Interview with Halley Feiffer
In this week’s Loss Letter I talk to critically acclaimed playwright and actor, Halley Feiffer. Our conversation covers her experience-informed play about cancer, vacations for crying, Law & Order: SVU, and living with Lyme Disease. You know…just the essentials.
Halley’s latest play, Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow is showing July 26th - August 6th at Williamstown Theater Festival. I hope you get the opportunity to see Halley Feiffer’s brand of magic in action. I hope you enjoy Halley's insight and vulnerability.
collage by Kiddo
Kiddo: I saw your play, [A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Gynecologic Oncology Unit at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center of New York City] before my mom was diagnosed, while it was in previews in May. It’s a play filled with moments that you aren’t “supposed” to laugh at in polite society, but you’ve written them as really funny interactions – the whole audience is laughing. Later, in my real experience that was all reflected. If you weren’t laughing you wouldn’t be able to move through it.
Halley: There was a line in the play, in a much earlier draft of it, where one of the mom characters is making a joke, and Don says ‘I can’t believe you’re laughing at that.’ So she says, ‘We have to laugh otherwise we’d kill ourselves.’ I feel like that could sort of be summed up as the thesis of the play and the way I view life. We have a choice to have a sense of humor about it or take ourselves so seriously we can’t even remember why we should go on. I think a sense of humor is easier and ultimately more truthful.
K: Even if I want to stay in pain, laughter as a reaction I can’t control — it unlocks me.
H: I think it really is. I had that experience last night where I went to see a friend’s play and I showed up in kind of a foul mood, I was having a dark day. Eight seconds into the play I was laughing so hard, whether I like it or not I’m having a great time. It’s a very painful play, it’s called Significant Other about this very lonely gay man. I was laughing because I identified with him. I haven’t been a gay man but I know what it’s like to feel lonely and to feel isolated and to feel defective. It was so healing to laugh out of identification.
K: tell me what happened to bring your play, A Funny Thing… into reality.
collage by Kiddo
H: I got the idea for the play — let’s see — 10 years ago, when my mom was in the hospital. At the time we didn’t know it was ovarian cancer and we were in the hospital while she was recovering from a hysterectomy. I was a college student, 20 or 21, I was really selfish and really young and an unwitting active alcoholic at the time. My sister was quite young 9 or 10, so my dad had to tend to her and I ended up spending a lot of time with my mom in the hospital.
In a lot of ways it was really beautiful: we got to bond in a way we wouldn’t have otherwise because we were in such close quarters and it was such a scary time. Much scarier than I realized at the time because she was waiting to find out if she had several months to live or the rest of her life as expected. My mom didn’t tell me that, so she was sitting on this terror. I knew there was something wrong but I assumed it was the pain of the hysterectomy. I thought she was cancer-free. She was in a lot of pain physically and emotionally, and I could sense that but I didn’t know the whole story. I didn’t know how to show up for her because I was young and troubled myself.
I remember one day she was sleeping and there is a curtain that separates her from her roommate and I thought, you know what would make this so much easier? If there were a handsome young guy — maybe her roommate’s son — on the other side of the curtain who I could just flirt with.
K: Something pleasurable and distracting?
H: Yes, exactly. I just wanted a fun distraction. As soon as I had that thought I recognized how selfish that was, but I also thought it was a fun idea for a play — it’s human. I sort of filed it away.
I didn’t work on it for years. We got good news, she was treated for ovarian cancer and recovered which was miraculous. I wasn’t able to write about it until she — we — were out of the woods.
So, years later I wrote the play based on the fantasy of what could have been, leaning into the selfishness of the characters. Everyone gets scared in those situations — wants to show up and run away. I wanted to explore that with two very different characters who find themselves thrown into this very difficult situation.
K: I wonder if your mom wanted someone close who didn’t know how serious it was so that she could have some light reflected back to her?
H: Yeah. That’s beautiful. I actually hadn’t really thought of it that way. In the play you see the mother and daughter watching an episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit together which is something I added in because it’s something my mom and I would do in the hospital. That’s also something we’d do at home — it was what we all bonded on as a family. Our family was eccentric, there was a vast age difference. My dad at that time was in his 70s, my mom was in her 50s, I was in my 20s and my sister was 10. SVU is the only thing people ranging from 10 to 70 can really all agree on.
