Initially, I wasn't going to weigh in with my thoughts of Robin Williams since everyone in the world (and their sister) are, but he really meant something to me, and writing has always helped me process.
Bar none, Robin Williams was my favorite comedian. Eventually he became one of my favorite people. Hilarious doesn't begin to describe his brand of comedy, a deft mix of relevant (but not nasty) social commentary, improvisation, impersonation and relatable observations about family, aging, success and failure (plus the occasional dick joke). I don't think that explanation does him justice, but it's the best I could come up with.
In the late 70s I gorged myself on a steady diet of sitcoms, primarily produced by ABC: Happy Days, Laverne and Shirley, Three's Company, etc. I was eight years old when Mork and Mindy premiered, and it quickly became my favorite. Even then, I knew there was something special about this guy, and he made me laugh as no one ever had. He did that for the next 35 years.
Mork and Mindy ran its course, and it was obvious he was destined for greater things. Yes, he was side-splittingly funny, but it was obvious there was much more to him. Even within the constraints of the sitcom format, his ability to convey tenderness, empathy and wonder shone through.
In 1982, he released his first stand-up special, An Evening with Robin Williams. Now I was 12, and I could grasp the depth of his humor, especially the commentary and the satire. I may not have gotten it all, but I understood most of it. At that time, I was experiencing the greats for the first time: Richard Pryor, George Carlin, Buddy Hackett, etc., but Robin was my guy. His commentary wasn't as preachy as Pryor or Carlin, or as biting. He wasn't angry. His 1987 special, Robin Williams Live at the Met is my favorite concert film of all time.
While I commend some of the bold choices he made as an actor during that time, he didn't really catch fire until Good Morning Vietnam in 1987. Over the next ten years, he enjoyed a renaissance with films like Dead Poets Society, Awakenings, The Fisher King, Aladdin, Mrs. Doubtfire, and of course his Oscar-winning turn in Good Will Hunting.
My three favorites include one that is generally not considered among his pre-eminent roles, and I'll get to that last. As an actor he was hilarious when he was manic, but brilliant when he was subtle. He had the tremendous gift of being able to turn the persona that he grafted onto himself when he first broke in completely off, and play men who were socially awkward, tormented, and most importantly, gentle.
In Awakenings, he plays a talented, painfully shy doctor determined to help a group of patients who have been catatonic for decades. He finally finds the right dosage of medication that "awakens" them from their years-long slumber, but it eventually fails as the drug's side effects have disastrous consequences.
I already adored him simply as a comedian or a comic actor, but Awakenings took it to a whole other level for me. In my youth, I knew what it was to be shy, to prefer one's own company rather than risk interaction with a stranger, and he embodied those traits brilliantly. The film is uplifting and heartbreaking at the same time, and it stays with me to this day.
The Fisher King springs from the fertile imagination of Terry Gilliam who offered Williams a part that combined his manic edginess with his subtle grace. As a tortured soul whose wife is murdered before his eyes, Williams brings to the fore all that pain and suffering, eventually withdrawing from reality to begin life anew as a homeless man who believes he is questing for the Holy Grail.
He eventually falls in love with a painfully shy, socially awkward woman, and his quest to win her and woo her is pure magic. There's a lot more to the film, but I want to keep the focus squarely on Robin. His performance is utterly devastating. For my money, that should have been his Oscar.
While I do want to acknowledge the brilliance of both Dead Poets Society and Mrs. Doubtfire I don't worship at the altar of either film. I understand why they speak to so many, but I don't repeat them they way I do Awakenings or The Fisher King (or Good Morning Vietnam).
The last film I want to mention is What Dream May Come (which I had to watch last night). People criticize it for being maudlin, mawkish, or overly sentimental. Wrong. Wrong on every conceivable level.
Williams plays a doctor who loses his two children in a horrible car accident. A few years later, he is killed in a horrific accident, and his wife is driven to suicide. In the hereafter he learns that suicides are damned for eternity and he resolves to save his wife from that fate.
For me, the film is a treasure. It speaks so eloquently to those facing insurmountable grief. It speaks of the love that we fervently hope transcends this mortal coil, and how two people who really love one another can never be separated.
If any man could simultaneously enact the awe and wonder of seeing heaven, the quiet anguish of losing those who are nearest and dearest, and the determination to save one of them from the bowels of hell, it was Robin Williams. Not DeNiro, not Pacino, not DiCaprio or Depp. It was this man.
This particular film has taken on so many different meanings in the light of both the fact of his passing, and the tragic way he passed. It's easy to read so much into it now. Yes, he was an actor playing a role in a film that many have dismissed as way too on the nose. Yet, this is the film I always turn to when I need to feel hope.
It saddens me greatly that he could not experience the happiness he gave to millions. I can never thank him enough for all the joy he brought me, the gut busting laughs, and even the tears.
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