herry Jones and Paula Vogel go way back. These days they're linked by their status as two of the most celebrated talents in American theater—women whose success is all the sweeter because each climbed to the top of her profession without so much as a side trip to the closet. In 1995 Jones became the first lesbian actor to thank her partner from the stage as she accepted a Tony award for Best Actress for her role in the play The Heiress. And in 1998, in recognition of her smash hit How I Learned to Drive, Vogel became the first out lesbian to win the Pulitzer Prize for drama.
Jones and Vogel were friends and collaborators long before the hoopla. They made headlines eight years ago when Jones starred in Vogel's hit play The Baltimore Waltz, written after the death of Vogel's brother from AIDS complications. After critics savaged their next collaboration—1993's And Baby Makes Seven—Vogel headed for Providence, R.I., and cofounded the playwriting program at Brown University. Jones stayed on in New York to build a reputation as an actor's actor.
Both Vogel and Jones have new projects under way. Jones opened in Ellen McLaughlin's Tongue of a Bird at Los Angeles's Mark Taper Forum on January 14. At New York's Roundabout Theatre, Vogel's latest work, The Mineola Twins, premieres January 19. Armed with a list of questions from The Advocate, the two theatrical whirlwinds met at New York's Cherry Lane Theatre in Greenwich Village to talk over old times and new. Here are some highlights from their conversation.
How did you first come to work together?
Vogel: Anne Bogart [director of The Baltimore Waltz] said, "There's this great woman. You've got to meet her."
Jones: And Anne told me, "There's this great playwright and this great play. Will you do it? It's called The Baltimore Waltz." But I decided, I better read this play that I'm going to be doing. Then I thought, Oh, my God, what have I gotten myself into?
Vogel: You didn't understand a word.
Jones: I'm thick when it comes to reading plays. I remember we got through the first run-through, and my sweetheart, Mary [O'Connor], came to see it. She left absolutely ecstatic, saying, "This is an amazing experience. It was the most fun I have had in a rehearsal room in my life."
For those who don't know, the play is a fantasy in which a sister is ill, and to save her life, the brother takes her on a trip to Europe—when in fact he's the one who is dying of AIDS—and they had always dreamed of the day they would go to Europe together.
When the text of The Baltimore Waltz was published, Paula had never been to Europe. The play was such a tremendous success, and Mary and I would get postcards from Paula and Anne [Fausto-Sterling, Vogel's partner] from exciting locales like Italy or Brazil—and all because productions of the play were being put on there. Suddenly Paula Vogel, this little girl from Maryland, was traveling the world because of this play she had written for the love of her brother.
What happened with And Baby Makes Seven?
Jones: For me, personally—I don't know about you, Paula—it was the biggest disaster I ever had in my career. I had a nervous breakdown.
Vogel: I was close to a nervous breakdown. As a matter of fact, I was sitting in the back of the theater the week before we opened. [A friend of mine] came because she knew I was in trouble. I held her hand and wept, and I said to her, "I'm so glad that this is happening after my brother died, because I know that that's real tragedy and this is just going to be a show that flops."
Jones: There were marvelous people involved all across the board. It just was not the time, and maybe that's all we should say.
We were on Christopher Street at the [Lucille] Lortel Theater. When was that—1993? In the play you kissed a woman on the lips. And people on Christopher Street were gasping.
Vogel: Well, no. I think we have to say a little bit more than that. The play worked brilliantly in the first reading, and I think we had an amazing cast—Peter Frechette, Mary Mara, and you. It wasn't the right production team; it wasn't the right interpretation. And it's an interesting thing about this play, because of all the works I've written, this is the most lesbian play I've written to date. And I actually think it's a very sweet little play. It seems to work well as long as it's done on no budget somewhere and if I'm not ever involved. But I do remember one thing, and I want to bring this up: We were on Christopher Street at the [Lucille] Lortel Theater. When was that—1993? In the play you kissed a woman on the lips. And people on Christopher Street were gasping.
Jones: Well, the audience was not a Christopher Street crowd.
Vogel: It sure wasn't. I was in a state of shock. I had hoped that we were at a different place than we were.
Jones: Also, we weren't just kissing each other on the lips. We were lesbians who were married and pregnant and about to have a baby kissing each other on the lips. Since 1993 the idea of two women having a child together is becoming a bit old hat in several enlightened regions of this nation. But in 1993 it was not.