We’d order Chinese food and sit on my parents’ bed and watch Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. And they had that in the hospital too. I like what you said, we could reflect lightness on a really dark situation because wherever you go, there’s SVU!
Special Victims Unit is perfect for the scene [in A Funny Thing…] because it’s entertainment based on the darkest possible things and in almost every episode the bad guy gets caught. That never happens in reality.
When you’re in the hospital and you don’t know what the outcome is gonna be, watching this show where you know the bad guy’s gonna lose, it’s comforting.
K: I’m the central character of this story of my life. Being thrown into situations where there is real uncertainty, it crushes that point of view. I wonder if writing the play and having total control resolves a little of that in you? Is the writing process for you some kind of digestion?
H: I love that word so much. So many people have asked ‘is this cathartic?’ ‘is this your way of working through it?’ Which for some reason leaves a bad taste in my mouth. For some reason it feels condescending. People said that a lot about my first play, I’m Gonna Pray for You So Hard. I just don’t know that they would ask a male playwright the same thing. Was it cathartic for you, Eugene O’Neil?
Digesting. I love that because in a way I think that’s exactly what the process is.
I’m the main character of my story…I haven’t had cancer, but as you know I have chronic Lyme Disease and other health issues for years.
I said to a friend ‘This is so hard’ because I had a lot of self-pity [around Lyme Disease], especially at first. I’d literally scream, why am I having this?! Because you feel so out of control, you can’t make your body feel better. You just can’t.
My friend lovingly pointed out In a way it’s rather arrogant of you to think this wouldn’t happen to you. You know people get sick, it’s a thing that happens in the world, so to think you’re the exception — you’re a person that won’t ever get sick — is kind of delusional and arrogant.
That really changed my whole life. Oh my gosh, I almost want to start crying because I’m like oh yeah of course! And since I really digested that I think, Oh, I’m just sick, okay. Other people have xyz, and I’m just sick, that’s okay.
In a way, I did write the play to digest. Even though the mom in the play is not like my mom and I’m not Karla. But it was a way to revisit the thoughts and the feelings and the fears and blow it up by a thousand.
K: Do you also see yourself in Don?
H: I totally do. So yes, Don is a beleaguered 47-year old guy whose wife recently left him for a woman. A multi-millionaire who hates his life and seriously contemplates suicide. The details of his life are very different from mine but I can relate to all those feelings.
Just yesterday when I was having a dark day, I just found out I got a job I really wanted the day before and today it doesn’t matter at all. I’m still feeling really blue. You feel even lonelier then, because it’s like well what would make me happy? It’s clearly not the Stuff. And it turns out it really is human connectionand that’s what [Don’s] able to find in the play.
I wanted [A Funny Thing Happens…] to be about that connection that can come through laughter and pain which opens you to connection with other people.
K: The characters are connecting to one another, maybe not the right person for them, but they’re making a map of human connection and vulnerability.
H: That’s exactly it. I think he gets to practice vulnerability and giving someone the benefit of the doubt with Karla in a way that he hasn’t in years. When we meet him he’s defensive and rageful and gets high off of self-righteous anger. Not an easy person to be in a relationship with, it turns out. Being in close quarters with this young woman teaches him to open up. This selfish arrogant but ultimately, I hope, loveable 30-year-old stand-up comedian can help him be vulnerable.
K: It’s sometimes easier to be vulnerable with someone you don’t intend to ever see again.
H: Well, that’s what’s interesting about the hospital setting. I wrote it while I was in residence at Stella Adler, I brought the pages to The Art of Acting Studio which is the Los Angeles arm. I remember asking them Does this feel so over-the-top? because the first scene is a huge blow-up fight. Does this feel so hyperbolic? No one would ever behave this way? And they were like, in real life, no. No one would do this in normal life. But in a hospital all bets are off. It’s such a heightened circumstance. These people feel scared and uncomfortable and the stakes are so high that it does feel believable. That was what I had to believe so that I could keep writing it.
