There was a period in the late 1990s when Robin Williams seemed to be making one bad, sappy movie after another. This was between his Oscar-winning turn in
1997's
Good Will Hunting and his embrace of darker roles in 2002's
Insomnia and
One Hour Photo. As a longtime fan I was particularly disappointed to see him in such schmaltz as
Patch Adams,
Jakob the Liar, and
Bicentennial Man. He seemed to be creatively out of gas and working, if not strictly for the paycheck, then from some karmic desire to bring good into the world via syrupy comedy-melodramas. My respect for him
�as both actor and comedian
�was precipitously low. And I know I wasn't alone.
But in early spring of 2000, while living on New York's Upper West Side, something unusual happened. Faced with two winter-deflated tires on my Raleigh M-20, I walked the bicycle to a shop on Columbus and 81st in search of air. But when I arrived, the store was closed, its final customer being escorted to the door. He was a stocky, muscular man with grayish hair, and as he exited I knew almost immediately
�even under his bike helmet and sunglasses
�that it was Robin Williams. And he knew that I knew.
Read more �
No comments:
Post a Comment