Last night’s 62nd Annual Tony Awards presentation did not enrage me as the Tony show has so many times in the past. On my way to slumberland I thought a lot about this and that and the other and tried to pin down my itchy furtive feelings about THE THEEYATAH and its seemingly unflinching grasp around the fattening middle-aged neck of my gay psyche. It is time to stop pretending that anything is ever going to come of this pining to be part of the artistic world of theatre. I ain’t got what it takes. All I got is way too much knowledge and heaps and heaps of opinions. But I don’t have that grasping ego and blind ambition that feeds all careers in the arts. I was given many chances in decades past and I never took those chances. I wanted to follow the rules. I didn’t want to care only about myself. I saw all this so clearly watching the show last night. Patti LuPone who deserves nothing but respect after all her professional years and achievements.
But all I see watching her accept her award is that endlessly needy little actor who lives in all these people who have to perform not just to feel loved and adored but simply to exist. It scares me now because I realize I’ve never had that and that’s why I’ve been so unhappy dreaming of a life upon the wicked stage. Yes, on some level, I will always want it, but if I am unwilling — which makes me unable — or unable so that I can claim I am unwilling (you figure it the hell out!) — to bare my all, then it certainly will never come to be, nor do I deserve it. All I can do is be a has-been who never was, who never tried. You cannot be a failure if you don’t even try. All I can be is that show queen — I’m not even involved enough for that grand title — who sits alone on his birthday at the magnificent revival of the glorious Sunday in the Park with George wracked with sobs at the love and longing expressed on stage, the love and longing the Flaming Curmudgeon refuses to tap into. I say goodbye to it and will try, in the future, to temper my loud-mouthed know-it-all opinions and my bitter stabbing jealousy of people who make their way in THE THEEYATAH. Realizing one has a little talent and a lot of knowledge and next to no chutzpah is a revelation. I must leave the dreams for others and exit, stage left.
