There are only two celebrities whose death affected me on a personal level: Michael Jackson and Robin Williams. Lately I’ve been experiencing a renaissance in my love for the latter, and have been spending my free time watching every film of the late comedian that I can find.
Among these is the film The Birdcage (1996), where Robin Williams and Nathan Lane play a gay cabaret owner and his drag queen partner who pretend to be a traditional straight family when their son’s ultra-conservative, right-wing in-laws show up for dinner. It’s a phenomenal film, pure comedy from start to finish. It eventually became the occasion for a famous interview conducted with Lane after Robin’s passing.
In this interview, Lane — who is gay in real life but did not come out publicly until years after the movie — explains that Robin Williams once “saved” him during a 1996 sit-down with Oprah:
“I don’t think Oprah was trying to out me, but I said to Robin beforehand, ‘Ya know, I’m just not prepared — I’m so scared to go out and talk to Oprah. I’m not prepared to discuss, ya know, that I’m gay on national television. I’m not ready.‘
And then, of course, she was like ‘how come you’re so good at that girly stuff‘ — and then Robin swoops in and diverts Oprah and goes off on a tangent and… and… protects me, because he was a saint.”
If you’d like to see, someone stitched together clips of the two interviews here.
In the video, it’s clear that Oprah was trying to force a conversation regarding Lane’s sexuality, yet Robin not only fends off Oprah’s invasive questions, but begins to push back against the flow of conversation. He isn’t hostile, but he does go on the offense. The mastery he demonstrates in intercepting the moment comes from decades of interviewing, theatre, improv, and standup— not to mention a once-in-a-generation level of wit.
The ease at which he is able to command the room, slip into a character, and play with the various elements of conversation, to me, is a marvel. For Robin, it’s a Tuesday. For Lane, it was an act of sainthood.
Every time I watch that interview, I can’t help but see redemption for attributes which, for a long time, I felt were defects in my nature. I am as extroverted as they come — I talk to everyone when I am outside and, when alone, I talk to myself. I am easily excitable — my response to positive emotion can seem overblown and I often wonder if my reaction to things seem like I am trying to fake a response or make the situation about me. I am also insatiable — my appetite for intensity is practically boundless. I have never found an environment to be “too stimulating” and my taste in atmosphere is the same as my taste in music— fast, energetic, and a little in-your-face. In other words, I enjoy a little chaos and I have no qualms about taking the spotlight when the occasion calls for it.
Maybe I am projecting, but I see a bit of this in Robin too.
The difference is, Robin found a way to make those traits a gift for others. He dealt attention generously, yes; but he also knew when it was his time to step in and rearrange it. Not everyone is built like him, with the capacity to absorb—or perhaps endure— the gaze of others. Attention is a powerful thing and I think people like Robin have an innate understanding of the deleterious effect that it can have on people who aren’t desirous of it. It can hurt. It can harm. It can make you self-conscious and afraid, killing that wonderful spirit of play and creation.
The ironic thing is that, in many ways, The Birdcage is about a very similar dynamic. Nathan Lane’s character is so ostentatious that the other characters are consistently adjusting themself to his histrionics. Yet, the movie culminates in such a way that requires most of the characters to adopt, or at least try on, the type of showmanship which he excels in. More importantly, the plot provides him an opportunity to “save” Robin’s character in a way not too dissimilar to what Robin does for Lane in real life. He does so in the same way as Robin — performing boldly and gregariously peacocking— but with a heart postured outward rather than on itself.
It is humility, but it is humility in drag. It is humility which dons the costume of spectacle and performativity, for the love of others. The standard assumption in most cultures is that the bigger you are, the less real you are, and the more you owe someone an apology for occupying space. Yet the protection that Williams and Lane’s character obtain for their loved ones is only made possible by enlarging themselves—their real selves—to the maximum. The camp and boisterousness is not the abandonment of sincerity, but an amplification of it. And sometimes, for people like me, large is the only mode capable of letting the love through.
I am not as good at it as Robin is… yet. But hopefully, I am on my way.
Long live everything,
Bradley
About the Author:
Bradley Andrews is a hopeful rabble-rouser on a mission to inspire the world. Stay in touch with what he’s doing by subscribing to a weekly digest of his activity through micro.blog. This will send you writing, photos, and other curiosities that you are guaranteed to love.
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