That Time I Made Robin Williams Laugh

It seems that everyone in comedy has a story about Robin Williams and if they all have one thing in common is that the talk centers on the two conflicting gravities in his life. Williams was an immensely gifted comedian and actor. But he was also someone who battled depression and substance abuse nearly all of his adult life. Both sides of his personality were evident if you spent any time around him and I suppose there's an argument to be made that that duality of his soul is what made him the man so many people are missing today.

I only met Williams a few times and it was pretty early in his career. We were barely acquaintances, but like a lot of people in show business, my few interactions with him had a profound impact on my life.

I first met Robin at the Comedy Store on Sunset sometime in the late 70s. I was going to college and while I was in theory trying to get a degree in political science, I really wanted to be a writer and a comedian. But getting stage time was nearly impossible and I quickly realized that if I wanted to get in front of an audience, I could also try doing improv. The Comedy Store's larger main room was often dark early in the week and they started doing improv shows. There were some regulars and stars would frequently drop in. But there were also a number of slots for scenes that were open to whomever wanted to sign up: first come, first served.

I quickly learned to love it, even though finding yourself in a scene with much more talented improvisation veterans often felt like I was jumping from T-ball to the major leagues. It was do or die and the only thing that saved me was that although I was a terrible actor, I could frequently stumble into a funny line when under pressure.

I had seen Williams perform a few times during these shows. He was this force of nature that was completely unlike anyone else on stage. Yes, he had a quick mind and a gift for mimicry that was dazzling. But he was also fearless and open in a way that you don't often see in someone who is on his way to becoming a star. At this point, he was probably a season or so into "Mork & Mindy" and while he should have been taking Mondays off to unwind he seemed driven to find the next stage and a new audience to impress. He hungered for the laughs and wanted to get them because he was the funniest person there. Not because he was this guy the audience had seen on TV. Watching him dissect an audience member stupid enough to yell out "Nanu, Nanu" was like observing a talented battlefield doctor remove someone's leg. It was painful and bloody, but you couldn't turn away.

Williams wasn't universally liked by his fellow comics. He was known to drink a bit and he had this bad habit of absorbing any line he heard and reinterpreting it into a joke that was his own. But also still noticeably inspired by your joke. It was all part of the frenetic thresher of a mind he battled to control. But even when someone got mad at him it usually didn't last. Because as erratic and infuriating as he could be, Robin Williams was a gentle soul that had this childlike heart you couldn't hate for long.

As the months passed, I counted myself lucky I had never been in the same scene with him. I could barely hold my own against the average improv person, much less a guy who seemed to float above everyone else in the place.

Then one night I ended up in a scene with Robin and three other people. I don't remember the exact premise, but for some reason when an audience member suggested that he play a psychic plumber, Williams opted do it entirely in faux Spanish. From the stage, the scene was a whirlwind of disastrous moments as we tried to keep up with him. But the audience loved him and even more importantly, he was kind enough to make room for everyone else on stage to have their moment. I kept moving upstage from Williams, trying to subtly stay out of his sight. Then he spotted me, ran over and planted himself in front of me. He began waving his hands, speaking in faux Spanish at about 100 miles an hour.

One of the weird things about being a comedian is that sometimes things pop out of your mouth before you even realize you're thinking it. For some reason, I shrugged at him and said "Sorry, I don't speak German." It's not much of a laughline, but in the moment it worked and got a big laugh. He started speaking faux German and when he paused, I said" No, no, I only speak East German." Once again, not much of a line. But it received this huge laugh, especially when Williams briefly broke character to laugh. Soon, the scene was over and as we walked offstage, he gave me this big, sweaty hug and almost yelled, "THAT's how you do it."

Lots happened in the ensuing months and years. But there were times later on when I was struggling to find my voice onstage that I would think of that moment with Robin and how I had made the funniest man I had ever met laugh. It might not have meant much to Robin Williams. But that moment of generosity meant the world to me.

Find some peace, Mr. Williams.