Robin Williams: Weapons of Self Destruction

Hall of Fame stand-up. Despite references to the political situation at the time (“Tony Blair and W. were like the United Nations production of Rainman”), Williams’s observations are timeless and, thanks to his God-given acting/improvisational talent, are incredibly funny, regardless of whether they accurately describe what’s wrong in society (“We didn't have Twitter. We had shitter. That was my chat room. We had useless conversations. We just didn’t fucking share them with the world…”) or address more mundane concerns of everyday life (the unforgettable bit on the topic of “where babies come from”). For a 58-year-old comedian who’d had a heart valve replaced (also the subject of humour) shortly before his performance, Williams has more energy than a ferret on meth. He constantly runs around the stage, furiously jumping from topic to topic (which is a pity, because when he talks about something at greater length, the punchline is more epic), he reacts quickly to the stimuli from the audience and rattles off one joke after another without missing a beat, while it seems that he hadn’t prepared much in advance for what he was going to talk about. With a similar cadence, the varying level of jokes doesn’t matter (parodying of gays, national stereotypes and occasional flashes of misogyny crop up), most of which will stick in your memory thanks to their masterful delivery, during which Williams fully engages his physical talent and various alterations of his voice (women’s gymnastics). Like few other stand-up comedians, he was able to tell jokes with his whole body. It’s a shame about what happened to him. (02/03/2021)