A Spark of Madness
The Legacy of Robin Williams
Until yesterday, I championed this celebration of the slightly insane.
Now that Robin Williams has become a victim of his own madness, this quote means something altogether different.
My whole life, I admired Robin Williams’ approach to madness. He embraced it, recognizing it as the source of his muse, and accessing it to bring prolific joy to the world.
We all laughed when he shared his madness with us.
What a heavy burden he bore, stoking the flames of his madness so that he could bring us joy, even at the risk of his own sanity and balance.
“Cocaine is God’s way of letting you know that you make too much money.”
— Robin Williams
This man was talented beyond measure, and his study of the dramatic art spanned broader than the genre of comedy. Comedy was where he found fame, notoriety, and an outlet for his genius, his madness, and his incredible energy.
Bobby McFerrin once called him “the most talented man I ever knew.” That’s like Michelangelo saying, “That Da Vinci is one hell of a good sculptor.”
During his time at Juilliard, Robin Williams and Christopher Reeve were the only two actors in the Advanced program. When he returned to the Actor’s Studio for an interview, and was asked what his favorite sound was, he said, “My wife’s laugh.” I always liked him for that.
Robin Williams knew how to nurture his spark of madness, how to fan it into a flame, and how to dazzle an audience with its brilliance. He was a master of his craft, and although he may have died at the hands of his madness, I still count him as a hero, for being willing to court his madness as a partner in his living.
A joke by Rorschach, from the Watchmen:
I heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor.
Says he’s depressed.
Says life is harsh and cruel.
Says he feels all alone in a threatening world.
Doctor says, “Treatment is simple.
The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight.
Go see him.
That should pick you up.”
Man bursts into tears.
Says, “But doctor… I am Pagliacci.”
Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.
I wish that his life hadn’t ended this way.
I wish that as I introduce my children to his brilliant films, I could celebrate his genius as I experienced it growing up, with innocence and joy.
I wish he had stayed, not only to continue sharing his genius with us, but also to end his story in a better way.
But that’s selfish of me.
I wanted Robin Williams to be only a theatrical genius, instead of a cautionary tale, because I preferred him that way. Now he serves as a warning. Although your madness may give you incredible energy and fame and riches, madness is unstable, dangerous, and sometimes cruel.
(That’s the part of madness I try to ignore. Again, that’s selfish of me.)
The life and career of Robin Williams helped me to romanticize madness as an eccentric’s gateway to brilliance.
Now I see madness differently, as a form of chaos, an energy that may work for a long time; but ultimately, even a spark of madness cannot be trusted with your life.
