Kathleen Turner’s voice has always commanded attention. Pick any random review of Body Heat or Romancing the Stone, and you’ll likely see it described as smoky, sexy, sensuous, tobacco-cured, or scotch-laden. The effect of Turner’s voice in person, seated in a corner booth at The Odeon in Tribeca, is nothing short of intoxicating: It has a lower, huskier quality now than it did in those old films. “I was never meant to be an ingenue,” the 67-year-old says with a laugh. “I’m lucky I escaped Body Heat being typecast as just a sex symbol. Everyone kept saying ‘Sure, she’s sexy, but can she be funny?’ I mean, fuck me—it’s called acting!”
Turner’s sizzling performance in Body Heat turned the former struggling waitress into one of the most beloved stars of the 1980s and ’90s. All too aware that femme fatales had a short shelf life, she picked her next project carefully, quickly clarifying that she had much more to offer than a pretty face with a gravelly voice. As a performer, she’s always been willing to get weird, whether that meant playing a kinky sex worker in Crimes of Passion or a murderous housewife in Serial Mom.
“There’s a scene in Serial Mom where Beverly Sutphin has to look through a glory hole, and Kathleen’s assistant said, ‘I’m not sure she’ll know what that is,’” recalls John Waters, who directed the twisted black comedy. “Kathleen is such a good actress that she didn’t even need to know what a glory hole was—she made it her own!”
Turner developed rheumatoid arthritis while filming Serial Mom in 1992, eventually stepping back from acting to focus on a painful recovery process. After her symptoms subsided in the early aughts, however, she staged one of the most triumphant comebacks in acting history with a Broadway revival of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, subsequently making her Metropolitan Opera debut in a 2019 production of La Fille du Régiment; and recently wrapping an HBO miniseries about the Watergate scandal. Now, she’s mounting a one-woman show, Finding My Voice, for one night only this Thursday in New York.
“There’s a fine line between just being really good at what I do and wanting others to like how well I’m doing it,” she told Vogue. “I’m a little nervous about being myself onstage, but I also know I’m funny and that I have good stories to tell.”
Lunch with Turner feels like attending a particularly intimate preview of Finding My Voice. She’s a masterful storyteller and an even better shit-talker, delivering her most brutal burns with a gleeful smile. Ahead of her performance at Manhattan’s Town Hall, the acting titan spent an afternoon with Vogue to discuss her legendary career.
Vogue: I was surprised to learn in your memoir [2008’s Send Yourself Roses] that you’re a lifelong New Yorker. I presumed you must have lived in Los Angeles at some point, but you wrote that L.A. always made you feel insecure.
Kathleen Turner: I never quite understood L.A. I would only rent houses there for the four months I was shooting, then take the first plane home. I feel from my upbringing that I’m a citizen of the world, not just the United States. I grew up in Cuba and London, so New York feels as close as I can get to the rest of the world. I don’t wanna spend two hours in a car every day.
Were you in Manhattan for the most of the pandemic?
Yes, but it was tough. I’m immunocompromised and I live alone except for my extraordinary cat, Simon. All of my friends have partners and immediately left town for their summer homes. My daughter lives in Harlem so I’m lucky. I also have some really nice neighbors who would always text and ask me if I needed anything, so I had more resources than myself. But I started to go slightly insane around August. I had to get out of the city so I rented a little house in Provincetown where I could be outside. Have you been?
I haven’t, but I know that’s where a lot of gay men in New York vacation during the summer. I’m sure you’re very popular with that crowd.
They do love me up there. John Waters is still a good friend and he has a place in town. I made friends with this group of women who have a houseboat, and they’d always pick me up at the dock and take me out for the day. We would all jump off the deck and into the water where the seals would swim up to us. It was fantastic.
What can you tell me about how you began developing Finding My Voice?
