The Miracle of Robin Williams
The Scoop features personal essays on movie-centric topics.
By Kevin Prchal
As I move through the tangles of adulthood, there are certain sensory experiences that anchor me to my youth. Specific things that jolt me from the boggy depths of Mortgage Payment Land and back into the shoes of that kid who saw the world with an uncomplicated lens of wonder and joy.
The sound of a cracking bat at a baseball game. The smell of a comic book store. The taste of nachos at a public pool. The sight of my Mom’s decorations at Christmas. The cool autumn air against my face on a bike ride.
But of all the things great and small that transport me, there is one larger-than-life experience that serves as a certifiable time machine back to my childhood—and that’s the experience of Robin Williams.
A storm cloud of creativity and empathy
I say experience because let’s be honest: he was something to be experienced.
His voice, perfectly distinct and gifted at filling or quieting any scene he was given. His face, containing a circuitry of empathy and an unfailing power to make me gut-laugh and cry in the span of a single monologue. His brain, like a storm cloud of creativity, thundering through the hearts of the generations who were lucky enough to stand in its path.
Just look at the faces of Johnny Carson and David Letterman when he was a guest on their shows. Listen to the cast and crew of Mrs. Doubtfire lose it as he riffs his way through scenes. Feel the stillness of Matt Damon as Robin levels him with his Oscar-winning monologue in Good Will Hunting.
He had a gift unlike anything the world had seen. And it was that gift that changed, guided, and affirmed me in more ways than one.
What I learned from Robin
In Dead Poets Society and Good Will Hunting, he showed me that it was OK to be the deeply-feeling person I’ve always been. That by igniting the passion in yourself—on a desk or in a cave—you can inspire and ignite the passion in others. And that by wearing your heart on your sleeve and every emotion that comes with it, there will always be new truths to uncover about yourself and others (even if it comes at the risk of your paintings being ridiculed).
Similarly, in Hook and The Birdcage, he demonstrated the importance of accepting yourself. That hiding from who you are is a one-way fairy ride to disappointing your loved ones and sword-fighting skunk-haired teenagers. And that revealing and embracing who you are will only set you free and, if you’re lucky, set the stage for Gene Hackman dancing in drag.
As Daniel Hillard in Mrs. Doubtfire and Adrian in Good Morning, Vietnam, he demonstrated the virtue of absurdity in dark times. That even when you find yourself at rock bottom, you can dress like an old woman, do your best impression of a hot dog and drive-by-fruit your way out of there. And that even in wartime, the darkest of times—a little rapid-fire nonsense goes a long way when everyone’s reality is already a little blurry.
And even in the roles of his seedier characters like Seymour in One Hour Photo and Rainbow Randolph in Death to Smoochy, the very fact that it was Robin Williams behind them encouraged me to seek the humanity in all people. That, yes, even sociopathic film developers and deranged kids TV show hosts carry a deep longing for love and connection that hasn’t been met.
In short: both in childhood and adulthood, Robin Williams taught me how to carpe the hell out of the diem.
His impact on his co-stars
So I got to wondering: If he had such a profound impact on me as a kid watching his movies, what type of impact did he have on the kids acting alongside him in those movies? I reached out to a few of his former co-stars to learn more.
The Dead Poet
When Gale Hansen stepped onto the set of Peter Weir’s Dead Poets Society, he was 28 years old with little screen acting pedigree behind him. I imagine stepping onto a set at any age comes with a textbook filled with anxieties, but it wasn’t long before Robin Williams tore up that proverbial book and put Hansen at ease. “On set, he was immediately and entirely open, engaging and supportive of everyone,” Hansen said. “Off screen, he was kind, generous and as authentically sweet as he was funny.” Watching this film, the chemistry between Robin and his students is undeniable, so it’s heartening to know that chemistry existed both on and off the screen.
The Dice-Roller
If you were a child actor in the ‘90s, I have to imagine being offered a role involving a board game, one of the world’s biggest movie stars, and a scene where you turn into a monkey was about as good as it could get. And that’s precisely the role Bradley Pierce got as Peter Shepherd in the 1995 action comedy Jumanji. Not only did he gain global fame for the role, but also a mentor in Robin Williams. “He went out of his way to make me feel comfortable and respected, even at my young age,” Pierce said, “I will always remember how generous he was with his time, talents and energy.”
The Best Friend
In Jack, Robin plays a 10-year-old boy who suffers from a rare disease in which his body accelerates at a rapid pace beyond his age. (This might seem like a far-out concept if it wasn’t made by the same guy who made Apocalypse Now.) Anyways, in the movie, he has a best friend named Louis who was played by actor Adam Zolotin. For Adam, the experience of working with Robin was unforgettable. “He never treated me like a little kid,” he said. “He treated me like his co-star.” Beyond their bond as co-stars, fast forward several years and Robin was there to write a college recommendation for Adam that got him the scholarship he needed to get into the theater program at Hartford University. “He was the best,” Adam said.
A tour guide for how to be human
Just like Peter in Hook, I’m grown now and can’t help but be my own Peter Banning from time to time. But whether it be a bike ride in the fall, catching a last-minute minor league game with my family in the summer, or ugly crying at Robin’s park bench monologue from Good Will Hunting on YouTube for the 100th time, it’s a good feeling to know I’ll always have access to my inner-Pan.
When he took his own life in 2014, the sadness I felt was far from a passing feeling. This was someone who, for most of my life, had more or less been a tour guide for how to be human. Even as I type this, I pause to wonder if I’m being dramatic. But his presence loomed so large in our culture and in my life that it’s impossible to deny.
Robin Williams was a once-in-a-lifetime talent with a gift that, by some miracle, despite him having a troubled inner-life, became a radiant and vitalizing gift to us all. If Tom Hanks is America’s Dad, Robin was America’s best friend. And we ain’t never gonna have a friend like him again.
Kevin Prchal is the editor-in-chief of Cinema Sugar.