Robin William's death at 63 would have been tragic enough under any conditions, but when we found out that he had died at his own hand, it took on a new, and tragic, dimension.
Many years ago, my wife and I were invited to a party at the home of a psychiatrist. Little did I know it at the time, but my younger son, then perhaps a year or so old, would someday be a psychiatrist himself. In any case, a slip of Freudians (new collective noun?) had gathered in a circle, and were talking shop, while I, a fledgling lawyer, was trying to keep pace with their exclusionary conversation. One man, dressed in a natty white suit, was talking about depression. Wishing to contribute to a conversation too arcane for my level of clinical ignorance, I ventured forth with the following: "Oh, I'm occasionally depressed." "No you haven't been," countered white suit in his first recognition of my presence, "you have no idea of what depression is." He was, of course, correct. I thought depression, at least in common parlance, meant being "blue," "down in the dumps," or simply sad. I had no idea how little I shared--even at my saddest--with people for whom getting out of bed in the morning is a monumental challenge, or, indeed, people for whom self-inflicted death is preferable to the pain of life.
So it obviously was with poor Robin Williams.
It seemed to me that Robin was more likely bipolar than "simply" depressed. I say this as a layman, based on the manic quality of Robin's humor. Not since the days of Jonathan Winters , had I ever encountered as ready an improvisational wit as Robin Williams. And with all due respect to Jonathan--who had his own demons to contend with--Robin left him in the dust. Robin Williams was, perhaps, the best comic improvisor we have ever seen. To be sure, there have been wittier, and funnier comics than Robin. For one thing, subtlety was not his strong suit. But, that said, no one has ever combined the skills of dramatic and comedic acting, along with stand-up and ad-libbing skills as did Robin Williams. He was the "whole package." His was a comedy that scorned the aid of the most skilled comedy writer. From what I understand (and this we could witness in some of his best roles), Robin, for all his egotism--and, let's face it--modesty is not something we associate with successful comics, was able to take a side seat to others in some of his best dramatic roles. Think, for a moment, about his supporting roles in "Dead Poet's Society," "Awakenings," "Good Will Hunting" (his Oscar), and "The Birdcage." In each of these wonderful roles, Robin underplayed his parts in aid of the movie and its stars. In "Birdcage," for example (which led to "La Cage a Folles") Robin played a gay man who, along with his partner, Nathan Lane, have to convince the prospective in-laws of Lane's son, that they are straight. Before I saw the movie, I was sure Robin was going to play the role as an over-the-top queen. Not so; if anything, he underplayed his part, allowing the (then) lesser-known Nathan Lane the limelight.
Almost everyone reading this blog knows enough about Robin's career to obviate the need for me to spend much time on his brilliant resume as a performer. From his start as "Mork," (of "Mork and Mindy" fame) through "Good Morning Vietnam," to "Mrs. Doubtfire," and "Alladin," he will be remembered as one of the greats--a cliche, to be sure, but true.
What makes this so difficult a piece to write is reconciling the joy that was the public Robin Williams with the dark sorrow that must have shadowed him throughout his adult life. I frequently write about heroes (or role models) of my youth who have died after long and productive lives. Needless to say, Robin Williams has left behind an ouevre impressive enough for anyone's career. More's the tragedy that it was caught short by his own hand. I'll miss you, Robin, as there is truly no one who will ever take your place. Indeed, no one could. Fortunately, you will live on forever in videos and dvds. But, what a loss; what a waste!
Many years ago, my wife and I were invited to a party at the home of a psychiatrist. Little did I know it at the time, but my younger son, then perhaps a year or so old, would someday be a psychiatrist himself. In any case, a slip of Freudians (new collective noun?) had gathered in a circle, and were talking shop, while I, a fledgling lawyer, was trying to keep pace with their exclusionary conversation. One man, dressed in a natty white suit, was talking about depression. Wishing to contribute to a conversation too arcane for my level of clinical ignorance, I ventured forth with the following: "Oh, I'm occasionally depressed." "No you haven't been," countered white suit in his first recognition of my presence, "you have no idea of what depression is." He was, of course, correct. I thought depression, at least in common parlance, meant being "blue," "down in the dumps," or simply sad. I had no idea how little I shared--even at my saddest--with people for whom getting out of bed in the morning is a monumental challenge, or, indeed, people for whom self-inflicted death is preferable to the pain of life.
So it obviously was with poor Robin Williams.
It seemed to me that Robin was more likely bipolar than "simply" depressed. I say this as a layman, based on the manic quality of Robin's humor. Not since the days of Jonathan Winters , had I ever encountered as ready an improvisational wit as Robin Williams. And with all due respect to Jonathan--who had his own demons to contend with--Robin left him in the dust. Robin Williams was, perhaps, the best comic improvisor we have ever seen. To be sure, there have been wittier, and funnier comics than Robin. For one thing, subtlety was not his strong suit. But, that said, no one has ever combined the skills of dramatic and comedic acting, along with stand-up and ad-libbing skills as did Robin Williams. He was the "whole package." His was a comedy that scorned the aid of the most skilled comedy writer. From what I understand (and this we could witness in some of his best roles), Robin, for all his egotism--and, let's face it--modesty is not something we associate with successful comics, was able to take a side seat to others in some of his best dramatic roles. Think, for a moment, about his supporting roles in "Dead Poet's Society," "Awakenings," "Good Will Hunting" (his Oscar), and "The Birdcage." In each of these wonderful roles, Robin underplayed his parts in aid of the movie and its stars. In "Birdcage," for example (which led to "La Cage a Folles") Robin played a gay man who, along with his partner, Nathan Lane, have to convince the prospective in-laws of Lane's son, that they are straight. Before I saw the movie, I was sure Robin was going to play the role as an over-the-top queen. Not so; if anything, he underplayed his part, allowing the (then) lesser-known Nathan Lane the limelight.
Almost everyone reading this blog knows enough about Robin's career to obviate the need for me to spend much time on his brilliant resume as a performer. From his start as "Mork," (of "Mork and Mindy" fame) through "Good Morning Vietnam," to "Mrs. Doubtfire," and "Alladin," he will be remembered as one of the greats--a cliche, to be sure, but true.
What makes this so difficult a piece to write is reconciling the joy that was the public Robin Williams with the dark sorrow that must have shadowed him throughout his adult life. I frequently write about heroes (or role models) of my youth who have died after long and productive lives. Needless to say, Robin Williams has left behind an ouevre impressive enough for anyone's career. More's the tragedy that it was caught short by his own hand. I'll miss you, Robin, as there is truly no one who will ever take your place. Indeed, no one could. Fortunately, you will live on forever in videos and dvds. But, what a loss; what a waste!