I’ve performed a lot of one-woman shows, but never anything that involved singing. The first time I did this was at a lovely theater in Philadelphia where we hung chandeliers and made it feel like a real cabaret. It was very intimate, and just nice to see how it felt to do a show of that nature. I’ve been working on it through the pandemic, so new experiences, new memories, and new political situations have changed it. I’ve certainly had a lot of input throughout my acting career, but it feels different creating something from the ground up.
What can you tell me about the material in its current iteration?
Everything in the show is drawn from my life experiences. I tell many stories from my life and career and the songs are like close-ups of them. My music director, Andy Gale, who has an encyclopedic knowledge of music, would often say, “That story makes me think of this song!” And so on. I begin the second act with “Brother Can You Spare A Dime?,” so that should give you an idea of what to expect.
I saw that John Waters is performing his Christmas show in New York the same week you’re at Town Hall. I’m curious if you’ve seen any of his one-man shows before?
I have seen his Christmas show before, but I made a terrible mistake. I should’ve brought a gay friend, because I needed a translator so I could understand what John was saying. I brought a straight friend and he had no idea what half of John’s act was about either.
That’s especially funny considering John said that you were the only actress he met with for Serial Mom who seemed to understand what he was going for. Did you have any reservations about working with him at the time?
I watched Cry Baby, which I enjoyed. But I also watched one with Divine called Female Trouble, which I was not wild about. When John sent me the script for Serial Mom, I said, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” I made it to the scene where Beverly pulls out the guy’s liver before I told my agent “Nope! Nope! Nope!”
How did he win you over?
He jumped on a train to try and woo me in New York. I said, “Here’s the thing, this reads like it could be really funny, or it could be a gore-fest. It all depends on how you shoot it.” I told him that if he was gonna shoot a horror movie, then I wasn’t interested. But if he was gonna make a flat-out comedy, I was in.
He told me that he thought you would be up for Serial Mom because you really “went there” in Crimes of Passion.
Ken Russell was one of a kind. He wanted to bring the lives of all the great composers to the screen, like the one about Tchaikovsky with Richard Chamberlain [1971’s The Music Lovers]. That’s what he saw as his essential work. But in between those, Ken had to make Hollywood films because he didn’t wanna lose his place in the zeitgeist. He wanted to have one foot in Hollywood’s door, which meant he shot himself in that foot a lot on something like Crimes of Passion.
I understand it was a pretty chaotic set.
Anthony Perkins was a nightmare. It was such a shame to watch—he would huff benzyl nitrate before every take.
Like poppers?
No, those are amyl nitrate. These were one down, but the effect is very much the same. Anthony would break into sweats, turn bright red, and start mumbling very fast and incoherently. Anything we’d rehearsed before the scene would completely go out the window. And Ken was hardly one to criticize him because he was always drunk.
How does a budding actor navigate a set like that?
With difficulty. But Ken was a genius, and I wanted to work with him.
I was surprised to learn that Crimes of Passion came after Body Heat and Romancing the Stone. It feels like a real left-field choice for an actor experiencing such mainstream success at the start of their career.
Oh, you should’ve heard the screams. Everyone I know said, “You’re becoming America’s Sweetheart, you can’t play a $50 street walker.” But telling me not to do something has never worked. Usually if I’ve just finished exploring one thing, I wanna explore something completely different. I’m very “been there, done that” in my approach.
What can you tell me about establishing a sense of camaraderie with someone like Michael Douglas? You describe him in your book as “a wonderful friend and a terrible enemy.”
You definitely don’t wanna get on Michael’s wrong side. He used to say “the best revenge is always revenge.” We’re kinda like an old married couple, although we never were. We were Zooming together the other day and he told me that he couldn’t have done Romancing the Stone without me, which is probably true since most of our cast and crew spoke Spanish. Only myself and one other assistant director were bilingual.
Were you basically the production’s translator?
