Back in 2009, I attended a press conference for Night at the Museum 2. The only thing I really remember about it was being annoyed by Robin Williams. He was doing his shtick, interrupting people, trying to make people laugh—trying a little too hard for an early morning presser in Washington, D.C. It was grating and, I thought at the time, a bit sad.
And now I kind of hate myself for feeling that way. Because what if he couldn't turn it off? What if he had to do it just to keep going?
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For someone my age (born: 1982), someone whose childhood moviegoing memories are dominated by Robin Williams at the height of his multiplex popularity in the 1990s, there's a great deal of sadness tonight. Williams was undoubtedly a dramatic talent, but it's not Good Morning Vietnam or Awakenings that we kids grew up with. It was the voice work of Aladdin, pumping manic energy and six jokes a minute into an otherwise kind-of-drab cartoon. It was Peter Pan grown old in Hook, a middle-aged man trying to reconnect with the child at heart—we kids could see that spark in him. We recognized something. There's the oddly prescient Toys, the heartwarming Mrs. Doubtfire, the effects-heavy action-adventure flick Jumanji. No matter the role, no matter the performance, his energy dominated the screen and demanded your attention.
There were layers, some of which we will feel compelled to say served as a precursor, a warning. There's the darkness of Death to Smoochy—that hint of rage just behind the twitching eye of the deposed and homeless Rainbow Randolph—and the pathos of Sean Maguire in Good Will Hunting. But none of us saw this coming; he was the funny man, the hilarious clown, the man-child trapped in a body five decades too big. His death is a punch to the gut.
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Williams was an Oscar-winning actor for a reason. Versatility is one of the surest signifiers of great and natural talent, and the ease with which he was able to slide between comedy and drama is legendary. Still, his triptych of darker performances in the early-2000s—Insomnia, One Hour Photo, and Death to Smoochy—were something of a revelation. No one doubted he could do drama, but this was something different, something just shy of brilliant. It was an inversion of his whole persona, an impressive statement about what he could do in front of the camera.
Williams is the second great talent we've lost too soon in 2014. I hope to hell he's the last.