When I was in high school, every year on my birthday my mom would take me or I would take myself and a few of my friends to a mall that was about an hour away from my house. I could never really think of anything I wanted so I always just ended up going to the mall's f.y.e. where I spent hours upon hours just hunting for new and used movies. Typically I never had in mind any particular movies that I wanted. I would just browse, pick some up, put some back and eventually end up with a large armful of plastic cases full of hours of entertainment. But one year was different. One year I vividly remember that no matter what movies I got, I told myself I had to get some Robin Williams movies.
I remember realizing how much I enjoyed Robin Williams but how that enjoyment only stemmed from a very small number of movies. I had seen Mrs. Doubtfire and Flubber and Jumanji and The Birdcage dozens of times and his performance as the Genie in Aladdin is one of the first true memories I have of seeing something on screen that had me utterly captivated. So much so that when my mom bought me an action figure of the character (one whose facial expression you could change by swapping ends of the removable head) I carried it around with me wherever I went. I couldn't even take a bath without it.
And so I carried out my usual birthday search: browsing, picking some movies up, putting some back and I eventually ended up with my standard armful of plastic cases full of hours of entertainment. Among these were Hook, a two-pack including What Dreams May Come and Patch Adams, Death to Smoochy, Toys and The Fisher King. I watched them all in the course of one or two days and I loved them. There wasn't a single one I regretted purchasing. The only thing I did regret was that I had only bought these. But here's the thing. Look at Rotten Tomatoes. Go to Rotten Tomatoes and look up Robin Williams. Go ahead, I'll wait... Are you back? Okay, what did you see? That's right! All of those movies I listed (that's including Jumanji and Flubber from my childhood) except for one are certified rotten. Hell, Flubber and Patch Adams are at 23%! (For reference, the new Ninja Turtles movie sits only 3% behind them.) That's when I realized something. I didn't love all those movies I bought that one year on my birthday. I love Robin Williams.
Thinking about him, I think that's what'll be my ultimate takeaway about Robin Williams the actor and the person: Robin Williams spent his career making a lot of terrible movies (nearly one or more for every good one he did) and yet we treat him as if they are all masterpieces. And sure, some people can't connect to him the way others do. And even I will admit that over the years his brand of free-floating, machine gun improv has worn on me from time to time. However, I think it's illustrative that despite this, the response across the internet to his untimely passing has been nearly uniform. There have been no "too soon" jokes that I've seen, no one is disparaging his memory and calling him selfish or a terrible human being (and those very few that have have been met with immense backlash). People are just mourning the loss of an incredibly talented man that brought joy into their lives in one form or another. No one that knew him has spoken up to say that he was cruel or making snide comments about him. Reading all of the posts by people who knew Robin Williams points to the same thing again and again: What a kind and loving and generous man he was to everyone; how he was like a ray of sunshine that lit up any room he was in.
But all of this unfortunately begs the question: How could a man who brought so much happiness to so many people be so devastatingly miserable that he took his own life?
It's a cruel irony in this world that the people who are the funniest, wittiest and nicest are often the ones with the most darkness within. With Robin Williams, like an unfortunate number of other standup comedians, the problem seemed to always be there. In his 1986 standup special, A Night at the Met (which is one of the best and you should find and watch it), Williams speaks candidly - and it should be noted hysterically - about his struggles with drugs and alcohol and his other demons. Similarly, on a 2010 edition of Marc Maron's WTF Podcast, he mentions that while he was drinking there was only one time where he contemplated suicide. But after that, he said, he never considered it again. And while he doesn't really talk about the connection between his depression and his abuse of drugs and alcohol (which came first hardly matters, it's a vicious cycle), just looking at his work tells the story. Someone on Twitter posted something that I think perfectly encapsulates the idea: When you grow up watching Robin Williams you only see him as a funny man that can play a litany of characters and can make you smile and laugh with every one. But as you grow older, you realize that the majority of performances involve a character trying to keep his inner darkness from destroying him.
