Like so many others, I am especially saddened by Robin Williams’ death but I find myself wondering why. I have never met him. I didn’t know him. People commit suicide everyday. What is it about celebrities that makes us care about them? What is it about the death of this celebrity that touches me so deeply? There are thousands of other things I should be more concerned about; the troubles of my own friends and family; or perhaps the victims of violence in Iraq, Gaza, Israel, Libya and Syria.
The answer I come up with is quite a selfish one: for a very large part of my life Robin Williams has made me smile. As a teenager I loved his zaniness in Mork and Mindy; even if I didn’t always get the jokes. His performances in Good Morning Vietnam, Dead Poets Society, Awakenings and Patch Adams were heart-warming. He delighted my own children (and me) in Hook, Aladdin, Jumanji and Robots.
None of this is very original of course. I am one of millions who enjoyed his screen persona and the natural warmth he exuded. But what makes his death so tragic is while he worked so hard to thrill us, he himself experienced deep unhappiness.
Some think of suicide as selfish or cowardly. I do not. Suicide is an act of utter desperation born out of the loss of hope. For those with clinical depression the loss of hope may well, at times, be outright. Depression is an illness with no cure. People of faith are not exempt; the English poet and hymnodist William Cowper suffered from severe depression, he was institutionalised and attempted suicide 3 times. Such people deserve our compassion.
Celebrities pay a high price for their fame. Yes, they may choose that life. Yes, they may struggle to cope without the attention. But we, the audience, still want to be entertained. Perhaps Robin Williams is an example of someone from whom the world took too much and in that respect we are all responsible.