A Tribute to Robin Williams (1951-2014)

On the 11th of August, actor Robin Williams passed away. Aged 63 at time of death (he was pronounced dead by emergency personnel at around 12.02 pm, after he was found unconscious by his assistant fifteen minutes before), he was said to have been battling severe depression. He appeared to have finally succumbed to his inner war, taking his own life.

I am not writing this to horrify  you with technical details of toxicology reports, or even relate to you the same history of his filmography and personal life as every publication must have already done. In the past two hours alone, I have read at least seven articles repeating the same thing, one after the other, interspersed with celebrity condolence tweets to retain your interest. No, I am here to talk about why Robin Williams, as an actor, a comedian and a famous personality, was important to me.

I grew up with him. That's the best way I can put it - at the age of two, I began watching Aladdin (the first part - the sequels never quite made up for its magic), and every year, as a ritual till now (I am 18 years old), have watched it consistently along with Mulan. It was a reminder of simpler, more beautiful times, and the Genie was a wisecracking, problem-solving maniac I never grew tired of watching. I even have this ridiculous memory of my father encouraging me to put my head underwater, to be able to swim, just so I could 'see Genie and Aladdin like in the movie.' As I grew older, I began appreciating the man behind the character, his extraordinary talent in modulating voices, singing, and bringing alive a two-dimensional drawing in more ways than one.

My pre-teens saw me explore his filmography a little more - Philip Brainard had me in stitches in Flubber, Alan Parrish had me feverishly biting my nails, hoping he'd come out alive in Jumanji. I desperately wished that my dad would dress up like Mrs. Doubtfire too (in retrospect, a lot of awkward questions would have followed) and Peter Pan made me root for him loudly in Hook.

My teens saw me stare in disbelief as he became Man of the Year, giggle at him in License to Wed, and stand, tears running down my cheeks, yelling out 'O' Captain, my Captain' along with Ethan Hawke. Perhaps the most serious side, as an actor, that I saw of him was in Good Will Hunting. This was just two months ago.

I may not have watched all his films, but I'll tell you this -  he became a grandfather of sorts onscreen to me. A ridiculous sentiment, bordering on childishness, but true. Somehow, out of all the actors I admired, he seemed to tell the best stories, make me laugh out loud, losing interest in the plot entirely and just focusing on him. He was an effervescent fountain full of tricks and jokes that you'd never foresee. He offered the best advice too; to an adolescent kid, the quote "You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it" is gold. He existed quietly, in the background now as other favourite actors and movies took his place. But I thought...he'd be around for much, much longer.

Shows how much we take for granted. Appreciation for an artist's talent is something I never bothered to cultivate properly, and now that he's gone, I can only watch what I've already seen to death, and feel a pang, akin to that while listening to 'Beat It.' Moreover, his passing has prodded me viciously in the back to realize - no one is invulnerable to the sadness of life.

Who was he, I now wonder. Who was he really? It's my job now, as a media student, to ponder upon these questions. That brilliant jovial facade, the same that made Christopher Reeve laugh for the first time since recovering from his accident - what did it hide? People wear the most exquisitely crafted masks in society, some so effective that they do a wonderful job of hiding the person within. What was that darkness that rankled inside him, that prompted him to take a decision without slowing down first, without calling his wife, anyone, just to hear a word of love, of appreciation. Did he feel the blocks of uncertainty weighing him down till he could bear them no more? In Russell Brand's tribute to him, the lines "When someone gets to 63 I imagined, hoped, I suppose, that maturity would grant an immunity to adolescent notions of suicide but today I read that suicide isn’t exclusively a young man’s game'' are more poignant as ever.

As a budding journalist, I may have had the chance to meet him. I may have even become one of the vultures hounding him, but I would have met him. Talked to him, conversed, discussed. And perhaps, just perhaps, I may have been able to see what Robin Williams was really like, and dose myself with a bitter spoonful of reality, idealistic child that I still am.

The world will move on; people already have, telling me to stop being so silly, to quit depressing myself by continuously thinking of his death. But I am allowed, I will be sad for one more day. One more day to mourn one of the greatest actors of the late 20th and the 21st century. One more day to curl up with some ice cream and sing along with Genie to 'You'll Never Have a Friend Like Me'. One more day to remember and continue remembering that there are others out there like him. If there's one thing his portrayals of my favourite characters have taught me, it's that being a good friend can save another.

I'll remember that as long as I can. For now, rest in peace, Robin Williams. You've touched us all in unimaginable ways. Thank you.