Why the Title?
The concept of "Going Out of Business" comes from my family tradition of having a yearly party to celebrate the fact that another year has passed, during which my grandmother has continued to defy the odds. This is not a birthday party. It is a cheeky celebration of life that we often call "Ruth Levin's annual farewell party". The thought being that family and friends come to celebrate her life and the fact that she made it through another year. Also, if she doesn't make it through the next, then we'll still see each other; it will just be during shiva.
​
This may sound harsh to some people. However, my family (my grandmother included) always found this to be quite the inside joke. She would even wear a sash that said "farewell" or "bon voyage". We held these parties for five years in a row, and each time it was a celebration of life with the joy that only comes from gallows humor in a family that refuses to allow death to take over the narrative.
Why This Film Is Important
I wrote "Going Out of Business" as a tribute to my family. Primarily my mother and grandmother and their complex relationship. My mother, Debra Levin LaMarche, has always had the pressure of family surrounding her even as she not only held it together but did so with strength and a devotion that I have never seen in another human being. For this reason, I created a character that mirrored her strength and tenacity as well as the inner struggle of someone who realizes they are caring for a mother who may no longer be able to show gratitude. This dichotomy aligns with my mother's "sandwich" generation, those women who find themselves taking care of not only their children but their parents as well. I felt that showing this through their relationship would be an effective way of translating what this type of role looks like for so many women her age.
I also wanted to show that families do not all approach impending death in the same way, and that there is no right way to do so. My family has always joked about the concept, choosing to accept that it is an inevitability and that mourning has its time and place but that it should be saved for after death and not before. But this film and story are not about shiva, not about post-death. It is about what happens before. What happens when the inevitable is on its way and what a family does with that time and with those decisions.
My Jewish Life
As someone who was raised in a Jewish household, religion has always had a deeper meaning in my everyday life than people might think. Born in Massachusetts, I kept kosher, went to the Alperin Schechter Day School in RI (an offshoot of Temple Emanuel), and was heavily involved in United Synagogue Youth (USY) throughout my teens. I even attended Camp Ramah and spent most of my formative years at Camp Grossman both as a camper and then as a counselor.
​
To say that Judaism runs deep in my veins would be an understatement. Even as I've grown older and have found myself slightly removed from my faith, the idea of Jewish community has never faltered. I truly believe that one of the most special aspects of Judaism is the sense of community. The sense that everyone who wants to join and learn are encouraged to do so. Along with that mindset comes the importance of family. And my family is the reason for this film.
Familial Influences
Anyone who knows my family knows that we are born storytellers. Our family history, though not officially written down, has been passed through the generations through a distinctly oral tradition. We like nothing more than to sit around and talk about this cousin or that great-aunt whose singular personality put them firmly on our familial map.
​
My grandmother, Ruth Zelda Paige Levin (her preferred full name) grew up in Rhode Island. She was the daughter of immigrants and the middle child of three. She was fiercely protective of her family, and a suqeezer of punim and a biter of tushes. Each grandchild was given a nickname and every single family member got a call, and often a card, on their birthday. My most resonating memories are of walking from her house to shul on the high holy days and sitting in the front row (always the front row) because the Rabbi should see us and know we were there.
​
My grandmother also went through quite a bit of pain. My grandfather was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease right when they were about to enter middle-age. His slow descent into the clutches of Parkinson's was her descent into grieving. She spent every day taking care of him until it became too much, and then she spent every day at the nursing home with him until he passed away years later. It was a terrible burden. She also watched her younger sister die of cancer and then her older brother years later.
She was the last of her generation and she felt every death as a stab to the soul. As she reached her ninties, her own health began to falter but she held on for years, wanting nothing more than to join her deceased loved ones even as she relished the time spent with her children, grandchildren, and then great-grandchildren. She was a woman of many hats, an Eshet Chayil of the highest order, and someone who made light of her own end right up until it happened. Her undeniable ability to reinforce gallows humor shaped the ways we grew up and had a profound effect on how I've chosen to live my own life.
Awards
The Screenplay for Going Out of Business has already become an official selection in two screenplay competitions.
