|Photo by Aubrey Reuben|
"Without missing a beat," Steve O'Donnell remembered, "Mark said, 'Between bleak and bleakest.'"
The story was one of many examples of the late writer's mordant, yet impish humor that were shared at a Nov. 12 memorial at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre. Mark O'Donnell died suddenly on Aug. 6, 2012. He was 58.
The speakers — who including members of the Hairspray team, colleagues from O'Donnell's days at Harvard, and artists who worked on his early playwriting efforts produced at Playwrights Horizons — told of a man collectively remembered as a peerless wit, one of the cleverest people they'd ever met; and a man who was, somewhat paradoxically, also one of the nicest and more generous souls imaginable.
"He had a Beckett mind and led a Beckett life," said Patricia Marx, who worked with O'Donnell on the Harvard Lampoon, "but his presentation was feelgood Disney." She added, "His might have been the first instance of success not eliciting any envy or bitterness." She then read a short play by O'Donnell titled Exploration of Mars. Its single line: "Yoo-hoo!"
When Mark O'Donnell grew up and published actual books, at book singings he would scribble quirky private messages in each volume's end pages, like "Don't tell the others, but you're my favorite reader," or "Look for a veiled reference to you on page 8." "He didn't have to do that," said Steve, "but he did." When going through Mark's apartment, Steve found more bizarre comic detritus, like a blank matchbook on which Mark has scrawled "Le Club Stupid."
"Who was this all for?" asked Steve O'Donnell.
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