Matt Damon and Ben Affleck wrote Good Will Hunting with the kind of hope young writers carry—half belief, half desperation. They had a script they loved, a story they believed in, and absolutely no one willing to take a chance on it. Every studio passed. Too risky. Too unknown. Two nobodies from Boston trying to tell a story about genius and trauma and healing? Not bankable.
Then Robin Williams read it.
He didn’t just read it—he connected with it in a way that transcended professional calculation. When his agent presented the script, Robin said five words that would change multiple lives: “I want to do it.”
His name greenlit the movie. Suddenly the script that no studio would touch became a project worth investing in, because Robin Williams believed in it. Because one of the biggest stars in Hollywood looked at a story written by two unknown actors and saw something worth his time, his talent, his reputation.
On set, Robin treated Matt Damon like an equal. Not like a kid who got lucky. Not like someone who should be grateful for the opportunity. Like a fellow artist worthy of respect. He reminded Matt constantly: “You belong here.”
Those words mattered more than Robin probably realized. Because Matt was young and relatively unknown and surrounded by people who’d been doing this far longer. Imposter syndrome is real even when you’ve written the script. Maybe especially then.
Robin’s presence on set wasn’t just about his performance, though his portrayal of Sean Maguire—the therapist who finally breaks through Will’s defenses—became one of cinema’s most memorable characters. It was about what he represented: validation. Belief. The kind of support that doesn’t just help you make something good—it helps you believe you deserve to be making it at all.
When they won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, Robin Williams smiled back at them from the audience—proud, teary, genuinely happy for two young writers whose script he’d believed in when no one else would. The photo captures that moment: Robin beaming while Matt and Ben hold their Oscars, the three of them connected by a story that almost never got made.
After Robin’s death in 2014, Matt spoke about him with the kind of quiet grief reserved for people who fundamentally changed your life. “He changed my life,” Matt said. “He believed in me before anyone else did. I wish I could tell him one more time.”
That’s the tragedy of losing people who believed in us—we never get to thank them enough. We never get to explain adequately what their belief meant, how it carried us through moments of doubt, how it became part of the foundation we built our careers on.
Robin Williams was known for many things: his comedy, his versatility, his manic energy, his ability to make people laugh and cry sometimes in the same scene. But this story reveals something deeper about who he was: he was someone who saw potential in others and used his power to help them realize it.
He didn’t have to do Good Will Hunting. He was Robin Williams—he could have done anything. But he read a script by two unknowns and said yes. He showed up on set and treated them like equals. He reminded a young writer that he belonged there when that writer probably needed to hear it most.
The photos tell the story: Robin and Matt on set, the older actor and the younger one, creating something together. The embrace that followed, genuine and warm. The Oscar night photo with Matt and Ben in tuxedos holding their awards while Robin smiles proudly in the background.
Robin Williams didn’t just play a healer in Good Will Hunting. He was one. Not just for the character on screen, but for the people making the film. For Matt Damon, who needed someone to believe in him before he could fully believe in himself. For Ben Affleck, watching his best friend and co-writer get validated by one of the industry’s biggest stars.
“He believed in me before anyone else did.” That’s not just gratitude—it’s recognition of a debt that can never be repaid. Because when someone believes in you before you’ve proven yourself, before the world agrees, before success makes that belief seem obvious in retrospect, they give you something irreplaceable: the courage to keep going.
Matt wishes he could tell Robin one more time what his belief meant. But maybe Robin knew. Maybe he understood that when you have power and platform, one of the best things you can do is use it to lift others up. To say yes when everyone else says no. To remind someone they belong when they’re not sure they do.
Robin Williams didn’t just play a healer. He was one. And his belief in two young writers helped create a film that has now inspired millions.
That’s a legacy that outlasts any Oscar.