The galvanizing energy to finally put all the pieces of my life together came out of the clear blue sky one day and struck me like a Zeus lightning bolt from, of all places, the stage of a comedy festival in Aspen, Colorado. That day I saw three performances I couldn’t get out of my mind.
The first was by Michael Patrick King, producer and director of Sex and the City, describing how his creative work affected his private life. He stood center stage, alone, unscripted, and revealed his dreams, his fears, his regrets—all charmingly sprinkled with embarrassing anecdotes. He recounted his telephone call with Sarah Jessica Parker concerning their urgency to find a new love interest once her current beau, Mr. Big, was written out of the script. With great humor he described how the two of them plotted to ensnare the famously dramatic Mikhail Baryshnikov for the role. The back story details culminated in a colorful description of how King’s own torrid affair with Baryshnikov became director-and-actor when the cameras were rolling and lovers behind the scenes. I was charmed by King’s high-octane wit and admired his willingness to be so open and revealing.
Next Teri Garr walked awkwardly on stage and explained why she had not been seen in public for several years. She was suffering from multiple sclerosis. Unable to do films any longer this appearance was to be her debut as a stand-up comic. An uneasy hush fell over the audience. Our discomfort faded, though, when it became clear that she was a great deal more than just her disability. Touched by her courage and warmed by her sense of humor, we were soon laughing along with her at memories of life in Hollywood as a young adventurous sexpot in the 70’s.
Richard Pryor’s daughter, Rain, was last. She spoke unflinchingly about growing up in the shadow of a much celebrated comedian father—a young girl in the midst of drugs, abuse, and all around craziness. I was stunned by the rawness of her candor. She talked about the connection between pain and humor and described how she had finally found her own way to the stage.
By the time she was finished, my eyes were rimmed with tears. I left the tent simultaneously spellbound and drained. I thought about my own art and its relationship to my life, and whether I would have the courage to tell my story, expose vulnerable parts, on my stage.