In light of the recent death of Robin Williams I felt a great need to address the burden that anyone who relies on their creativity as their meal ticket must bare. If you’re reading this, I’m sure Mr. Williams’s art affected your life in some way. I know he affected mine.
Growing up, I had two major role models other than my parents: Bill Cosby and Robin Williams. My mother will tell you, aside from wanting to be Indiana Jones, growing up I wanted to be a comedian. As a family, we took long road trips. I would use that time to test the comedic waters with my parents, who have always been my captive audience. I would make a joke then turn to my mom, “Was that funny?” and for a long time the answer was no. We listened to old Bill Cosby records and one day it dawned on me. He just told stories and they were funny! He never laughed at his own jokes, something I always did, and the people did the laughing for him. Slowly, I started to get laughs from my mom and ever since then she has told everyone that she gave birth to her entertainment system.
The first time I heard Mr. Williams’s comedy was through my Uncle Bill. He was completely different from Cosby, but all together the same. I devoured his movies; first Disney’s Aladdin then Mrs.Doubtfire. I couldn’t wait for Hook’s release. Finally I was allowed to watch his HBO special (I think it was just on at some point and I didn’t bother to ask if it was okay that I was watching it). Granted I didn’t get most of the jokes but I didn’t have to – the man was a riot to watch regardless of what he said.
My parents and I used to watch Mork and Mindy on Nick at Night. The man was so weird, but he was the in demand outcast and I related. Weird was normal and the normal world was weird.
In grade school I learned to stifle my funny face around my peers. There was a lot of criticism that, as a child, I didn’t know how to deal with. It wasn’t until High School I felt I could be myself. My friends didn’t really understand my humor then either, but they loved me by then, so they were stuck with the weird kid who made self-deprecating jokes.
Through it all I continued to tell stories to my family, modeling them after my comedic mentors. I gravitated towards music and some of the finer points of form made their way into my stories. Finding that after I had my audience hooked, I needed to take them to a new place with a climactic arrival then set them free. A particular story I remember telling, one family vacation, about a certain Life Skills teacher is still quoted to this day.
Being a performer is hard. It’s easily, simultaneously, the most painful/joyous experience of your life being on stage. To bare your soul at the risk of utter rejection. It’s why so many of us turn to drugs and alcohol. I know for me, my alcohol addiction stemmed from needing a way to make other people’s feelings not matter to me. Drunk, I didn’t need anyone’s permission to be myself. Mr. Williams’s addiction may have been different from mine but we both relied on a substance to make us feel better about our lives. In an odd way, having a substance addiction makes me feel like I shared something with him. That makes me feel closer to humanity. It also makes his loss more personal.
I loved the Crazy Ones, the show Mr. Williams most recently starred in. The chemistry among the cast was great and Robin was the star they all revolved around. His role showed vulnerability that I imagine was very real and personal. A wonderfully successful, brilliant mind that is simultaneously panicked and driven by his ever present self-doubt. I don’t know if the show’s cancellation added to his mental state but I assume it did.
It’s a miracle anything gets green lit today. Studios spend so much money financing projects, they want to make sure they’ll not only get their money back but get a return on their investment as well. Let’s face it, not every show is as successful as Friends. The high of starting a show like The Crazy Ones and the crash of its cancellation after one season is something I don’t know if I could have bared but this is an everyday occurrence in Hollywood. Television and cinema are the free market at work and network ratings don’t account for good taste.
So what’s the point? No matter how successful someone is, no matter how many movies they’ve stared in, no matter how many lives they’ve touched we’re all still human. The older I get, the more I realize that self-doubt is a part of everybody’s daily life. The first two movies I wrote with my partner David Stewart were comedies. We wrote a sitcom together. My story, Immortal Fear, has comedy elements entwined into it. I’m still that little boy who looks up at his mom and asks if he’s funny. Every day I question it and I’m constantly reminded of the old showbiz saying, “You’re only as good as your last gig.” I don’t know the answer. If your goal is to be funny, your only source of value is external. Does any of this make me like Robin Williams? I don’t know that either. If we’re to be happy at all though, we have to find value of our selves within ourselves. Then no one can take it away, maybe that’s a part of growing up.
To me, Robin will always be Peter Pan. I pray that one day someone can find all the lost boys in Nevernever Land.
R.I.P. Robin Williams.
O Captain, My Captain.
 |
| Image: http://tinyurl.com/o2m66mo |
No comments:
Post a Comment