The Loss of Robin Williams

By Douglas V. Gibbs

The news of the death of Robin Williams, yesterday, reminded us that fame and fortune does not necessarily equate to happiness.  Williams, it is being reported, was battling with a bout of deep depression.  I don’t know what his demons were.  We are being told he struggled with addiction, he had a heart surgery a few years ago, and lost his dear friend and mentor, Jonathan Winters, last year.

Like all of us, people who have reached the pinnacle of stardom are simply people, flawed like the rest of us, and slaves to their human nature like the rest of us.  For some, problems actually become more extreme as a result of their status because of the public eye that is constantly on them, and as the old saying goes, “With more money comes more money problems.”

I am saddened, not just by the loss of a comedian that I grew up appreciating, but that a man that brought so much happiness to so many people had to leave us in such a sad way. . . because he could not find his own happiness.

Hollywood is not a place I prefer to discuss.  I tend not to be a big fan of movie stars.  All they are to me are people who stumbled upon the reality that they have an ability to be real good at pretending.  In general, I abhor actors.  And, like a majority of his colleagues, Robin Williams didn’t make it any easier on potential fans such as myself because he politically leaned extreme left.

So be it.

Robin Williams found a way to burst through the noise and static.  He was different.  Attention grabbing.  Outside the box, and in a very good way.  His quirky style caught America by surprise, and we were delighted by it.

Williams, on screen, and in the public eye, was anything but a snobby elitist (If he was, I didn’t notice).  As an actor, his skills were incredible.  He could be a child (Jack), a respected instructor (Dead Poet’s Society), a quirky alien (Mork and Mindy), a smiling radio voice during the chaos of war (Good Morning Vietnam), a loving father taking extraordinary steps to be with his children (Mrs. Doubtfire), a cartoon sailor come to life (Popeye), a therapist for a reluctant genius (Good Will Hunting), a man with an extremely troubled life (The World According to Garp), Peter Pan after he grows up and forgets childhood (Hook), A lovelorn wax figure President Teddy Roosevelt (Night at the Museum), A childlike man that grew up in the wilds of a game (Jumanji), a caring doctor seeking a normal life for himself, and his patients (Awakenings), a cartoon genie (Aladdin), and countless other roles in movies, television, and stage (not to mention his stand-up comedy acts).

In short, his range as a performer, was phenomenal.

My first taste of Robin Williams was as Mork on an unusual episode of Happy Days.  The cast, I have read, had a tougher time trying not to laugh on camera, than delivering their lines.  The episode opened up a spin-off opportunity for a show called “Mork and Mindy,” a show I rarely missed, and one that I have a picture book of that I purchased way back when (pictured at the top of this post).

I marveled at his role as Popeye, asking myself, “Is there any role this man cannot pull off?”  Years later, when I saw him in a serious role for the first time in Dead Poet’s Society, my question was answered.  I later had the opportunity to view him in Good Morning Vietnam in my home, and marveled at his genius.  The versatility of Robin Williams knew no bounds.  He could make you laugh, and he could make you cry, and he would always leave you happy about his performance.

Like his role as Peter Pan in Hook, I don’t believe Robin Williams ever truly grew up, or maybe he did but was not happy about it.  He always kept a childlike humor about him, and for a moment, while we watched him in action, we forgot our own troubles for just a moment.  Robin Williams brought happiness to untold fans, and his apparent suicide is a devastating blow to the people who loved him, both personally, and as fans.  He will be missed.  He is missed.  The funny man gave us an exit we never expected, but I think some of his closest friends and family may have thought was possible.

Good bye, Robin Williams.  The gift of laughter you gave to us was a wonderful thing.  I will cherish my memories of you for the remainder of my own life.

Robin Williams, born Chicago, Illinois, July 21, 1951 – died Tiburon, California, August 11, 2014; survived by his most recent wife of three years, Susan Schneider, and three children – Zachary, Zelda, and Cody.

– Political Pistachio Conservative News and Commentary