R.I.P. ROBIN WILLIAMS.

And, now, we are sad.  Aw geez. This is a shock to everybody, a blow to the national funny bone with a shovel out of the darkness. From the LA Times: Robin Williams, a comic and sitcom star in the 1970s who became an Oscar-winning dramatic actor, died Monday at 63 in Marin County. The Marin County Sheriff's Office said he appears to have committed suicide.

Man.

Okay, brothers and sisters, we have come here to praise Mr. Williams.

Robin Williams was at his best when he was on improv overdrive, making it up as he went along, a big wheel on fire rolling down a highway of funny. Director Barry Levinson knew that and that's why Robin Williams' on air bits as wacky airman military disc jockey Adrian Cronhauer are some of the best on the spot comedy you will ever see. Williams was never so happy and amazing as when he was holding onto the wings of his talent, flying: 

Amazing. When that scene hit in the movie theater, the world of comedy shook.

In 1980, Williams was at the height of his early t.v. stardom as Mork From Ork and looking for something to break him free of the television prison, to make that leap to the big screen. So, why not Popeye? It crashed and burned, horribly. Time, however, has been kind, and it has developed a cult following. And Robin, squint eyed, mumbling, disappears into the role.

Surprisingly, my daughter, ten when she saw it, loved that film. Robin made my daughter like an Altman film. Amazing.

And speaking of flying, unleashed from the shackles of live action and given the freedom of voicing a big blue genie, Robin Williams gave, what I think, is one of the fastest, most outstanding comedic performances EVER.

It's like watching a jet zip across the sky.

For all his radiated joy, down under the clown was a deep well of sadness, from which Williams would draw from to play some of his darkest, most rewarding roles. The obsessive schlemiel in One Hour Photo, the psychotic killer toying with Al Pacino in Insomnia...or this one. A man's awful son accidentally dies, Robin's character passes off his writing as the dead boy's and attains a twisted, sad kind of celebrity. The scene where Williams discovers his son's body is a devastating reminder of just how great an actor Robin Williams could be. The film is brutally funny. And also, Bruce Hornsby.

Damn, he was good.

And speaking of flying, getting back to the laughs, here he is on Whose Line:

*sigh*

Robin Williams was 63. America's jester is dead. Long may he reign.

"The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow."