I won’t go into details of my relationship with Robin because I’ve spelled them out many times already on this blog, but I was in improv classes with him. And after class would get something to eat with him and others in the group. Later I had a movie idea I thought he’d be great for and he invited me up to his ranch in Northern California to discuss it, but the timing never worked out -- he went off to do some other project, and I was involved with something else.
The thing I always said about Robin (and they touch briefly on this) was that he had an on-and-off switch. During class he was the zany brilliant Robin we all know, but later in the restaurant he was quiet as a church mouse. Funny but at the time I almost felt a little cheated. It’s like if you were hanging with Frank Sinatra in the ‘50s (and he couldn’t get you girls) you’d at least want to hear him sing.
But after watching the documentary I got a new perspective. Looking back, I’m now somewhat thankful he wasn’t “on.” Because my reaction to the two-hour profile was that it was exhausting. Robin was truly a force of nature and it seems almost tragically inevitable that a light that bright would burn itself out, but it was comforting to see he had quiet moments along the way and that his life wasn’t just one super intense fever dream.
The end of course is so sad. For the extraordinary gift that he was bestowed it came with a very steep price. This documentary is filled with rare footage (even stuff with my improv classmates Andy Goldberg, Wendy Cutler, Paul Willson, and Susan Elliott), and even revelations. Like everyone else, I always assumed Robin left his first wife for his son’s nanny, but it turns out he and his wife had been separated for a year before he began a relationship with the nanny.
If you love Robin Williams (and who doesn’t), treat yourself to this profile of a once-in-a-lifetime entertainer.
from By Ken Levine
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