June 2003 Archives

We're taught nothing can be "most unique" It's impossible, say English teachers, because if something is unique, it's unique. Well, there's an exception to every rule and that exception will soon be at Roundabout Theatre Company's American Airlines Theatre [beginning Tuesday, July 1] in the form of the return of the award-winning family musical Big River: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Why, you ask, is a revival of a Tony-winning musical "most unique"? The answer is easy. It's being brought back as a "deaf musical." And to say it's non-traditional in the annals of theater would be an understatement.

Director/choreographer Jeff Calhoun says, "Mere words can't describe the experience. It's a new art form. It has to be seen, heard and felt. This show has turned out to be the most rewarding experience of my life and I know audiences will feel the same."

As co-choreographer of Annie Get Your Gun (1999 Tony Award, Best Revival, Musical), choreographer of the Broadway revival of Bells Are Ringing and the Tony-nominated choreographer of 1994's Grease revival, he's been around.

What makes it unique, notes Calhoun, is that you hear language and "see" it at the same time. Music, dance, voice and sign language have been interwoven among nine deaf and hard-of-hearing actors and nine hearing actors, who perform in speech and sign language.

Ed Waterstreet, founder/artistic director of Deaf West, explained that "from our start in 1990 as the first professional American Sign Language [ASL] theatre in the West, I wanted to do a sign language musical. I love all aspects of theater, but especially musicals. In 2000, working with Jeff, we did Oliver! It proved such a hit that our 66-seat theatre [in North Hollywood] was overrun. We began looking to do another one."

After Big River's production in Deaf West's 66-seater, it was up-sized and presented for a smash 10-week run at the Mark Taper Forum. That's where Jim Carnahan, director of artistic development/director of casting for Roundabout saw it. He returned to New York ecstatic and, quick as a wink, Roundabout's head honcho Todd Haimes "on a gut instinct," says aterstreet, "said, ëLet's do it here.'"

The musical, one of theater's great family treasures, is adapted from Mark Twain's most celebrated tale by Willliam Hauptman. It was set to music by Grammy-winning country hitmaker Roger Miller, who wrote such country and crossover gems as "King of the Road" and "Dang Me." In 1985, it was a hot ticket and won seven Tony Awards including Best Score, Best Book and Best Musical. Miller died in 1992 and was elected posthumously to the Country Music Hall of Fame.

Deaf West struck oil again with Big River, reports Waterstreet. "In the first minutes, some audience members were a bit unsure, but, as they got sucked into the unique rhythms, they became fascinated as the signing and vocals meshed. Soon, they were in another world, our world."

Waterstreet, 60, is the only deaf child in a family of seven. "They learned sign language with me, but I was always trying to find ways to communicate with them," he explains. "I discovered how effective acting out things was." When he was taken to see his first play, A Christmas Carol, "I felt so left out. I wanted to be involved, but I couldn't. I kept wishing there would be something there for me. And now there is."

How can he enjoy a musical when he can't hear it? "With my hearing aid," he replies, through his interpreter, "I hear a little. I'm lucky, but a totally deaf person is in a different spot. The totally deaf absorb music pulses because they can feel the vibrations. It was a challenge, but it came together amazing well. A lot of people are skeptical until they see the piece, then their jaws drop open."

As is often the case, Calhoun came to Deaf West via a circuitous route. A producer/actor he had worked with on The Will Rogers Follies told him he was "looking for someone who could do strange and unusual things in strange and unusual circumstances. And he thought of me. When I learned what the project was, I thought someone was pulling a practical joke. Looking back, any hesitation I might have had, I'm ashamed of. It's turned out to be the most rewarding experience of my life."

But adapting Big River didn't come easy. "It was scary," explains Calhoun. "A deaf musical! There were six weeks of rehearsal and, before that, script preparation. I never realized how much patience I had! In rehearsals, we are only able to use a piano. The orchestra comes much later, so it was difficult for the deaf actors to pick up the rhythms from the piano tones. It took hours and hours of rehearsing it again and again."

Notes Waterstreet, "We found the perfect director in Jeff. He understands my vision of signing and hearing coming together; and, inside, he really developed the skills to make it work seamlessly."

Big River, fittingly, is an adventure of self-discovery in1840s America that begins when Huck, escaping from his drunken father, is rafting on the Mississippi River and meets Jim, a runaway slave Jim. Musical numbers include "Do You Want to Go To Heaven," "Waiting for the Light To Shine," "When the Sun Goes Down in the South" and "Worlds Apart."

