A burned-out L.A. detective... a woman of mystery who is far more than she seems... a grotesque, ancient monster bent on a mission of retribution. When these three collide, a new standard of suspense is born.
Happy Birthday, Mom.
This is my mother, Sylvia Kellerman. She was born 95 years ago on January 27, 1920 in a tenement on New York’s Lower East Side, delivered by a midwife who had to be prodded to travel during a storm. A 4 pound baby, she was placed in an improvised incubator: a bureau drawer. This was several years before the development of antibiotics and she developed a host of fevers. Despite that, she thrived, skipped a couple of grades in school, went to Hunter College at night while working days at the nascent agency known as Social Security. There, she developed an efficient application form. Years later, the government sent her a bonus check for 50 bucks.
She met my dad on the Staten Island Ferry. Soon after they were married, he was drafted and sent overseas for three and half years (Battle of Bulge, D-Day invasion on Utah Beach.) For most of that time, she didn’t hear from him.
Dance has always been her passion and she was the photographic model for a now-collectable book on Israeli dance. She danced on the stage of the Hollywood Bowl at age 80 and continues to cut the rug once a week. At her tallest, she reached five feet. On a good day. She lives independently and does her thing with gusto.