We live in a world where celebrity gossip is everywhere. You can't
get away from it! Because, even though you hate it, you totally follow
all of those Instagrams and Twitters of celebrities and People Magazine
and E!. I mean, what are celebrities for if not to obsess very their
every move right? Okay, so they make movies and music and give amazing
amounts to charity, but the point is, we constantly miss the point and
think the fact that they went on a family vacation is so intriguing. I
mean, who does that? Only the rich and famous. Duh. And almost any
other family. But I digress.
In this world, we almost live vicariously through celebrities. We follow how they dress, which mansion they're in now, and, new to the 21st century, we follow their every moment (thanks, social media!). But, let's face it, a lot of the time, you're making fun of them. I mean, the Biebster. Prime example.
A couple of years ago, Oprah Winfrey came to my school's campus (it was thrilling knowing at any one time that day, I was a mile away from Oprah, breathing the same air as she was). I was excited. I just get sucked up into pop culture and I just love it. I can't help it. My roommate, however, is a little less mainstream.
"What's the big deal? I mean, she's just another person."
"Okay, well, yeah, but it's Oprah."
"Yeah, a regular woman. So?"
"BUT IT'S OPRAH!"
A few years earlier than that, another friend of mine who was also less than mainstream had mentioned how weird it was that we mourn celebrity deaths.
"People die every day. Shouldn't we be mourning their deaths, too?"
To be totally honest, that has stuck with me for a while. Not to mention I can sometimes be pretty easily swayed into thinking my thought process is wrong, especially in those uncomfortable middle school times, which is when this person said that. So, I kind of bucked up and realized that going deep into mourning for a celebrity is useless unless you're going to mourn everyone ever. I mean, it's not like you knew the person person. Just what they'd do for the camera.
As time went on, my thought process about it shifted. It started to really shift when, earlier this year, I got the news of Phillip Seymour Hoffman's death. I mean, the man that defied type casting. Then, Sid Caesar died, the genius that helped the genius, Mel Brooks, become known!
Then, Monday evening, just as I was about to clean the kitchen from our evening's meal, my mom utters 4 deafening words.
Robin Williams is dead.
Robin Williams.
Mrs. Doubtfire.
Teddy Roosevelt.
Bob Munro.
Fender.
Genie.
Andrew Martin.
Patch Adams.
Sean Maguire.
Professor Philip Brainard.
Jack Powell.
Alan Parrish.
Leslie Zevo.
Peter Banning.
Parry.
Popeye.
John Keating.
Adrian Cronauer.
Mork.
Robin Williams was the first celebrity name my brother and I became familiar with. During the time actors were simply "hey, he/she plays on.... yeah, he/she play the..." Robin Williams was my introduction to comedy and acting. From his captivating transformation from the fun dad to the responsible parent in Mrs. Doubtfire, to his totally fun performance of Genie in Aladdin, to his heartbreaking speech in Good Will Hunting, and his hilarious role in Toys. Many critics found a lot of flops in his work, but there, genuinely, isn't a movie of his that my brother and I don't love. We grew up with him.
It's thanks to Robin Williams that I can be confident in the choices I make as an actor, because he played all across the board. It's thanks to him that I want a barrel of laughs in my casket when I'm being buried so that the last thing you hear from me is laughter (if you've not seen TOYS, go watch it now!). It's thanks to him I feel I can be open about my demons. Because, until this devastating blow, we thought he was being open about them. I can have the mind that I have thanks to him. I know that voice acting is more than standing behind a mic thanks to him. I understand the importance it is to simply be present thanks to him.
Until Monday, going into mourning because of a celebrity death seemed strange. Of course you would be sad and you would pray for all of those close to that person. But you don't know them know them, so why would you mourn them?
Until Monday.
Monday, I felt deep hurt. Now, it seems unreal. It seems impossible that, as Meryl Streep put it, an unstoppable force has stopped. That the first actor I have ever looked up to, the first comedian I have ever wanted to be, the first person to teach me how to blend comedy and acting together, is gone.
No, I didn't know him personally. But, in my weird antics (some including being a guest on a Late Night talk show int eh shower), I had met Robin Williams. We became best buds and he said "man, Mary, you're funny!" In my childhood, I grew up with him. He was like my on-screen father. He shared himself with the world. He put himself into every character, performance, film he has ever done and it feels like I knew him extremely well. It feels like we were best buds. It feels like I lost a loved one.
Because I did.
I lost a mentor, a friend, a great guy.
So, I say it's okay to mourn a celebrity death. Because we do get to know them extremely well. They put their whole selves out there constantly. Their art constantly contains their whole heart.
Losing Robin Williams is losing a dear friend to me. He has taught me so much. How can I not mourn?
Robin Williams. Greatest man Hollywood had to offer. You will be missed and always remembered.
Thanks for everything.
