The comic and dramatic actor, part of an acting family and a welcome figure on stages from Portland to Ashland, gathered a host of friends in her 35 years of life

By Caitlin Nolan for Oregon ArtsWatch

The last time I saw Mandy Andersen was in 2022. Her hair had grown back since concluding chemotherapy, and she appeared healthy and high-spirited, though she would soon excuse herself to go nap.

We met at Tōv Coffee with our friend Jack Wells and sat beneath a covered patio with our drinks, Jack and I remaining masked out of caution for Mandy’s recuperating immune system.

I don’t remember what we talked about. I do remember Mandy’s enthusiastic support of a busker who approached us with an array of art and poetry for sale. But my clearest recollection of that last encounter was when she inquired after a mutual friend, someone she’d bonded with over their shared struggle with alcohol.

I told her the little I knew, which was that he’d reportedly lapsed in his sobriety and was having difficulty making ends meet. Mandy was unsurprised. The same friend had recently contacted her father, Tobias, seeking a loan.

“I’ll ask Dad to reach out,” she said. “Sounds like he could use some more help.” There was no judgment, no pity, only compassionate recognition of a fellow human in need, and the question of how she might aid him, asked and answered in the same instant. Unhesitating.

Amanda Emmanuella Andersen — Mandersen, Mandypants, Mandy — 35, died in the early morning of Monday, Aug. 11, following a valiant four-year battle with breast cancer. She was preceded in death by her father, the prominent actor Tobias Andersen, who died at age 87 on Oct. 8, 2024, at his home in Gresham, Oregon. She is survived by her mother, Livia Genise, of Ashland; her sister, Geneviève Andræssen, of Helsinki, Finland; her beloved dog Puck Rackham; and a seemingly boundless circle of friends ranging from the Pacific Northwest to Chicago and beyond.

She was a beloved and ubiquitous fixture of the theater communities of Portland and Ashland, the karaoke communities at Baby Ketten and Dante’s, the recovery communities that uplifted her in sobriety, and undoubtedly others still unknown to me. And she is unanimously remembered, per the dozens of memorial posts that began springing up on social media within hours of her passing, not only for her talent but also for her warmth, her humor, her zaniness, her kindness, her authenticity.

“She gave ease and grace to every genuine part of you that you thought to share, and even some to the personality crutches you were still leaning on,” says Kate Belden. “Catching up with her was always the best, except it reminded me of how long it’d been since we last saw each other.”

Recalling when Andersen worked as her family’s babysitter, Portland stage manager Carol Ann Wohlmut says, “She brought her joie de vivre to every hour spent with the kids. Her gift of imagination and the ability to really play with [them] came naturally. Walks to the park were adventures.”

“Her passion for what and who she loved was unparalleled,” says longtime friend and collaborator M. Sierra. “She had so much brightness and curiosity for everything. She had one of the most genuine loves of theater of anyone I know.”

Andersen’s life in the arts seems inevitable considering her lineage. She was born in Ashland — theater capital of Southern Oregon — in 1989. Her mother, Livia Genise, is an accomplished stage and screen actor whose resume includes a decades-long roster of regional theater credits, a Broadway show, a recurring role on “Days of Our Lives,” and plentiful guest appearances on series such as “Three’s Company” and “WKRP in Cincinnati.”

Before his passing last October, her father, Tobias Andersen, was revered as a titan of the “old guard” of Portland theater, celebrated for roles such as Big Daddy in “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” and the eponymous King Lear. Andersen’s sister Geneviève, also a trained actor, is a multi-instrumentalist folk musician and balladeer who performs under the pseudonym Juniper & the Wolf.

Given this familial pedigree, one imagines that Andersen was fated to find her way onstage sooner or later, and in her case it was sooner. She first professed her interest in acting around the age of 9, recalls her mother, Livia Genise.

“I ran a conservatory in the Bay Area, and when she’d come to visit me in the summers she would take classes,” Genise says. Andersen continued her studies at Ashland High School, and after graduating she relocated to California to attend Pacific Conservatory Theatre (then Pacific Conservatory of the Performing Arts).

Actor parents can be some of the most stringent critics of their children’s artistic aspirations, and even the supportive ones will sometimes try to steer their young down a more conventional path, away from theater’s instability and inevitable disappointments. Did Genise encourage her daughter’s ambitions, I wonder? Or did she try to warn her away from the industry’s slings and arrows?

“I loved it,” she replies. “I was so proud of her as a performer.”

Andersen regarded her parents with equal pride, but without ever taking for granted that their achievements entitled her to special recognition, or access to opportunities not won on her own merit. They offered not a golden ticket but an example to aspire to, and this influence was reflected in her work ethic, her professionalism and her disciplined study of craft.

