Posthumous Fame, Such a Shame

When I think about Ed Wood, I tend to think of Vincent van Gogh, too. Both men were tortured artists who allowed the passions of their prolific creativity to eat them up and spit them out. They weren’t considered talented by their peers or the audiences they created for during their own lifetimes. They both embraced the curse of the drink, sailing their ships on the rough seas of toxic firewater. They were both considered unstable in their ways of thinking and behaving. Both men lived (and died) in tragic fashion, and they didn’t achieve success until after death, when they couldn’t enjoy the notoriety. 

Their stories and their work have made other people lots of money, even though the artists themselves died penniless. Van Gogh’s paintings, once unsellable, now hang in museums as art pieces of priceless value. And Wood’s films, once difficult to find distribution for, are exhibited on big screens in front of audiences in his honor. Millions of prints and reproductions of van Gogh’s paintings hang on walls all over the world. Countless copies of Wood’s movies don shelves across the globe, and rare first editions of his paperbacks bring hefty fees for the privilege to own, even appearing in galleries on display.

The painter and the writer/filmmaker left a positive impact on industries that treated them negatively. Books have been written and movies have been made about their lives. They have hardcore fans and dedicated historians who thoroughly study them now, but both were ignored while alive.

The secret sauce that makes these two outsiders popular today isn’t their talent; but rather, their personality. They are celebrated because of their uniqueness—an acclaim that came a bit too late for them personally. I can hear Ed now . . . “Motherfucker!”

Sure, Ed Wood and Vincent van Gogh are still laughed at to this very day, and still considered by many to be no-talent hacks. But in the end, the boys get the last laugh, because anybody can make what is considered by the masses a “bad” movie, write a “bad” book, and paint a “bad” picture, but there can only be one Edward Davis Wood, Jr., and only one Vincent Willem van Gogh. And they are no longer with us; that’s what makes us cherish what they created and left behind for us, and what makes us wish we had more—because what we’re really longing for is their personality. We’re longing for the company of them.