A request to dim the lights for the Tony-winning Theater Hall of Fame member.
I was raised on television. So, it is no surprise that my first exposure to Linda Lavin was Alice, the reruns of which ran on a local New York channel when I was little. But, when I grew older, I realized that as good as Lavin was on television, she was really a creature of the stage. I have trouble believing Broadway has not yet dimmed the lights for this Tony-winning Theater Hall of Fame member.
Lavin had over fifteen Broadway credits, six Tony Award nominations and one win. Because Alice was so iconic, and because she spent much of her life doing film and television, it’s sometimes hard to remember just how in demand she was as a stage actress. At one point in 2011, in her 70s, she was attached to two shows transferring to Broadway and an off-Broadway play. She opted for the off-Broadway play, Nicky Silver’s The Lyons, which later transferred to Broadway, earning her her final Tony nomination. I was at The Kennedy Center, seeing her in Follies the night it was announced that Other Desert Cities (which she appeared in off-Broadway) would be transferring to Broadway without her. In Follies, which was the other production she left prior to Broadway, she sang “Broadway Baby,” appropriate for a woman who had made her Broadway debut in 1962 and kept coming back. I have an email to my friend from intermission of Follies, which begins: “This is an oddly dead production, but I am happy watching Linda Lavin do anything.”
Lavin had a sardonic, dry edge. An unmistakable tone. When she was on the stage, she commanded it. Her ability to make you feel for what might otherwise seem like a cold fish character was unparalleled. She could also make you laugh with a glance. I frequently watched her in awe. And—if she did it and it was in New York, I saw it. In 2022, right before Noah Diaz’s You Will Get Sick closed, I rushed to the box office to buy a ticket for that day’s performance, because I knew I couldn’t miss a Linda Lavin performance, and the show had previously slipped my mind. I hate cabaret generally, but saw different incarnations of her show through the years.
I can only imagine what it was like to see her early work. She landed “You’ve Got Possibilities” so well it soared while the musical it was in crashed. As she got older, she perfectly molded a Jewish mother archetype. I became a theatergoing adult after her Tony and much of her acclaim, but I’m so lucky I got to see her in so much live. She was clearly made for the stage. In 2007, Lavin and her husband, Steve Bakunas, bought a garage in Wilmington, Delaware and turned it into a community theater. She appeared in productions there—not for the money, but for the love of it. In New York, she often chose to perform in new plays, helping shape works and lending her star power to efforts that may have received less attention otherwise.
Upon her death, Nicky Silver posted on social media a story that exemplifies how much she enjoyed being on the stage. He wrote of a time when there was a prop glitch at The Lyons and he feared she would be upset. Lavin was, after all, a perfectionist who took her craft seriously. But the first thing that she said when she left the stage was: “Wasn’t that exciting!” She knew theater was a living art. She could embrace the variability of it. I remember seeing Hollywood Arms very early on and there was a dramatic door slam that did not work. The door bounced back. Lavin exclaimed “of course” as if it was part of the script, which it was not.
Lavin was iconic without being over-the-top. She found depth in the shortest quip. Of course, she could let loose when it was called for, but she made an impression without that.
I never asked to interview her for some reason. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t sure whether I could handle it. I only met her once and I was sort of speechless. However, when I interviewed people who had worked with her, I made sure to ask Linda Lavin questions. There was no shortage of comments about her wit, her kindness, and her commitment. Sometimes that last trait came off as stubbornness; I heard frequently Lavin had her own ideas about character development and wasn’t afraid to fight for them. But no one believed she was motivated by vanity, but rather by the art, an art she loved.
I was on a flight to Los Angeles when the news came out that Lavin had passed on. I was shocked. Yes, she was 87, but she was filming a new sitcom, she seemed full of life. I was away for a bit and I was only afraid I’d miss the light dimming on her behalf. I felt sure it would be announced swiftly. There was no question in my mind that the lights would be dimmed for her.
Yet here we are, over a month later, and there has been no announcement of a light dimming, nor even a campaign for one. Max Mutchnick, the co-creator of the Hulu series Mid-Century Modern, which Lavin was filming when she passed, revealed that the series had already filmed a goodbye tribute to her/her character. The theater community has not even shut the lights for a minute.
Having covered Broadway for so long, I’m aware of the drama that often surrounds light dimming decisions. And I know it’s tough for the powers that be—if you dim for everyone, it cheapens the honor. If they are not dimming the lights for Linda Lavin though, I’m not sure who they should dim the lights for. Perhaps it is a tradition that should be retired. But if it lives on, it should live on with a tribute to Linda Lavin.
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