To call him funny somehow seems like an understatement. In peak form, Robin Williams was transcendentally hilarious. His movies tickled the funny bones of all those among us, from the beleaguered businessman to the restless kid to the old and wizened. Perhaps that's because there was a healthy dose of all three of those people in Williams himself. There was the jubilant child in "Jack," an overgrown man-boy whose rare aging disorder traps a spirited kid in the body of a man. Then there was the corporate ladder climbing character he played in "Hook," a man whose singular ambition clouds the things that really matter. And finally, there was the role for which he won the Best Supporting Actor Academy Award: Sean Maguire in "Good Will Hunting, a deeply humane therapist whose paternal warmth and encouragement guides the film's main character toward a life of fulfillment.
Public self and private self
But beneath Williams' many faces – beneath the Mrs. Doubtfires and Patch Adamses – there was one he kept to himself: that of a man in pain. Williams died on Monday after reportedly committing suicide, according to NBC News. His death came as both an enormous tragedy and an outright shock to the general public. Because Williams kept his personal demons to himself, few could make sense of why he'd chosen to take his own life. Nobody knew about the years he reportedly battled deep depression, or the recent and ultimately insurmountable episode he'd fallen into. As with other notable figures who've died recently – Philip Seymour Hoffman and Cory Monteith among them – with Williams there emerges a great sense of discord between his public persona and his private life. In films, on stage and on television, Williams shared the best version of himself. Beneath that was a man who struggled terribly.
Out of Williams' struggles, however, we have the fruit of his labors: living, breathing performances that reverberate with humor and truth. In 1989's "Dead Poets Society," Williams – playing a high school teacher – tells his students, "Poetry, beauty, romance, love – these are what we stay alive for." He proceeds to quote a verse from Walt Whitman, before asking his students, "What will your verse be?"
Celebration of Williams' life marred by Internet attacks on daughter
In the wake of Williams' death, many verses poured out from sources all around the world. Within the cybersphere, the global chorus mainly sang Williams' praises, recalled his affecting performances, and wished his family well. All, that is, except for a few. Unfortunately, as is the case with many tragedies, Williams' death brought out the worst in a select few but vocal people. According to KFOR, Williams' daughter, Zelda Williams, began receiving hateful messages through Twitter about her father. So cruel were these troll attacks that she decided to suspend her various social media accounts, and issued a statement criticizing those who exploited the tragedy.
"In this difficult time, please try to be respectful of the accounts of myself, my family and my friends," she wrote. "Mining our accounts for photos of dad, or judging me on the number of them is cruel and unnecessary."
Williams' verse was a lively one
For Williams, his own verse is decades long, and it tells the story of a man who worked through personal pain to bring joy to the lives of so many. Born in 1951 in Chicago, Williams got his start as a stand-up comedian before booking a lead role in the television show "Mork and Mindy." Williams' Hollywood breakthrough came with his leading role in Robert Altman's 1980 film "Popeye." As the forearm-heavy sailor, Williams infused the time-worn character with new life, a bold and boisterous spirit that could only come from Williams himself (see what we mean with this clip from the films song "I Yam What I Yam"). With the debut of "Popeye" Williams introduced himself as a formidable comic force, and a slew of similarly zany roles followed in films like "Jumanji," "Mrs. Doubtfire," and "Flubber."
It was with his dramatic roles, however, that Williams proved he was just as attuned to pathos as humor. In "Good Will Hunting," his performance is muted compared with the manic characters he played in the '80s. For his nuanced work in the film, Williams deservedly won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor. Breathlessly accepting the statue, Williams told the crowd, "This may be the one time I'm speechless." Fortunately for us, he's right. What he leaves us with is a large body of work that articulates – sometimes with sadness, sometimes with humor, but always with grace – what it is to love life.