Oh, yes. I kept telling Michael that he should be paying me more. We went through some tough, physical days while we were shooting. And Michael was wearing two hats in the role of actor and producer. I knew he really needed to be supported and didn’t need an actor complaining about their trailer being too small—we didn’t even have trailers!
That sense of scrappiness has been a running thread throughout your career. Sofia Coppola said The Virgin Suicides almost didn’t get made until you signed on and she was able to secure funding. What made you believe in her potential as a first-time filmmaker?
Jeffrey Eugenides had never approved anyone to adapt his novel but Sofia decided to write the script on spec anyway. I read them both and thought she captured the novel’s sensibility beautifully. She played my little sister in Peggy Sue Got Married, and the first time we had lunch to talk about the script, I said “Why do I keep picturing you in green?” Sofia reminded me that her character wore a green girl scout uniform in Peggy Sue. God bless that girl, she’s an absolute sweetheart.
The Virgin Suicides may be my favorite performance of yours. I definitely think it’s your most underrated.
I do too. And it was really fucking hard! My daughter was a teenager at the time and I would call her every night screaming, “Don’t you ever fucking die!” That character had to be rendered extremely delicately so that no one could look at those girls’ suicides and say, “Well obviously it was the mother’s fault.” It was important for there to be no easy answer in terms of who could be blamed. I envisioned myself as if I were a blow-up doll with a plug in my heel, and before every scene I would pull it and deflate.
I think that’s what makes the character especially sad. You’re typically so animated onscreen, but Mrs. Lisbon looks like life has just been completely sucked out of her.
It was difficult to keep in that zone. Every once in a while I would get too lively and Sofia would have to say, “You’re filling up again!” But what a great film. And Sofia is a completely different filmmaker from her father.
What’s a core memory from working with Francis Ford Coppola on Peggy Sue Got Married?
One day he asked if I was okay with him directing me from his trailer. He had monitors in there and said he could just walky-talky directions to the assistant director. I said, “Oh, I don’t mind—you can direct from your trailer and I’ll go act from mine.” He said, “Are you telling me that every time you’re on set, I have to be?” I said yes, and he said, “Well, does that mean every time I’m on set, you have to be?” There weren’t many scenes I wasn’t in, so I agreed. I could’ve used a little more sleep on that movie, but Francis kept his part of the bargain, so I kept mine.
You famously sparred with Jeffrey Katzenberg on the set of V.I. Warchowski. You weren’t satisfied with the ending and refused to shoot it until he and the writers sent you a revised version that got your approval.
I told him if he didn’t change the ending then I would refuse to shoot it. Katzenberg and all these people at Disney said they couldn’t give an actor that kind of power, and I just said, “No? I bet you can.” Just because I agree to do a job doesn’t mean I agree to change my standards. That’s been an ongoing fight throughout my career.
And he gave in?
He had to! But I wasn’t doing it for me. If I ask to do something a certain way or cast a certain actor, it’s because I’m thinking about the quality of the entire piece. When I said I wanted Bill Irwin to play George in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, the producers said “Him? He’s a clown!” Mind you, he later won the fucking Tony. I had to convince our producers that he was an incredible comedic actor and why that was so necessary to understanding George.
I read that the 2005 production was the first time Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? had been produced on Broadway since 1976. From my understanding, Edward Albee wasn’t eager to revive it when you approached him.
There’ve only been three productions that he’s ever approved to be mounted in New York. But I had to play Martha—in theater school, I said I’d do it by the time I was 50. And I met Edward when I was 49.
How did you convince him that you were destined to play Martha?
I got him to sit down for a reading with Bill and I. He said he’d at least listen, and about halfway through the first act, something extraordinary happened. His posture changed and he started leaning into certain lines. During the break he came up to me and said, “I haven’t seen anything quite like that since Uta Hagen.” I didn’t know what to say to that.
So what did you say?
“Yes, and you’ve only heard the first act.” He left a note on my dressing room table the night we closed on Broadway. It said: “You’re the reason I’m a playwright.” I mean, are you kidding me? Whenever I get really depressed, I’ll pull that one out. I may have to pull it out before my show at Town Hall!