“She was the type of performer who never settled with what was easy in her current skill set,” remembers Kristen Calvin Gordon. “She always was pushing to learn new skills and do new types of projects. It was incredibly inspiring to me as her friend and as her castmate.”

This sentiment is echoed by cinematographer Kirk Johnson, who worked with Andersen on the award-winning independent film “Mandarose.” “She was everything you could ever want in a collaborator. She had strong ideas of her own that she didn’t hesitate to contribute, but she was also ready to try anything, and try it as many times as necessary in order to give the project whatever it needed. I saw her draw performances out of her scene partners that I don’t think they even knew they were capable of. And on top of all that, somehow she could effortlessly combine professionalism and silliness without compromising either one.”

Andersen’s silliness has held the spotlight in many of her friends’ reminiscences. Joe Charter, commenting on a memorial Facebook post, says, “She had natural comedy instincts like Carol Burnett.” Kristen Calvin Gordon agrees. “She was just so authentically herself. I think that’s why she’s really, really good in comedy: because she’s just so willing to look silly and go the places needed to go for the story. She’s unafraid to potentially make a fool out of herself.”

These attributes helped to shape the arc of Andersen’s theatrical career, which included a bounty of musical comedy credits: the title role in Lerner & Loewe’s “Gigi,” Janet Weiss in “The Rocky Horror Show,” Ruthie Taylor in “Bat Boy: The Musical” and Dale Arden in the “shlock-opera” “Flash! Ah-Ahhh!,” among others.

They were likewise central to her work in fringe shows like Funhouse Lounge’s “American Psycho: A Parody Play” — which saw Andersen, lingerie-clad, spoof the “scream queen” trope with bull’s-eye dexterity, goofily flailing and shrieking as she tried to escape impalement with a handheld chainsaw — or during any of Original Practice Shakespeare Festival’s notoriously unpredictable outdoor performances, which often require actors to improvise their way through environmental noise and other disruptions.

Colleague Brian Burger recalls one such misadventure during a 2018 performance of “Much Ado About Nothing,” in which he played Benedick to Andersen’s Beatrice. That day their performance space was an unshaded parking lot improbably sandwiched between a set of railroad tracks and an airfield.

“At one point we had to stop the show and entertain the audience for 15 minutes as a train passed,” Burger says. “Mandy never lost her cool, but that’s not surprising, because that’s how she always was. She was always game for anything.”

Andersen brought the same readiness to her dramatic acting, demonstrating the breadth and diversity of her range as Cathy in “The Last Five Years,” Macduff in “Macbeth,” and Amanda in Gabe Van Lelyveld’s “Mandarose.” The latter, which explored the complex relationship between a developmentally disabled young woman and her caretaker sister, would go on to enjoy a succession of festival screenings throughout the region, with Andersen in faithful attendance at every actor Q&A.

There, she delighted in putting director of photography Kirk Johnson on the spot. “Mandy would always find a moment to draw attention to my work and point me out to the room, even if she had to tack it onto an answer to a completely unrelated question,” Johnson says. “The film had a very unobtrusive visual style that didn’t call attention to itself, and she didn’t like that that meant my work could go unacknowledged. Of course, I also got really shy and nervous whenever she drew people’s attention to me, and I think on some level she kept doing it because she thought it was funny. But I know she mostly just wanted to make sure that my work, that everyone’s work, was appreciated.”

“She had a very natural, matter-of-fact sense of compassion that also didn’t draw attention to itself,” Johnson adds. “But I want to draw attention to it now, because it inspired other people to be the best versions of themselves they could be.”

In 2014, in the interest of being the best version of herself she could be, Andersen made the decision to give up alcohol. She sought support and fellowship first in traditional 12-step groups, then later in Recovery Dharma, a trauma-informed, peer-led organization rooted in Buddhist principles.

Inspired by their emphasis on compassionate self-inquiry, she took up meditation, even getting a vibrant watercolor tattoo of a lotus blossom framed by the mantra she chose: “Right here. Right now. Slow down,” rendered in best friend Gretchyn Sanny’s handwriting. In spite of having determined that 12-step recovery wasn’t for her, Andersen retained the idea of a “higher power” consisting of the loving connection between herself and others.

Never one to only talk the talk, she practiced that love through community service, lending her talents to programs addressing trauma and addiction. Through Rogue Pack, which offers storytelling theater workshops to at-risk youth, she worked with teens in recovery and incarceration. At the nonprofit p:ear, she became a mentor to queer youth experiencing homelessness. She worked with Well Arts Institute, an organization that connects professional actors with underrepresented communities to help them bring their stories to life onstage, doing among others a show in collaboration with the Northwest Down Syndrome Association.

In 2021 she went back to school with ambitions of becoming a therapist. And then came cancer.