Robin Williams suffered from depression toward the end. If you, or anyone you know (even if its just a hunch) is suffering, never hesitate to seek help. Whether from friends or family, a doctor, the suicide prevention hotline (800-273-8255), or even if you need to talk to a stranger, I'm here too. Facebook message me, tweet at me, whatever at any time. I never want you to have to suffer as Robin did.
Remember, you are loved. Immensely.
In this world, we almost live vicariously through celebrities. We follow how they dress, which mansion they're in now, and, new to the 21st century, we follow their every moment (thanks, social media!). But, let's face it, a lot of the time, you're making fun of them. I mean, the Biebster. Prime example.
A couple of years ago, Oprah Winfrey came to my school's campus (it was thrilling knowing at any one time that day, I was a mile away from Oprah, breathing the same air as she was). I was excited. I just get sucked up into pop culture and I just love it. I can't help it. My roommate, however, is a little less mainstream.
"What's the big deal? I mean, she's just another person."
"Okay, well, yeah, but it's Oprah."
"Yeah, a regular woman. So?"
"BUT IT'S OPRAH!"
A few years earlier than that, another friend of mine who was also less than mainstream had mentioned how weird it was that we mourn celebrity deaths.
"People die every day. Shouldn't we be mourning their deaths, too?"
To be totally honest, that has stuck with me for a while. Not to mention I can sometimes be pretty easily swayed into thinking my thought process is wrong, especially in those uncomfortable middle school times, which is when this person said that. So, I kind of bucked up and realized that going deep into mourning for a celebrity is useless unless you're going to mourn everyone ever. I mean, it's not like you knew the person person. Just what they'd do for the camera.
As time went on, my thought process about it shifted. It started to really shift when, earlier this year, I got the news of Phillip Seymour Hoffman's death. I mean, the man that defied type casting. Then, Sid Caesar died, the genius that helped the genius, Mel Brooks, become known!
Then, Monday evening, just as I was about to clean the kitchen from our evening's meal, my mom utters 4 deafening words.
Robin Williams is dead.
Robin Williams.
Mrs. Doubtfire.
Teddy Roosevelt.
Bob Munro.
Fender.
Genie.
Andrew Martin.
Patch Adams.
Sean Maguire.
Professor Philip Brainard.
Jack Powell.
Alan Parrish.
Leslie Zevo.
Peter Banning.
Parry.
Popeye.
John Keating.
Adrian Cronauer.
Mork.
Robin Williams was the first celebrity name my brother and I became familiar with. During the time actors were simply "hey, he/she plays on.... yeah, he/she play the..." Robin Williams was my introduction to comedy and acting. From his captivating transformation from the fun dad to the responsible parent in Mrs. Doubtfire, to his totally fun performance of Genie in Aladdin, to his heartbreaking speech in Good Will Hunting, and his hilarious role in Toys. Many critics found a lot of flops in his work, but there, genuinely, isn't a movie of his that my brother and I don't love. We grew up with him.
It's thanks to Robin Williams that I can be confident in the choices I make as an actor, because he played all across the board. It's thanks to him that I want a barrel of laughs in my casket when I'm being buried so that the last thing you hear from me is laughter (if you've not seen TOYS, go watch it now!). It's thanks to him I feel I can be open about my demons. Because, until this devastating blow, we thought he was being open about them. I can have the mind that I have thanks to him. I know that voice acting is more than standing behind a mic thanks to him. I understand the importance it is to simply be present thanks to him.
Until Monday, going into mourning because of a celebrity death seemed strange. Of course you would be sad and you would pray for all of those close to that person. But you don't know them know them, so why would you mourn them?
Until Monday.
Monday, I felt deep hurt. Now, it seems unreal. It seems impossible that, as Meryl Streep put it, an unstoppable force has stopped. That the first actor I have ever looked up to, the first comedian I have ever wanted to be, the first person to teach me how to blend comedy and acting together, is gone.
No, I didn't know him personally. But, in my weird antics (some including being a guest on a Late Night talk show int eh shower), I had met Robin Williams. We became best buds and he said "man, Mary, you're funny!" In my childhood, I grew up with him. He was like my on-screen father. He shared himself with the world. He put himself into every character, performance, film he has ever done and it feels like I knew him extremely well. It feels like we were best buds. It feels like I lost a loved one.
Because I did.
I lost a mentor, a friend, a great guy.
So, I say it's okay to mourn a celebrity death. Because we do get to know them extremely well. They put their whole selves out there constantly. Their art constantly contains their whole heart.
Losing Robin Williams is losing a dear friend to me. He has taught me so much. How can I not mourn?
Robin Williams. Greatest man Hollywood had to offer. You will be missed and always remembered.
Thanks for everything.
Robin Williams suffered from depression toward the end. If you, or anyone you know (even if its just a hunch) is suffering, never hesitate to seek help. Whether from friends or family, a doctor, the suicide prevention hotline (800-273-8255), or even if you need to talk to a stranger, I'm here too. Facebook message me, tweet at me, whatever at any time. I never want you to have to suffer as Robin did.
Remember, you are loved. Immensely.
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