Like many of you, I opened my web browser and saw the headline about Robin Williams' death.
My six year old daughter had just come off her Aladdin rotation a couple of days ago. You know, when the kids watch the same movie over and over again for a week straight.
I was marveling at his Genie, secretly wondering which parts were improv and which were scripted, if any of it was scripted.
I don't know if any one entertainer has had an effect on my life such as Robin Williams.
As a child and pre-teen, I reveled in his antics watching Mork & Mindy.
As much as I ultimately came to love everything George Carlin, it was both Eddie Murphy's first two albums and Robin's An Evening at the Met (1986) that sealed my standup fate. I just didn't know it yet.
I was already a radio DJ wanna be when Good Morning Vietnam (1987) made it official; I was going to be on the radio no matter what...and, like many people, I could recite almost all of Robin's Adrian Cronauer riffs.
Dead Poet's Society (1989) both made me cry and made me proud of my unknowing friend, Robin. I had never met him, but I was so proud of him as the world had to stand up and take notice of the Club Paradise comedic actor. Everyone had to give his acting credit, if they hadn't already with Moscow on the Hudson.
I remember being in awe of him in Good Will Hunting and What Dreams May Come.
I loved that I could share him with my son, going back to Aladdin, then with Hook, Mrs. Doubtfire, Flubber and Bicentennial Man. Man, my son wouldn't stop watching Bicentennial Man for months. I think I'm going to go watch it when I'm finished writing this.
And, of course, along the way there was Comic Relief.
Robin Williams represented legitimacy to comedy. He was a comedian first, last and always, but he was so much more. He was a legitimate actor, a legitimate star.
He was also an alcoholic, drug addict and severely depressed.
I don't know if there are more than two people on the planet that could tell you if his depression caused him to start the drinking and drugs, or if his addictions caused his depression.
It doesn't really matter; either way, it's tragic.
Is there any good that can come out of this? Can we take something away from this horrible tragedy?
I think, first, a death of this magnitude brings to light a very difficult subject: depression. And, as cliche as it sounds, if even one person decides to get help, rather than take their own life, then there was some good that came out of Williams' death.
Please, I implore you, if you even think you might be depressed...get help! The stigma that you're weak if you admit you need help is so over and so, well, stupid. It's your LIFE we're talking about. So, you need therapy or medication, or both. So what? Get it! Get the help you need. Talk to someone, anyone! Talk to me if you don't have anyone else.
The other thing is much less important in the grand scheme, but not any less true. Robin Williams set a standard. He set a standard that all us performers should strive to achieve.
I hope that you and I can win an Oscar, Golden Globes, have 102 credits on IMDB.com and get all the accolades Robin received. But that's not what I'm talking about.
Robin worked really hard. He made his comedy look effortless, with his stream of consciousness rantings, but those in the business know he practiced all of that.
He could have easily gone the route of the comedy movie guy, bouncing around from silly movie to silly movie, but he didn't. He stretched himself and did dramatic roles that will be remembered forever, and he was rewarded with an Oscar.
He also received the Cecil B. DeMille award in 2005. The previous ten winners of that award were: Sophia Loren, Sean Connery, Dustin Hoffman, Shirley MacLaine, Jack Nicholson, Barbara Streisand, Al Pacino, Harrison Ford, Gene Hackman and Michael Douglas.
Not bad company to be in.
When you think about your career, think about working as hard as Robin Williams. Give it your all, like he did.
Goodbye, Robin. May you Rest in Peace. You will be sadly missed.
Nanu, nanu.
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