Because this man was a comedian, he took the derision well.
Eventually, he was given a television show on which to not do a lot.
"Even nothing is something," Seinfeld himself would say during an episode in the show's fourth season.
Soon thereafter, people began to invest new pride in how little they did.
At that point, they didn't feel Kramer could be a secret weapon to women. I got thrown all of Jerry's refuse." Of his own off-camera allure, he says, "I do well with the moms of babes." Long ago, however, he cohabited in New York with spitfire actress Holly Hunter, if only platonically.
"I had a thing for Holly," he now confesses, "but nothing ever happened.
"I think those guys just fell over a hedge," he says next, peering out a window. Worshipful men gather about Richards in public places and chant: "Kra-mer! " "If I could arm these people," he says, "I could take a country over." Women yearn to touch his hair, which stands tall, as does he, at six feet two, not counting hair. "Well, there we go again — to Kramerland," he sighs, as though it were a familiar journey, and he begins knocking loudly to regain entry. That Kramer lived in New York, across the hall from Larry David, the writer who created with his friend Seinfeld. "Hey, let's pick a tangerine," he says, plucking two of them from a tree belonging to his neighbor. Joseph's," he says, tossing one over generously. Joseph tangerine." He spots a guy walking past his house. Says Richards, "I work very hard to make this character three-dimensional." Charles concurs: "He's not a simplistic character at all. "I'm going to be eighty-five soon," says the Captain.
Like him, the show was called , and it dwelled on matters mundane.
Each week, Nothing gloriously transpired as characters waited in lines, looked for parking space, smelled things or tried not to masturbate.
He pounds for minutes and says nothing until a mover readmits us. "He was a jack-of-all-trades — he still is," says Richards of his prototype. His first name, like his fictional counterpart's, is a secret. "See if you can hit that man over there with your tangerine," he says to me. Kramer is full of facets and contradictions; he's real and unreal; he's like an adult and a child; he's like neutered yet very sexual; he's very fight yet very dark; he can be idiotic and yet very wise."HE TEASES A VERY OLD MAN WEARING SOCKS. "You look eighty-four and a half," says Richards, whom the Captain seems to be studying keenly, as though eyeing a lost specimen. "You can hear my spine cracking," says Richards, settling into his Lexus, and he is right. "It twists," he says, "from yoga." He is a spiritual fellow, happiest on a mountainside, pondering Eastern religion and Greek myths. Though he looks otherwise, he was born Californian, which might explain the above.
"He's just a hustler." Kramer, it's said, was the sort of man who paid 0 rent on an 00 apartment. "We just never talk about it," says Larry Charles, 's supervising producer, who gave TV Kramer his unspoken name. Across the street from Richards, there lives the shoeless octogenarian. "I am an eccentricity specialist," he will say of his work, and what he means is that he has always been physical and unusual.