Tag Archives: celebrity deaths

Aubrey Plaza

Aubrey Plaza Opens Up on Husband Jeff Baena’s Death in Candid Interview

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Hollywood actor Aubrey Plaza has spoken candidly about the death of her husband, filmmaker Jeff Baena, who died by suicide in January. In an emotional conversation with longtime friend and co-star Amy Poehler, Plaza described the past months as a period marked by both pain and resilience.

Story Highlights

  • Aubrey Plaza husband Jeff Baena death confirmed in January

  • Baena, 47, died by suicide at his Los Angeles home

  • Plaza says grief feels “like an ocean of awfulness”

  • Couple married in 2021 after meeting in 2011

  • Baena directed Life After Beth, The Little Hours; co-wrote I Heart Huckabees

“I Feel Grateful, But It’s a Daily Struggle”

During her appearance on Amy Poehler’s podcast Good Hang, Plaza was asked how she was coping during what Poehler called “a terrible, terrible, tragic year.”

Plaza responded:
“Right in this very, very present moment, I feel happy to be with you. Overall, I’m here and I’m functioning. I feel really grateful to be moving through the world. I think I’m OK, but it’s like a daily struggle, obviously.”

Remembering Jeff Baena

Jeff Baena, 47, was found dead at his Los Angeles home earlier this year. His death was later confirmed as suicide. At the time, Aubrey Plaza and Baena’s family issued a joint statement, describing the loss as “an unimaginable tragedy.”

Baena was widely recognized for his offbeat comedies. He directed Life After Beth and The Little Hours, both starring Plaza, and co-wrote the acclaimed I Heart Huckabees with David O. Russell. His final film, Spin Me Round, featured Plaza alongside Alison Brie.

In a Guardian obituary, critic Ryan Gilbey praised Baena’s work as “enjoyably twisted,” highlighting his unique voice in independent cinema.

“Grief Feels Like a Gorge Filled with Monsters”

Plaza shared a metaphor inspired by the Apple sci-fi horror film The Gorge, starring Miles Teller, to explain how grief has felt since Baena’s passing.

“It’s like an alien movie with Miles Teller,” Plaza said. “In the movie, there’s a cliff on one side and a cliff on the other side and there’s a gorge in between and it’s filled with all these monster people that are trying to get them. I swear when I watched it, I was like, ‘That’s what this feels like, what my grief is like.’”

She continued:
“At all times there’s a giant ocean of awfulness that’s right there. Sometimes I just want to dive into it, sometimes I just look at it, and sometimes I’m just trying to get away from it. But it’s always there. And the monster people are trying to get me like Miles Teller.”

A Relationship Spanning a Decade

Aubrey Plaza and Jeff Baena first met in 2011, developing both a personal and professional partnership. They worked together on several projects before marrying in 2021.

Plaza’s openness about her grief highlights the challenges faced by those coping with sudden loss. Her remarks also show how art and film can sometimes provide unexpected ways to describe emotions that are otherwise difficult to express.

Plaza’s Career Continues Amid Personal Loss

Despite the tragedy, Plaza remains active in her career. Known for her roles in Parks and Recreation, Ingrid Goes West, and Emily the Criminal, she will next appear in Ethan Coen’s upcoming comedy Honey Don’t.

For Plaza, continuing to work is part of moving forward, even as the memory of Baena remains constant.

The death of Jeff Baena has left a lasting impact on Aubrey Plaza, who continues to navigate life after tragedy with honesty and resilience. Her reflections on grief reveal both the depth of her loss and her determination to keep moving forward. While Plaza acknowledges that the pain is “always there,” she remains focused on her work and the creative legacy she shared with her husband. As she steps into new projects, Plaza carries Baena’s memory with her, reminding audiences that behind her success is a story of love, partnership, and profound loss.

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Dalyce Curry, 95, perished in the Eaton Fire that ravaged Altadena, CA

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A life touched by the shimmer of old Hollywood came to a quiet, tragic end as 95-year-old Dalyce Curry — known to loved ones as “Momma Dee” — perished in the deadly Eaton Fire that tore through Altadena. Once a graceful extra in films like The Ten Commandments and Lady Sings the Blues, Curry’s vibrant past vanished in flames, along with cherished family mementos. Her story blends glamour, grit, and grief — and leaves behind one untouched relic: a vintage Cadillac that somehow survived where nothing else did.

