Standing Ovation

Yesterday, I found out that Mike Levine had passed away unexpectedly of a heart attack.   My friend from the Canyon Theater Guild, whom I met so many moons ago through Robert (my husband at the time).   It still doesn’t register as being true. 

Of course, this shocking news immediately floods your mind with all of the memories you have of this person from over the years. 

Let me tell you a little bit about Mikey...

My first memory of him was during the show “Dracula’s Widow”.  Robert was in the show, and I was seeing him act, and meeting the Canyon Theater Guild folks, for the first time, Mike was running sound and lights with Ricky Huntington, George Cummings directed.   There was a cast party at the lead actress’ house, which was stunning.  And someone played an acoustic guitar (Mike? George?) and we had a group sing-along, the highlight of which was everyone contributing verses to reconstruct Don McLean’s “American Pie” in its entirety.  It made me smile to be part of that moment.  It was golden. 

Mike was the most brilliant, talented actor at the CTG, bar none.   Everyone agreed, everyone knew it, and everyone loved him for it.  He was a mentor to all, including Robert and me.   Everyone wanted to be in a show with Mike, either acting with him or being directed by him.   As prolific as he was, though, he’d be the first to tell you he was nothing compared to the greats of theater, of film.  He never acknowledged his greatness—but we saw it shine.   He was an amazing director—when he directed, he got your best performance out of you.  Everyone brought their A-game when acting for or with Mike.  He generously raised you up to his level, because you wanted to be exceptional, as he was exceptional.   And he believed in you—he would coach you if you sought him out and asked for it.  If you didn’t, he assumed you had your shit together and came to rehearsal and shows as a professional.  He told the truth and didn’t blow smoke rings up your ass.  If you could do better, he would have told you, but in a way that inspired you to work harder to make your performance great.  

If Mikey loved you as his friend, he would hug you and kiss you on the lips—even if you were a man.  I admired his honesty of feeling, that he would do that regardless of gender.   He was a master of humor and puns—we’d go on pun runs for what seemed like forever, all of us trying to best each other.   And the banter between Mikey, Ricky, George, Steve Camara, Mike Collins and others...we were all in stitches for days!!   At another cast party at George’s, I remember he played this “game” with those who were at the same table in the backyard: name the best/most memorable moment from “insert-your-favorite-classic-movie-title-here”.   And he got people—actors, including himself—to talk about great moments in cinematic history from an insider’s point-of-view, delving into scene construction, editing, cinematography, long shots, panning, acting...all kinds of juicy bits!  I was mesmerized, so happy to be a fly on the wall, listening to it all.   I remember the Rocks’ spaghetti feeds, the Boydstons’ summer BBQs, cast parties, and a single New Year’s Eve at Mike & Ruth’s.  

After Robert and I married, I eventually got involved with the CTG, myself.   I had always wanted to act, but never thought I could because I was so shy.   I auditioned, got cast, and played Aunt Tilly in It’s A Wonderful Life (terribly ironic, as this was also Mikey’s last show, this past December...).  After opening night’s show, I saw Mike in the crowd and he said I did a fantastic job...I don’t remember the exact words he used, but for him to say I did well meant I did well, and that made me both humbled and proud at the same time.   Sadly, I never did have the privilege of doing a show with him, though.  But I loved watching him act.  I would go see shows he was in just because he was in them.  One of the most gripping shows I ever saw him do was Sleuth in 2002, with George.  He and George were absolutely magnetic; they transformed from the men I knew into cat-and-mouse, Mike’s character psychologically preying on George’s character.  The man had mastered his craft. 

I remember talking with him for the first time, post-divorce, in front of the new theater in Newhall a couple of years ago and being happy that he still remembered me with fondness; we talked about what was going on with each of us.   We became friends on Facebook and so were able to keep in touch even after I moved back East— I was honored when he liked the artwork that I posted.  We would play Scrabble and he consistently kicked my ass.  I was happy to have the opportunity to try to match wits with him.

My heart goes out to his wife Ruth and his son Adam. I’m not even going to try to pretend to understand what they are going through right now.  To them, I send my love and my respect. 

Merry Part, Mikey...

Always much love and fond remembrances of lessons learned from you.  Thank you for teaching me what you did. 

(Lights fade)