Johann Hari - The Lost Interviews: Kermit The Frog

Kermit The Frog has made an unusual journey in his fifty-six years of life - from a childhood in the Okefenokee swamps, where his mayfly-addicted mother died of bogflu, to lead performer in the late Jim Henson’s stellar but now-defunct Muppet Show. But when he glides past a large marble bust of Miss Piggy in marbled hall of his palatial Miami Beach home to greet me - a two-foot shimmer of green - he looks like something else again: a Gap model, perhaps, or the ballet dancer he once wanted to be. He holds himself with a perfectly straight posture, and speaks in a soft voice that forces you to lean forward a little to hear him.

Most people, when they look back at his career, are staggered by the diversity of his characters. After a number of years struggling to make ends meet as hard-bitten crime reporter for the Sesame Street news, he went on to front the prime time Muppet Show, appearing in numerous Hollywood films and being interviewed by all the greats (myself modestly included). His big break came when his friend and colleague Cookie Monster asked him to sing backing vocals on “C is for Cookie”. During the recording session, George Martin and Brian Wilson (who were co-producing the record) noticed the unique quality of his voice, and within weeks Rogers & Hammerstein had written “Bein’ Green” and a star was born.

After Sesame Street, Henson was looking for a new platform and came up with the idea of the Muppet Show, a weekly star-studded variety show featuring the biggest showbiz names of the time. The obvious choice for compère was Kermit, but the frog was suddenly stricken with self-doubt, worried that the still deeply racially divided America of the 1970s would not tolerate a frog fronting such a high profile prime time show. I ask him why he had such a low opinion of himself at the time. He looks at me with sadness in his eyes, but with a wry smile on his lips. “It's not that easy bein' green, having to spend each day the colour of the leaves, when I think it could be nicer being red or yellow or gold or something much more colourful like that.” I think I know what he means.

When I ask him about his life, he smiles, but it's a small smile, looking to the side. Then he says carefully: "I've had a pretty extraordinary life so far. I've met kings, queens, presidents and pigs. I've worked with some of the greatest talents of all time - from Bob Hope and Rudolph Nureyev to Quentin Tarantino and Robert DeNiro. I've made movies, TV shows, music, and the occasional tabloid headline. And through it all, I've been surrounded by some of the finest friends and fans a frog could ever want."

His upbeat attitude belies difficult, not to say tragic, beginnings. His mother had him and his 3,265 siblings when she was very young, and crashed into mayfly addiction soon after. He was forced to fend for himself in the harsh surroundings of a Southern American swamp. When he turned eleven, he had an epiphany, and realised he had to escape the swamp if he was to have a chance of making something of himself. Walking into town, he had a chance meeting with a young Jim Henson, also down on his luck and looking for a chance. Over coffee, the two of them realised they shared the same vision. I ask Kermit how he felt when he realised he had found a kindred spirit. “If just one person believes in you, deep enough, and strong enough, believes in you, hard enough, and long enough, it stands to reason, that someone else will think “If he can do it, I can do it.””

I ask him if he still thinks about the swamp. He looks up, seemingly surprised to be asked the question, fixing me with a glare before softening. "The swamp will always be a part of me. The swamp is who I am and where I come from. It’s my birthplace and my hometown, my refuge and my strength, my past and my future.  Plus, it’s one heckuva great place to hide from pigs." He falls silent for a moment, and I realise he has inadvertently touched on the delicate subject of his much-publicised love-life. For it was while working on the Muppet Show that he first met Miss Piggy, diva and prima donna, porcine Juliet to his Romeo.

I pause too, wary of stepping over an invisible line. The on-off-on again nature of his relationship with Piggy has been examined from every angle, and I am concerned that by taking the interview down that route, my credibility might be damaged. Kermit seems to sense my unease, and smiles. “Who said that every wish would be heard and answered when wished on the morning star?” I ask him what he means, but he has said enough on the subject and waves me to silence, turning to gaze out of the window. I worry that the interview might be over, but after several minutes he appears to remember I am here, and turns his attention back to me. I am relieved, and not a little irritated – after all, does he not know who I am?

And then he apologizes for getting angry, sweetly, with another of his full smiles. He's like a whirring empathy-machine, constantly trying to soothe and charm and woo the people around him: at the end of the interview, I see him doing it with everybody else in the offices too. Meeting Kermit is like drinking a strong alcoholic drink on hot, stormy day - it's soothing and intense and anxiety-making all at once, and leaves you feeling a little woozy.

As the interview comes to an end, and I start to pack up my notebook (realising as I do that, once again, I have been so engrossed I have forgotten to take notes), he grips my elbow and fixes me with that intense stare again. “I am green and it'll do fine. It's beautiful! And I think it's what I want to be.” 

So do I, Kermit. So do I.