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A few hours after the news of Malcolm-Jamal Warner’s passing began circulating, one of my closest friends reached out to me. I was aware before answering that he intended to discuss Warner. We shared our disbelief in hushed voices. Although my friend and I were not brought up in the same environment, both of us had felt the presence of “The Cosby Show”’s Theo Huxtable—Warner’s most renowned character—looming over our childhood memories. Theo was humorous, stylish, likable, self-assured in adult company, often charmingly mischievous, and a bit of a jokester. He was perpetually involved in various antics. He had a troublemaking companion named Walter, whom everyone referred to as Cockroach. The duo created a rather cheesy rap to help them grasp Shakespeare, which Theo initially believed “wasn’t even written in English.” Great Caesar’s ghost! When he faced issues with his girlfriend Justine, he turned to his father for guidance and ultimately discovered how to sing the blues. His room was an absolute disaster.
Theo’s parents were remarkable Black professionals living in a ridiculously spacious Brooklyn brownstone, and at times he felt—and boldly voiced—the pressure of the expectations that accompanied them. In the very first episode of “The Cosby Show,” Theo finds himself in serious trouble due to his poor grades. Defiantly, Theo delivers a lengthy, passionate speech about how, despite his parents’ material achievements—Heathcliff (Bill Cosby) is a doctor, and Clair (Phylicia Rashad) is a lawyer—he simply desires to be like “regular people.” You know, drive a truck, run a gas station, get his hands dirty, and otherwise embrace a more tactile, grounded lifestyle. There’s a world beyond brownstones.
The speech resonates as a moment of rare adolescent insight, a courageous reproach to an elitist father. All the kid sought, regardless of his academic performance, was the affection and uncomplicated acceptance of his parents.
Then his father pops the comforting bubble. “Theo, that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” the doctor exclaims. “No wonder you get D’s in everything!” His message is clear: Yes, we love you, but as long as you reside here, you’ll strive your hardest and maintain high standards.
Theo’s journey over the eight seasons of “The Cosby Show” unfolds as a validation of that principle. He is eventually diagnosed with dyslexia, which clarifies his persistent difficulties in school. He later attends N.Y.U. and takes charge of a lively after-school program for teens less fortunate than himself, often motivating them with tough-love talks reminiscent of those he received from his parents.
He embodied the ideal meritocratic Black boy. His life story represented what the civil-rights movement was meant to achieve. He was a good kid who ultimately leveraged his advantages to assist others. He had shown resilience. Whenever I felt, growing up, that I was disappointing my mother, I confided in my friend that the feeling of shame was often coupled with a nagging doubt that she wished I could be a little more like Theo.
One could articulate all of this differently: Theo Huxtable was a well-crafted character but also an elevated ideal. What he represented was too much for any real individual to bear. Malcolm-Jamal Warner seemingly managed to embody it effortlessly. He had gained fame and visibility at an astonishingly young age, yet, unlike many other former child actors, he never appeared to harbor bitterness about the experience or resentment about carrying the pure-hearted Theo with him throughout his life.
When he took on roles in series such as “Suits,” “The Resident,” and “Malcolm and Eddie,” it was impossible not to think of Theo. However, this was not a negative association: it merely indicated that the archetype his earlier character had helped establish had become commonplace in various representations of reality—that Theo had accomplished the incredibly challenging cultural task of giving a face to a new, suddenly prevalent, kind of individual.
Warner facilitated this evolution by consistently presenting himself with an ambassadorial joy. He understood his significance. One of “The Cosby Show”’s unspoken assertions—now far more contentious than in the eighties when the show first aired—was that a polished personal presentation was part of a Black man’s toolkit for navigating an unpredictable world. If you could transform challenges into laughter, ashes into beauty, missteps into learning opportunities, all while remaining a credit to your race, that was success. Likely without intending, Warner reinforced that notion simply by appearing as though he would be enjoyable to meet. He excelled at portraying Theo, perhaps because he genuinely embodied that character at heart.
Not long ago, I was spending time with some individuals who are at least a decade younger than I am and therefore were not raised on the Huxtables—it’s always surprising when I’m reminded that there are rent-paying Black adults to whom this description applies. I made a reference that no one understood. I mentioned the name “Gordon Gartrelle” and noticed my friends’ faces turn blank. Nothing!
The reference pertains to another episode from “The Cosby Show”’s first season. Theo wishes to impress a date—the kid is consistently infatuated with girls, another reason to connect—and enlists his sister Denise, played by Lisa Bonet, to create a knockoff of a shirt by a trendy designer of the time, Gordon Gartrelle. Denise acts as if the task is trivial; she could accomplish it effortlessly. However, when Theo returns downstairs wearing the flashy blue-and-gold shirt, chaos ensues. The sleeves are uneven in length, the shoulders are misaligned, and the collar resembles a clown’s. Theo is hilariously furious. Warner is exceptional: he stomps and rolls his eyes, appears genuinely on the verge of tears, and seems to visualize his entire teenage reputation going up in flames. The shirt is so atrocious and Warner’s expression so theatrical that the moment resembles a scene from “I Love Lucy.”
Then something delightful occurs. His date arrives and admires the shirt. Theo instinctively plays along, pretends he’s discovered the hottest new fashion, and goes out to enjoy himself. I think individuals my age appreciate this scene because it serves as a mantra: keep improvising, and something good might just happen. Whenever I mention “Gordon Gartrelle,” I’m referring to a comeback triumph.
You grow older and come to realize the truth
Sourse: newyorker.com