In light of the fact that so many lesbians are having babies, have either of you considered it?
Jones: I don't have a maternal bone in my body. I'm an aunt. I'm a good aunt. I'm a great aunt.
Vogel: I suffered through it a lot. I wanted to have children badly. That's why And Baby Makes Seven was written. I went through planning having a baby with my best friend and my lover at the time, and when it fell through I wrote this play. I still meet children who are now grown up and think that if I had a son or a daughter when I planned to, they would be this age. And I still feel the ache.
Jones: We went past our local elementary school. Mary said, "See, if we had children, this is where they'd go to school." And we both sort of had this misty-eyed moment of imagining. And then we thought, Ooh—to have children just so you can walk them to school in the morning. Because that's exactly what it was. Just this romantic notion of the individual moments.
Were both of you out from the beginning?
Vogel: I assume that means from the beginning of our careers? I was out before I had a career.
Jones: I was out from my first Equity show, when I was 21. I was telling everyone because I was trying to get a date.
Vogel: It sure is a lot easier to be out. Especially if you're living somewhere where you're allowed to be.
Jones: Exactly. If you're not living in a small town or, for me, the South. I keep saying every year that living up North is very liberating. And every year I want to move one degree farther north. Someday I may end up in the Arctic.
How did it feel to win the Pulitzer, Paula, and the Tony award, Cherry—knowing you had broken new ground?
Vogel: There's a headline I keep laughing about that was in The New York Blade: "lesbian wins pulitzer." In big red letters. That's so funny.
Jones: Has no known lesbian ever won a Pulitzer before?
Vogel: No out lesbian has ever won a Pulitzer before. But there have been Elizabeth Bishop and Willa Cather and who knows. What do you think in terms of the Tony?
Jones: Eva Le Gallienne, Katharine Cornell… There's such a great list of actress lesbians, more than I've ever dreamed of.
Anyway, I know that [in winning our awards] we were breaking ground. And isn't it wonderful that it didn't have one iota of an impact on my life except in my hometown. It was a minor backlash of letters to the editor: "Happy for Cherry's success, not her lifestyle."
That's what's so humbling. It doesn't mean that much to us that we were out as we receive these lovely awards. But it means the world to all of those people in all of those places who can't be out.
If I thought that there was another lesbian on the planet when I was 16, I would have been happy.
Vogel: Or who are 16 or 17 years old. Right? That's where it matters.
Jones: When we were 16, had we known a lesbian whatever. An actress, a playwright.
Vogel: If I thought that there was another lesbian on the planet when I was 16, I would have been happy. Did you feel like an outsider growing up in Tennessee?
Jones: Oh, sure. But once I was able to move, it wasn't an issue anymore. I come from a wonderful little town called Paris. It's where everyone would like to be from. It's this wonderful mix of tolerant people and intolerant people.
But when I was suddenly thrust into the spotlight (even as low-level as mine was), I started to worry about my family because my family is all still back there and I know that they're the ones who are carrying the banner high. I'm not. I live in Greenwich Village.
They chose—we chose—as a family not to answer any of the letters to the editor because we felt that it was better that the community had the debate among themselves. As many cons as there were, there were letters that were supportive of my right to be whatever I was as long as I didn't hurt anybody else.
Vogel: My mom died this year. She struggled with this—two out of three of her children being gay. It came to a point where she was personally proud, but I think it was difficult in terms of her coworkers and friends. At one point she said to my brother (the one still alive), "I wish Paula wouldn't be so visible about it." And my brother said, "Listen, the two people she's loved most in her life are gay—her brother who died of AIDS and her lover. There's no way in heck she's not going to be visible about it."
I do want to say this: It's not North or South. I think all towns have homophobia. It's been an issue in Providence. In Washington, D.C., when I was growing up—a lot of homophobia. There's homophobia right here in Greenwich Village. That's why it's important to be visible. It's not going to go away. We're having a backlash right now.
Jones: I don't know. I think we're so much better off than we've ever been.
Vogel: We're better off, but there's a backlash right now because of where the Congress is. This is an issue that's easy for Republicans running for Congress.
Jones: I don't think there's that much of a backlash. They always use what's most expedient to raise money. It's cyclical. First it's abortion, then it's gay people, then it's abortion, then it's gay people.
You're both in long-term relationships. Could you talk about how your lives at home have shaped your success?