Andersen’s initial prognosis was optimistic. With treatment — an unforgiving triad of surgery, chemo, and radiation — she stood a high likelihood of survival. On her oncologist’s advice, she courageously opted for a bilateral mastectomy. She honored her changing body with an artful boudoir photo shoot. She showed up to her infusions equipped with a “Bob’s Burgers” quilt and a knit hat modeled after the one worn by Louise Belcher: bubble-gum pink with bunny ears.

Between treatments, she went on therapeutic walks in Lithia Park in Ashland and played with her dog, Puck. She took up yoga. She was eventually pronounced cancer-free, and for a time Andersen’s life returned to something resembling normalcy. She resumed hiking and solo camping, physically demanding favorite hobbies that poor health had forced her to suspend. When her hair grew back she dyed it purple, then blue. She repurposed her Port-a-Cath into a necklace. When her best friend Kristen gave birth to twins, she gleefully embraced her new role as their honorary auntie, paying mother and babies weekly visits. She planned a trip to Europe.

Finding she no longer had the stamina for performance after surviving the crucible of cancer treatment, Andersen found a new calling in front-of-house operations, and in 2022 she joined the box office staff at Oregon Cabaret Theatre in Ashland. Within a matter of months she was promoted to manager, to the delight of staff and patrons alike.

“She took it very, very seriously, and everyone looked forward to seeing her when they walked into the building,” remembers Kristen Calvin Gordon. In addition to designing her own line of merchandise celebrating the Cab’s 40th anniversary season, Andersen took over the accessibility program introduced by her predecessor Julie Simon, bringing live ASL interpretation and captioning to deaf and hard-of-hearing audiences.

“She had a huge heart,” says Gordon. “She didn’t just do the job, she found new ways to help people. She just always went above and beyond with everything she did, not to receive any kind of recognition or to impress anybody or put it on her resume or anything like that. There was no motive other than the fact that she had this huge, humongous heart, and it had such a capacity to think about everyone around her, maybe even more so than herself.”

In 2024, Andersen’s cancer metastasized. As the disease’s progression forced her to resign from her managerial role, then eventually quit the box office altogether, she continued to find ways to be of loving service to others. Scrolling through her Facebook history, I came across a post from last July:

Tomorrow is the beginning of my birthday month, and I already have lovely people asking me what I’d like

I’m blessed to already have my basic needs met and much more. Please feel free to donate to my college mates GoFundMe

She has the same cancer I have. Incurable. She’s applied for disability and is waiting and waiting waiting. She still has to pay her medical expenses RIGHT NOW

I think about her frequently. And want some peace for her.

“I know it’s cliche to say that my sister was one of the strongest people I’ve ever known,” says Geneviève Andræssen, “but she really, really, really was. Just like one thing after another after another could have completely brought her down, and instead it made her an incredible, shining, bright light of a person. I was always amazed by how courageous she was.”

In her last year of life, Andersen observed each new milestone as a Stage 4 cancer patient. She celebrated her last living birthday with a trip to Chattanooga, Tennessee, accompanied by her mother. Finding solace in the outdoors, she traveled to the coast and camped in her car. She visited with treasured friends: Kristen Calvin Gordon, Gretchyn Sanny, Keegan Ariel, Maxwell Pickens.

She saw Nikka Costa and Heart in concert and sang along with joyful abandon. She soaked up as much as she could of the toddler twins, Teddy and Liza. She watched old recordings of her mother’s performances. She binged “Bob’s Burgers” from her nest on the sofa, thronged by the family dogs.

Throughout, even as her health deteriorated with gathering speed, she continued making plans — for a trip to Sicily, for a Heart tribute show at the Cab — and she exhibited a level of gratitude I find it hard to fathom, often proclaiming the depth of her appreciation for her pets, for nature, for her caregivers and friends, for the time she had left.

Today — Saturday, Aug. 16 — on what would have been Mandy’s 36th birthday, I’m trying to follow her example, to be grateful that she was here, that for a season I could call her my friend. Counting all the other hearts I know are aching in her absence, I can see I’m in good company.

This article originally appeared in Oregon ArtsWatch. Caitlin Nolan (she/her) is an actor, playwright, and associate producer of Stage Fright, Portland’s one and only queer horror theater festival. Onstage she has appeared with companies including Salt & Sage, Portland Actors Ensemble, Northwest Classical Theater Collaborative, and Shaking the Tree. Her written work includes the original plays “Fork Tender” and “Dead to Me”; the adapted solo show “Jane Cleaver’s Bitch in Kitchen,” co-created with Bobby Bermea and Jamie Rea; and the augmented reality game Re: Lilith Lopez, co-created with Mishelle Apalategui for the 2021 Fertile Ground Festival. She is a recent prose cohort graduate of the Independent Publishing Resource Center’s portfolio program.