Goodbye, Robin

I had just broken up with my first teenage boyfriend the day before my first big school dance. In those days, you didn't go stag to dances, and I was crushed that I would be missing this "teenage milestone." I hadn't told anyone what had happened -- not my friends, not my parents -- I've always hated the sort of attention that bad news brings. Instead, I stayed in my room, no longer the smiling, laughing, bubbly child I'd always been. My mother, who knew there was something wrong but was not the prying type, did what we always did in times of sadness or celebration -- she took me to the movies.

I didn't want to go. I thought I was too old to go to the movies with my mother. I thought it would be depressing and embarrassing seeing kids my age on dates, while I sat there sharing a popcorn with my mother. I had never heard of the movie she wanted to go to, and had my suspicions it was going to be a dull adult-type movie, or worse, some little kids' movie. But I had no excuse not to go, plus being with her meant avoiding my friends' questions of "why weren't you at the dance last night?" for another day. So, despite my reservations, I went.

The Harvard Square Theatre, now closed, was a small, independent theatre, with actors and characters from various movies painted on the outside. It was famous, back in the day, for its Friday night Rocky Horror Picture Show performances, which attracted people in costume from all over. But they weren't around when we bought our tickets. Almost nobody was. It was the middle of the day, and we had the theatre more or less to ourselves. We got our popcorn and I begrudgingly sat beside my mother. After a few minutes the lights went down and The Birdcage started.

Of course, I had seen Robin Williams' work before, having been brought up during his Aladdin/Flubber/Jumanji years. Kids my age knew Aladdin so well that in my late teens when I was in Italy with friends we chose to watch Aladdin out of all the movies available; it didn't matter to us that it was dubbed in Italian -- we still sang all the songs, and laughed in all the same places. And I'd seen Mrs. Doubtfire because I was (ok, ok, I still am) in love with Pierce Brosnan, but in the end it was Robin Williams' outstanding performance that I always remember.

But I'd never seen a comedy like The Birdcage before. It felt so real, and raw, and true to me. Robin Williams and Nathan Lane made me think about what we ask others to do for us, and how far loved ones will go for eachother, and how much love a person can actually give. The movie touched me, deep down in my very core, and yet still made me laugh. And despite everything, I did laugh. And when the show was over, I kept on laughing.

Years have passed, but to this day if I'm flipping through the channels and The Birdcage is on, I watch it. It doesn't matter what part it's at, or if I'd been looking for another show. That movie brings me so much joy that I just stop what I'm doing, sit down, and laugh.

Much like all those years ago, I'll be sad tonight when I watch The Birdcage. But I have a feeling that when it's finished, I'll be laughing all over again.

Thank you, Robin Williams, for all the happiness and laughter.