Adapting the show into a "deaf musical," informs Calhoun, didn't expand it. "In fact, we made it tighter without cutting anything.

In L.A., Big River went on to win six Ovation Awards and five more Drama Critics' Circle Awards, including Best Director and Best Musical.

The New York cast includes Dan Jenkins as Mark Twain and the voice of Huck. This production is a return up river for Jenkins, who received a 1985 Tony nomination for originating the role of Huck. Also starred are Broadway veteran Walter Charles, Gina Ferrall, Michael Arden as Tom Sawyer and Michael McElroy as Jim.

They not only perform their roles but also voice deaf actors, such as Phyllis Frelich (Miss Watson), winner of the 1980 Best Actress Tony for Children of a Lesser God and Tyrone Giordano (Huck).

Deaf West Theatre funding is provided by, among others, the Department of Education [a five-year, $4-million grant] and the National Endowment for the Arts. Its productions of plays such as Equus, The House Of Bernarda Alba and Medea have received awards from L.A. Weekly, Backstage West and DramaLogue.

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After 32 years, Isabelle Stevenson stepped down as president of the American Theatre Wing, the organization co-founded by Antoinette Perry, a leading 30s and 40s actress, producer and director. The Wing is co-presenter with the League of American Theatres and Producers of the annual Tony Awards. For the past five years, Mrs. Stevenson has been board chair, the first time since Perry's death in 1946 that this position has been filled. [Perry's nickname was Tony and she's the namesake of the annual Broadway honors, which take place tonight from 8 to 11 P.M. EST on CBS.] Roy Somlyo spent 37 years on the Tony Awards - eventually becoming a producer and multi-Emmy Award winner - before stepping in to fill the Wing position of president. Both have vivid memories.

Mrs. Stevenson, awarded a 1999 Tony for Lifetime Achievement in recognition of her Wing leadership, and Somlyo agree that their single, most moving Tony memory was in 1990 when the late Michael Jeter won Featured Actor, Musical for Grand Hotel. "It was an emotional moment," says Mrs. Stevenson, "as this tiny man leaped to the stage and stood there so humble. He said, ëI was an alcoholic. I was a drug abuser I was the lowest thing you can imagine. But I came back to win this and if I can do it anybody can. He was clutching his Tony as if he'd never let it go. You could hear a pin drop.'" Says Somlyo, "Whenever I see that moment, it brings tears to my eyes. Wow, what that man accomplished, but there he was speaking from the heart. It was much more effective than someone reading prepared remarks or a long list of thank yous."

Mrs. Stevenson remembers being touched when, in 1998, Ron Rifkind won Best Featured Actor, Musical for the Roundabout revival of Cabaret, the first singing role for the Off Broadway and Broadway star. "Here was an actor who had struggled," says Mrs. Stevenson, "to achieve a certain status as an actor, then had to give it up and become a clothing designer to make a living. But the siren call of theater drew him back. Seeing him there was a powerful affirmation of the determination to succeed at something you love."

The 1976 Tonys was the year of A Chorus Line [12 nominations in 10 categories and nine wins including Best Director]. "Early on, when Michael Bennett and Bob Avian's names were announced as winners for choreography, Michael bounded out of his seat and kissed his partner. That was a first, and for the rest of the evening the floodgates were open and everyone was kissing!!" She also cherishes Anne Bancroft's win at the 1958 Tonys, for Best Actress, Play for Two for the Seesaw. "Anne excitedly ran the gauntlet of tables and chairs to the stage. She arrived breathlessly to take her Tony from the hands of Laurence Olivier. She looked into Larry's gorgeous eyes and sighed, ëI wish you came with it!' It brought down the house."

Somlyo reported one of the funniest moments came in 1967 on the first national telecast [hosted by Marty Martin and Robert Preston]. "Needless to say, it was a star-studded evening. Among those presenting were Lauren Bacall, Kirk Douglas, Zero Mostel and Barbra Streisand. It was the hip 60s and flashers were in the news. We were a class event with Alex dictating everyone appear in black tie - stars, ticket takers, ushers, TV crew, stagehands - but we still had our moment with a professional gatecrasher. Barbara Harris was at the microphone, accepting her Tony for The Apple Tree, and from out of nowhere this man ran down the aisle, jumped onstage and planted a big kiss on her." He then sprinted like a panther into the Shubert wings. Shy Harris, normally a nervous wreck even in calm circumstances, was visibly all shook up. Adds Somlyo, "Jerry Adler [later an actor, most recently on The Sopranos] was stage manager and Alex yelled ëStop that man! Stop that man!' Jerry said, ëWho?' Alex replied, ëThe guy in the tuxedo!' But he was out the stage door." [He was later identified as Stan Berman and it appeared that he had infiltrated the proceedings as an ABC-TV crew member.] The following year, laughed Somlyo, Cohen rescinded the decree that everyone had to wear black tie.

