One of the repeating themes I’ve encountered is that people cannot believe that somebody who made them laugh so much could possibly have such a sad and broken interior. There’s an obvious lack of empathy in such a position, in that these people cannot see a life beyond the surface one that they so greedily absorbed. To be a celebrity in our culture is to give up one’s interior, becoming a vessel in which the schizophrenic projections of the public push everything else out. It must get awfully stormy in there, and in the end celebrities exist as sacrifices to our need, the actual person (or self) tossed beautiful and adored into the raging, all-consuming volcano of our culture.
Williams himself said that in America they really do mythologize people when they’re dead, and prophetically, he’s now being mythologized. His death means whatever we need it to mean. For some people, it’s a clarion call to awaken the public to the insidious dangers of depression, to others it’s about the dark weight that many comedians carry with them on stage. Everybody seems to have something very real and personal that they feel in his death, but usually end up cannibalizing Williams in an attempt to find some sort of meaning, and perhaps even redemption, in this small, solitary and very sad act.
However, the one thing that seems universal is that everybody is declaring Robin Williams a genius. Although I am of the right age to have experienced the full sweep of his career, I was never much of a fan. I mean, I don’t have a favourite Robin William moment, and like a lot of people I saw a riot of pathology in his performance rather than genius. His need was so great and his onslaught so relentless, that I found it completely exhausting to watch him. He drained me, and I just wanted to hug him into stillness, letting him know that everything was going to be okay, even if it wasn’t.
His comedy was based on recognition rather than content. Middle-of-the-road and Baby Boomer friendly, he was an unfiltered convulsion of mimicry and pop culture references. He was elliptical, swinging from one character to the next before you could think about what he was actually saying, apparently being content in simply getting a reflex response from the audience instead of a contemplated one. You laughed because you recognized his characters, not so much because of what they were saying. It was nostalgic, even old-fashioned, and in a weird way I think Williams would have made for a fantastic silent movie star, so exaggerated was his stage personality. Creating the manic illusion of edge, Williams was safe and not very challenging. He had kind and vulnerable eyes, and always seemed to want to please us, for us to feel good about ourselves, and I think we loved him for that rather than his talent.
Me: That steak was good.
Rachelle: It was.
Me: Really glad I’m here cuz after the US election really didn’t feel like I’d had enough politics!
Rachelle: Haha!!
Me: What movie would u like to be watching right now?
Rachelle: Babe: Pig in the city.
Me: Yeah, that was good– no nudity though.
Rachelle: Babe was nude.
Me: True.
Me: I thought Lincoln might emancipate a nude slave or something.
Rachelle: Ur thinking Lincoln: Vampire Hunter.
Me: Nude vampire slaves? Why r we here????
Rachelle: U still in the theatre?
Me: YES!
Rachelle: Poor, brave pickle!
Me: Where are u?
Rachelle: Walking home from the subway.
Me: Why didn’t u tell me u were leaving?!
Rachelle: U were asleep. Snoring so horribly, I was embarrassed to know u.
Me: The usher has woken up 3 people that I’ve seen, so I wasn’t alone.
Rachelle: You were probably asleep for about 20 more wake-ups!
Me: Hope Lincoln gets assassinated soon.
Rachelle: That’s not very nice, he was a great American!
Me: Lots of “acting” in this movie. Wigs everywhere.
Rachelle: It’s a nice night for a stroll, and look, I just found a five dollar bill on the street!
Me: ur a very lucky woman.
Rachelle: You make your own luck, they say!
Me: I think there’s about 45 minutes left in this movie.
Rachelle: Why don’t u just leave?
Me: Still might be some tasteful nudity.
Rachelle: U want to see Lincoln nude, don’t u!
Me: No! I’m just not leaving till the slaves are free, dammit! I care!
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