Think of it as a more modern take on that old “tears of a clown” cliche, or the bullied kid becoming the “class clown” to deflect the barbs of his foes and subdue them with laughter.

So it was for Robin Williams. Put him on a stage or in front of a camera and out poured a whirlwind of manic energy, pitch-perfect impressions, super-fast wit and improbable improvisation. But sit him down for a quiet chat and a serious thinker with a progressive political mind emerged.

GONE TO SOON: The man that made everyone laugh is dead at 63

Prior to his death on Monday, Williams had spent the best part of three decades battling drink, drugs and depression, all the while deflecting our attention with his hit movies and frenetic, physical stand-up.

Williams wasn’t alone in playing the comedic blues, of course. From Spike Milliganto John Belushi, there is a long and tragic history of comedians struggling with depression, addiction and life alone in the spotlight. As Williams said in 2011: “You can be the most brilliant guy in the world and still be upset, not handling life well.”

Jamie Masada, who owns the Laugh Factory comedy club in Los Angeles, told theWall Street Journal that although he’d known Williams for 35 years, “I never got to know Robin, really. He was always different characters, different voices. Really, he was always in pain”.

Speaking to News Corp’s Andrew Fenton in 2010 to promote his first ever stand-up tour of Australia, Williams was full of jokes and accents. But he was also reflective and introspective after having an operation to replace a faulty heart valve the year prior and losing his older brother Robert to heart complications in 2007.

“It certainly gives you a sense of mortality and you appreciate the little things — like breath,” Williams said. “It’s a very powerful thing and it does make you realise you’re vulnerable.”

That stand-up tour Williams was bringing our way was called Weapons of Self Destruction — something Williams knew more than a little about. Williams slid into cocaine and alcohol abuse in the early 1980s, while working on TV sitcom Mork & Mindy. He was scared straight by the overdose death of his close friend John Belushi in 1982, going cold turkey.

After 20 years of sobriety he relapsed into alcoholism and went into rehab in 2006. He had checked himself into an addiction treatment centre as recently as this June, his reps issuing a statement at the time that the visit was in order to “finetune and focus on his continued commitment” to sobriety.

In that same pre-tour chat in 2010, Williams explained: “For some people the glass is half full and for some, it’s half empty. For an alcoholic it’s, ‘Where’s the bottle?’.”

He added that his problem was twofold — simply not having the control mechanism that stops one from drinking, but also having a desire to self-medicate.

“The main thing is when you come through it, you have to deal with all that stuff and without (alcohol). Alcohol isn’t a crutch, it’s a really fast motorised wheelchair. It takes you down so quick, man. I mean, the floor falls out pretty fast. I have to say, life is much better without it.”

Ironically, Williams was owner of a vineyard in the Napa Valley, which was listed for sale at $32.3 million in April of this year.

“I grow grapes, which is a little bit like Gandhi having a delicatessen,” he joked. “Now that I’ve realised wine is not my friend I sell the grapes and say, ‘Good luck, maybe someone else will enjoy these’.”

In his Weapons of Self Destruction show, Williams riffed on how he used to be told drugs would kill him, yet, post-operation, he needed drugs to live. But his sharpest material was political — whether taking a stick to the George W. Bush administration or the right’s fear of President Obama.

In the late 1990s, he spoke of believing his comedy could be a force for change and every bit as credible as a role in a serious drama.

“I can talk about current events in America and deal with all of the madness we have, and along with that the classics. I’m really talking about things that are universal and passionate ... I’m talking about the world at this moment.”

Belushi, star of US sketch series Saturday Night Live and film The Blues Brothers, had the world at his feet when he lost his life to drugs. Another SNL graduate, Chris Farley, was making waves in movies when he similarly succumbed to an overdose 15 years later.

British actor, funnyman and wordsmith Stephen Fry has a bipolar disorder and last year revealed he attempted suicide in 2012.

Fry called himself “the victim of my own moods” — swinging between “exuberant” and “hyper” episodes, then waves of depression. He has said that when fans saw him outwardly laughing as the host of panel show QI, on the inside he was often thinking, “I want to f---ing die”.

Little Britain star David Walliams has also admitted the feeling of “wanting to die has always been in me” and to going through periods of “intense self-loathing”.

Legendary British comedian and poet Spike Milligan quite literally wrote the book on depression. In his 1993 publication Depression and How to Survive It, Milligan, then in his 70s, discussed his many mental breakdowns: “Something has happened to me, this vital spark has stopped burning. I go to a dinner table now and I don’t say a word, just sit there like a dodo. Normally I am the centre of attention ... so that is depressing in itself.”

Dad’s Army creator Jimmy Perry attempted to explain every comedian’s plight to UK newspaper The Daily Express, describing comedy as potentially “dangerous” and the comedian as “like a matador”.

“Comedy can be very frightening. As a comic you’re out there on your own with the spotlight on you. You tell one joke — it doesn’t get a good reaction. If the next one doesn’t either, you begin to panic ... It can be soul-destroying.”