“Mork from Ork.”
If you asked a seven-year old me what my name was, that’s the answer you would’ve gotten. I identified so strongly with the character as a child – alien, out of place, fumbling through things and trying to get the right feel of the world around me. His innocence was endearing, his manic energy extraordinary, his heart and motives always pure. Mork was my hero.
When I was growing up, Mork and Mindy was in its prime. I never missed a single episode. While some of my contemporaries were a little more interested in Pam Dawber’s hotness, I focused on one thing alone: the impeccable comic talent of Mr. Robin Williams. I’d never seen anyone like him before. Did you know that a lot of his lines were improvised? He was so quick on his feet that the writers began to leave room in the scripts for him to do his own thing. It says a lot, doesn’t it? They knew precisely the gem they had on their hands, and they knew how to use it to the audience’s best advantage.
I remember when the show went off the air, I was very sad. It was like saying goodbye to a family member. I feel the same way today, as news of Robin Williams’ tragic demise floods my news feed. I didn’t want to believe it at first. Someone so vibrant and alive could not possibly be dead — he is someone you would expect to be making amazing films well into his 80s. I’m shocked to hear he is gone, and devastated to hear it might have been from his own hand. Words cannot even describe how sad this makes me.
But the good news, the good thing that we can all take from this, is that his cinematic legacy will never die. We will always remember the joy he brought us, the eccentric characters he brought to life, the powerful performances he delivered… and of course, the rainbow suspenders. I wish I still had mine.
Rest in peace, friend. We will not forget you.