Our Absolute Favorite Gene Wilder Moments

With the passing of Gene Wilder yesterday, at the age of 83, we’ve lost one of our culture’s constants, one of those beloved presences we never considered losing. Wilder was such a part of our collective consciousness it was a shock to hear he’d passed. For many of us, Wilder will always be just as he was in the 1970s, in iconic films like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Silver Streak, Blazing Saddles, and Stir Crazy: the soft-spoken but utterly hilarious man with the frizzy hair and the rare ability to combine biting sarcasm, terrifying unpredictability, and unabashed warmth and sentimentality.
Like everyone else, we’re in the mood to relive some of our favorite Gene Wilder moments. Here are eight, in no particularly order.
His First Film Role
Wilder made his name as a comedian, but he made his bones in drama. His first film role was in 1967’s Bonnie and Clyde. Wilder’s role was small but memorable; it’s incredible to watch a brief clip like this and see a 24-year-old Wilder so absolutely in command of his acting persona and style already. The expression and long take he affects are classic Wilder.

Fat! Fat! Fat!
Wilder’s style was a unique mixture of calm, almost nebbishy quiet with a terrorizing unpredictability. In The Producers, one of the funniest films ever made, Wilder plays a meek accountant seduced into participating in a can’t-lose scam. For most of the film, Wilder’s Leo Bloom is the quintessential man of quiet desperation—until the scheme begins to fall apart, and Wilder’s literal hysterics are hilarious in part because they are so unexpected—and so legit terrifying.

The Tuck and Roll from Willy Wonka
Willy Wonka remains Wilder’s most iconic role. It’s an incredible performance, combining sarcasm and cruelty with gentleness and warmth, with an added dash of a marvelous singing voice. When approached for the role, Wilder wrote Wonka’s introduction: initially walking with a pronounced limp and a cane, Wonka then does an acrobatic tuck and roll. Wilder invented the scene in order to underscore that the character couldn’t be trusted—and it remains one of the most brilliant improvisations in film history.
https://youtu.be/sz9jc5blzRM
His Writing
Wilder was a great writer. He wrote eight screenplays that were made into movies, including Young Frankenstein, which is easily one of the greatest comedies of all time. Wilder also wrote several books, including his touching, emotional memoir Kiss Me Like a Stranger and four novels: My French Whore, Something to Remember You By, Woman Who Wouldn’t, and What Is This Thing Called Love. Wilder may be gone, but his words and thoughts remain with us.
“Little Bastard Shot me In the A**”
Blazing Saddles remains a profane and glorious mess of vulgarity, satire, and pure comedic insanity. Wilder’s performance as Jim, a.k.a. The Waco Kid, is a marvel, somehow bringing the character to life despite the obvious ridiculousness of the role (and the costuming). Wilder’s speech about giving up gunslinging is simply incredible: he goes from a sincere, world-weary performance that wouldn’t be out of place in a serious drama, only to drop the punchline on us like the master he was.

When He Retired without Retiring
Some time in the early 21st century, people began noticing you just didn’t see much of Gene Wilder any more. He would show up on occasional TV shows (he won an Emmy in 2003 for his guest role on Will and Grace), but nothing serious. Wilder had more or less retired from acting because he didn’t like the material he was seeing and was frustrated by a few commercial failures, but instead of making a big deal of it, he simply scaled back the work to go live his life. When asked in a 2008 interview about his unofficial retirement, he put it simply and wisely: “I don’t like show business, I realized. I like show, but I don’t like the business.”
Gene and Gilda
Gene Wilder was married twice before he met Gilda Radner in 1981, but his romance with the Saturday Night Live star remains one of the greatest love stories in Hollywood—and the most tragic. Wilder called his time with Radner “the best years of my life, truly,” but they were doomed to be short-lived: after marrying Wilder in 1984, Radner died of ovarian cancer in 1989, at just 42 years old. Wilder recounts his guilt and anger after her passing in his memoir, and dedicated his energy to investigating why her illness went undiagnosed for so long, testifying before congress about the disease and cofounding Gilda’s Club in her honor.
The Tap Dance
Part of Wilder’s genius was the way he found depths in his comedic characters, making them into real (if insane) people. He could have written and played Frederick Frankenstein as a cartoon, but instead created a multidimensional character, playing off the man’s self-delusion—a delusion made very apparent in the incredible moment where he thinks training the Monster to (sort of) sing and dance in white tie and tails is an excellent idea.
https://youtu.be/w1FLZPFI3jc
One of the few comforts of the modern age is that when we lose someone like Gene Wilder, we can go back and relive some of their greatest contributions. Wilder will always be in his prime, living in a world of pure imagination, or insisting it’s pronounced FRAHN-ken-STEEN, or explaining to Cleavon Little that common racists are just morons. We can all arrange our own personal Gene Wilder movie marathon or reading list—it’s not the same as having Wilder with us for a little longer, but it’s better than nothing.