Five minutes ago, I sent a bad taste e-mail to a comedian friend whose material occasionally came out of the mouth of the (now) late Robin Williams. It said, "Now Robin's stealing from Freddie Prinze." My friend just wrote back, "Robin's probably pissed that he's not around to steal that."
Even this friend thought that Williams was brilliant…and perfectly capable of improvising without borrowing. He was a controversial figure among other comedians, admired by many, criticized by others. The consensus was that he was capable of brilliant acting and brilliant comedy; not so capable of letting anyone else on stage get a funny word in edgewise. The times I saw him live, he left the audience exhausted, partly from laughing, partly from his sheer energy. One night at the Comedy Store, I watched him do a surprise, unannounced set that went on and on and on, eating up the scheduled comics' time and leaving them an audience that was too tired to listen to quieter — and probably cleverer — material.
They're calling it an "apparent suicide" and I will not pretend to understand the Why of that, though many others will. They'll blame chemical imbalances, drugs, career swings, general insanity, relationship problems, the works. Speaking generally, it has been my observation that when rich 'n' famous people kill themselves, it's because they're not happy and don't have the rationale that poor, non-famous people have. Poor and non-famous people can always say, "Well, of course I'm depressed. I'm poor and non-famous. If I were rich and famous, then I'd be happy." But when you're rich and famous and respected and still miserable, what possible remedy do you have to believe will change things?
That may or may not have been what happened with Robin Williams. I don't know. I don't know that we'll ever know. I hope you got to see him perform live because that was quite an experience.