I entered my apartment after work on August 11 with every
intention of doing laundry, wiping countertops, clearing my desk of spent
coffee containers, and maybe even working out.
I pulled two items from my mailbox, noticed neither was
addressed to my girlfriend, or myself (because that’s how mail works around
here), and brought them inside to introduce the parcel boo-boo’s to our garbage
can.
I held one envelope in each
hand while Katha asked me about my day, and as I answered her, she interrupted
me with, “What!?
Robin Williams
died!?”
I involuntarily moved my
left hand in a counter-clockwise circle, and my right hand in the opposite
direction, but sent only the right-handed envelope limply airborne.
I could hardly spare a moment’s thought
to what my body had just done without my blessing, what with all the images
flashing through my mind of a man who arrested so much of my childhood
attention.
Although I like to
think I know how I will “mourn” the passing of any loved artist (when Bob Dylan
finally bites it, you won’t hear from me for a good 24 hours), I was apparently
caught completely off guard when I was told Robin Williams had committed
suicide.
It was almost as though I
naturally felt the need to throw something, even if it happened to be so unsubstantial
as a notice from a stranger’s debt collector.
What is substantial, however, is the effect his career had
on me, and the rest of my generation.
Personally,
losing him was like losing an estranged relative.
He
was exactly the kind of person I wanted to be when I was a child. I idolized him as I delighted in his
every move. Somewhere on a dusty
old VHS tape, there may yet exist a clip from Nick News with Linda Ellerbee
(HA, you forgot about that shit, right?) from 1993(?) featuring the late actor
“discussing” comedy with a small and stunned audience of children. Williams was given a box of props, and
10 minutes, and I thought I had rediscovered humor. Watching him feverishly work dozens of jokes into this
humble set was almost too much for my young mind to process. I had already seen him in a couple
movies, but I had never before experienced the riffing abilities on which we
have all been reflecting this week.
He was so sharp, so quick, so endlessly full of funny, and I was
instantly addicted to the unequivocal joy of making people laugh.
I
was always a ham (as soon as I finally started speaking, anyway), and growing
up watching him in films like Hook (a
beautifully imaginative movie about fatherhood, childhood, and family), Mrs. Doubtfire (a ludicrous excuse to
get Williams in drag – still one of the funniest family-friendly comedies of
the 90’s) and even Father’s Day (not
a big winner, but Williams’ character is pretty delightful), made me want to
give people the same chaotic release of endorphins he had given me. I understood this was a valuable skill,
and I was desperate to make it mine.
Thanks to him (not to mention Jim Carrey and Mike Meyers), my family had
many an opportunity to sit through a post-dinner improvised comedy
routine. They were good sports…
really good sports. As I remember
it, these things would typically last until I could no longer achieve a
9-year-old’s comedic apex (whatever the hell that would have been like… look, I
remember them laughing). As I
grew, his career continued to grow with me.
By
the time Mrs. Doubtfire was experiencing “drive-by fruitings”, Williams had
already taken several roles in dramas.
I caught many of them in the early 90’s, but it wasn’t until 2002’s One Hour Photo that I was shocked by his
abilities as an actor. Regardless
of what affect that stunning performance may have had on me, what really
changed me was watching the film, itself.
For most of the guys and gals I met in film school, 2001: A Space Odyssey was the work that changed the way they
thought about movies. For whatever
reason (probably the age at which I first saw it), Kubrick’s seminal
masterpiece just didn’t make that happen for me. This one did. Mark
Romanek’s “official” writer/director debut is by no means a perfect film. It is, however, thoughtfully designed a
shot. Its use of light, color, and
camera movement was not only great to look at, but spoke to the film’s meaning,
and how Sy Parrish (Williams) felt about each space he inhabited at any given
moment. For the second time in my
life, this great comedian had shaped my life’s trajectory.
Basically,
he led me here. I wish I had more
to show for it at a time when I am paying tribute to a man who had so much
influence on me. Writing a blog as
an aspiring film critic, rather than a professional one just isn’t that
significant. Still, this is what I
want to do. Robin Williams
indirectly sent me on a course from telling jokes at the dinner table, to
starring in high school plays. He
then sent me to film school, and from being a filmmaker, to a film critic, and
entertainment writer. Now, I have
the sad task of wishing him farewell.
I may have lost track of him over the past several years, but I was
always excited to see what his next project would be. Even with FOUR posthumous releases coming down the shoot, I
can’t help but feel there is nothing left to look forward to. Robin William’s career is over, and no
matter how far away I get from the comedies that exhausted my sister and I in
laughter as children, losing him is like losing a dear friend.
Fortunately,
he happens to have quite a career behind him. He had roles in over 40, many of them worth your time (and
several that are not), and even his recently canceled TV show The Crazy Ones is something you should
check out. I can’t end this
without recommending Bobcat Goldthwait’s 2009 film, World’s Greatest Dad.
Its themes and events might be a little too much to stomach so close to
its star’s suicide, but you should watch it as soon as possible. Stream-able on Netflix, it follows the
noble, then not-so-noble actions of a father after his jerk-water son
accidentally kills himself. It
results in a brilliant satire about the cult of celebrity, but it has just as
much to say about the exploitation of tragedy for political or personal gain. It’s funny, damn smart, and even just a
little bit moving. Sounds about
right for a man of his talents.
Hard
to end this without getting mushy(er)… I guess I’m done.
Goodbye, Mr.
Williams.