In films like The Fisher King, Good Will Hunting, and Patch Adams, Williams plays a man who uses comedy and often manic behavior to cover up his immense sorrow. Granted, those are all dramas, but even in his full-on comedies you get something similar. In Mrs. Doubtfire as Daniel Hillard, Williams does something ridiculous and hilarious by dressing up as an old English nanny, but he does so because of how much pain his divorce has already caused him and to avoid any further pain caused from being unable to see his children. And in perhaps what is his most famous performance, as the Genie in Aladdin, though Williams plays a character who feels like the embodiment of manic joy - a character of 1000 voices and ruled by silliness - it's a character whose only wish is a deadly serious one created out of sadness: to be free.
To say that Robin Williams was a beloved entertainer would be putting it to criminally lightly. As I said earlier, the outpouring of fans describing their memories of Robin Williams and what those memories (and the performances that created them) have meant to them throughout their lives has been immense. But what I think is so special is how varied the performances cited are. There aren't a handful of movies that keep getting mentioned over and over. Instead it feels like his entire filmography has touched someone somewhere. Yes, there are some performances that stand above the others - Good Will Hunting, The Fisher King, Moscow on the Hudson, World's Greatest Dad and Dead Poets Society to name a few - but for all of those I've seen mentioned, I've also seen people saying how much movies like Toys and Jack and Hook and Bicentennial Man have meant to them. Hell, I even like his performances in Man of the Year and RV. Even if a movie was atrociously bad, it never reflected poorly on him. That's how great Robin Williams was. No matter how his death this past Monday came, it would have made your heart skip a beat.
But the fact that it happened in the manner it did, that he took his own life as a result of crippling depression, makes it all the more devastating. I have never suffered from depression in the way Robin Williams did, but I have people very close to me who have. And though I could never begin to fathom what sufferers of severe depression must feel on a day-to-day basis, knowing how much greater the pain must be than even what someone on the outside might see is staggering. And to realize how indescribably awful that feeling must be and then to think of how long someone like Robin Williams must have struggled with it until finally being unable to fight any longer makes me want to cry with sadness and with thankfulness that I am among those who haven't had to know that pain.
To mourn for someone you have never met and to do so like you would one of your loved ones is a strange thing. I don't think it has to do solely with the fact that it is a brilliant light snuffed out far before its time. I don't think it has to do solely with thinking about how much power the demons inside him must have had to destroy the hope of such an inventive, extraordinarily talented and warm-hearted man. I don't even think it's solely from thinking about all the friends and family he left behind to grieve for him. It's all of those things certainly, but it's also just the simple, poignant fact that a man who brought so much joy and happiness to so many people could not keep himself from sinking into the darkness. And if the vibrant, almost mythical spirit of Robin Williams couldn't do it, how can anyone?
Depression is a heartless bastard and it steals what is most precious to us. It does not discriminate. It does not care if you are kind or good or funny or witty or beautiful or brilliant or a parent or a son or a daughter. It doesn't care if you're talented or if you're rich. It doesn't care how much joy you've brought to peoples lives or how many wonderful things you've done in this world. When depression takes someone from us, people are prone to saying, "If only they knew how much they were loved." But it wouldn't have mattered. Depression doesn't care who loves you or how many there are of them. It doesn't count blessings and it certainly isn't warded off by them. In fact, another cruel irony in this world is that the more blessings a person has, the worse things may be. "How dare I be sick when I have all of this."
All one can hope is that maybe this will make people more aware that there are places out there with people who want to help. The internet is a strange and often awful place, but there are also people there (and in the world proper) who are trying to shine a light on the dark areas where so many people live in shame and debilitation. There is nothing to be ashamed about, they are saying. This is an affliction, a condition as real and as painful as any wound or broken limb. You can't mend a broken arm with the power of thought or by willing it back into place. You can't walk start walking on your broken leg just by being happy or manning up. Don't be afraid to ask for help. Don't be afraid to reach out your hand because there are people out there who will grasp it and they will not let you go. No matter who you are, there are people out there who love you and who want to help. All around the world there are now ordinary people touched by an extraordinary man who are remembering that Walt Whitman poem and are beginning to stand on their desks ready to be remarkable, to make a difference.
I never had the pleasure of meeting Robin Williams. I did not know the man. I cannot tell him what he has meant to me over the years or how many wonderful laughs I have experienced because of something he said or did. All I can do is cherish the memories I have and mourn the fact that we will no longer have the privilege to experience what a magnificent whirlwind he was.
You're free now, Genie. I hope you have found peace.
