There will never be another Robin Williams.
A hyperkinetic ball of energy that lived and loved to see super-curvy smiles on others faces, he was as much a superstar as he was an inadvertent humanitarian. No matter how rough your day was, how blue the situation seemed, Williams could always put a smile on your dial. Whether it was as a loveable alien (“Mork & Mindy”), an uncontrollable gas of a DJ (“Good Morning Vietnam”), a rebellious but super-compassionate educator (“Dead Poet’s Society”), a cross-dressing dad (“Mrs Doubtfire”) or a flamboyant club owner (“The Birdcage”), his recital of wacky worked better than a tall pint of Noradrenaline reuptake inhibitors. Williams felt most alive, it seems, when he could see the results of his pantomimic actions – he rejoiced in the fact he was able to turn someone’s day around or simply give someone temporary ease from their hardships. He had a gift, and his gift was bringing laughter to the masses. But sadly, we weren’t all blessed with the same gift, and as such, we couldn’t do as much for Williams as he did for us – his blues remained blue, his pain lingered, and his battle was a continuous one. His own magic didn’t work on himself, just others.
The times I met with Williams I was taken back by not only his down-to-earth nature, but his generosity, warmth, and ability to make you feel like the most important person in the room. He seemed genuinely pleased to say, and hanged on your every word. His smile suggested he enjoyed whatever you had to say. He also loved no more than to hear how much you loved a performance of his – whether it was a comedic turn in “Mrs Doubtfire” or “Good Morning Vietnam” a more dramatic turn in the likes of “Insomnia” or “What Dreams May Come”. No subject was out-of-bounds, no topic was taboo, and not once would he flinch when speaking about his struggles or the more disappointing moments of his career. Robin mightn’t have ever known who he was (though he did once tell me that the character in “Good Will Hunting” is the closets to the real him – at least he thought so), but he did . The one thing I’m not certain of is whether Williams knew how loved and cherished he was – and by everyone; I can only hope that, beyond the darkness that clogged his mainframe, there was a feeling of accomplishment but more so, pride that he’d brought us so, so many happy times. You really did Robin. You really did.
They say when someone passes it’s always hardest for the people you leave behind, and the saying is no truer than today – the day we lost Mork.
“I believe in destiny. There must be a reason that I am as I am. There must be.” – Robin Williams
I feel I should say more, pay tribute to his fine performances, run off a few of the tributes others left for him today, post a gallery of photos, but I think Robin would much prefer this :
Mental Health America