Success in My Third Act

80something Annie Korzen had her acting dreams come true later in life. Then she became a TikTok star.

Annie Korzen, center, as Doris Klompus on Seinfeld.

Some people are overnight successes: it happens fast, and it happens early. I hate those people. I am the opposite of an overnight success. I am in my 80s and, for most part, I have been a slow-moving, long-term failure. After being a stay-at-home mom, I first started acting late in life and I’ve had a lot of catching up to do. I’ve never done Broadway, I’ve never done Shakespeare, and I’m still hoping that one day I will get to do a nude scene.

My biggest dream was to be a regular on a sit-com. There were only three things standing in my way: my looks, my age and my lack of experience. But the heart wants what the heart wants, and mostly, what my heart wanted was to feel important. And I still want that: I want to hang out with George Clooney at his villa in Italy. I want Amy Schumer to call me when she needs a laugh. I want the Dalai Lama to sign up for my storytelling class. In other words, I want everyone I admire to admire me back.

I began by doing all manner of crap jobs. For instance, children’s theater, where one kid asked, “Are you a puppet?” Free shows in nursing homes where — in the middle of my song — a resident yelled out, “Hey, is this gonna be over soon? It’s almost time for cake.” One line on a soap opera, “The doctor will see you now.” And — worst of all — tedious, brain-sucking days on the sweltering sidewalks of New York as a film extra.

During those lean years I did, however, accomplish one very important task: I wrote and rehearsed my Oscar, Tony, and Emmy award speeches. You know how those prize winners often stutter and stammer at a total loss for words? I don’t get that: they have had all their lives to prepare!

The show was called SEINFELD, and my few lines turned into the recurring character of Doris Klompus in the Florida condo, plus I did a second character, an obnoxious airline passenger. (Obnoxious characters are my specialty.)

I figured there was more TV work in LA, so we moved here. To this day, I do not understand Los Angeles. The restaurants close at 9:30. The perky people say things like “Have a good one!” (One what?) And the bagels…have blueberries.

One day my agent called with an audition for a few lines on a new sit-com. A better-known actress had turned it down, saying the role was too small for her. In Hollywood, the general rule is “Don't ever accept a job as a bit player because then you will always be stuck in that category.” The good news is that there are exceptions to every rule. The bad news is: not in my particular case. But self-respect is not a luxury I could afford, so I went in and got to do yet another paltry bit part, but this one had some unforeseen consequences. The show was called SEINFELD, and my few lines turned into the recurring character of Doris Klompus in the Florida condo, plus I did a second character, an obnoxious airline passenger. (Obnoxious characters are my specialty.)

My SEINFELD roles paved the way to finally getting semi-regular work as a TV actress, but I was still mostly unemployed, so I decided to try performing my own words — as a true storyteller. Once again, this meant a steady diet of struggle and humiliation. One event was at a grungy barbecue joint deep in the bowels of the San Fernando Valley. When I got there, I discovered that most of the audience spoke English as a second language — the first language being Mongolian. Needless to say, my piece about my son’s Jewish wedding did not rock the house.

Order the book…

Another show was on the freezing front patio of a coffee shop in East Hollywood with noisy traffic and sirens going by, and no mic. Six storytellers, with four people in the audience. Everyone was under 25, so once again, my piece about my son’s Jewish wedding did not rock the house. A much warmer reception was given to some guy’s detailed description of his battle with genital herpes. And he did it in rhyming couplets. “I got a great shock, When I looked at my cock.” And I thought, “Please God, let me die. Now.”

One ray of light during those dark days was my husband, Benni. He came to every show, every gig, every performance. And his response was always the same:

“You were terrific.”

“How can you say that? I got zero laughs!”

“That’s because they were really listening. Trust me, they loved you.”

The man was delusional, but his faith in me strengthened MY faith in me.

My goal as a storyteller was to appear on The Moth Mainstage. Every time I performed, I sent them a video, saying, “Hi, Here’s a new piece. Hope we’ll work together soon.” I did that several times a year for NINE years and — except for an occasional “Thank you for submitting” — the only response I ever got was silence. Zilch. Zero. Finally, I said to Benni, “You know something? I’m done. I can’t put myself through this pain anymore. I know I belong there, but they are clearly not interested and — heartbreaking as it is — I am just going to have to accept the fact that it’s never going to happen.”

My goal as a storyteller was to appear on The Moth Mainstage. Every time I performed, I sent them a video, saying, “Hi, Here’s a new piece. Hope we’ll work together soon.” I did that several times a year for NINE years and — except for an occasional “Thank you for submitting” — the only response I ever got was silence.

The very next day, I get a call from New York. “Hi Annie, this is Catherine Burns at The Moth. Thanks for being so patient. Listen, we’d like you to perform with our Mainstage in LA, Saint Louis, Berkeley, and The Shubert Theater in Boston. We’ll also put you on our radio show and on our website, and maybe in our next book. Oh, and the story we want is that wonderful piece about your son’s Jewish wedding.”

So, just like with the acting, I kept getting nowhere until one day I woke up and I was somewhere. One day I asked someone at The Moth why it took so long for them to book me. “Oh,” she said, “you got better.” And that’s when I realized that failure is a great learning opportunity.

Now, in my third act, I have embraced a whole new and totally unexpected career. A few years ago, I was asked to lead a storytelling event in a home for mentally-challenged people. I was really nervous about doing it, but felt morally obliged to accept. Now, I don’t generally believe in Karma, but that decision to do the right thing changed my life, because I struck up a friendship with one of the other volunteers — a 30-year-old named Mackenzie.

One day I told Mackenzie how I’d love to find a larger audience for my stories, and I was thinking about posting some little clips on Instagram. And she said, “Forget Instagram. It is so toxic, so last century. You should be on TikTok.”

“Me? Are you high? TikTok is about half-naked young girls shaking their booties.”

“Trust me Annie, you would blow up.”

@akorzen#krispykreme

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And so it began. Now I have been criticized all my life for being too talkative, and too opinionated, and too candid. On TikTok, I was given permission to talk, and opinionate as much as I wanted. And – much to my astonishment – people started listening. All kinds of people. Large numbers of people. I have over 400,000 followers, from all over the world. The LA Times called. CBS Evening News called. Dr. Phil called! A book publisher called!

One day I asked someone at The Moth why it took so long for them to book me. “Oh,” she said, “you got better.” And that’s when I realized that failure is a great learning opportunity.

But here’s the best thing that happened. I was rehearsing my usual four and a half lines on a movie when the director Paul Weitz took me aside for a moment. Paul Weitz co-wrote and co-directed one of my favorite films, ABOUT A BOY, so I am a major fan. And I knew what he was going to say to me. Every director I’ve ever worked with gives me the same note. “Annie, I like what you’re doing. Your timing is great. But on the next take could you just…bring it down a little bit?”

But that’s not what he said. Paul Weitz said to me, “Annie, I just have to tell you how much I love your story about your grandson on TikTok.” Oh My God! My lifelong dream has finally come true! Someone I admire admires me back!! And it only took 85 years!

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Listen to Annie Korzen’s story, “The Too Jewish Wedding,” which she performed on the main stage at The Moth. And check her out on TikTok, where she has over 424,000 followers.