Do you consider yourself primarily a film or theater actress?
I’ve grown to love film a great deal, but it sort of just happened to me. I always saw myself as being onstage. Having so much success in film has been a double-edged sword. I went to ask André Bishop [artistic director of Lincoln Center Theater], “Why haven’t you used me more?” and he blurted out, “Because you're a movie star!” I said, “I beg your pardon?”
You’ve kept one foot in the theater world since the start of your career. Many film actors seem to try Broadway out once and then never return after they realize how much work it is.
There are a lot of film actors who think they can do stage, but that’s not necessarily true. Who’s the guy that got mercury poisoning from sushi? Jeremy What’s-His-Name? [Editor’s note: She means Jeremy Piven.] Most actors like knowing they can do their 14 hours, go home, and do whatever the fuck they want. They don’t necessarily understand what eight shows a week means because you can’t do much else. Everything is oriented around that show—you don’t go out, you don’t see friends. A lot of people aren’t willing to do that to their lives.
What are your immediate plans for Finding My Voice after this Town Hall performance? Will you take it on tour?
I can’t talk about that yet. But this show is two tiers down from my main work: acting and teaching. I’m doing a course on Zoom right now, which has been better than I anticipated. I like to have the whole body to work with so I can ask my students, “What the hell are you doing with your right foot?”
Do you adhere to a certain method or school of acting?
No. My course is called “Practical Acting: Shut Up and Do It.”
Is that actually what it’s called?
Yes, and I mean it. NYU said, “Are you sure you want that name?” and I insisted. What the coursework does is just focus on the text. It’s important to listen to the phrasing of a word or the rhythm of a line. Where do you take your breath? What part of the word should you stress? It really is the most fundamental tool of the job.
Have you found that most students come in with certain expectations about acting that you have to dismantle?
It depends on their background. So much of acting depends on whether or not one can take direction and use it right away. I gave one of my older students an assignment one day, and two days later nothing about his approach had changed. I asked him, “Am I not using the right words? Are you not understanding?” He said, “I understand, I just need more time to incorporate it.” But when you walk into an audition and someone asks you to do something a certain way, you can’t say you’ll be back in two months.
What are your thoughts on Stanislavski and Strasberg’s methods?
Hate them.
Are you pretty anti-Method acting in general?
All that “call me by my character name” stuff? Fuck it. Isn’t the idea that we’re supposed to find our own unique voice? How can you achieve that by forcibly imitating anyone else? I’ve never understood that. Your job, through school and throughout your life, should be to learn how you work best as an actor. I used to drive Bill Hurt crazy on Body Heat because he couldn’t understand how I was able to flip so easily between my character and real life. Although my daughter and ex-husband have informed me that that hasn’t always been true. They said that I would occasionally come home from a performance of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof or Virginia Woolf and have to be cajoled back to reality: “Alright, mom, come back...” Martha’s anger on top of my own could be too much.
When you contemplate future roles or career choices, what does that look like?
One can never know. I did plan some of the great stage roles that I hoped to play one day, like Martha or Mother Courage. But otherwise I haven’t planned much of anything. Your question makes me think of Carrie Mae Weems, who’s this brilliant Black artist with an exhibition at the Park Avenue Armory. She said something in a recent interview about how she’s always felt like she had to espouse a certain message or cause as an artist. I was reading it and thought, “Well, where does that leave me?”
You never felt a similar call?
Not exactly. But then I thought, “Now wait a minute, yes I have.” I’ve never taken a role that degraded women or minimized them. My women are never merely supporting players. I’ve also never taken a role where a child’s life or health is in danger as a plot tool, which I find despicable. So perhaps by my choices, I have had a consistent artistic vision. At the very least, I’ve had a remarkable amount of fun.
This conversation has been edited and condensed.
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