LOS ANGELES — Michael J. Fox, the beloved actor who has spent more than three decades battling Parkinson’s disease with extraordinary grace and humor, has revealed a deeply personal and surprisingly candid set of final wishes, including a specific list of A-list celebrities he absolutely does not want attending his funeral.

The 64-year-old Hollywood icon, who first captured hearts as Alex P. Keaton on “Family Ties” and became a global sensation as Marty McFly in “Back to the Future,” has begun planning his own farewell on his own terms. And true to form, he is approaching the subject with the same wit and brutal honesty that have defined his public life.

In a series of recent reflections that have sent shockwaves through the entertainment industry, Fox has made it abundantly clear that he wants his final goodbye to be intimate, peaceful, and free from the performative spectacle that so often defines Hollywood gatherings. He wants real emotion, not red-carpet optics.

Among the names Fox has jokingly singled out as unwelcome guests is Johnny Depp, the mercurial superstar whose unpredictable nature Fox fears could turn a solemn occasion into a three-ring circus. Fox has quipped that Depp might show up in full Jack Sparrow regalia, guitar in hand, turning a quiet farewell into a scene-stealing production.

The joke, delivered with Fox’s trademark warmth, carries an underlying truth. Fox has spent four decades navigating an industry where appearances often trump authenticity, where people are friendly to your face but forget your name the moment you stop being useful. He knows the difference between real friends and Hollywood friends.

George Clooney also found himself on Fox’s playful exclusion list. Fox has joked that if Clooney attended, every woman in the room would be staring at the silver-haired charmer instead of remembering the man being honored. The cameras would pivot.

The conversations would shift. It would become the funeral George Clooney attended rather than Michael J. Fox’s funeral.

There is no genuine animosity behind these remarks. Fox and Clooney share mutual respect. But Fox understands the mechanics of fame better than almost anyone.

Some people cannot help but command a room, even when they are not trying. And Fox, after a lifetime in the spotlight, wants his final moment to be about something else entirely.

What Fox wants, when he sets the jokes aside, is achingly simple. He wants to be surrounded by his wife, Tracy Pollan, his partner since 1988 and his rock through every trial. He wants his four children — Sam, Aquina, Skyler, and Esme — nearby.

He wants the small circle of friends who call just to check in, who visit without cameras, who see him as Michael the person, not Michael J. Fox the celebrity.

He wants the warriors from his foundation, the scientists and advocates who have fought alongside him in the battle against Parkinson’s. And above all, he wants peace. No wailing.

No over-the-top eulogies. No performative grief. Just a quiet acknowledgment of a life lived, battles fought, and finally, rest.

“I’d like to just not wake up one day,” Fox has said. “That would be really cool.” The statement is classic Fox — disarmingly direct, darkly funny, and profoundly human.

After 33 years of living with a progressive, incurable disease, he does not see death as an enemy. He sees it as the end of a long, exhausting, sometimes beautiful journey.

That journey began on June 9, 1961, in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Born into a military family that moved constantly, young Michael never quite belonged anywhere. He was not born with a silver spoon or Hollywood connections.

He was a regular kid with an extraordinary spark, a gift for making people feel something real.

At 15, he made the gutsiest decision of his life. He told his parents he was leaving school to pursue acting in Los Angeles. They thought he had lost his mind.

The odds were astronomical. How many bright-eyed kids pack their bags for Hollywood only to return home months later, dreams shattered and bank accounts empty?

But Fox was different. He did not just dream. He endured.

He moved to Los Angeles with pocket change and ate cheap dinners night after night. He slept on a bare mattress on the floor. His pillow was a phone book.

The future Marty McFly rested his head on the yellow pages because he could not afford an actual pillow.

For years, he hustled through audition after audition, rejection after rejection. Guest spots here and there. Nothing substantial.

Most people would have quit. Most would have called their parents, admitted defeat, and gone home. But Fox had something burning inside him that would not let him quit.

Then 1982 happened. “Family Ties” premiered, and suddenly everyone knew his name. Alex P.

Keaton — the young Republican with old-fashioned values living with his hippie parents — became a cultural phenomenon. The irony, the comedy, the heart. Fox brought all of it.

