I’m sitting here listening as CNN Live reports on the unfortunate suicide of Robin Williams—a comedian and actor I absolutely loved because of his intelligent wit, infectious energy, and reported huge heart—and I can’t help but think to myself, there goes another one.
I grew up being a different kind of kid who never really fit in anywhere, especially not in any group of same-aged peers, which made adolescence particularly memorable. And as I’ve grown to embrace my own “uniqueness” (I actually make a living because of it now), I can’t say it’s always been easy to be gifted in ways that others don’t understand—much less accept—but it is what it is and you learn to live with it or you’ll never rise above the clichés.
We do that, you know. We’re attracted most to those who color outside the lines and live on edges where few of us dare to tread. But when the pressure becomes palpable and human beings crack under the pressure, we criticize and chatter about all the reasons why, sometimes even dogging the very star that once shined so bright. And while we immortalize those fragile statements of wide open living with bronze stars on the “Hollywood Walk of Fame” and an “in memoriam” mention during the Oscar or Grammy broadcasts, very seldom do we really care about the part we play in the tragedy.
As one of the greatest singers of our lifetime died in a hotel bathtub, we were glued to the news and every social media platform known to mankind for all the special reports one could stomach. And Lord have mercy…when Michael Jackson died it was worldwide shock and grief. Shock? REALLY!?! Comparable perhaps to when Princess Diana was slain in a Mercedes while trying to outrun the very exposure that occupied EVERY tabloid and news station reporting her funeral; all such an ironically sad statement of disrespect to her memory.
No, it’s not okay that Kurt Cobain blew his head off with a shotgun or that Janis Joplin and Jimmy Hendrix likely choked on their own vomit, while Phillip Seymour Hoffman was found dead with a needle still in his arm and Amy Winehouse might as well have been a pin cushion. And these are just a few of those who are the most visible in their magnificence and madness.
Why is it that we’re all so collectively sad, sorry, and surprised? Addiction is condoned and even glorified under the pretense of talent and privilege. Personality disorders and socially unacceptable behavior is tolerated and masked for the sake of the almighty dollar. Sexual exploitation and even statutory rape run amuck under the egregious pretense of power and position. Mental illness and sociopathy wreak at every level of the entertainment industry (let alone any other business), while we all stand by and watch videos on YouTube of teenagers setting themselves on fire…it’s the latest trend!
And what was it we were supposed to do…be our brother’s keeper?? Is this not reason enough to at least begin peeling back the layers that so desperately scream to be pruned so that perhaps artists and genius can emerge and LIVE as healthier people? Is it not possible for those of us in this industry who have the greatest resources available at our fingertips to provide better choices and examples of encouragement for those differences that push others off their proverbial creative edge?
We need to do more than praise and mourn the genius of Robin Williams. We need to honor our beloved icons who bring so much joy to millions by creating support systems that help catch those who are falling. We need to talk to each other more. We need to use the reach of our entertainment industry to shine a light on the dangers of addiction and depression and excess. We need to BE the next big trend by taking care of each other better. We need to need each other again.
Robin Williams once stated that he was an overweight child who made up voices to keep himself company. And out of that pain and isolation came one of the greatest true entertainers that our industry will ever know. On Monday he was found dead from asphyxiation with his own belt around his neck. He finally listened to that little voice that said, “Jump!”
Jan Smith
August 2014