In the hospital and they’re experiencing the highest heights of infatuation with the lowest low terror of losing a mother. I hope that explains taking these insane actions. I know I can relate to that in my own life, when I’m in so much fear that I’ll reach for whatever I can to feel comfortable even if, in retrospect it’s hurting me or someone else.
Dear Reader,
In this week’s Loss Letter I talk to critically acclaimed playwright and actor, Halley Feiffer. Our conversation covers her experience-informed play about cancer, vacations for crying, Law & Order: SVU, and living with Lyme Disease. You know…just the essentials.
Halley’s latest play, Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow is showing July 26th - August 6th at Williamstown Theater Festival. I hope you get the opportunity to see Halley Feiffer’s brand of magic in action. I hope you enjoy Halley's insight and vulnerability.
Kiddo: I saw your play, [A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Gynecologic Oncology Unit at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center of New York City] before my mom was diagnosed, while it was in previews in May. It’s a play filled with moments that you aren’t “supposed” to laugh at in polite society, but you’ve written them as really funny interactions – the whole audience is laughing. Later, in my real experience that was all reflected. If you weren’t laughing you wouldn’t be able to move through it.
Halley: There was a line in the play, in a much earlier draft of it, where one of the mom characters is making a joke, and Don says ‘I can’t believe you’re laughing at that.’ So she says, ‘We have to laugh otherwise we’d kill ourselves.’ I feel like that could sort of be summed up as the thesis of the play and the way I view life. We have a choice to have a sense of humor about it or take ourselves so seriously we can’t even remember why we should go on. I think a sense of humor is easier and ultimately more truthful.
K: Even if I want to stay in pain, laughter as a reaction I can’t control — it unlocks me.
H: I think it really is. I had that experience last night where I went to see a friend’s play and I showed up in kind of a foul mood, I was having a dark day. Eight seconds into the play I was laughing so hard, whether I like it or not I’m having a great time. It’s a very painful play, it’s called Significant Other about this very lonely gay man. I was laughing because I identified with him. I haven’t been a gay man but I know what it’s like to feel lonely and to feel isolated and to feel defective. It was so healing to laugh out of identification.
K: tell me what happened to bring your play, A Funny Thing… into reality.
H: I got the idea for the play — let’s see — 10 years ago, when my mom was in the hospital. At the time we didn’t know it was ovarian cancer and we were in the hospital while she was recovering from a hysterectomy. I was a college student, 20 or 21, I was really selfish and really young and an unwitting active alcoholic at the time. My sister was quite young 9 or 10, so my dad had to tend to her and I ended up spending a lot of time with my mom in the hospital.
In a lot of ways it was really beautiful: we got to bond in a way we wouldn’t have otherwise because we were in such close quarters and it was such a scary time. Much scarier than I realized at the time because she was waiting to find out if she had several months to live or the rest of her life as expected. My mom didn’t tell me that, so she was sitting on this terror. I knew there was something wrong but I assumed it was the pain of the hysterectomy. I thought she was cancer-free. She was in a lot of pain physically and emotionally, and I could sense that but I didn’t know the whole story. I didn’t know how to show up for her because I was young and troubled myself.
I remember one day she was sleeping and there is a curtain that separates her from her roommate and I thought, you know what would make this so much easier? If there were a handsome young guy — maybe her roommate’s son — on the other side of the curtain who I could just flirt with.
K: Something pleasurable and distracting?
H: Yes, exactly. I just wanted a fun distraction. As soon as I had that thought I recognized how selfish that was, but I also thought it was a fun idea for a play — it’s human. I sort of filed it away.
I didn’t work on it for years. We got good news, she was treated for ovarian cancer and recovered which was miraculous. I wasn’t able to write about it until she — we — were out of the woods.
So, years later I wrote the play based on the fantasy of what could have been, leaning into the selfishness of the characters. Everyone gets scared in those situations — wants to show up and run away. I wanted to explore that with two very different characters who find themselves thrown into this very difficult situation.
Everyone gets scared in those situations — wants to show up and run away.
K: I wonder if your mom wanted someone close who didn’t know how serious it was so that she could have some light reflected back to her?
