Yet the role that will always tower above them all in my life is the inspirational English teacher, John Keating, in Peter Weir’s Oscar-winning yet much-maligned 1989 drama, “Dead Poets Society.” It was the role that cemented the template for a long series of subsequent Williams roles that often verged into self-parody. His great roles are numerous: the spinach-gulping sailor man in “Popeye,” the riotous DJ in “Good Morning Vietnam,” the wisecracking moon in “The Adventuress of Baron Munchausen,” the homeless eccentric in “The Fisher King,” the grown-up Peter Pan in “Hook,” the perpetually out-of-focus actor in “Deconstructing Harry,” the compassionate psychologist in “Good Will Hunting” (a role that deservedly won him an Oscar), the dead man who strives to save the soul of his wife in “What Dreams May Come,” the deranged loner in “One Hour Photo” and, in his last big screen triumph, the long-suffering father in “World’s Greatest Dad,” whose son accidentally succumbs to asphyxiation. There was never anyone like Robin Williams and there never will be again. I think of him every time a movie makes me hyperventilate with laughter, which so memorably occurred when I watched his side-splitting impersonations as the shape-shifting genie in “Aladdin.” I see him in every performer who takes the risk in being unashamedly themselves, even if it means going against the grain and refusing to fit into the sort of marketable persona preferred in Hollywood. I see him in my father when I watch him morph from his identity as a veteran social worker and into the gloriously kooky character of Count Nickel, the unofficial school mascot of Thomas Jefferson School in Hoffman Estates, who recites the morning announcements with the same improvisational exuberance as Mrs. I continue to feel his influence every single day. It’s an impossible task to list the number of ways Robin Williams changed my life. These words were given new, heartbreakingly poignant meaning today when it was announced that Williams died of a suspected suicide after battling severe depression. Suddenly the comedic façade evaporates and we hear Williams’ voice convey arresting vulnerability devoid of schtick. Know, an info-spewing robotic mirage that delivered the typical motormouth riffs that were Williams’ signature trademark, until a request from Haley Joel Osment’s remarkably humanlike “mecha” triggers this startlingly melancholy response. This infamous poem by William Butler Yeats was recited by Robin Williams in Steven Spielberg’s 2001 film, “A.I.: Artificial Intelligence.” He played Dr. John Keating: 'Then you have to talk to him before tomorrow night.Robin Williams in Peter Weir’s “Dead Poets Society.” Courtesy of Touchstone Pictures. What about the play? The show's tomorrow night!' John Keating: 'You are not an indentured servant! It's not a whim for you, you prove it to him by your conviction and your passion! You show that to him, and if he still doesn't believe you - well, by then, you'll be out of school and can do anything you want.' They're counting on me he'll just tell me to put it out of my mind for my own good.' Neil Perry: 'I know what he'll say! He'll tell me that acting's a whim and I should forget it. You have to show him who you are, what your heart is!' Now, I know this sounds impossible, but you have to talk to him. You're playing the part of the dutiful son. John Keating: 'Then you're acting for him, too. Neil Perry: 'I can't talk to him this way.' John Keating: 'Have you ever told your father what you just told me? About your passion for acting? You ever showed him that?' We- But he's planning the rest of my life for me, and I- He's never asked me what I want!' I- But he doesn't know! He- I can see his point we're not a rich family, like Charlie's. He's making me quit the play at Henley Hall. “Neil Perry: 'I just talked to my father.
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