1971 was memorable, he notes, because of the retrospective of 25 years of Tony-winning musicals and the stars in them. The following year was poignant when Richard Rodgers and Ethel Merman were honored with special Tonys and he played the piano and she sang.

"Another moment that sticks in my mind is from 1994," states Somlyo, "when Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn were honored with Lifetime Achievement Awards. We all knew, and Jessica knew, it would be her last time to appear on a stage and their last time onstage together. It was one of the most moving times we've had. Sadly, in 2002, there was an echo of that when [producer extraordinary] Robert Whitehead was honored and died shortly after."

There was an unforgettable 1995 moment for Mrs. Stevenson and Frances Sternhagen. "After the last rehearsal at the Minskoff," recalls Mrs. Stevenson, "I exited the stage door nd there was Frannie beside herself. In her rush to get to the city, she'd left her Tony tickets at home. I tried to get her a ticket, but none were to be had. I told her that somehow I'd get her in. After all she was a nominee [Featured Actress, The Heiress]. Of course, everything was barricaded and the order was that no one could get near the theatre without a ticket. But when I saw her, I waved her over and introduced her as a nominee and took her in." Miss Sternhagen laughs, "It was a fluke bumping into Isabelle, but she was quite the trouper. And what a night.

[It was Miss Sternhagen's sixth nomination; she'd won in 1972; Featured Actress, The Good Doctor.] Just imagine if they had announced my name and I was still trying to get in without a ticket! What made the night all the more special was that Cherry [Jones] won for Best Actress. We were, of course, disappointed that our director, Gerry Gutierrez didn't win for director. He was remarkable, and [after beating tongue cancer] quite a survivor."

In this TV age of the 30-second "Thank You" speech mandated by strict time limits set by the network, "I'd be delighted if the actors' acceptance speeches could go on longer and they would not have to be drowned out [as even she was!] by music cues. Maybe this year, with an extra hour on CBS, things will be different."

TONY MEMORIES, HIGHS AND LOWS
by ELLIS NASSOUR

From the first national Tony Awards telecast in 1967 right through last year's presentation, there've been many memorable moments ó certainly too many to list. However, one sensational moment came in 1983 at the Uris Theatre in a lavish all-star salute to Gershwin [for whom the theatre was renamed at broadcast's end] featuring Ginger Rogers, Jack Lemmon, Diahann Carroll and, among others, Dorothy Loudon. Miss Loudon was, after winning a Tony for Annie and being nominated for Ballroom, adored. When she made her spectacular entrance, the house erupted in applause. The response even threw Miss Loudon for a split second, but conductor Elliott Lawrence kept the music going. As she began, in that famous growl of a belt, an obscure Gershwin/ Herbert Stohart song from 1925's Song of the Flame, "Vodka," the response approached pandemonium. Miss Loudon said later, "I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was on Cloud Nine and could have floated offstage!"

At the first Tonys in April, 1947, guests attended a banquet at the Waldorf-Astoria. Jose Ferrer [Cyrano de Bergerac] and Fredric March [Years Ago] shared dramatic actor awards. Best dramatic actress honors went to Helen Hayes [Happy Birthday] and Ingrid Bergman [Joan of Lorraine]. An award for Best Newcomer, which later became Featured Actress, went to Patricia Neal in her Broadway debut in Lillian Hellman's Another Part of the Forest, which was a prequel to The Little Foxes. Miss Neal is the only survivor of that first awards. There were no mounted silver medallions with the masks of comedy and tragedy on one side and a small engraving of Antoinette Perry on the other. Winners received a scroll and, for the women, an engraved compact; for the men, an engraved cigarette lighter. Miss Neal still has her compact, with her initials engraved inside, displayed in a place of honor. In 1996, at an event honoring Tony-winning actresses, she received the current "model." Says Miss Neal, "It was like winning all over again. Theater has always been my first love. I've been in it for over a half century. I've faced a lot of obstacles, but can honestly say that they were nothing compared to facing audiences on opening nights!"

