By Hannah Blackman

This is L.A., and the dream begins. You know you have talent…no…how can you be sure? You think you have talent–you’ve studied, done scenes, and you’ve got your courage screwed “to the sticking place”…ready to launch into that uncertain and perilous world. Ready to brave the competition with your eyes on the prize.

This is the story of four women who went for it and their night in the light.

The dream began at the Laura Henry Acting Studio in Santa Monica. Four women: the oldest, Adela Guzman, already a grandmother–pretty, short, stout, but that’s part of her style. She’s out for character parts–TV series maybe, the sidekick or the clever secretary. Her resume says she’s also a dancer…including pole dancing? Okay, you start where you start. Vanessa Mesia: dark hair, bright smile, intense. Done a couple of plays, all in a classroom setting. Jennifer Nangle – onstage all her life. Already has her BFA. Her resume also includes fight choreography, makeup, juggling with three balls, and she’s already done a couple of small parts in local independent films.

They chose the Sherry Theater in the San Fernando Valley. Small, charming and intimate playhouse in a theater district called NoHo. Perhaps fifty seats…not too pricey…manageable. Not enough money for publicity or a fancy program, but they’ll have a chance to show what they can do in a full-length play. A chance to see if they can seduce an audience. A new and exciting door will open. And who knows…this is Hollywood!

But they can’t just choose any play. They need permissions. They decide on a wonderful drama, Agnes of God, done as a powerful film in the ‘80s by Jane Fonda, Meg Tilly, and Anne Bancroft…but first disappointment: the author refused permission. Finally, they decide on Independence, a four-woman play by Lee Blessing. And permission is granted!

Great story, great dramatic opportunities. Three daughters are trapped by a selfish, unfeeling mother who lives on the knife edge of reality. Jennifer will play the stay-at-home sister who is marked by the mother to be caretaker—forever. Vanessa is the academic, the one who got away… to live with her lesbian lover, until suddenly the stay-at-home sister calls her. “Help me! Mother tried to kill me!” She rushes back to that trap of a house to find that it was just a push and a fall. Nothing lethal…or is that house itself lethal? And her sister needs support. She’s slept with this guy and she’s pregnant. Help!

But the third sister, the juicy role of the wild, youngest sister, who survives by sleeping around–with anyone–sometimes with guys who are so dirty they would nauseate–is a free soul, full of life, wild, free body, and she’s just waiting to graduate and escape. And the actor cast in the part drops out two weeks before the play is due to open. They need a quick replacement. And the script goes out to a new-comer.

She’s never been onstage outside of the class. She’s young, tall, slender and, like her character, a free spirit, and yes–she wants the part! She gets the script by messenger within the hour. Next day, she’s in rehearsals. Her name is Mali Elfman.

I saw the play for the first time near opening night. There were eight people in the audience. Poor gals, I thought. But they did a solid job and came out courageously to take their curtain calls. I had to follow up and see what happened. I returned close to the end of the run and found a full house and four ladies living the dream, solidly into their roles and having the satisfaction of applause and whistles.

After the show, I spoke with the cast. How did it feel to find an almost empty house on that second night?

First night, they were just relieved that they knew their lines, but the sensation of being onstage and in the middle of a drama completely obliterated thoughts of audience. Mali said that she was just into it. The part called for her to use her body language. She mimics, mimes, dances: she’s funny! The first time, she was so into her part that she was unaware of no response from that small audience.

My second viewing, surprise and delight, the theater was filled. And the four women had become comfortable with their roles. This time there were titters in the audience, laughter. The connection between audience and cast was electric.

Small theater, not much money, no publicity and so no reviews, but at least, for these four ladies, it was step one on the glittering ladder. So will I see Adela as some funny secretary on a sit-com? Jennifer on a soap? Vanessa in a dramatic role on a new series? Well, I’ll be looking for that free spirit–vivacious and bright-voiced, funny Mali coming at me in some small but well-received independent film.

Every dream starts somewhere. This is Hollywood.