Yesterday, the world lost one of its great talents. Robin Williams was found dead in his home Monday from an apparent suicide. The sadness of his loss is matched only by the joy he brought the world over his life.

While early obituaries I’ve read have lauded his acting triumphs (i.e., Good Will Hunting, Dead Poet’s Society), equally important to my childhood were Robin Williams’ less acclaimed works, from Jumanji (50 percent on Rotten Tomatoes) to Hook (31 percent) to Flubber (23 percent). Few actors have achieved such generational impact, making his death all the more painful.

After I heard the news of his death last night, I was filled with a deep anger at the selfishness and pointlessness of the act. Salmon Rushdie wrote, “Murder is an act of violence against the dead. Suicide is an act of violence against the living.” But Williams was just a man, one of the millions in America fighting depression on a daily basis. The sad fact is, suicide is endemic in our society, especially among men.

Williams’ fame and wealth made him seem larger-than-life. But, like the successful but tortured man in Simon and Garfunkel’s song “Richard Cory,” it is important to remember that wealth and fame are not panaceas for depression. If anything, they can create undue pressure and prevent those in need from seeking help.

Victor Epstein