"It's 103 comedians, or however many it is, and how would everyone tell it. It's enough people of substance that it makes you think of the people who aren't there that are alive"
About this Quote
A strangely offhand headcount turns into a gut punch: “103 comedians, or however many it is” is Bob Saget doing what he always did best - defusing emotion with a shrug of imprecision, then letting the real feeling rush in underneath. The number isn’t the point; the wobble is. It signals overwhelm, the kind you can’t tidy into a clean statistic because you’re talking about grief, memory, and a community that measures itself in absences.
Saget frames comedians as “people of substance,” which is a quiet rebuttal to the cultural habit of treating comics like lightweight entertainers. In context, he’s talking about a room dense with recognizable talent - a benefit, a tribute, some gathering where the industry shows up in force. But the subtext isn’t celebration. It’s inventory. When that many notable funny people are present, the mind automatically runs the darker calculation: who should be here but isn’t?
The last clause does the real work: “it makes you think of the people who aren’t there that are alive.” That twist is more unsettling than the usual memorial line about the dead. He’s not only mourning; he’s noticing fractures, feuds, burnout, addiction, distance, the invisible reasons someone still living might be missing from the circle. It’s a candid, almost accidental critique of show-business intimacy: a world where everyone knows everyone, until they don’t. The joke-adjacent phrasing (“or however many it is”) keeps the sentiment from turning syrupy, but it also exposes the fear: in comedy, absence is rarely just scheduling.
Saget frames comedians as “people of substance,” which is a quiet rebuttal to the cultural habit of treating comics like lightweight entertainers. In context, he’s talking about a room dense with recognizable talent - a benefit, a tribute, some gathering where the industry shows up in force. But the subtext isn’t celebration. It’s inventory. When that many notable funny people are present, the mind automatically runs the darker calculation: who should be here but isn’t?
The last clause does the real work: “it makes you think of the people who aren’t there that are alive.” That twist is more unsettling than the usual memorial line about the dead. He’s not only mourning; he’s noticing fractures, feuds, burnout, addiction, distance, the invisible reasons someone still living might be missing from the circle. It’s a candid, almost accidental critique of show-business intimacy: a world where everyone knows everyone, until they don’t. The joke-adjacent phrasing (“or however many it is”) keeps the sentiment from turning syrupy, but it also exposes the fear: in comedy, absence is rarely just scheduling.
Quote Details
| Topic | Legacy & Remembrance |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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