If it wasn’t for our various social networks, I would have thought I was losing my mind this afternoon. This death hit me so incredibly deeply, so physically that I couldn’t breathe or see straight at first. But then I checked twitter and saw that it seemed to be hitting us all that way. I think this was because he was, for many of us, our comedy dad. He was the trickster, funny, chaotic father figure in several of the formative films of our childhood, and those roles tended to encourage us to follow our inner dreams of fancy and weirdness. That is literally the thesis statement of Dead Poet’s Society. Mrs. Doutbfire told us that being an actor in SAN FRANCISCO would make our dreams (eventually) come true! Hook? He has to remember and then become his true, unusual self in order to SAVE THE DAY AND HIS ENTIRE FAMILY! Jumanji doesn’t really fit here, it’s just one of the scariest movies I have ever seen 20+ times. But then we remember Good Will Hunting (that movie two random idiots from Boston wrote and everyone told him to stay away from??) AND WE’RE BACK! Follow your damn dreams! Be great! Be big! Be fucking weird as fuck, god damn it! He is, in a very real way, why most of my friends and I are leading the lives we are leading. But even if you aren’t a weirdo comedian, and you never saw him in person, nor met him ‘in real life’, he meant something very real and personal to us all of us. He was our Comedy Dad. But this is especially true for all us weirdos who were swayed by his magic to follow, in some small way, his footsteps. Thank you, Robin. I am not mad at you, I am just genuinely overwhelmed with grief.
I love you, my dear and beautiful friends.
And please, do not kill yourself.