STORY HIGHLIGHTS

  • Dalyce Curry, 95, perished in the Eaton Fire that ravaged Altadena, CA

  • Known as “Momma Dee,” she was admired for her style, resilience, and spirit

  • Appeared in The Ten Commandments, Lady Sings the Blues, The Blues Brothers

  • Mentored by Madame Sul-Te-Wan, the first Black woman to sign a film contract

  • Was dropped off at home hours before fire reached her neighborhood

  • Her home and all belongings were lost, except for her vintage 1981 Cadillac

  • Remembered for her positivity: “Nothing is as bad as it seems, even at its worst”

To her family and those who knew her, Dalyce Curry was not simply a grandmother or a neighbor — she was “Momma Dee,” a vibrant soul who lived her 95 years with flair, elegance, and quiet determination. When fire swept through Altadena last week during the devastating Eaton Fire, it took with it not just a home, but nearly a century of living history.

Born in 1929 in Little Rock, Arkansas, Curry was a product of her time and also far ahead of it. From the start, she carried a personality far too large for the narrow expectations often placed on Black women in early 20th-century America. As her granddaughter and namesake Dalyce Kelley put it, “My grandmother still wore her big hair, glasses, nails, painted makeup. She was just fabulous, period.” And that fabulousness, it seems, never dimmed.

Drawn by dreams of the entertainment world, Curry eventually settled in Los Angeles, where she pursued opportunities in Hollywood—not as a headliner, but as someone who lived in the proximity of its magic. She backed up jazz legend Pearl Bailey on stage, danced as an extra in Cecil B. DeMille’s epic The Ten Commandments, and appeared alongside Diana Ross in Lady Sings the Blues. Her granddaughter recalls her grandmother’s pride in every small appearance. “It was a small part, but we were big proud,” Kelley said.

Perhaps more important than her film credits was the mentorship Curry received early in her Los Angeles journey. At a beauty salon in the 1950s, she met Nellie Crawford—known professionally as Madame Sul-Te-Wan—the first Black woman to sign a contract with a U.S. film studio. Crawford, seeing a spark in Curry, took her under her wing and proclaimed her a “goddaughter.” From that moment, Curry’s place in the fringes of Hollywood history was sealed.

But life was never only about the stage. In her later years, Curry trained and worked as a nurse, offering care to patients in convalescent homes and private households across Los Angeles. She chose to use her maiden name professionally, carrying a piece of her identity into every chapter of her life. She raised one son and later became the beloved matriarch to a family that included seven grandchildren and many great-grandchildren.

Her final hours came quietly but tragically. On the night of her death, she had just returned from a hospital visit after experiencing dizziness. Kelley drove her home around 11:30 p.m., and while flames from the Eaton Fire glowed in the distance, the power in her neighborhood was on, and there were no warnings to evacuate. Kelley, trusting that all was calm, dropped her grandmother off and promised to check in.

Hours later, that sense of calm was shattered. A flurry of messages on the neighborhood text chain began flooding Kelley’s phone around 5:30 a.m., asking if her grandmother had gotten out safely. Rushing back to Altadena, Kelley found roads blocked by police and learned from officers that her grandmother’s cottage had burned to the ground.

The next few days were agonizing. Kelley searched through shelters, hoping for news. Four days later, the Los Angeles Coroner’s Office confirmed the worst: Curry was one of at least 25 victims who perished in the fire.

Among the ashes, almost nothing remained. Generations of family photographs, mementos, letters, and keepsakes were all destroyed. But one object survived untouched: a midnight blue 1981 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham. The car hadn’t run in years, but Curry had cherished it. She often spoke of fixing it up and renting it out to film productions seeking authentic 1980s props. In a strange twist of fate, that dream still sits quietly intact.

Kelley says her grandmother’s spirit endures—not only in family memories but in the example she left behind. “She had this light, this strength,” Kelley said. “And she always told us, ‘Nothing is as bad as it seems, even at its worst.’”

It’s a mantra that resonates especially now, as families across Southern California mourn loved ones and face the monumental task of rebuilding. For Kelley and her family, the loss is personal, but the message remains universal.

Dalyce Curry’s life was a quiet testament to perseverance, grace, and untold stories behind Hollywood’s golden lights. Though she never headlined a marquee, her journey through film, music, and caregiving reflected a deep strength and vivid character. Her tragic death in the Eaton Fire is a stark reminder of the unpredictable force of nature—and the fragile threads that tie us to our past. As her family mourns, the memory of “Momma Dee” lives on, not in fame, but in the quiet.

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