Robin Williams kills at the Oasis
It all started with a quiet dinner at the Oasis’s Loner Show comedy night, January 11.
“I just bumped into Robin Williams,” my friend said when he came back from the bar. I looked up to see a fit man in a beautiful orange shirt and matching orange sneakers disappear into the back. We followed. Williams got onstage in front of an audience of stunned comedy-goers who’d been expecting a local amateur hour.
Everything he did was improv: a deaf man signing “motherfucker,” mocking himself for Bicentennial Man, the idea of all his films going porn (Snatch Adams).
But his Canadian riff was more than good improv, it was brilliant political satire.
We’re the good twin who stayed with Mother a little longer, we’re frost- backs, we’re naive if we don’t believe America is gunning for us (for our water, not oil – he’s right).
“Having Americans as neighbours must be like living above a bad crack party,” he grinned, nodding. He shifted into a credible Arab accent. Noticing a white tarp over most of the Oasis sign on the back wall, he yelled, “You have even taken away my Oasis!”
Afterwards, Williams mingled graciously with the crowd, drinking tequila and beer and good-naturedly posing for photos.
“He’s in town doing a movie called Man Of The Year,” said Brian Barlow, host of The Loner Show, “and he heard through the grapevine that it was the night to do.”
I e-mailed the photo accompanying this article to relatives under the subject heading “My New Boyfriend.” Aren’t we a plausible couple? I’m wearing low-riders, and Williams has one hand around my waist and the other flat on my bare midriff. (When will they start making longer shirts now that pants are so low?)
Then he got abashed, turned to the camera and said, “We’re so happy! It’s a boy!”
I would forgive Williams any indiscretion after seeing him in action. So many celebrities seem passive and two-dimensional in real life. Williams is the kind of artist who crackles.
Aunt Myrna and my mom have sent me congratulatory notes, and a friend just warned me about dating comedians, so I should probably clear things up.
Then again, I wonder how long I can work this? A director is in the midst of securing financing for a film adaptation of my novel. A Hollywood rumour or two can’t hurt.