02/07/2025
Robin Williams and depression.
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In the final weeks of Robin Williams’ life, Glenn Close paid him a visit that would become one of her most painful and unforgettable memories. The bond they had formed over three decades earlier, while working together on "The World According to Garp," had never faded. That 1982 film was Williams’ first major step into dramatic cinema, and Close, already a rising star, saw something extraordinary in him, not just as a performer, but as a human being.
She later recalled, “He was so kind to me. From the very beginning, he made me feel like I belonged.” Their friendship wasn’t forged merely in rehearsals or during scripted scenes. It came to life in long conversations, laughter between takes, and quiet moments when Williams, vulnerable and open, would let his guard down with her. They shared personal stories, fears, and longings, connections that transcended co-stars and leaned into something closer to chosen family.
Close had always been sensitive to the fragile side of Williams. Behind the rapid-fire wit and comedic brilliance, she sensed a deep well of melancholy. “People saw the genius, the improvisational brilliance,” she once said. “But I saw someone whose heart carried so much, so much love, so much pain.”
When she visited him at his home in the Bay Area shortly before his death in 2014, she felt the shift immediately. The man who had once filled every room with light now seemed diminished, struggling under the weight of something she couldn’t quite reach. His eyes, she noted, “still had warmth, but they also had shadows I hadn’t seen before.” He smiled, joked softly, asked about her family. They talked about old times, about "Garp," about how far they’d both come since those days. But beneath the surface, Close felt the growing silence, the widening distance, as if Robin were gently slipping away while still holding her hand.
What devastated her most was how tender he remained, even in his pain. “He made me laugh that day,” she said, voice shaking in a later interview. “Imagine that. He was the one who was hurting, and he still found it in him to make me feel okay.”
Their time together on "The World According to Garp" had created something rare. One afternoon during filming, Williams had surprised her by learning one of her long monologues, performing it back to her with perfect sincerity, no jokes, no impressions. “He did it just to show me that he respected my work,” she remembered. “It was one of the most generous things anyone’s ever done for me.” That day became a cornerstone of their friendship, one that spoke volumes about the depth behind Williams' public persona.
In the aftermath of his su***de, Close said she felt a profound helplessness. “I keep thinking about how many people loved him, how many lives he touched, and still, he felt so alone in the end.” Her grief was mingled with anger, not at Robin, but at the illness that had stolen his light. “Depression doesn’t care how brilliant you are,” she said. “It lies to you, tells you the world would be better without you. But Robin gave so much to this world. I hope he knew that.”
Close has since spoken about him at tributes and private events, always with the same mix of reverence and heartbreak. Her memories remain vivid, his voice, his hugs, the quicksilver change between mischief and soulfulness that only he could carry. “He gave me a gift,” she once whispered, “of being truly seen, and truly accepted, at a time in my life when I needed that the most.”
When she said goodbye that final day, she hugged him tightly and held on a little longer than usual. “I had this feeling,” she admitted, “that I wouldn’t see him again.”
Glenn Close never forgot the kindness he gave so freely, especially when he had so little left to give.
