The Solomon Scandals A Washington newspaper novel by David Rothman

29Apr/100

‘Red Hot Patriot’ play is B’way-bound for sure if Philly gross is any hint: $437K in single-ticket sales

redhot2 kathleenturner2 The Molly Ivins play—remem­ber, Molly was the uppity news­pa­per colum­nist with a dog named Shit and a sassy ‘tude to match—is a sure thing for Broad­way if you go by the num­bers from Philadelphia.

Hey, brag, didn’t I think as much ear­lier?

From March 19 through Sun­day as reported by Michael Klein in the Philadel­phia Inquirer, the world pre­mière star­ring Kath­leen Turner (left photo) “racked up $437,000 in single-ticket sales” for the Philadel­phia The­ater Company.

Red Hot Patriot: The Kick-Ass Wit of Molly Ivins played “its 5–1/2 weeks at 95 per­cent capac­ity. To give some con­text, the company’s pre­vi­ous best-sellers were Grey Gar­dens (2009) at $202,000 and The Hap­pi­ness Lec­ture (2008) at $187,000.” The co-authors are Mar­garet and Alli­son Engel—Peggy worked 20 or 30 feet from me at the Lorain (Ohio) Jour­nal. Con­grats to both!

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23Jan/103

‘Red Hot Patriot: The Kick-Ass Wit of Molly Ivins’: My Q. & A. with playwright Margaret Engel

imageA black mon­grel dog scam­pers across the stage, “drag­ging a leash and a canoe paddle.”

Her owner yells for the dog by her proper name, “Shit”—an ever-handy exple­tive for a Texas oilman’s red-headed daugh­ter, grouchy about the sta­tus quo.

This is the pop­ulist jour­nal­ist Molly Ivins at home, in a new play by Mar­garet (Peggy) Engel and her sis­ter, Alli­son. With the bless­ing of the Ivins estate, the twins have deftly stitched together an Ivins solil­o­quy from her actual writings.

Ivins wrote best-selling books and syn­di­cated columns and fired up hun­dreds of young reporters, only to die of breast can­cer in 2007 at 62. But if Kath­leen Turner’s act­ing is as good as the script I read the other day, even Molly’s bare­foot ghost might have to double-check the death certificate.

imageThe play’s debut, March 19 through April 18, is in Philadel­phia. Ahead is an edited email inter­view with Peggy Engel (right in photo by Mark Berndt), for­mer Wash­ing­ton Post reporter, ex-managing edi­tor of the New­seum and long-time direc­tor of the Ali­cia Pat­ter­son Foun­da­tion. Peggy and I have been friends for decades, start­ing with her first news­pa­per job in Lorain, Ohio, near Cleve­land. Peggy now lives in Bethesda, Mary­land; Alli­son, in Los Ange­les, where she is direc­tor of com­mu­ni­ca­tions at the Uni­ver­sity of South­ern California.

Q. Tell us more about who Molly was. Which other writer, dead or alive, was she most like in her humor and some other respects? Admir­ers say Ambrose Bierce or even Mark Twain.

She was hilar­i­ously funny. She was so smart and her wit just sparkled. She was a com­bi­na­tion of Bierce and Twain and Will Rogers, with some of that caus­tic humor that Ann Richards possessed.

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15Dec/090

Molly Ivins, ‘Red Hot Patriot’: A play and a bio—and some ‘Scandals’-style uppitiness

imageThe late Molly Ivins, sub­ject of a new biog­ra­phy, as well as a forth­com­ing play called Red Hot Patriot, never met two fel­low news­pa­per types named Wendy Blevin and Jonathan Stone.

And why should she have? They’re fictitious—both Wendy (daugh­ter of Mor­ri­son T. Blevin, the skilled bag­ger of both ducks and fighter-plane contracts—from his hunting-lodge guests) and Jon (the reporter pro­tag­o­nist of The Solomon Scan­dals).

Still, I can imag­ine some boozy bull-sessions, among the three char­ac­ters, over com­mon­al­i­ties beyond just news­pa­per­ing and sass.

Molly Ivins dissed the rich­est and the snob­bi­est of Texas. She grew up amid oil tycoons and yacht own­ers and acquain­tances like the Bush fam­ily, one of whose mem­bers, Dubya, she would lov­ingly immor­tal­ize as Shrub. The New York Time was not the right place for even a Smith alum who went bare­foot in the city room, or for copy with felic­i­ties such as “gang pluck” (to describe a chicken-kill). But Ivins thrived as a muckraker—especially at the Texas Observer—and as an author and speaker. Ivins’s syn­di­cated col­umn reached hun­dreds of news­pa­pers. She died in 2007 at 62 of can­cer, reli­ably out­spo­ken and witty to the end. “Hav­ing breast can­cer is mas­sive amounts of no fun,” she said. “First they muti­late you; then they poi­son you; then they burn you. I have been on blind dates bet­ter than that.”

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