Nanu Nanu, Robin. The Obligatory Suicide Post.

Look, a new posting on FugitiveLex! As elusive and pointed as a unicorn, 
just not nearly as pretty or sought-after.

Hi Ray,

It seems that we have fallen victim to Newton’s dastardly First Law of Motion. But we can overcome it!  We can turn this boat around, turn those frowns upside down, and turn down for what? Nothing! Are you ready to get your crunk on, boyee? Then let us commence the process of converting our inertia into momentum.

After so long an absence, we should start with something light and easy. “Low hanging fruit” as Action Item List-making corporate speakers might say.  In light of my world famous acumen for small talk, I thought I’d toss out the first softball to get us going again:

Suicide.

Like a good little lawyer, I guess I should define my terms. For the purposes of this blog entry, suicide shall be a volitional act by a person with the intent to cause his or her own imminent or immediate death, successfully performed. The element of intent must be present. Sonny Bono was volitionally skiing near Tahoe when he collided with a tree and died, but it legitimately appeared to be an accident. Cigarette smoking doesn’t count because it fails to satisfy both the intent requirement and the timing requirement.  It may well kill you, but it’s going to take its sweet time about it and that’s probably not why you’re doing it anyway.

Drugs are kind of a gray area. Did Philip Seymour Hoffman or Cory Monteith actually mean to die from their last high? Absent a suicide note, there’s no way to know. Both seem to have merely been tragic accidents like Sonny Bono’s.  Volitional action followed closely by death.

The recent death of the deservedly much-loved comedian and actor Robin Williams leaves little doubt as to whether it was suicide or not. I don’t believe the public has a right or need to know the details of any family’s greatest tragedy, so I won’t rehash the methods employed, but it is clear that Robin Williams deliberately died at his own hand. In many ways, some of which I cannot quite put my finger on, his death feels different than the others I’ve mentioned.

Celebrities die a lot. I don’t think their death rate is disproportionately higher than us regular folk, we’re just unaware of the deaths of most people because they don’t make national and international news. Celebrity deaths get reported, though. They are commonplace and removed enough that we rarely feel personally touched by them. Even an actor or musician we really like will typically just get a “Wow, that’s a pity. Can you pass the salad dressing?”

We generally take these deaths fairly lightly. We believe celebrity deaths, like most ‘bad’ things that remind us of mortality, come in threes. People start dead pools at the office, betting on which famous person is going to bite it next – whatever diversion is necessary to draw our attention away from the memento mori monopolizing all the headlines and news clips. We trivialize it quickly so it can become the stuff of late night TV monologues and crossword puzzle clues. We want the fact of impermanence to remain in the forefront of our minds as impermanently as possible.

But back to Robin Williams. Doesn’t it seem like his death is hitting harder than the average celebrity fatality? Hoffman’s recent passing was quite challenging; he was a gifted actor. But Williams… it was not so much challenging as devastating. Who didn’t choke out an "Oh Captain, my Captain" between ragged, tearful gasps when they heard the news? So what is so different about this incident than all the others?

Was it the span of his prolific career? I watched him as Mork on Happy Days and Mork and Mindy when I was 8 years old. Now I’m 44; I have enjoyed him in film and TV, in character and as himself in interviews, for 36 years. Since I don’t remember a lot from my early childhood, I think that counts as watching and loving Robin Williams for my entire life.

Was it the depth and breadth of characters he portrayed? Dead Poets Society and Good Will Hunting are two of my favorite films. He rocked Good Morning, Vietnam; The World According to Garp; Moscow on the Hudson… Hook; Toys; Jumanji; Jack; Aladdin… The Birdcage! Also Bicentennial Man; Patch Adams; Death to Smoochy… One Hour Photo; Insomnia; The Final Cut; The Butler... He was Mrs. Doubtfire, for the love of Pete.  And this list doesn’t even cover half his acting credits or any of his stand up or guest appearances. The man was in, like, everything.

Did I feel I somehow knew him, unlike with other famous folks? He had been something of a constant throughout my life, I suppose.  Like a favorite uncle who shows up at holidays and birthdays with the best presents then actually hangs out at the kid table for a while, making coins appear from behind your ear and doing goofy impressions of your grandpa. Who wouldn’t be affected by the loss of such a loved one?

I’m sure it’s all of that to some degree, but I suspect it is largely because it was suicide. With most deaths, there is grief, but also a target – someone or something to blame. We mourn someone who was taken by disease, console ourselves that at least their suffering has ended and vow to search for a cure. After an accident, we curse the stars and lament the injustice and fickleness of fate. When someone is the victim of violence, we rage against the perpetrator and the systems that create such villainy. Even with the unclear cases of drug overdose, there’s at least a plausible, if sometimes far-fetched, explanation that the whole thing was a terrible accident.

Clear-cut suicide provides us with nowhere comfortable to assign our bad feelings. Do we blame the decedent? I suppose some asshats do. Do we blame the people close to him? Sure, if you’re a grasping idiot. It’s so hard to know at whose feet to lay this grief we want to go away that we’ll believe almost anything. Hell, I honest-to-gods still believe the jury is out on Kurt Cobain. 

