I started laughing at Robin Williams when I was 8 years old (
Mork & Mindy) and I never stopped. Until today when I found out he'd died at the way-too-early age of 63. But give it a little time, he'll have us laughing again. It's what he does. It's what YouTube and DVDs were made for.
I still remember him coming out of nowhere in the 70s, relentless and unhinged like a roller coaster on cocaine, literally in his case. Like the indefatigable Groucho Marx before him, it seemed there was nothing he couldn't turn into a (really funny) joke.
After and during years of standup, he premiered on the big screen in 1980's
Popeye (still one of my faves, critics be damned), then spent subsequent decades killing in comedies like Terry Gilliam's
The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, Cadillac Man, Aladin, Hook, Jumanji, Death to Smoochy, The Birdcage, Night At The Museum, and
Happy Feet, as well as on TV's
Friends,
Whose Line Is It Anyway and the hugely successful
Comic Relief with Billy Crystal and Whoopi Goldberg.
But there were times he didn't make us laugh. Many, in fact. Even some of his most hilarious comedies provoked as many philosophical reflections, tears and group hugs as they did chuckles.
The World According to Garp comes to mind, as do
Moscow on the Hudson, Dead Poets Society, Good Morning Vietnam, The Fisher King, Mrs. Doubtfire, Patch Adams, and my hands-down favourite,
Good Will Hunting, for which he won his only (and much-deserved) Oscar.
Then there were those downright unfunny, dramatic turns in films like
Awakenings, What Dreams May Come, Jakob The Liar, Insomnia, and the terrifying
One Hour Photo. Who knew he could give a guided tour through heaven and hell as easily as he could nail a good fart joke?
It's hard to say goodbye to someone you grew up with, who meant that much to you without even realizing it sometimes. To me, he was as much a de facto uncle as he was
The Comedian or
The Actor Robin Williams. An uncle who kept me in stitches, who inspired me to be the best version of myself, who struggled with addiction and depression but who always managed to keep one step ahead of his demons.
And now he's gone. I still can't believe it. But I still have my DVDs. And my memories. Thankfully, there are a whole lot of them.
Love you, Robin.
For years, I’ve wallowed in the non-male, non-white diversity of
action heroes in film, TV, comic books, and popular fiction: Ellen
Ripley (Alien), Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games), Hanna (Hanna), Black Widow
(Avengers), Hit-Girl (Kick Ass), Beatrix Kiddo (Kill Bill), Trinity (The
Matrix), Princesses Leia and Amidala (Star Wars), Sarah Connor (The Terminator),
Lisbeth Salander (Girl with the Dragon Tattoo), Jean Gray, Storm, Mystique,
Emma Frost, and Kitty Pryde (X-Men), Leeloo (Fifth Element), Alice (Resident
Evil), Gamora (Guardians of the Galaxy), Lara Croft, Buffy, Xena, Supergirl, Batgirl, She-Hulk, Wonder Woman. . .
I could do this all day. 
With that in mind, here is my
non-racist, non-sexist, liberal-friendly reason for hating to see Captain
America disappear or change (and yes, that includes when Isaiah Bradley took
over in the comic books): Steve Rogers’ history as a slightly nerdy,
white-bread American WWII vet, combined with his particular brand of conflicted
patriotism, is at the heart of his character and, therefore, what makes him
interesting. It’s not that Cap’s storyline or ability to be heroic
depends on his being white or male. It's about who he is, where he comes from and
ultimately, the relationship I've built with him. Throw his suit and super
serum on someone else and we lose the iconic character we’ve grown to love.
Are blood and guts in movies good for us? Find out as Paul Jensen and I go head-to-head on some of Hollywood's most violent films, past and present.