Don’t stop me if you’ve heard this one before

In lieu of my regular month-in-review post, I’m resharing something I wrote in May of 2023. Monsters are on our minds these days. November shall be reviewed in my usual nonsense way.

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In the heart of the Muppetverse, amidst a tapestry of vibrant characters and whimsical narratives, stands a beacon of childlike wonder and boundless optimism, a giant whose iconic blue exterior conceals a tale of profound transformation and existential introspection. Few in Hollywood have the talent and range to achieve a level of stardom where one name suffices:

Streep.

Pacino.

Grover.

And he’s cute, too.

We meet at a trendy bistro in Williamsburg, eager to delve into his illustrious career that spans from humble beginnings in local theater to soaring exploits as a beloved superhero. Grover’s polymath talents have propelled him into the ranks of America’s elite artists. However, the journey from his nurturing roots at PBS to the esteemed shores of HBO was far from effortless, strewn with challenges that made success anything but elementary.

As we settle in for an intimate conversation, I ask about the delicate balance between the broad humor of Sesame Street and his infamously meticulous approach to zaniness. Sipping his cucumber lime spritzer, Grover ponders the question. “It is always a quest to find the heart beneath the punchlines,“ Grover shares, an unexpected surge of static electricity passing between us when his hand brushes against mine. “Every joke I tell, every lamppost I fly into, I strive to capture a truth, a moment of connection that transcends the silliness and connects with the human condition.”

It is evident before we finish our burrata and heirloom tomato salads that, while Grover’s on-screen persona is a bundle of joy, his off-screen persona can be enigmatic. Grover’s career isn’t just a litany of roles; it’s a manifold reflection of his ability to become and play

I steer the conversation to Method Acting. “I believe in authenticity,” Grover says. “Whether I am donning the cape of Super Grover or showing viewers the exquisite agony of working as a waiter to a fussy customer, I strive to bring truth to every character. It is all about connecting with the audience, being loud and soft. Do you know the difference?” Before I answer, he cries. “LOUD!” It is transcendent, a performance matching the ethereal mastery of Tilda Swinton’s shape-shifting in “Orlando.”

Indeed, from taxi driver to flight attendant, Grover’s preparation is exhaustive. “I do the research,” he says, his head gently tilting from side to side — one of his charming idiosyncrasies. “I have driven the cab. I have worked in restaurants, and I have sold ears door-to-door. If I want the audience to believe it, I have to live it.” Grover believes that his career isn’t just a list of roles; it’s a chronicle of his metamorphoses.

But this transformational zeal, while laudable, is the stuff of gossip on set. Some costars find his relentless process admirable, others roll their googly eyes when he refuses to break character and wears his Super Grover cape around all day.

Gentle giant Big Bird groused, “Grover is… intense. Sometimes, too intense.”

Pathological hoarder Oscar the Grouch shared, “Grover always had this existential itch, questioning the very fabric of his felted existence. It made for some interesting trash can conversations. Now scram!”

Pigeon fanatic and confirmed bachelor Bert added, “Grover spent an entire week engrossed in the study of prepositions for ‘Over, Under, Around, and Through.‘ It’s a level of commitment to something really tedious that I respect.”

Then there were those rumors of a rift between Grover and Count von Count, suggesting that their divergent approaches to performance caused tension backstage. Lines were drawn as Muppets aligned themselves with either the chaotic charm of Grover or the methodical precision of the Count. Both Grover and the Count deny this (“No! No! No! That’s three nos!”) although they acknowledge there were heated discussions. Grover explains, “That is about the work, man. It is not personal. It is like the Dadaist feud between Marcel Duchamp and Francis Picabia. Ultimately, it is the children who benefit.”

As we discussed his background, it is clear he grapples with profound questions about the role of some unseen hand in shaping his identity. Over plates of Wagyu beef carpaccio, Grover regales me with tales of his early aspirations as an actor. “I attended the School of Muppet Dramatic Arts, a place where the alphabet was recited in iambic pentameter. I sipped from the chalice of the greats there.“ For his senior performance, Grover presented an original piece entitled “BLUE GOD,” showcasing his groundbreaking jazz kazoo skills.

That early work paid off. Grover’s Monsterpiece Theater performances have been lauded for their depth and breadth. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him tackle a Shakespearean monologue, unblinking and unconcerned with emotional regulation.

Yet, as the shadows of middle age crept up, a yearning restlessness tugged. “I hit rock bottom in Season 19. I was unable to connect with the show or the characters. Maria and Luis got married. Elmo’s World took off. And where was I? Where was I going?” Grover struggled with a well-publicized problem with huffing fabric glue but traveled the world, got clean, and eventually found renewed purpose in his Global Grover segments.

What’s next? While he has no plans to leave Sesame Street, Grover gazes toward new horizons in brooding glory. “I am open to exploring opportunities to do prestige shows at HBO.” Grover then revealed, “I auditioned for the role of Roman on Succession. The control issues, the exploration of exotic fetishes — it would have been a good fit. I know what it is like to feel you are someone’s puppet. Like you are a version of yourself waiting to happen, but your story has not been written yet.“ He paused, allowing the profoundness of his words to sink in. “The Monster at the End of the Book? It is me. It is all of us.”