Jones: I have a blissful, amazing home life that I cherish and cannot imagine ever living without. Mary is the source of everything I do, because in drama you have to put yourself in very dark places. And the most horrible thing in the world I can imagine is losing Mary, and I have used her onstage more times than I care to count to take myself to a desolate place, the thought of no Mary. It'll be 13 years now, you realize.
Vogel: Annie and I are celebrating our tenth this year. The Stella Adler quote that I always use—she said it takes three things to make it in this business: the tenacity of a bulldog, the hide of a rhinoceros, and a good home to come home to. I don't think I would have made it as a writer—I don't think the success would have happened—without Anne.
Within a year of knowing her, I wrote Baltimore Waltz because I felt safe enough to go to the darker places. It was our first separation. I went away for three weeks. I wrote it in this cabin; she came and visited me. She was the first person to read it. I was falling in love with her desperately, and I didn't know… We were like six months into it. She was reading, and she started weeping, and I thought, I'm home free. She likes my voice as a writer.
She's a brilliant scientist, a leading expert in the science of gender. She travels all over the world, and she teaches me. She's more spontaneous than I am. And incredibly creative.
Paula, you've noted that it's difficult for lesbian artists to attain national profiles because they have trouble getting their work seen in national venues.
Vogel: The problem with visibility for lesbian artists (compounded on the problem of visibility for women artists) is that our work is seen as being less universal. And how do you break through that?
There is a different perception for gay artists than for lesbian artists. I think we're struggling with two problems: misogyny and homophobia. Everyone keeps saying, "Gee, when are there going to be lesbian playwrights on Broadway?" And I'm like, "I have no idea." A lot of people tell me, "Oh, my God, you're the tenth woman to win the Pulitzer." To me, it's shocking that there have been only ten women in this century to win it.
We hear a lot about ageism in the entertainment business. As artists over 40, what's your experience of this?
Vogel: The reason I will remain rooted on the East Coast is that in Los Angeles I feel like I need a walker. In New York I feel like a young writer just beginning.
But let me say something else about lesbian culture: One of the things that I recall when I was a lustful young lesbian at age 16 or 17 was having huge crushes on older women. Katharine Hepburn was the epitome of female beauty. One of the great things to me about lesbianism has been the appreciation of age.
It has enhanced sexuality, and it enhances women's power so that it is not an age-based culture. That's one thing that alarms me about television programs and the youth-based material right now.
Jones: It goes back to what is the market. Baby boomers are not watching prime-time TV.
Vogel: But I was there lusting after Kate Hepburn when I was 16. So the question is not only what is the market but who are the role models!
Jones: Well, I promise you that there are plenty of young women who are lusting after Susan Sarandon.
Vogel: As a matter of fact, in most lesbian divorces the real fight isn't over the VCR, it's over who gets The Hunger.
Jones: I just got to work on a Tim Robbins film, and I got to be around Ms. Sarandon, who is the coolest thing who's ever drawn a breath. She was on David Letterman's show, I think, and she was asked the question "Did it feel strange to kiss Catherine Deneuve?" And she replied, "Have you seen Catherine Deneuve lately?" So yea, Sarandon!
Paula, we know that you teach young playwrights. Cherry, do you teach young actors?
Jones: No, but I love to go and talk to young students.
Vogel: Those bright, eager faces. It's the maternal thing.
Jones: I am very maternal when it comes to someone else's child.
Vogel: That's what teachers are. Teachers are parents who bring up other people's children.
Let's talk briefly about each of your new projects. Cherry, what is Tongue of a Bird about?
Jones: It's about the devastation of loss and finding some resolution that allows you to continue—or not. Ms. Vogel?
Vogel: Mineola Twins is the twin play of How I Learned to Drive. I wrote them in tandem and just published them as The Mammary Plays. It concerns identical twins during the Eisenhower-Nixon and Bush-Reagan years. It's a comedy with Swoosie Kurtz and Mo Gaffney, with the wonderful Joe Mantello directing.
What haven't you done yet that you want to do in the theater?
Jones: Musicals. And I want to continue working more on film. I've got a couple of bigger projects in mind for the theater. Just to work with actors I've never worked with…that's the most mouthwatering thing of all. You?
Vogel: Plays, plays, plays, a film, plays, plays, plays. I don't know what they are yet because half of them haven't been written.