Marian Seldes, this year nominated for a fifth time [for the Dinner At Eight revival; she won Featured Actress in 1976 for A Delicate Balance], says, "I've experienced the same thrill each time, even when I didn't win." Even when she didn't when, she never thought of it as losing. "You're there, and you're with people you admire," she adds. "It's possibly a clichÈ, but it's thrilling to be nominated, to get the recognition for your work. To be nominated, to be singled out is meaningful if you've spent your life in the theater. I never thought about winning anything when I started out. What is wonderful when you are nominated is that it brings you together with people you love and admire and some you've never met - and some to whom you feel like a fan. Being included with such warmth and positive feeling is glorious. And you remember it always."

M-G-M musicals legend Ann Miller hasn't forgotten. "It was a thrill to be on Broadway in Mame," said Miss Miller from her home in Beverly Hills, "but, of course, I came into it long after it opened with my old friend Angela Lansbury. My Tony moment came in 1980, when I was nominated for Sugar Babies. That was the year of Evita and Children of a Lesser God, so I didn't have high hopes; but, as they say in Hollywood, it was a thrill to be nominated! And really it was - especially for something I've loved doing all my life - tap dancing." 2001 was memorable, too. She attended the Tonys in a stunning red gown and dripping with diamonds. She was escorted by producer/director John Bowab, who was responsible [as associate producer] for bringing her to Mame. "I was awestruck seeing the cast of 42nd Street tap dancing down the aisles of the Music Hall and onto that great stage. I was so proud of [choreographer] Randy [Skinner, who was nominated for choreography] and how far he'd come. He was going to be one of my Sugar Babies boys, but that didn't work out. But we had a wonderful time on a tour of Anything Goes. He was our dance captain and one of Reno's boys."

Italian journalist and playwright Mario Fratti - and later a letter from none other than Katherine Hepburn - convinced Fellini to agree to a musical based on his film 8Ω, but when the successful show won its Tonys, Fratti was neither seen nor heard from. In fact, after seven years of writing, rewriting "and rewriting" and working with composer Maury Yeston [whom he met through Chorus Lineës Ed Kleban], he ended up with a curiously strange credit: Adapted from the Italian by Mario Fratti. Says Fratti, "Things began to fall apart during rehearsals when [director/choreographer] Tommy Tune and I didn't see eye to eye. He wanted to bring in Arthur [Kopit] to do some rewrites. I said ëHe's a good writer. Why not?' Musical have many collaborators. He did a good job, following Maury's and my guideposts. It wasn't a mistake to hire Arthur. During the five weeks he worked on the show, he added a new scene and polished the book.Nine is a musical by Maury Yeston, Mario Fratti and Arthur Kopit. We're all proud of it. No Italian translation was used. I wrote it, from A to Z, in English." He didn't get a 1982 Tony, but neither did Kopit [Best Book went to Tom Eyen for Dreamgirls]. However, he gets his share of the royalties.

Broadway's biggest booster Rosie O'Donnell first hosted the Tonys in 1997. To say the road to the telecast was rocky between she and executive producer Gary Smith is to err on the polite. Says Smith, "We came to fisticuffs." Problem: he was in charge, she wanted to be. In 1998, Smith was gone. There was a new exec producer in co-producer Walter Miller and O'Donnell was producer. "We never patched things up," says Smith. "I tried." During the commercial breaks, O'Donnell was merciless to her Grease producers, Fran and Barry Weissler. Audience members were dumbstruck at her crude humor. For unknown reasons, O'Donnell passed on hosting in 1999, but was back in 2000 as co-exec producer and co-hosting with surprise guest Nathan Lane. Once again, she poked fun at the Weisslers, but not in the way many in show business did. She came down so hard that you wondered if they were in on the stabs. If not, they were amazingly thick-skinned. However, the question that haunted many that Tony night was who convinced O'Donnell she should wear that black duster. It was one-thing to see her in a dress, but why that gown? She came across as Morticia from The Addams Family.

1985 was a dark year for the Tonys. The season was so musically weak that the Tony nominating committee elimated the Best Actor and Actress, [Musical] and Best Choreography categories. For theater writer/author Ken Mandelbaum, two Tony moments to forget came in 1978, when the awards were nicknamed "The Bonnie Franklin Tonys" because they were "seen" through the eyes of the actress -- who had made a splash in 1970's Applause and gone on to become a TV sitcom star -- from her prime orchestra seats; and 1991, when presenter Anthony Quinn was onstage to present the Tony for Best Musical Director and didn't catch the fact that he had been given the wrong envelope -- without skipping a beat, he announced the winner for Best Play [Neil Simon, Lost in Yonkers].