H: Yeah. That’s beautiful. I actually hadn’t really thought of it that way. In the play you see the mother and daughter watching an episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit together which is something I added in because it’s something my mom and I would do in the hospital. That’s also something we’d do at home — it was what we all bonded on as a family. Our family was eccentric, there was a vast age difference. My dad at that time was in his 70s, my mom was in her 50s, I was in my 20s and my sister was 10. SVU is the only thing people ranging from 10 to 70 can really all agree on.
We’d order Chinese food and sit on my parents’ bed and watch Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. And they had that in the hospital too. I like what you said, we could reflect lightness on a really dark situation because wherever you go, there’s SVU!
Special Victims Unit is perfect for the scene [in A Funny Thing…] because it’s entertainment based on the darkest possible things and in almost every episode the bad guy gets caught. That never happens in reality.
When you’re in the hospital and you don’t know what the outcome is gonna be, watching this show where you know the bad guy’s gonna lose, it’s comforting.
Our family was eccentric, there was a vast age difference. My dad at that time was in his 70s, my mom was in her 50s, I was in my 20s and my sister was 10.
Law & Order: Special Victims Unit is the only thing people ranging from 10 to 70 can really all agree on.
K: I’m the central character of this story of my life. Being thrown into situations where there is real uncertainty, it crushes that point of view. I wonder if writing the play and having total control resolves a little of that in you? Is the writing process for you some kind of digestion?
H: I love that word so much. So many people have asked ‘is this cathartic?’ ‘is this your way of working through it?’ Which for some reason leaves a bad taste in my mouth. For some reason it feels condescending. People said that a lot about my first play, I’m Gonna Pray for You So Hard. I just don’t know that they would ask a male playwright the same thing. Was it cathartic for you, Eugene O’Neil?
Digesting. I love that because in a way I think that’s exactly what the process is.
I’m the main character of my story…I haven’t had cancer, but as you know I have chronic Lyme Disease and other health issues for years.
I said to a friend ‘This is so hard’ because I had a lot of self-pity [around Lyme Disease], especially at first. I’d literally scream, why am I having this?! Because you feel so out of control, you can’t make your body feel better. You just can’t.
My friend lovingly pointed out In a way it’s rather arrogant of you to think this wouldn’t happen to you. You know people get sick, it’s a thing that happens in the world, so to think you’re the exception — you’re a person that won’t ever get sick — is kind of delusional and arrogant.
That really changed my whole life. Oh my gosh, I almost want to start crying because I’m like oh yeah of course! And since I really digested that I think, Oh, I’m just sick, okay. Other people have xyz, and I’m just sick, that’s okay.
In a way, I did write the play to digest. Even though the mom in the play is not like my mom and I’m not Karla. But it was a way to revisit the thoughts and the feelings and the fears and blow it up by a thousand.
[With Lyme Disease] you feel so out of control, you can’t make your body feel better. You just can’t.
K: Do you also see yourself in Don?
H: I totally do. So yes, Don is a beleaguered 47-year old guy whose wife recently left him for a woman. A multi-millionaire who hates his life and seriously contemplates suicide. The details of his life are very different from mine but I can relate to all those feelings.
Just yesterday when I was having a dark day, I just found out I got a job I really wanted the day before and today it doesn’t matter at all. I’m still feeling really blue. You feel even lonelier then, because it’s like well what would make me happy? It’s clearly not the Stuff. And it turns out it really is human connectionand that’s what [Don’s] able to find in the play.
I wanted [A Funny Thing Happens…] to be about that connection that can come through laughter and pain which opens you to connection with other people.
K: The characters are connecting to one another, maybe not the right person for them, but they’re making a map of human connection and vulnerability.
H: That’s exactly it. I think he gets to practice vulnerability and giving someone the benefit of the doubt with Karla in a way that he hasn’t in years. When we meet him he’s defensive and rageful and gets high off of self-righteous anger. Not an easy person to be in a relationship with, it turns out. Being in close quarters with this young woman teaches him to open up. This selfish arrogant but ultimately, I hope, loveable 30-year-old stand-up comedian can help him be vulnerable.
