[cnn-photo-caption image=http://i2.cdn.turner.com/cnn/2009/images/06/08/art.tony.awards.jpg caption="Cast and crew of 'The Norman Conquests' speak on stage during the 63rd Annual Tony Awards at Radio City Music Hall on June 7, 2009 in New York City."]
The Tony Awards were given out last night here in New York. I boycotted them over the snub of my one-man show, Nice to Meet You, Now Please Get Out of My Bed.
I’m at a loss, frankly, as to why I was passed over. It’s not like I was a diva. In fact, I went out of my way to encourage audience participation. I don’t care what the critics say, folks in the mezzanine loved those diet pills.
The only reason I can think of – aside from the unpleasantness with that jar of Nutella – for this theatrical injustice is that the Broadway establishment didn’t like my burlesque tribute to Angela Lansbury: “Murder, She Wrote…All Night Long.”
I mean, yes, there were those who raised their eyebrows at my habit of spending intermission arm-wrestling with Kathleen Turner. But those are the same people who criticized the opening line of the show. Which, by the way, I think says less about me than it does about their fear to consider the question: “What would Jennifer Love Hewitt do?”
And sure, 43 minutes of the show were me weeping over a spilled container of body glitter. If you didn’t like it, well, I’m sorry you hate America.
By the way, no, it’s not considered nudity if you’re covered in Grand Marnier.
I’ll be honest, the timing of this snub couldn’t be worse. I’m trying to nail down a deal to sell the film rights and I’m worried that, without recognition from the Tony Awards, I’ll never realize my dream of being portrayed on the silver screen by Mary-Kate Olsen.
Meanwhile, the chances of me staging my follow-up Broadway production are now slim to none. It’s beyond disappointing. I had such high hopes for Any Day You Don’t Sleep With Your Landlord is a Good Day.
But, look, I’m not naïve. At least not after that night with Liza Minnelli at Red Lobster. I’m aware that edgy theater productions such as mine are easily dismissed as unappealing to a wide audience. America wants high-quality mainstream entertainment like NBC’s I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here – a reality show so far best known for the alleged torture of Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag somewhere in the Costa Rican jungle. I’ve yet to see an episode of this trainwreck, but rest assured, I will tune in for the finale – provided the aforementioned Couple from Hell is shot out of a cannon.
Just don’t shoot them in the direction of Broadway.
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