I must admit to having been pleasantly taken by surprise on last night’s Tony Awards at how ALL-TALENT the Broadway show Spring Awakening looks to be. As an old theatre whore who has performed in more than her fair share of shows, both good and bad, I used to take great pride in being scrupulously up to date on all the happenings on Broadway — but the goings on of this season have somehow evaded me. That must be remedied.

As a teenager growing up in what can only be described as “a notorious, fucked-up, thieving, whoring, gun-toting, baby-having, car-stealing, batshit crazy, criminally insane family”, it is no small understatement to say that my escape to the theatre is probably what saved my sanity. But, alas, since mothering and writing and films have slowly wrapped their welcoming tendrils around my life and squeezed, little by little I have moved further and further away from my roots in the theatre — and I must say that I miss it terribly.

The last show I did was about five years ago, at a small but venerable theatre in San Diego — and I was completely gobsmacked when, at the end of the run, I was voted by theatre goers as “Best Actress” of the season. Having recently gone through a divorce and relocation with my three babies, it was both an astonishing personal and professional affirmation, as well as a warm welcome to my new home, and essentially, my new life.

Even though the next few acting jobs I have lined up are film work, I fully plan on doing more theatre work just as soon as I am able; as an actor, I can honestly say that it is truly the more satisfying of the two — anyone who has done both will understand what I am talking about. There is just something about the immediacy and energy that only a live audience can provide — and for a performer who thrives on connectivity and communion like I do, it is what I live for. It is what sustains me.

At any rate, watching the Tonys was just such a kick in the ass. Spring Awakening looks just amazing — delivered with the energy, innovation, and magic as can only be provided by a stage full of passionate 20 year olds just getting their first big breaks in the business — and what a break it is! You could literally feel the audience’s hair being collectively blown back in their seats. And Christine Ebersole’s performance as Little Edie in Grey Gardens took my breath away. She was just stunning and perfect and now that I have seen her perform, I officially raise my curse on the entire world for appropriating what I have considered my own personal property for the past 15 years. It belongs to all of us now; I relinquish it from my selfish, wicked, self-delusional clutches and officially give my blessing for all to enjoy it. Needless to say, I shall endeavor to see both shows as soon as I am able, and will of course get the soundtracks just as soon I can lay my bloody hands on them. I see lots of Broadway showtune belly belting and feigned hitch-kicking whilst driving down the 5 in my near future.

Another funny thing about watching the Tony’s is that it isn’t until they are broadcast every year that I am reminded once again that my friends and I grew up in Fresno doing theatre in a town with this dame. Oh, and in case you were wondering if there was anyway we might possibly have predicted what was yet to come for her, the answer is a resounding yes. She was a force of nature even then — and remains so. Her gorgeous twelve year old self would step on the stage, open her mouth, and people would damn near pass out in their Salmon Almondine. Her talent and presence were that stunning and apparent, even then.

Along with being universally acknowledged as one of the greatest theatrical talents of our time, she is a completely nice and earthy person, as well — which is why I was even sadder to hear of the recent tragedy in her family. As I watched last night, I scanned her face for traces of the horrible grief she must be feeling, and saw none — but, having just been through it myself, I know why. As a performer, you just get the fuck on with it — because you have to.

In February, the day after my sister’s body was found, I was scheduled to shoot a national commercial for the Nintendo Wii. The shoot was already long scheduled, the sound stage rented, the crew was already setting up, and the air-date was already locked. When I showed up the next morning ready to work, less than 24 hours after being told of my sister’s tragic and unexpected death, the producers pulled me aside and asked, “Muffy, what the fuck are you doing here?” — to which I could only answer, “It’s my job. I have the rest of my life to grieve my little sister — just as soon as we wrap I’m going home to Fresno to be with my family. But right now, this is where I am and where I want to be. This is where I need to be.” And then, they got it — they understood. And so, I got into costume and make-up and the cameras rolled and I was an oddball librarian in a cardigan and cat-eye glasses feverishly playing the Wii and trying my goddamndest to make the whole world belly laugh.