He was not just acting. He was creating something that resonated with millions.

The story gets even crazier. In 1985, Steven Spielberg and Robert Zemeckis were making a wild movie about a teenager who accidentally travels back to the 1950s in a time machine built from a DeLorean. They cast Eric Stoltz as Marty McFly.

They filmed for weeks. Then they watched the footage and realized it was not working.

They did something almost unheard of in Hollywood. They fired their lead actor and started over. They called Michael J.

Fox, who was already exhausted from filming “Family Ties.” Fox said yes. What followed was absolute insanity.

He would film his sitcom all day, then race across town to film “Back to the Future” all night. He got two to three hours of sleep at most.

He was running on pure adrenaline, coffee, and the electric realization that he was part of something legendary. When “Back to the Future” exploded in theaters, Fox did not just become famous. He became immortal.

It was the highest-grossing film of 1985. And here is the kicker: “Teen Wolf” came out the same summer. Fox had two massive hit movies in theaters simultaneously.

He was everywhere. Magazine covers. Talk shows.

Posters on bedroom walls across America. He was the guy everyone wanted to be or be with. Life was perfect, or so it seemed.

Fox married Tracy Pollan in 1988, his co-star from “Family Ties.” They welcomed their first child, Sam, in 1989. His career was unstoppable.

Then in 1991, at just 29 years old, Fox noticed something strange. His left pinky finger started twitching. Just a little tremor.

Nothing major. He figured it was stress. He was working constantly, after all.

New father. Major movie star. Always on the go.

Who would not be a little stressed?

But the twitching did not stop. It got worse. His hands started shaking more noticeably.

He could not control it. So he went to the doctor expecting to hear something simple. Maybe overwork.

Maybe a vitamin deficiency. Maybe a pinched nerve. Instead, the doctor looked at this 29-year-old man at the absolute peak of his career and delivered news that would shatter his world.

You have Parkinson’s disease. Parkinson’s? An old person’s disease?

Something that happens to your grandparents in their 70s and 80s. Not to young movie stars. Not to someone who had just started building a family.

Not to someone with decades of career ahead of them. Fox did not believe it. He went to another doctor.

Same diagnosis. Another doctor. Same diagnosis.

Again and again, the answer never changed. He had young-onset Parkinson’s disease, a rare, progressive, incurable condition that would slowly rob him of his ability to control his own body. Here is what most people do not know.

Fox kept this diagnosis secret for seven years. Seven years.

While the disease was progressing, while the tremors were getting harder to hide, while his body was betraying him day by day, he continued working. He starred in movies. He took on a demanding TV series called “Spin City” in 1996.

And he developed an entire arsenal of tricks to hide his condition.

If his hand was shaking, he would shove it in his pocket. He would clutch objects to mask the tremors. He would time his medication precisely so that during filming, he would have a window where the symptoms were minimal.

He would adjust his acting style, incorporating movements that disguise the involuntary shaking.

Think about that for a second. The performance of his career was not in any movie or TV show. It was pretending to be healthy while falling apart inside.

But the secret was destroying him. Fox started drinking heavily, trying to self-medicate, trying to numb the fear and anger and grief for the future he thought he would have.

He was functional. He never missed work. He never showed up drunk.

But privately, he was drowning. Through it all, Tracy stood by him. They had twin daughters, Aquinnah and Schuyler, in 1995, and another daughter, Esme, in 2001.

Fox has said repeatedly that his family was the only thing keeping him alive, giving him a reason to fight through the darkness.

In 1998, Fox made a decision that took more courage than any role he had ever played. He went public with his diagnosis in an interview with Barbara Walters. He expected pity.

He expected people to turn away. Instead, the world embraced him. People did not see him as broken or diminished.

They saw courage. They saw honesty. They saw someone refusing to let a disease define him.

He left “Spin City” in 2000. And instead of fading into the background, he launched the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research.

This was not just some celebrity charity where he showed up for photo ops. Fox dove in completely. He testified before Congress.

He became the face of Parkinson’s research. He fought for funding, pushed for controversial stem cell research, and demanded results.