Original Tony telecast exec producer Alexander Cohen could always be depended to say exactly what he thought. That was especially true in 1984, two years before he stepped down. At the end of the dress rehearsal, a source close to the awards recalls, Cohen came out on the Gershwin Theatre stage as everyone was getting up to exit. One particular newspaper critic had really riled him that year. He said, "Just in case you're wondering what the theme of this year's show is, it's ëF**k you, Frank Rich!'"

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Veteran press agent Judy Jacksina has hilarious memories of an incident involving the Tony Awards telecast on CBS in 1982. She represented Nine, Maury Yeston's musical based on Fellini's film 8 1/2 and directed by Tommy Tune.

Opening night was a nerve-wracking experience, with nothing absolutely written in stone until a few minutes before curtain. "Clive Barnes wrote that we were so fresh that you could smell the wet paint on the stage," recalls Jacksina. "He had no idea how on the nose he was. The night before we were backstage painting right up to curtain. At rehearsal, the ladies were all in their finery and very expensive shoes and we were going 'Watch it! Watch it! Don't step there.' "

To quick-dry the paint, Tune had fans brought in. In spite of the hell of rehearsals, the gods of theater smile on Nine. It opened to raves and received 12 Tony nominations - just as this season, three were in the Featured Actress category: Karen Akers, Liliaine Montevecchi and the late Anita Morris. As mistress to Guido [played by Raul Julia], Anita Morris performed a provocative number in a skin-tight flesh colored costume, "A Call from the Vatican."

"In no time," said Jacksina, "Anita's number became hugely famous. And controversial. The controversy wasn't over the song, but over the seductive way she'd been directed and choreographed to perform it. Of course, it didn't help that she was gorgeous and doing erotic calisthenics on a small white box and, underneath her see-through black lace outfit, naked."

Producers with shows in the Best Musical category always want to select a number for the Tony telecast that will help ticket sales soar. So guess what number the producers and Tune chose to showcase? One guess! CBS hadn't exactly been asleep at the wheel. The network fired off a letter saying "Not until we send in our Standards and Practices folks to take a look."

"Tune called," remembers Jacksina, "and instructed me to meet the S & P executives in the lobby and escort them to their seats. They were two women, weighing in at the mean age of sixty. Their hair was pulled back with nets over their buns. They wore long A-line skirts, cardigans that buttoned up the front and very sensible, sturdy shoes - what the English would call walking shoes! My heart was thumping the theme from Jaws. All I could think was, 'This is not good!' Forgetting everything else, I thought, ëThese women have never been in a pair of high heels!'

After the show, Tune joined Jacksina to greet the S & P executives. "We stood waiting for them with great apprehension," states Jacksina, tension dramatically present in her voice. "They came out and said, 'You'll be getting a letter' and off they go into the night. I looked at Tune and said, 'I feel doom circulating through my red and white corpuscles!' And he replied, 'Oh, Judy, that's not good.'"

And, thanks to the interpretation of that call from the Vatican, a letter arrived from CBS. "It listed in a succinct and well-ordered manner what ëwe' had to leave out when Anita did the number. ëWe cannot not rub our nipples. We cannot not rub the inside of our thighs.'" It went on to state that Morris could not move horizontally on the white box in a "lascivious manner." "The list was endless! It was perhaps one of the most erotic pieces of literature I had read."

It was a no-win situation. The result of which was that on the Tony telecast the comparatively innocent "Be Italian" was substituted.

Dreamgirls was Nine's big competition. It earned 13 nominations. As raved over as Dreamgirls was, Nine had the distinct advantage of opening last. In spite of the controversy, it seemed to have stuck in voters' minds. Nine won Tonys for Best Musical and and Best Score.

TONY TRIUMPHS, TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS
by ELLIS NASSOUR

Curtain up, light the lights, wrote Stephen Sondheim in Gypsy's showstopping "Everything's Coming Up Roses." You got nothing to hit but the heights. In fact, in theater, the journey to the heights is fraught with trials, tribulations and reversals of fortune.

Because of the vagaries of the business, even multiple Tony nominees and winners wonder what their next job will be. But show people, even in worst-case scenarios, have such resilience, no doubt or difficulty is so great that it cannot be overcome.

Director Jack Hofsiss, three-time nominee Cherry Jones and seven-time nominee Chita Rivera faced serious obstacles to their careers.

JACK WAS SIDELINED BY AN ACCIDENT AND DEPRESSION For directing The Elephant Man, Hofsiss won a 1979 Tony and a host of other honors. Then, in summer 1985, after directing the play for TV [winning a Directors Guild Award and Emmy nomination] and opera, he fractured his spinal cord in a pool-diving accident that left him dependent on a wheelchair and "chilled down" his career. "For a year," he says, "while trying to figure out how to go on with my life, I wondered if anyone would hire me."

