The Painful Solitude of Thespian Laughter

Robin Williams passed away. His death reverberated through the hearts of those who enjoyed his wit and followed his humor. His abrupt farewell left a sad enigma and a space void of adequate reasons that made it difficult to understand the last event of his life. We are left with conjectures of different shades and a chunk of matter to reflect upon. Mine is his humor, a deep philosophical wit portrayed in many of his films such as “Dead Poets Society”, “Good Will Hunting”, “Mrs. Doubtfire” and “Patch Adams” to name a few. Although a prefabricated script has been set before actors deliver their lines, some of them are allowed to inject their own thoughts, perspective and personality. Such is the case of Williams; the end products from which have often been always thought provoking, profound and exhilirating.
There is a thin border between laughter and loneliness. Perhaps this explains why tears are shed during moments of excessive laughter and times of bitter sadness. A person who suffers from a manic-depressive disorder shifts intermittently between mirth and depression, giggles and groans. When this occurs, the stable lines of reason are somewhat altered to that of a vague orientation. Confusion sets in. Then every mood and emotion becomes a blur of gray, a whimsical experience of internal chaos that are non-consolable, non-transferrable and without any true medication.
It is highly probable that Williams entered through this phase, a one-way conviction that the only life worth living is non-existence, an irrevocable belief that the only panacea against pain is the destruction of anything that feels pain. Since real death has no scientific witness and no one has sufficient credibility to expose its true nature, it has always been assumed that death is the end of pain; hence, the only succinct explanation for self-immolation. When the meaning of life dissipates in senselessness and solitude becomes an unbearable plight, no amount of wisdom or wit can redeem us from self destruction. The value of human existence is contingent upon meaning. When that meaning disappears, human existence becomes unbearable.
Laughter has been known as the best medicine, an antidote against the troughs of diurnal stress, a prophylaxis against human duress. We enjoy the atmosphere of a good laugh, bask in the company of a funny person, and smile when a laudable joke is cracked. What we sometimes are not aware of is that many of those who possess a true and profound sense of humor are also those who tend to ponder into the bottomless questions about the infinite dilemmas and queries of life. The person who sees the brighter side of life is the same person who lives the darkness of our daily humdrum. Those who can cast light upon the funny shades of human existence are also those who dwell within the cracks and crevices of human imperfection. They tend to have a deeper sense of agony and ecstasy that both emerge from a better ability to see beyond what common people see and feel more deeply than most of us experience. The best comedians are oftentimes unrecognized sages we fail to appreciate. Laughter is indeed the best medicine. Yet from its source is an inert poison, the antidote of which does not exist in this life. The pain of solitude is a pain that knows no remedy, knows no palliative and knows no cure.
“Dr. Patch Adams” is just one of the numerous Robin Williams films that have left me with a deep impression. Despite some claims that the real person behind the film did not totally agree with Williams depiction of Dr. Patch Adams, the performance of what Williams knew succeeded in transposing a message that in the midst of affliction and human suffering, it is important that true healing extend beyond medicine and that human redemption is only possible through a holistic approach. We cannot separate flesh from spirit, illness from health, and suffering from comfort. As a health care worker, confronted with this reality for almost three years now, the best experiences I had was when I accepted the client not as a sick person but as a human being who happens to be sick. And despite their illness, there are residues of good health that can still be extracted as the best remedy against their own malfunctions and disorders. And in the midst of all these, when we do not quit on them, we somewhat become more effective agents in giving meaning to their existence, no matter how miniscule it may appear.
Unlike Williams, I can only try to be funny. Until I reach the borders of his ability to see the total perspective of human life and view all the comic trinkets that it involves, I can only attempt to unravel the smile behind a growl, the gladness behind pain, and the well-being behind the drab masks of crabbiness and grouch. Everytime I go to work, I pray and attempt to be with the totality of my clients, the resident of where I work. And like Patch Adams, I can only address their illness when I address who they are, despite their confusion and despite their irrational aggression.
“You – you alone will have the stars as no one else has them…In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night… You – only you – will have the stars that can laugh”.
This is a verse that Williams used in one of his performances, a thought he borrowed from Antoine Saint-Exupery’s “The Little Prince”, a book that I cherished and read more than once. Williams could certainly claim that his legacy in life is that of laughter, a special genre of wisdom belonging to the adroit souls who can set aside their own selves for the craft they profess to have. His was not slapstick or an appeal to stupidity or a trite use of the obvious. His was that of a deep skill that observes the oddities of life and bends them within the prisms of a humor that enlightens and makes us think. His genre was that of a certain philosophy that crackles on its own failures and flaws. His was that of a certain hilarity that is thought provoking and empowering.
Despite the riddles of his acute exit, I prefer to linger upon his divergent existence. Not that I refuse to see the thorns he passed through, but I prefer to wallow upon the laurels of his selfless performance. Although cynics could claim that he probably did all these because of cash, Williams still elicited the conviction that what he did was somewhat good for mankind. And I do agree. Expert thespians are thespians because of their ability to merge themselves into what they have to show, an ability only attained through an actual and existential immersion of human values whereby a performance cannot be totally acted upon without some true to life experience of such facts. Either through observation, absorption or internalization, an actor cannot pass through his performance without being affected by what he does. Art imitates life, yet life is art in itself.