For the past two days, my newsfeeds have been dominated by the death of the late great Robin Williams. There is no shame in my confession that I too have turned my thoughts toward the amazing life and body of work of this prolific entertainer.
Mr. Williams was the first A-list entertainer that I ever
saw in a live performance. To say
the show was memorizing would be an injustice – he was on fire and so was the
audience. Robin Williams is to my
generation what Jonathan Winters and George Carlin were to my parents’: edgy,
dynamic, irreverent, thought provoking, intelligent, intense, pure
entertainment.
Like so much of his life, and the comedy the fueled his
work, the death of this giant of film and stage forces us to stop and
think.
What I’ve been doing, what we’ve all been doing over the
last few days has been more than thinking. We’re mourning. I actually miss this guy whom I’ve only seen once in real
life and never actually met. What’s
wrong with this picture?
Whether we like it or not, we live a more plugged in life. In this screen-dominated reality, the
role that entertainers play in our perception of the world seems to be
shifting.
This isn’t as far a logical jump as we might think.
Consider the child who lives across country from their
beloved grandparents. When interactions
with Grandma and Grandpa are facilitated through skype, video-chat, video
messages, pictures sent through email and facebook peppered with the occasional
visit, there is a disconnect.
Really, how much different is that relationship than one with a
performer who is seen perhaps more regularly on the same devices.
Ask yourself how many of your friends do you claim you’re
“in touch with,” but in reality your interactions consist of reading each
other’s blog, following on twitter, and occasionally “liking” photos and posts
on Facebook. That’s not a
relationship folks, once upon a time that was called stalking.
Taking this one step further, each year there are fewer and
fewer reasonable arguments that violent video games influence acts of extremeviolence in schools, shopping centers, etc. It boils down to an ancient idea, that messages reinforced
over time eventually become reality.
If that’s the case as Lt. Col. Dave Grossman and his
research shows, then why can’t the same principle work the other way? The loss of a beloved entertainer may
seem more real than it used to.
Robin Williams was “an airman, a doctor, a genie, and ananny,” but for many he was also a companion, a babysitter, a mentor, and a
message of hope. For several
days we have tried to capture the feels associated with this loss. One of the
best writers I’ve ever run into happens to write a blog for my local
library, and he tackled this difficult topic with a style and grace deserving
of Mr. Williams, you should check it out here.
As for me and my house, we shall remember the joy and
vitality that Mr. Williams brought to millions. He inspired a generation by his life and turned
international attention to the very real dangers of clinical depression by his
death.
“But oh, to be free. Not to have to go…Poof! Whaddya need? Poof! Whaddya need? Poof! Whaddya need? To be my own master.” Genie, Aladdin
For those who have posted disparaging comments about or
questioning the reality of depression – I appreciate that you don’t get
it. Until you fight that battle
yourself or stand beside someone you love who wrestles those demons it’s pretty hard to grasp. But I assure you; once you’ve witnessed
the pain caused by that great abyss of mental illness you will never question
its power again.
My thoughts and prayers go out to the family, friends, and fans of Robin Williams.
And to the man himself: May you find peace wherever you are.
There is no better way to end this reflection than with words
borrowed from Mr. Williams’ own body of work, words which he in turn borrowed from
Uncle Walt.
"O Captain! my Captain! Your fearful trip is done…” Rest in peace.
Dead Poet's Society: http://youtu.be/X6y2Y9i5Sj0
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