While still in hospital, he got an offer. Even though it didn't work out, Hofsiss says, "that someone wanted me, without knowing what I'd be capable of, gave me hope." In March 1986 he was released and in July was directing All the Way Home at the Berkshire Theatre Festival. "It was the story of a man in an automobile accident," he laughs, "and how his family dealt with the issues. The subject matter was as therapeutic as getting back to work."

Landing jobs was a struggle. "But," says Hofsiss, "friends, like [the late] Josephine Abady, who offered me the Berkshire job, believed in me." In 1987, he was back in the theatrical eye Off Broadway, directing the musical No Way To Treat A Lady. He went on to other shows and to direct for film and TV, but admits, "I'm always proving myself. That applies to everyone in our business, but it's particularly true for me."

CHERRY'S HIGH STANDARDS CREATED STRESS It's hard to believe that Cherry Jones, one of our preeminent theater actresses who's in rehearsals for a late June opening in New York Theatre Workshop's Flesh and Blood by Peter Gaitens, would have difficulty getting into a role. Her inspiration to become an actress resulted while in college when she saw was a performance of A Moon for the Misbegotten starring Colleen Dewhurst as Josie Hogan. In 1999, playing Josie at Chicago's Goodman in a revival of Moon, Jones battled depression brought on by a "middle-aged lack of confidence."

For the first time, she experienced stage fright and, at one point, even considered walking off stage. "But I couldn't," she explains. "That would have been more humiliating than facing what I was going through."

Jones states that her dilemma was compounded by how much more was expected of her after winning the Best Actress Tony for the 1995 revival of The Heiress: "You have a standard you're not always able to meet. When the public has a standard, coupled with your own, it creates greater stress. It's more fun to be the kid coming up the ranks."

That production of Moon came to Broadway and Jones was still uneasy. However, she was rewarded with a third Tony Award nomination as Leading Actress. She says she drew strength from co-stars Gabriel Byrne and Roy Dotrice.

Jones recalls an interview Charlie Rose did with Maggie Smith. "He wondered when she and Judi Dench got together if they talked about their craft. Smith replied, 'We talk about the terror of it.'"

CHITA WAS SAVED BY A DANCER'S DISCIPLINE Chita Rivera, now an eight-time Tony nominee with her 2003 nod in the Featured category for her role as Italian film producer Liliane La Fleur in revival of Nine and who opens at the Public Theatre in Kander and Ebb's The Visit this fall, says her refusal to think negatively helped her through her worst crisis. In a 1986 automobile accident, her left leg was crushed. The prognosis wasn't good, but Rivera was determined she'd dance again. "When I saw the x-rays," she says, "I realized I had work to do; but dancers don't know anything else. Thank God for the discipline. Pity wasn't a word in my vocabulary. I've never been one who does anything half-way."

Amazingly, she was released three weeks later, albeit with 18 screws in her leg. "From day one," Rivera notes, "I obeyed, did exactly what I was told. It was fascinating because I could feel my leg mending." Eleven months later, she had the type of mobility which made her realize she could still have a career. "I wasn't happy with my dancing, but I was on my feet!"

She did a couple of "shakedown" engagements before signing on for the 1988 tour of Can Can. "How crazy was that?" she screams. "Of all the shows! But I didn't miss a kick!"

Rivera says she is happy the accident didn't happen when she was younger, as she may not have been as strong.

Everything came full circle years later. "I was buying Lisa [Mordente, her daughter] a car," recalls Rivera. "This executive at the dealership approached me. I recognized him immediately. He was the driver of the cab that hit me. I never forgot the shock on his face as they cut me out. Somehow, I had managed to say, ëI'm okay.' He was most apologetic, but, in an instant, the slate was wiped clean."

If you saw Rivera in 1993's Kiss of the Spider Woman, it was jaw-dropping shock and awe as she, seemingly effortlessly, executed that show's strenuous choreography. It won this survivor a second Best Actress Tony [the other came in 1984 for The Rink].

Everyday, Rivera says, she pinches herself for her blessings. "I'm the luckiest woman in the world!"

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The Tony Award is theater's most prestigious and coveted prize. The 2003 Tonys, the 57th annual presentations, are Sunday, June 8, live from Radio City Music Hall in a three-hour telecast on CBS. "Tony is a strange name for a theater honor," is a statement you've probably heard many time. So who was this Tony? And why is this Tony important in the annals of theater?

