him to us.

As with Robin Williams, his death was deeply painful, but also a shot across the bow of conventional wisdom and aspirations. If being prodigiously talented, and attaining a dream career of rewards couldn't protect a golden boy from suicide, what chance do the rest of us have?

You're left to ponder that question, among others, as you watch “Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain” directed by Morgan Neville. The award-winning documentary premiered on CNN last Sunday and is streaming all over the place online.

Promotion for the premiere treated it as a return of an old friend, although CNN had the good fortune of finding Stanley Tucci's “Finding Italy” to plug into the hole in our hearts left by Bourdain. Tucci's series, which won an Emmy in its first season, is a kinder, gentler variation on the culinary travel theme – and even better than Bourdain was on the subject of food. Plus, Tucci's wit and charm come without the dangers and demons usually lurking under Bourdain's bravado. It returns for its second season May 1. 

As “Roadrunner” reminds us, Anthony Bourdain was as multitalented as an artist – chef, writer, daredevil, cool guy – as he was complicated as a man. Despite the smart-aleck smirk and admission that he was capable of being “a dick,” he also comes across as genial, well mannered and self effacing.

He rose to fame from being a Manhattan chef with a heroin habit to the overnight bestselling author of “Kitchen Confidential.” Promoting the book he was a quick study, a natural on the TV talk show circuit. From there, TV series stardom was only a short leap away.

But the dream job of getting paid beaucoup bucks to eat and drink his way around the world was a mixed blessing. Twenty-plus circumnavigations of the planet, two wives and one “partner” later, he confided to friends that being the father of his young daughter was the actual joy of his life. But as he shares with a musician buddy, when you're on the road you can't wait to get home. When you're home, you can't wait to leave.

Bourdain's charisma and zeal ignite the documentary's first hour like a fireworks display. Knowing how the story ends haunts everything that follows. He was well loved; his friendships were deep; the crew that spent 250 days a year with him were a second family. All of the interview subjects break into tears talking about his death, lost in the cruel trick suicide inflicts on the living … the agonized, tape loop of wondering if there was something else they could have, should have done.

Why? is the lingering question. Bourdain was the rare addict who kicked heroin cold turkey. But does anyone ever really beat addiction. Was his creative mission really about travel … or was it a futile effort to outrun the demon? Or was his undoing more prosaic … falling in love with the younger Italian actress Asia Argento, which everyone around him sensed was not going to end well?

Under the flinty cynicism, Bourdain was a vulnerable romantic, with baggage. Could he have been one of those guys for whom having it all isn't enough …?

We'll never know. 

But it was a great trip as long as it lasted.