A Robin Williams Story: The 1983 Bardathon
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| David Ogden Stiers in M*A*S*H |
One of the alums of the College of Marin was
Robin Williams, who studied theater there.
When he was asked to participate he chose “The Comedy of Errors,” but he
had a unique take on the play: he portrayed all 17 characters himself!
Since there were no breaks in the performances,
some were done in the dead of the night to little or no audience at all, but
Robin Williams was scheduled in prime time, and the play
that preceded his had a full house, at least towards its end, as the theater
filled up waiting for the great comedian, who received tremendous applause when
he finally stepped from the wings.
His only prop for the play was a sock
puppet, with whom he conducted the dialogues, and to keep the audience from
confusing the characters he not only did crazy mannerisms but used broad and
outrageous dialects for the differing parts: some spoke with a German accent,
some French, there was a hillbilly, a sassy black woman, etc. One observer said, “He riffed
through it by himself – tangents, improvs, a dozen voices. A fully formed comic
whirligig of invention. He was jaw-droppingly dazzling.” The audience roared
and the newspapers reported his triumph the next day.
I much regret that I didn’t see the
performance, but it was the talk of the town.
We are all poorer because there isn’t a YouTube video of it.
And, of course, we’re devastated by the
tragic death of this talented actor and comic genius. He will be sorely missed.
When inexplicable endings come to someone as celebrated as Robin
Williams we shake our heads in sorrow and ask ourselves why, with all his
talents and advantages, this had to be his fate. But no one ever really knows what goes on in
another person’s head. Let me close with the
famous poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson that makes this point
well:
Richard Cory
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
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Related Posts:
“With Tim
in San Francisco—1982/1983,” August 6, 2011
“A Guide to the Best of My
Blog,” April 29, 2013
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