I had the great good fortune of seeing Josh Gad in Book of Mormon with Holly Flaisher. When I took my girls to see Frozen last November, I remember the thrill I felt in that dark theatre when Olaf appeared and started talking - I knew that voice immediately! It was the exact same thrill I had felt many years before when the Genie started speaking in Aladdin - it was unmistakably Robin. Both of these characters moved me to tears - both happy and sad.
To learn that these two great talents shared this special (I believe cosmically appointed) friendship fills me with all of these feelings at once.
http://www.usatoday.com/story/life/people/2014/08/12/josh-gad-remembering-robin-williams/13951075/
I don't know how long this link to USA Today will work, so I copied and pasted the text of this lovely article written by Josh Gad at the loss of Robin Williams.
Text:
Olaf
remembers his friend and idol, the Genie
Every
actor has that idol that inspires them. That makes them want to bring
joy and laughter to the masses; to make people cry and think; to give
people a two-hour escape from the pain of their daily lives. For me
that actor was Robin Williams.
As
a product of the '80s, I grew up with Robin's antics. One of my first
cinematic memories was seeing a one-eyed, muscled Robin singing and
dancing in Robert Altman's Popeye. His spinach-chewing drawl and
bow-legged walk were fodder for imitation in my house. Looking more
like a younger Bluto than Popeye, I never quite got it down, but it
never stopped me from trying to emulate a master. I remember sitting
through Hook and watching as Peter Banning remembered what it was
like to be a boy again; to fly above the clouds and to remind us all
that the power of imagination and childlike wonder is as ageless as
the stories of Neverland.
I
remember learning about unique words for male and female genitalia
when I accidentally tuned into Comic Relief and laughed until it hurt
(up to the moment my pale and mortified mother walked in and changed
the channel). But above all, I remember sitting in a dark theater in
South Florida in the winter of 1992 and watching a Genie come to life
in Aladdin and tear a hole in the very fabric of space and time for
me. It was at that moment that I realized ... "That's what I
want to do with my life."
Cut
to the summer of 2011 when I was performing in The Book of Mormon on
Broadway. By that time, it was common for celebrities to visit.
Everyone from Bono to Oprah had come to see what the buzz was all
about. It was always a thrill to look out in the audience and see a
familiar face that had inspired me. But on this particular summer
night, May 15 to be exact, I looked into the audience as I sang the
opening lines to Hello and saw a bearded hero smiling back at me.
That night, I gave what was probably the best performance I have ever
given on a stage. I felt intoxicated with the knowledge that I was
entertaining a man who had raised me on his comedy specials, his
movies and his TV series. It would be like Luke Skywalker bringing
the Empire down as Obi-Wan sits atop the Death Star and simply
smiles. Or in this case, a heavyset Jedi warrior, who is desperately
out of breath, performing for a master Jedi.
At
the end of the show, I went up to my dressing room and received a
message over the loudspeaker. Someone was waiting for me backstage. I
slowly walked down the stage, trying to think of what to say when I
came face to face with my hero. I remembered that he had just moved
into my building on 63rd Street. As I turned the corner and saw him
beaming like a proud father, I blurted out, "Hey, you live in my
building!" He smiled at me and without missing a beat,
exclaimed, "No boy. You live in my building!" And so began
my relationship with the idol I was fortunate enough to call a
friend.
That
summer, as Robin was a delivering his brilliantly fierce and
underappreciated performance in Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, he
and I became Broadway buddies. Every night, we would get back from
the theater around the same time and share war stories about our
respective shows. Soon, however, our nightly encounters evolved into
a written correspondence that began as a joke and ended as one of the
most cherished collections of letters I have in my possession. About
once a week, we would leave notes to each other at the front desk.
Opening up a letter from Robin became a ritual that I would look
forward to like a child opening a gift on Christmas morning. The
contents of those letters are too personal to share, but what they
meant to me can never fully be expressed. Sadly, Robin's show ended
all too soon and he retreated back to San Francisco. He left me his
bicycle, the same bicycle he would ride around the Hudson River daily
before his shows, taking in all the splendor and beauty of the city.
A moment of tranquility for a man so desperately in need of it.
As
many know, my performance as Olaf in Frozen is inspired by the great
Robin Williams. When I first met with the film's directors, I told
them I wanted to create a character as free and as wonderfully
surprising at every turn as the greatest Disney sidekick I had ever
known: the Genie. Olaf will never remotely touch the tour de force
that is Robin's Genie. Because there is only one Robin Williams. But
the joy and laughter that my little snowman has brought to children
is because of the man who has left this world far too early. A man
who taught me to be free, to be childlike, and a man who taught me to
get out of my own way as a performer. His gift was to take all of our
pain away and to allow us to escape. If only we could have returned
the favor.
As
my best friend, Seth Gabel put it, I feel like we just lost our life
coach. The one who always reminds us that regardless of the hardships
we face, he will always be there to lift up our spirits. But, I like
to think of him more like the clown. The one in the kingdom who
entertains and lifts up the spirits of kings and paupers, knights and
yeomen. The one who juggles, distracts, dazzles and mesmerizes at
every turn. The one who brings us all together, despite our
differences and holds court by virtue of the fact that he is not like
any one of us, for he is unique and talented beyond the rest.
Unfortunately, as we all too often forget, once the makeup comes off,
the clown is just a man like the rest of us.
Well,
today we've lost the clown. And now we're left with the fools.
Goodbye, friend.
-Josh Gad
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