BY LISA LEWIS
"It is with great sadness that The Second City recognizes the loss of Martin de Maat who passed away peacefully among friends and family at the Cabrini Medical Center in New York City on Thursday morning February 15, 2001 due to complications from pneumonia.
One of the nation’s most respected improvisational teachers, Martin de Maat literally grew up at The Second City, from working on the children’s shows of his aunt Josephine Forsberg to becoming the artistic director of Second City’s expansive Training Center and artistic consultant to The Second City Theatres. Thousands upon thousands of students were blessed to have de Maat introduce them to improv. His ability to support and nurture young talent was legendary, as was his gift at providing a warm and safe environment for anyone taking an interest in his work—performers and non-performers alike. And while our grief is deep, we can and will celebrate what de Maat brought to Second City and to his place in the world. His kindness and brilliance will live on in every playful and joyful moment an improviser or audience member has while experiencing the art-form Martin de Maat helped create.”
Where to begin? To be sure, de Maat’s contributions to the twin worlds of directing and teaching are voluminous. Listing them here would steal precious column inches away from addressing the (dare we say) far more valuable contributions he made to our community as a healer, a friend and source of undeniable strength and passion. (For a complete biography of de Maat’s work in the theatre, visit www.secondcity.com.)
For de Maat, every student was a compatriot, and the feeling was undeniably mutual. No matter the level of expertise an actor brought to the stage, in de Maat they found a champion. He’d challenge the clever and quick-witted. "Let’s try and create scenes that are about something," he would often say. "About something deeper than this ashtray." He’d cajole and nurture the timid and shy. "Don’t worry, I haven’t lost one yet," he often assured an unnerved beginner. "Relax and breathe, darling." But more than anything else, in the breakneck environment of I’m-gonna-get-my-improv-training-out-of-the-way-so-I-can-be-on-Saturday-Night-Live, Martin de Maat insisted, he demanded, that a student respect the stage and appreciate the journey. Martin de Maat loved the process, and he expected no less of his students.
A handful of his former students went on to teach themselves, many at de Maat’s urging and with his guidance. Gary Ruderman of Annoyance Productions says, "Over the 13-plus years I knew Martin, I always felt like there were conversations about creativity and life that I could never have had with another soul. I can’t tell you how often Martin encouraged me in my work, and how I relished his comments more than others. He pushed me to teach, because he had faith in me. His lasting legacy is not just going to be the students he taught, but the teachers he created and inspired as well."
As a consultant and adviser to his colleagues in the theatre, de Maat was equally supportive as well as a touchstone to the Second City’s early days on Wells Street. Introduced to the theatre at the age of nine by his beloved aunt, Josephine Forsberg, Martin had "seen it all" and remembered most of it. The night he died, Lyn Pusztai, a longtime friend and colleague noted with a sigh, "Yet another door has closed on a certain era." At the drop of a hat, de Maat could tell you who did what, when and where as well as exactly what he was feeling at the moment it happened. His recall for the institution’s history was not only accurate, it was downright empathic.
And in the often unkind world of "the business," where a true friend is hard to come by, he’ll be impossible to replace. A bruised ego or shattered dream found refuge in de Maat’s gangly embrace, and found genuine affirmation in his Cheshire smile and often glass-shattering laughter. Everyone—literally everyone—was deserving, unique and special in his eyes, and everyone who wanted to play got at least one, if not one hundred, turns at bat. He believed wholeheartedly in the work’s ability to heal, to nurture, and to save your ever lovin’ soul. In his own special way, he was a missionary. He understood the slings and arrows, but never indulged a cynic for long and never gave up on his core belief that there was transcendental joy to be found in sharing (on-stage and off) that which is human, that which is true and real.
Frances Callier, currently the producer of Second City Los Angeles, recalls working closely with de Maat in his role as artistic director of the theatre’s six training centers: "Martin was a tremendous help to anyone who had lost their dream. He’d help them find it again, pick it up and dust it off. Maybe repair the hole where it slipped through."
de Maat is survived by a close-knit family and devoted intimate friends as well as a ridiculously long list of student actors, improvisers, professional colleagues and associates and most sad of all, he is survived by a world full of people he had yet to meet. Ruderman offered, "When I had my back surgery eight years ago, he was the first person I saw when I came out of anesthesia. Last week, on his deathbed—on his deathbed—he asked me how my back was . . . incredible."
Often, a theatrical obituary is concluded with some bit of Shakespeare or Wilde or the like. Not one to put on airs, de Maat would likely delight in the refrain employed in his memory. His philosophy of life, love and theatre were perhaps best summed up in one of his own memorable teaching tools. Every student he ever taught can close their eyes and envision de Maat, standing below the stage, full of energy.
"The Hokey Pokey. Think about it. At the end of the song, what do we learn? What is it all about?"
He pauses with a wide grin, long arms outstretched, full voice: "You put your whole self in!"
A memorial service was held for Martin de Maat in Chicago at The Second City on February 25. In Los Angeles, there will be a service at the Second City Training Center Space, 8156 Melrose Avenue, on Sunday, March 11. Arrangements are pending for a New York service on that same day. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in Martin’s memory to Rivington House, 45 Rivington Street, New York, NY 10002.