The foundation has now funded over $1. 5 billion in research, making it the largest nonprofit funder of Parkinson’s research in the world. Let that sink in.

$1. 5 billion. Fox took the worst thing that ever happened to him and turned it into hope for millions of people.

But let us be real about what Parkinson’s actually means. This is not like breaking your arm where it heals and you move on. This is a constant companion every single day, every single moment.

The tremors are just the visible part. Parkinson’s affects balance. Fox has fallen and broken bones multiple times.

It affects speech, making it hard to be understood sometimes.

It causes muscle rigidity, making simple movements slow and difficult. It disrupts sleep, mood, memory, and cognition. The medication that helps manage symptoms causes its own problems.

Levodopa can cause dyskinesia, involuntary jerky movements that can be just as disruptive as the tremors. Fox is constantly balancing dosages, trying to maximize good hours and minimize bad ones.

He has had spinal surgery to remove a tumor that left him temporarily unable to walk. He has dealt with infections, complications, setbacks that would break most people. Each time, he has clawed his way back.

He cannot play guitar anymore. His fingers will not cooperate. He cannot type easily.

Simple things we all take for granted — buttoning a shirt, tying shoes, cutting food — require intense concentration and effort.

But here is the thing. Parkinson’s took his body, but it never took his spirit. It never took his razor-sharp mind.

It never took his sense of humor. And it definitely never took his ability to speak the truth, even when it is uncomfortable. Which brings us back to the revelation that has everyone talking.

After 33 years of living with this disease, Fox has started talking more openly about death. Not in a morbid way. In a practical, darkly humorous, totally Michael J.

Fox kind of way. He has thought about his funeral. Who does he want there?

What does he want it to be like? And perhaps more entertainingly, who does he absolutely not wish to see showing up?

Fox has made it clear this is all said with humor and affection, but there is truth buried in the jokes. He has mentioned names. Big names.

Hollywood royalty. And his reasoning, while funny, reveals something profound about how he views fame, friendship, and what truly matters at the end of a life.

He does not want people coming out of obligation. He does not want industry folks showing up because they think they should or because it would look bad not to. He wants only the real ones.

The people who loved him for who he is, not what he represents. The people who stuck around when the cameras stopped rolling and the awards stopped coming.

For his funeral, Fox wants Tracy. Obviously. His wife since 1988.

His rock through everything. He wants their four children. Being a father has been one of his greatest joys, and watching his kids grow has given him purpose.

He wants the small circle of friends who have stuck by him through the years. The ones who call just to check in. Who visit without cameras.

He wants people from his foundation. The warriors who have worked alongside him in the fight against Parkinson’s. Who share his passion for finding a cure.

And above all, he wants it to be peaceful. No wailing. No over-the-top eulogies.

No performative grief. Just a quiet acknowledgment of a life lived, battles fought, and finally, rest.

After 33 years of living with Parkinson’s disease, Michael J. Fox does not see death as an enemy. He sees it as the end of a long, exhausting, sometimes beautiful journey.

One he has traveled with more courage than most of us will ever need to summon.

This man went from sleeping with a phone book as a pillow to becoming a household name. He went from the highest highs of Hollywood success to the lowest lows of a devastating diagnosis. And through it all, he never lost his humanity.

He never lost his humor. He never stopped fighting.

The fact that he can joke about his own funeral, that he can be honest about wanting simplicity over spectacle, that he can call out the absurdity of Hollywood even in death — that is the most Michael J. Fox thing ever. He has lived his entire adult life in the public eye.

He has dealt with the demands of fame, the scrutiny of the media, and the expectations of millions.

For his final act, he wants something different. Something real. Something honest.

And honestly, that is beautiful. Michael J. Fox has given us so much laughter, inspiration, hope, and a masterclass in how to face the unthinkable with grace.

The least we can do is respect his wishes.

When that day comes, and let us hope it is many, many years from now, the people who truly love him will gather quietly. They will remember the boy with the phone book pillow who refused to give up. They will remember Marty McFly and Alex P.

Keaton. They will remember the warrior who turned his worst nightmare into hope for millions.

And somewhere, Michael J. Fox will finally be at peace.