K: It’s sometimes easier to be vulnerable with someone you don’t intend to ever see again.
H: Well, that’s what’s interesting about the hospital setting. I wrote it while I was in residence at Stella Adler, I brought the pages to The Art of Acting Studio which is the Los Angeles arm. I remember asking them Does this feel so over-the-top? because the first scene is a huge blow-up fight. Does this feel so hyperbolic? No one would ever behave this way? And they were like, in real life, no. No one would do this in normal life. But in a hospital all bets are off. It’s such a heightened circumstance. These people feel scared and uncomfortable and the stakes are so high that it does feel believable. That was what I had to believe so that I could keep writing it.
In the hospital and they’re experiencing the highest heights of infatuation with the lowest low terror of losing a mother. I hope that explains taking these insane actions. I know I can relate to that in my own life, when I’m in so much fear that I’ll reach for whatever I can to feel comfortable even if, in retrospect it’s hurting me or someone else.
No one would do this in normal life. But in a hospital all bets are off.
K: can you unpack that a little bit?
H: Yeah. Through meditation I’ve been able to study my thoughts better and I had a revelation maybe a year ago where I was like fantasizing about something. When I’m in fantasy I’m not present. I’m not walking down the street. I’m in this alternative future that doesn’t exist that’s better than this. I’m not here…So why am I doing this?
Every time I go into fantasy it’s because I’m uncomfortable with some aspect of my life. So, in that moment it was because I was really sick [with Lyme Disease]. My whole body hurt. And I thought, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be in this body. I just want to be in this fantasy life.
But the catch with that is that I don’t really get better because I’m not present. I’m not able to feel my body and treat it with kindness and love and compassion. So that’s something I’m trying to work on. But these characters in the play don’t know how to do that yet. Which is good because it makes for a more interesting play.
I’m talking as if I don’t do that anymore, but I do that seven thousand times a day. I’m human. I’m getting a little bit better.
K: I relate to the escape through fantasy.
H: Even if I’m sad. I think so much of my pain comes from trying to stave off or cover up or delay the sadness. This summer for instance, I went on this vacation to Greece. I really wanted to go to an island and just cry. I had a really beautiful but really challenging year.
So that’s basically what I did. I did a lot of crying on a bunch of islands.
K: that sounds so nice! The champagne of crying.
H: Yeah! I was like crying, looking at the most beautiful ocean, eating seafood risotto, candle burning, sun setting. It was awesome. It was really great. There was nothing in that moment that said I shouldn’t be crying…I need to get somewhere…someone will walk in on me. I don’t know anyone on this island. Whoever sees me crying, who cares? I’ll never see them again.
I needed to let that sadness pass through me, and I’ll tell you — I realized this the other night — what I was crying about is something I had been crying about for a long time. Since I’ve gotten back from that trip I’ve cried about that thing maybe twice. It’s like I got all the tears out. I used to cry about it almost every day.
K: It’s nice to feel you’ve thoroughly grieved something. Making a vacation out of it…I love that. I have a favorite crying position — hands and knees — I haveto believe that in five years I’ll be in a better place because I did that crying.
H: I’m not going to get in shape if I don’t go to the gym, I’m not going to become more aware if I don’t meditate, and I’m not going to move the grief unless I set aside that time and space.
I had that same thought today about Lyme Disease. Lately I’m having a flare up and all I can do is let it pass. I have to trust that it will pass through me. I think that’s true for physical and emotional pain. We have to show up for it and coddle it.
Hands and knees…in our sanitized civilized world we don’t let those things happen. It’s more natural. You’re expelling something.
K: Will you tell us a little about how long it took you to get to this place with the Lyme Disease?
H: Um, I love that question.
I think it took a while. I was really really really resistant to it for years. I was just horrified and furious that I had to live like this.
Another thing that Tara Brach talks about — gosh I guess she’s a really big influence on me — baseline happiness. It’s been proven with lottery winners and paraplegics: you win the lottery you’re happier for some amount of time but eventually you’re restored to your baseline happiness; if you lose both your legs you’ll be pretty depressed for awhile and then you’ll be restored to your baseline happiness. And that’s how I feel with this. For a while I couldn’t believe I’d have to spend so much time either lying down or pushing through this and feeling terrible.