Though I have known a number of people who have died what we would consider ‘way too soon,’ I’ve been fortunate that no one close to me has committed suicide.  If someone had, I’m afraid I know where I would place at least some of the blame: squarely with me. With a score on the Baron-Cohen* empathy test placing me somewhere between Deanna Troi and Kamala the Metamorph, I know I would feel like I should have seen it coming. That I should have sensed the person was struggling and been able to find a way to help. That I had failed them. (You know, because I am responsible for and able to control everyone and everything.)

Maybe that is the thing with Robin Williams. How could we not have seen it? He’s been our celebrity companion for over 30 years. How did we not know? He was kind and goofy and generous and hilarious and we never really thought about how he was doing. He gave us so much and we didn’t notice he was desperately unhappy. He made us smile and laugh despite his own depression. He moved a million miles an hour and looked like he would never stop. But then he did.

I don’t know all the reasons why Robin Williams’ death has affected people, myself included, as strongly as it has. I just know that it kinda feels like the rollercoaster I never really noticed we’ve all been riding has smashed into a steel wall. And our sweet, gregarious, favorite uncle is not here to cheer us up.

Best,
Patricia

* Not this Baron-Cohen – his smartypants cousin, this Baron-Cohen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 
Hi Patricia,

My place on the empathy scale is firmly between a stack of Scientology books and a moist toadstool. Now, I don't hate people's feelings, scream at them to work out their own problems, or purposely hurt animals. It's just that my world is a strange and pointy place and quite a few outside issues fail to breech its walls. So I'm kind of oblivious to pedestrian things like "emotions." Also, I say ridiculous things.

Understanding my empathy gap, I never would have expected to pick up on any hint that this famous person is depressed or that one would commit suicide. It's even pretty rare that I figure out The Breadwinner is pissed at me. Of course, that happens sooooo rarely because I'm a saint.

Instead, I'll rely on Terry Gilliam who tends to get to the crux of an issue pretty effectively, if not quickly. I can't help but think he had a particular read on Robin Williams, who appeared in two of his movies. In The Fisher King, Williams was a man who witnessed his wife's murder and lapsed into mad search for the Holy Grail. In The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, Williams played the King of the Moon. When his head was floating by itself, the King was intellectual. When it reattached to his body, the King was all pelvic thrusting id. 

Ridiculous characters, to be sure. Ones that Williams played with characteristic zeal and...wait...something a bit deeper? Gilliam saw something in Robin Williams that drew these parts and this actor together. Just like in all his best rolls, it seemed like Williams had something else he could mine to get into these parts, an extra twist of emotion. Could Williams be scarred and beaten and looking for a Grail. Or if he could just detach, could so much of this feeling stuff go away. At least that's how it looks in retrospect.

It's also interesting to think of these two movies because they both have a particular look at suicide. In the Fisher King, Jack's (Jeff Bridges) attempted suicide kicks off his relationship with this scruffy homeless man. Baron Munchausen (John Neville) tries to let the Angel of Death take him twice because his love of life has gone. 

In both cases, the characters are "saved" from suicide by being given a purpose. Jack has to help find the Holy Grail. Munchausen has to save the city. Or at least finish one of his insane stories.

If only that person who committed suicide found a purpose they could put their life to! If we could just show them that "getting better" from their depression was a valiant purpose or loving their kids was the highest purpose. So purpose driven our lives are! Theirs should be too! Purpose will save you from suicide.

Think about how "having a purpose" even changes our perspective on suicide. A person who kills themselves for a cause, as futile as that cause can be, very well will be called a hero. Hell, the bible was perfectly happy to let Samson kill himself so long as he took a bunch of Philistines with him.

Samson. Leo. Reckless sacrifice. Hero hair.

It's the suicide out of purposelessness that roils us. That someone was in such a dark place that purpose eluded them. Sitting in the light, it's so easy to believe that there is another valid purpose right around the corner that it's virtually impossible to understand how someone simply can't wait another moment for fate or God or coincidence or poetic license to deliver one. When they just don't have the moment to spare, we blame them for a moral failure. This is not demonizing their illness or the bad hand they were dealt or just being sad. We get pissed at them for their impatience.

And yes, as horrible as it is to say, it is easy to be angry at someone who committed suicide. And it is a selfish anger.  "Why didn't YOU wait for ME to come save you?" "Why did YOU do this to ME?" "Why did YOU take you away from ME?" and "Why did YOU leave ME to clean up this mess?"

And what a mess we're in. There's not going to be another stream-of-consciousness torrent that is simultaneously playful (FOSSE! FOSSE! FOSSE!) randomly referential (Imelda Marcos' earrings!) and vulgar.

Robin Williams is likely the only person who could have pulled this off live.

So I don't think it's strange to deeply feel his passing. It's not even weird to be kind of mad. Unlike any time in my life, we have to go on without more of Robin Williams to entertain us. And that fucking sucks. 

Ray