Tony, actually, Toni, was the nickname of beautiful Denver actress Antoinette Perry, who, after several years playing ingÈnues on Broadway, turned to producing and directing in an era when women in the theater were relegated to acting, costume design, or choreography. Today, she's, sadly, all but forgotten. But, in her prime, she showed innovative theatrical instincts and scored an enviable roster of hits. Amazingly, even well into the 1970s, she was the only woman director with a track record of hits.

Her route to New York was circuitous - touring Shakespeare in her late teens - but, once here, she came to the attention of two very important theater figures: David Warfield, a popular actor, and his frequent producing partner, David Belasco. She was cast in featured, then leading roles. Her fast-track career rise was interrupted in 1909 when she began starring in the arms of Frank Frueauff, an old Denver beau who made a fortune in gas and electric utilities - companies that eventually became Cities Service [now CITGO]. They lived the type of life Noel Coward wrote and sang of: traveling the fabled steam liners to Europe and, on their infrequent stays in New York, entertaining in robber baron style at their Fifth Avenue apartment and home in Newport, R.I.

Miss Perry up theater to become a full-time wife, mother and hostess. But theater's siren call entranched her again in 1920 when she became the silent partner of Brock Pemberton, a flamboyant press agent turned producer, in his production of Zona Gale's comedy Miss Lulu Bett. There was a gigantic pay-off. It won the Pulitzer Prize.

Following stress-related heart problems, Frueauff died in 1922 and left a massive estate: in excess of $13-million. Think about it. That's $13-million in 20s dollars. Unfortunately, he left no will. And Mrs. Frueauff was left in limbo. Bitter court battles ensued, but finally his widow was awarded nine million dollars.

"Mother generously lent money," recalled the couple's daughter Margaret Perry [who took her mother's maiden name for her acting career]. "There was plenty of money and Mother was a sucker for any hard luck story, especially if she heard them from actors and playwrights. She bailed quite a few out of financial hell. Mother also enjoyed the extravagant life."

One vivid example was the summer of 1923, when Mrs. Frueauff took Margaret and her sister Elaine [an actress, stage manager, and producer/director who died in 1986], their governess, "Uncle" Brock, as the girls were instructed to call him, his wife Margaret and ten others to Europe for seven weeks. On coming home, Mrs. Frueauff, 34, soon became bored leading what she termed an unfulfilling social whirling dervish. "Life was downright dull," she said. "I need a change - something vital. Should I go on playing bridge and dining, going in the same old monotonous circle? It's easy that way, but it's suicide, too."

Under her maiden name, she returned to the boards, starring in broad spectrum of roles in ten plays by Kaufman, Ferber and William S. Gilbert [of Gilbert and Sullivan]. In 1927, she suffered a stroke which left a side of her face paralyzed, she fell into a great depression and left theater. But theater was still in her blood. Inspired by actress/playwright Rachel Crothers, who directed her own plays, Perry decided she wanted to direct. She and Pemberton joined forces - not only as co-producers and director but also romantically.

In 1929, they struck paydirt with Preston Sturges' Strictly Dishonorable, a cynical play about virtue and Prohibition. A critic praised Perry "for doing a man's job" as director. Movie rights were sold. A month later, the stock market crashed. "Mother awoke two million dollars in debt," recalls Margaret Perry. "It took seven years to recover."

Perry and Pemberton shared an office in a theater [adjacent to the Imperial, on the site of the parking lot] and lunched daily at Sardi's, where Toni, which she was nicknamed, and Brock fueled tons of theatrical gossip. However, at the end of their business day, she'd go home to her daughters and he to his wife, one of Miss Perry's closest friends. "After the stroke," reports Margaret, "Mother tired easily. She came home, ate, read scripts and saw we did our schoolwork. Promptly at nine, Brock would phone and they'd talk for hours."

In the late 40s, a new product became the female rave: Toni Home Permanent products, which promised to end hair torment and give even the straightest hair a luscious wave. Toni-sponsored print ads and radio variety shows were everywhere. Then came sisters Marge and Norma [Babcock], identical twins and a massive ad campaign: Which Twin Has the Toni? As beauty operators feared the ether-based Toni solution would ruin their business, Miss Perry decided it was time for a cosmetic change, too. She discreetly changed her "i" to a "y."

She remained strongly focused as a director. In one month in 1937, she directed (and co-produced) three Pemberton productions, "sometimes rehearsing in our living room," says Margaret, "once while peeling peaches for preserves."