And now, I don’t remember what it is to —sorry — I don’t remember what it is to be healthy. And I’m actually okay with that. Here’s the craziest part: I’m grateful for it, really. This is who I am.
I don’t know how that even makes sense, but I really trust that it’s been given to me for some sort of reason. I’ve learned so much through it. And it’s just the life that I’ve been given. So, I’m weirdly really grateful for it. It’s taught me to really slow down and prioritize my health.
In some ways I think the Universe was saying okay, you’re not gonna learn this lesson unless we make it really clear for you. So, I think that’s what helped me turn the corner with [Lyme], finding what I can be grateful for.
I’ll also say this: I’m sure you found going through a painful situation, it helps me to have much more compassion for other people’s pain. So like, when people talk to me about their physical ailments I used to be like ehh I don’t know what to say! Sorry? Now I’m able to ask questions and really identify and not be afraid to relate to them about it because I have a reference point, and it’s okay if I can’t fix their pain.
Like we started off the conversation, it’s healing enough just to share about it.
K: I wonder if there is an element of connection that reveals: it’s so insane that it’s humorous. Does the relief and pain and connection inform the creative work?
H: Yeah! And I will say the play I just finished, is about Lyme Disease. So, in a way it’s all material too. It’s a very dark play, but there is a lot of humor in it too. There’s humor in being a young woman who looks healthy. Everywhere I go, people are like but you look so healthy, and I’m thinking I don’t remember your name and I’ve know you since I was five. Because of what this disease has done to my brain and my soul and my body — that’s funny in some way! It’s dark but it’s also pretty funny.
K: Well, it’s not inherently funny. That needs to be extracted from it. I think that’s something that your talent and voice and work does in a powerful way.
Do you think there is an element of the Lyme that says I just don’t have energy or time to waste?
H: Yes! The Lyme is really interesting because it affects your body, as I mentioned, but it also affects your brain because the bacteria burrow into every cell of your body including your brain. So not only do I not have time, I don’t have brain space. In that way it’s been really useful. I don’t have the luxury — I cannot waste time or space.
When I was acting in that play [Front Page] I set a hard and fast rule: no work on my day off, Monday. That was a big deal for me. I knew I needed to have a day that was just for lying around in the bath and watching movies.
It was amazing. It was my favorite day of the week, for sure.
K: I can hear the relief when you talk about your relationship to Lyme Disease now versus what it was even 18 months ago.
H: Really? I can’t really see that in myself. Except when the friend asked how are you? And I thought how should I respond? It didn’t occur to me to say “I’m not feeling well” because that’s part of my life.
Even a year ago I would have said Bad! I’m sick I’m bad! It’s really true that what you focus on grows.
K: What does the word loss mean to you in your creative life?
H: At the risk of sounding so corny, I think it means new opportunities. Because every time I’ve experienced loss in my creative life it’s opened space for something else that I didn’t see while I was so focused on this Thing.
K: Is there anything else you want to say?
H: I think there are probably a lot of things… What I love so much about Loss Letters is acknowledging that there is a lot of pain in life and it can come in all different kinds of packages but we are all suffering in some way a lot of the time. That’s something that I want to keep saying out loud in my work. Everything I’ve written focuses on that idea that being alive is about pain and going back to what we were talking about: finding the humor in that pain. But we can’t find the humor if we feel separate, apart, and different. Or if we feel there is something to hide here.
The Lyme Disease play I was telling you about, it’s also about a really toxic romantic relationship that’s really loosely based on a toxic romantic relationship I had that I was nervous about sharing. I was so not proud of my behavior in that relationship — that’s putting it mildly. But in order to move through the shame of it, I needed to share it. I’m hoping other people see it and think oh my gosh, I haven’t acted quite as abominably as this person, but I relate to the feelings, or I’ve had those fears, or those compulsions.
I want to encourage myself and all of us to just keep sharing the ickiest, grossest, creepiest, most shameful parts of ourselves because I think when we do that so much of the shame is lifted just from being able to hold it for each other, and relate to each other, and laugh with each other about it.
