HOLLY, NO PRETENDER SHE

So I click on Facebook to wish my friend, student, and fellow playwright a Happy Birthday. And on her page, I see:

Happy Birthday, Holly, in Heaven.

And I think to myself: well, shit. 

I met Holly in my first ever playwriting class at DCPA, which somehow was years ago, even though it feels like only a blink of the eye to me. 

Of late, pretty much everything that has ever happened to me feels like it was just yesterday. 

And also forever ago.

Holly had signed up for my class to finish a play she had been working on for quite some time. She had taken classes on playwriting at DCPA before my class, and several of her classmates that first session had taken those classes as well, and I got the impression she had been working on her play for quite a while. 

Her play was titled The Great Pretender, and it was a sort of kitchen sink realism piece set in the 1950s, all about a family dealing with a son who had a tenuous relationship with the truth. It felt to me like the sort of thing a young Paddy Chayevsky would have written and had done on Playhouse 90. She brought new pages every class. Took every note I gave her. Worked and reworked and reworked yet again moments and sections, always seeking to find that right balance. At the end of the session, we had a night of readings of everyone's work.

It was a magic night for all of us, I think. 

I was fortunate enough to be asked back to teach another session at DCPA. And Holly signed up for that class as well. And she continued to work on her play. Scene by scene, character by character. A lot of it changed, as she got deeper and deeper into it. We had another reading at the end of that session, and that too was magic. I strongly believe there is something mystical and wondrous in people sharing themselves through their writing in front of strangers. 

I got asked back again, and Holly followed. 

This cycle continued. Class, reading, new class, Holly back, and so on.

And lo and behold, a day came, after a few years of the class, when Holly's play was done. 

By then, I had a fairly consistent group of students in my classes, and most of us knew Holly and her work. 

And we were ecstatic. 

Holly beamed with pride. 

And something in her changed. A power filled her, a glow. 

The night she brought in the last bit of her play, we all cheered her like the rock star she was. And always will be. 

And on the way out of the building that night, she gave me a million dollar smile and said "Thanks, Kid".

One of the best things I've ever had said to me, really, because it was full of... well, everything. The play, the time, the work, the laughter, the frustration, and the joy.

The joy.

Here was a woman who had lived a full life, who late on decided to write a play. And she did. And I got to be a part of that. A small part, to be sure. But I'll take it. 

And cherish it. 

Holly didn't give a shit about her age, or how long it took her to get her play done, or anything other than working on what she loved.

She was a tough, funny, wonderful woman, and I shall miss her.

I the photo below, Holly is the woman on the left, with the glasses and blue top. That's us at class, in the library at the education building of the DCPA. A room full of giants.

Here's a song for Holly. It's The Great Pretender, of course.

PS - if you feel like taking a class, click HERE.

THE BATMAN WILL OPEN IN RUSSIA

I get a lot of emails. I suppose we all do. Most are semi-junk from sites I sort of follow, with updates, headlines, things to buy and so on. This morning, I got one from The Hollywood Reporter that sort of made me laugh and cringe at the same time. "The Batman Will Still Open in Russia, But What Will Happen Next?" was the subject line. 

Fucking weird.

I immediately had this vision of The Batman in Moscow, hunting Putin down and bringing him to justice, hauling him off to Arkham Asylum to hang with The Joker and The Scarecrow and Killer Croc. 

Then my mind went to Zelensky being The Batman, a crime fighting super hero with no super powers other than determination and a sense of what is right and wrong. 

And I dug that thought. 

Things are crazy, but also clarifying, I think, right now. 

Thanks Vlad.

There are a few things that are clear. 

Invading a country because you are a dickhead is bad.

Want of money and power lead people to do evil things to one another.

We are always at our best when things are at their worst.

Always.

I check the headlines of the NY Times, HuffPost, Apple News, and The Washington Post almost hourly, dreading and expecting to see that Ukraine's Batman is dead. 

But so far, that hasn't happened. 

Instead, I read about women in their 60s making Moltov Cocktails. And road signs being changed to read "Go Fuck Yourself " in Russian. And about that garrison of soldiers who told the Russian Navy to Go Fuck Itself.

Seems that Go Fuck Yourself is sort of a new national slogan. Maybe international.

I picture Zelensky/Batman, in his confrontation with Vlad the Invader, telling him to Go Fuck Himself before kicking his ass. 

I am finding this whole situation, this invasion, somehow inspiring. Giving me new found hope in humanity, in resistance, in glory and honor.

This is how you treat a bully. This is what you do to people who want to destroy the world we all share for short sighted and selfish ends. 

This is what is means to be a hero.

Okay. Off to the races. Here's a song. It's The Captain by Guster.