Of the team's 17 plays in 13 years, there were impressive hits, among them: Personal Appearance (1934) and Claire Boothe's Kiss the Boys Goodbye (1938), a spoof of the search for Scarlett O'Hara. The latter had a stellar cast, including Helen Claire and Benay Venuta.

Miss Venuta [who died in 1995] spoke of working with Miss Perry. "I was a tall, brash blonde, a big band vocalist who'd never read for a play, and I got the part of this gal attempting to get the role of Scarlett by sleeping with all the men involved with the film. The show was a smash. Helen wore a hoop skirt and pretended to be from the South with this accent that dripped magnolias." Noting that Miss Perry didn't mind ruffling feathers, she reported a pre-Broadway situation in Washington involving black actor Frank Wilson, who played a butler in Kiss the Boys. "We rehearsed at the very first-class Willard Hotel, right across from the White House. When Frank arrived, the doorman directed him to the trades entrance. We found that disgusting. Tony raised a ruckus, stating that Frank could either enter through front doors or the company would check out. With reporters and photographers present, the hotel backed down."

Miss Perry, said Miss Venuta, may have had a deep affection for actors, but not for all playwrights ó especially if not of her political thinking. "Tony despised - no, hated Clare Booth! She was a Democrat with a capital D and Tony a staunch Republican. She'd do anything to avoid her!" She said that, when it came to acting, "Tony was a perfectionist with the philosophy that a director should work closely with everyone from the crew to the lowest actor on the totem. She felt a responsibility to audiences. Once, she said, ëBenay, do you realize that a theatrical performance is one of the few things which the public is willing to pay for in advance, sight unseen?'

"She was a good communicator and wonderful at teaching timing," continued Miss Venuta. "I didn't know anything about acting technique. Tony taught me. She was tough and didn't mind screaming at me or the other actors. She wasn't one for overplaying a role! She told me, 'Don't go for every laugh. It's better to ride over the little laughs and go for the big one. Another time, at rehearsal, she yelled `Benay, what the hell are you doing?' I replied, 'I was taking a breath.' She said, 'No! If you hold your breath, the audience's going to hold its breath. Act out that pause.'"

But, Miss Venuta observed, "Working with Miss Perry could be frustrating. She'd have us learn pages and pages of dialogue, then say, 'I'm cutting this, this, and this.' We asked why. 'Now you know what's essential,' she replied. And when we did the streamlined version, there was a bigger payoff." Interestingly, in that era of theatrical male power brokers, Miss Venuta said, "I never heard her criticized on the basis of being a woman."

Tony's deft hand with comedy paid off co-producing and directing Mary Chase's Harvey (1944). It won the Pulitzer Prize over The Glass Menagerie and became a long-running smash with Hollywood begging for the rights.

Daughter Margaret confided that her mother was an inveterate gambler. "The seed money for many a Wing activity or show investment came from her track winnings. Even during Wing board meetings, mother played the horses. She'd have her secretary tip toe in to give her the odds, then place a wager with a bookie."

Ironically, in spite of her theatrical credentials, today Miss Perry is best remembered for her generosity and leadership in World War II as a co-founder of the Theatre Wing of Allied Relief, subsequently, the American Theatre Wing. The Wing operated the famed Stage Door Canteen in the basement of the (now razed) 44th Street Theatre, where stars worked as dishwashers, waiters, waitresses, and entertainers for the armed forces. Miss Perry was also president of the National Experimental Theatre and financed, with Actors Equity and the Dramatists Guild, the work of new playwrights. During and after the war, she underwrote auditions for 7,000 hopefuls. Her dream of a national actor's school was realized in 1946.

"That year, Mother developed heart problems," Margaret explained, "but, as a devout Christian Scientist, she refused to see a doctor. Her dedication to the work of the Wing took a terrible toll. Often, the only thing that alleviated her intense physical pain was Brock's nightly call."

On June 28, 1946, as Margaret and Elaine made plans for their mother's 58th birthday the next day, Miss Perry had a fatal heart attack. Margaret reports that she was $300,000 in debt and living on $800 a week from her Harvey royalties.

A reporter once questioned Miss Perry's donation of so much of her money and time to "thankless theatrical activities." She replied, "Thankless? They're anything but that. I'm just a fool for the theater." And, said Margaret, "Theater was what Mother lived and breathed. If you were an actor, you were on that pedestal of pedestals."

Pemberton proposed an award for distinguished stage acting and technical achievement be named in her honor. At the initial event in 1947, as he handed out an award, he called it a Tony. The name stuck.

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