I debated writing this piece, one because thoughts about Robin Williams have been horribly overdone since his premature passing, and two because I believe that the perceived familiarity with celebrities in our culture is actually a mild form of mental illness; but through several debates with people with a sorely misguided notion of what mental illness is and is not, I felt a final word on my part was appropriate.
I wasn't a huge "Mork and Mindy" fan; it was just kind of there. My acquaintance with Robin Williams really began with a movie called "The Survivors", a completely underrated movie and the first rated "R" movie I saw, which was enough to give my LDS mother conniptions, even though the rating was for language. But I remember HBO shows of his standup and my father (who, like many of us in the family, has struggled with the reality of mental illness) commenting that he felt Robin Williams had symptoms of being bipolar. Being too young to be familiar with the monsters that were my birthright, and will probably follow me to my grave, I didn't understand how he could understand that, but I do now.
The word "hyperkinetic" is overused in describing Williams, but it is one of the few words that can even begin to describe Williams' rapid fire, ad libbed delivery style. His routines were a verbal tickle; alone the jokes would be at best enough to give you a decent chuckle, but he gave you no recovery time, and within five minutes you would find yourself out of oxygen, literally rolling on the floor because you were totally taken in by the magic that was Robin Williams.
But in the midst of it, you could see the dark side, always looming under the surface. The dark side showed in some of his more dramatic works, such as Good Will Hunting, and especially the Fisher King. As the Red Knight chases Parry after he begins to find happiness with Lydia, there is a glimmer of reality in Williams' heart breaking performance.
What Williams did was not "selfish" in the traditional sense. Sure, to those of us outside, suicide seems a selfish act. But it is a final, desperate act of someone who sees no other release from their pain, and the ultimate tragic reality is that you never know who is contemplating suicide at this very moment. Most will not be celebrities; most will simply disappear with only a handful of people remarking on their passing. And most could be prevented.
We need to understand and treat mental illness with greater empathy, and I hope that Williams' death sparks that discussion. But more than that, we need to look in the eyes of those around us and reach out to those who are hurting with a real and tender love. There's no guarantee it will help every one, but I can tell you with absolute certainty it will help some..
In my minds eye, I have this image. I am Jack, Williams is Parry, from the Fisher King. And I have brought him the grail, and in his final, weakened moment, he hands it back to me. It is in that vision that I realize something:
Robin Williams didn't create comedy to make us laugh, or to make him feel better. Robin Williams gave everything he had as a sincere, loving gift to help those who suffered from the Hell that haunted him his entire life a glimmer of hope and happiness. In the end, though, he poured out the entire cup and had nothing left for himself.
And that is the least selfish act I have ever seen.
RIP, Robin Williams. I never knew you, but you did know me. And you gave me much.
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