The price of being a genius
It is both tragic and common that genius might be accompanied by self-destruction.
Robin Williams was a troubled soul long before he committed suicide last week. His battle with demons were well-documented.
Williams was a force of nature; an original, whose peers marveled at his ability to draw laughter from out of thin air – and with incredible ease.
From the time he was catapulted into the public eye in the late 1970’s, he was considered the master of a comedic art form comprised of raw energy, and boundless talent.
When he appeared on screen, you couldn’t look away.
The pure mark of his genius? Nobody has been able to copy his style.
But with many ultra-talented artists, drugs, drink or depression can be their downfall.
The one performer who could be compared, stylistically, to Robin Williams, was Jonathan Winters.
Winters’ uncanny ability to think at light-speed, and ad-lib at will, was the source of Williams’ approach. He idolized him.
Unfortunately, too, Winters had his demons.
He’d been admitted to a private psychiatric hospital twice – suffering from bouts of depression and a bipolar disorder.
There was another comic genius, Richard Pryor, whose drug addiction led him to try to kill himself in June of 1980.
He doused himself with rum, and then he set himself on fire.
He lived. The demons lost that time, but that drug addiction stayed with him, on-and-off, until he died of a heart attack in December of 2005.
These are the sad stories about famous people who had public lives built on laughter, who were, at the same time, powerless to keep control of the private lives.
They epitomized those clich茅s we’ve come to understand, about the sad clown, only comfortable when they’re hiding their sadness on a stage, and behind layers of grease paint.
Comedy isn’t the only place where these stories exist.
Vincent van Gogh suffered with severe bouts of mental illness. He once sliced-off part of his left ear with a razor. He’d later end his life by shooting himself in the chest with a revolver. He was just 37 years-old.
There’ve been many jazz musicians who’ve been considered geniuses, and who’ve fallen prey to mental illness and drugs.
Those people, like Robin Williams, adlibbed their way into their fame and fortune.
Or more precisely, they made their livings performing on artistic high-wires -without a net.
There’s Charlie Parker. He was one of the originators of jazz’s bebop movement.
When he died in March of 1955, the ravages of his heroin addiction had caused the coroner to conclude that he was between 50 and 60 years of age. He was only 34.
Thelonius Monk. He was another jazz giant. He had to be treated with antipsychotic drugs because he’d simply stand in the middle of the floor, and pace for days on end – until he would collapse from exhaustion.
Ernest Hemmingway. His contributions to the literary world are unquestioned.
Yet, his heavy drinking led to him commit suicide using a 12-gauge shotgun, at the age of 61.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He composed more than 600 works, even though he was only 35 when he died.
It’s said that he had been plagued by a number serious illnesses. Not the least of which, according to some historians, was depression.
All of these examples carry with them one common theme.
Effortless talent that cannot be easily explained.
I recall an interview I once did with Ray Charles and Tony Bennett.
They were working on a song together in a recording studio.
When I arrived for the interview, Bennett walked to the back of the control room, and he just starred while Charles laid down his track.
I asked him what he was thinking, and I was surprised to discover he’d never worked with Ray Charles, and he couldn’t believe how easily he played.
Charles, too, had had a troubled, drug-addicted past.
I discovered that day, that Bennett didn’t know where that supreme talent had come from. I suspected neither did Ray Charles.
Edward A. Owens is a three-time Emmy Award winner and 20-year veteran of television news. E-mail him at freedoms@bellatlantic.net