After a thriving career as a Hollywood leading lady, Kathleen Turner has become a more-or-less full-time stage artist, with recent appearances on Broadway (High) and Off-Broadway (The Third Story), and a New York directing debut (Crimes of the Heart). In May, she’ll appear on the West End in Stephen Sachs’s Bakersfield Mist. Currently she’s traversing the Thirty Years’ War in Arena Stage of D.C.’s production of Brecht’s Mother Courage and Her Children, through March 9.

There’s original music in Mother Courage by James Sugg. Is this your stage singing debut? Has no one ever tried to get you to sing onstage before?

Well, Jimmy Nederlander was always saying, “C’mon, you should do the Lauren Bacall musical” [Woman of the Year]. And I said, “Jimmy, I don’t think so.” But now I feel ready. I certainly can sing, and I’ve always enjoyed it. But honestly, when I came to New York when I was 22, there were no leading parts for a woman my age that weren’t sopranos. And I was damned if I was going to be Ado Annie my whole life, so I said, “I just act.” And I kind of got trapped doing that.

 

So you did musicals before you came to New York?

I think I did Sweet Charity in college.

 

That’s a production I’d love to see on YouTube.

Not from Southwest Missouri State, honey.

 

What are your points of identification with Anna Fierling? You’re a mother, for instance.

That’s an extraordinarily strong point of identification. Also the practicality of the woman; she’s not a fantasist. She says: “Nice idea—doesn’t work.” She doesn’t pretend one thing is something else just because she wants it to be. I’ve had a lot of time to accept reality myself, because of the rheumatoid arthritis. I can’t change it, so what can I do with it?

 

David Leong is choreographing the movement for the show. Is he going easy on you?

Nah, I’m moving well. I should be—I replaced half my body. Okay, not half—that’s exaggerating.

 

What are you reading at the moment?

I like this author Laurie R. King, who writes about the older Sherlock Holmes and his There’s original music in Mother Courage by James Sugg. Is this your stage singing debut? Has no one ever tried to get you to sing onstage before?

Well, Jimmy Nederlander was always saying, “C’mon, you should do the Lauren Bacall musical” [Woman of the Year]. And I said, “Jimmy, I don’t think so.” But now I feel ready. I certainly can sing, and I’ve always enjoyed it. But honestly, when I came to New York when I was 22, there were no leading parts for a woman my age that weren’t sopranos. And I was damned if I was going to be Ado Annie my whole life, so I said, “I just act.” And I kind of got trapped doing that.

 

So you did musicals before you came to New York?

I think I did Sweet Charity in college.

 

That’s a production I’d love to see on YouTube.

Not from Southwest Missouri State, honey.

 

What are your points of identification with Anna Fierling? You’re a mother, for instance.

That’s an extraordinarily strong point of identification. Also the practicality of the woman; she’s not a fantasist. She says: “Nice idea—doesn’t work.” She doesn’t pretend one thing is something else just because she wants it to be. I’ve had a lot of time to accept reality myself, because of the rheumatoid arthritis. I can’t change it, so what can I do with it?

 

David Leong is choreographing the movement for the show. Is he going easy on you?

Nah, I’m moving well. I should be—I replaced half my body. Okay, not half—that’s exaggerating.

 

What are you reading at the moment?

I like this author Laurie R. King, who writes about the older Sherlock Holmes and his much younger wife. It’s really good writing; I love the historical mystery aspect of it.

 

It seems you’re now in a kind of second or even third phase of your career.

I’m told I’m becoming legendary, but I think that’s just because I’ve been around so long. It does start to haunt you when you go into a theatre and people say, “I worked with you 25 years ago.” This is a bit flowery, perhaps, but I sort of feel like I’m a tree: The trunk is solid, and I just keep growing branches. There’s the acting, the directing, the teaching—I find teaching extraordinarily rewarding—and also what you can do with a certain amount of celebrity as an activist. I just keep growing, sprouting new branches. I like it.

The first job I did after Body Heat was Midsummer at Arena Stage. I’ve always tried to go no more than two years without a stage role. Now I’m working all the time onstage, and I can get as much work as I want. It’s great.

I did the film Dumber and Dumber 2 last fall, and it reminded me: That process is so boring for an actor. You sit there for two hours while they adjust the lights, then you get to act for 15 minutes. It just bores the shit out of me. I never stop working in the theatre.

 

Do you have any preshow rituals?

Sure I do, but that’s private. I do listen to a lot of music in my dressing room. In fact, in every company I’m with, I ask the younger people to put music on my iPod. That way I discover lots of new music I would never hear otherwise, and then I also have a memory of the people who gave it to me. And it fills up my iPod. You should try it.

 

Your daughter is a singer/songwriter, right?

Yes, Rachel Ann Weiss. I think her music is stunning; I’m thrilled with her talent. Thank goodness, right? I’m a really bad liar.

 

So what drew you to acting initially if you’re not into pretending?

I probably was a pretty good liar 30 years ago. I think the better I get as an actor, the worse I get as a liar. Acting now is finding a way to tell the truth, given what you have to work with.

 

What’s the tackiest thing you own?

There’s a dolphin clock someone bought for me in the south of France. I can’t give it away, because she comes over every few months, and she would probably ask me, “Where is it?”

 

Who does the best Kathleen Turner imitation?

I don’t know—I know they’re out there. Mostly they sound quite fierce. I think I’m such a nice person, so I’m always amazed that people are intimidated by me. Unless I want you to be—that’s another story.

younger wife. It’s really good writing; I love the historical mystery aspect of it.

 

It seems you’re now in a kind of second or even third phase of your career.

I’m told I’m becoming legendary, but I think that’s just because I’ve been around so long. It does start to haunt you when you go into a theatre and people say, “I worked with you 25 years ago.” This is a bit flowery, perhaps, but I sort of feel like I’m a tree: The trunk is solid, and I just keep growing branches. There’s the acting, the directing, the teaching—I find teaching extraordinarily rewarding—and also what you can do with a certain amount of celebrity as an activist. I just keep growing, sprouting new branches. I like it.

The first job I did after Body Heat was Midsummer at Arena Stage. I’ve always tried to go no more than two years without a stage role. Now I’m working all the time onstage, and I can get as much work as I want. It’s great.

I did the film Dumber and Dumber 2 last fall, and it reminded me: That process is so boring for an actor. You sit there for two hours while they adjust the lights, then you get to act for 15 minutes. It just bores the shit out of me. I never stop working in the theatre.

 

Do you have any preshow rituals?

Sure I do, but that’s private. I do listen to a lot of music in my dressing room. In fact, in every company I’m with, I ask the younger people to put music on my iPod. That way I discover lots of new music I would never hear otherwise, and then I also have a memory of the people who gave it to me. And it fills up my iPod. You should try it.

 

Your daughter is a singer/songwriter, right?

Yes, Rachel Ann Weiss. I think her music is stunning; I’m thrilled with her talent. Thank goodness, right? I’m a really bad liar.

 

So what drew you to acting initially if you’re not into pretending?

I probably was a pretty good liar 30 years ago. I think the better I get as an actor, the worse I get as a liar. Acting now is finding a way to tell the truth, given what you have to work with.

 

What’s the tackiest thing you own?

There’s a dolphin clock someone bought for me in the south of France. I can’t give it away, because she comes over every few months, and she would probably ask me, “Where is it?”

 

Who does the best Kathleen Turner imitation?

I don’t know—I know they’re out there. Mostly they sound quite fierce. I think I’m such a nice person, so I’m always amazed that people are intimidated by me. Unless I want you to be—that’s another story.