She began in cramped Off-Broadway rooms where the pipes rattled, the seats wobbled, and the audience could see the pulse in her throat. Those early nights shaped her, teaching her that truth mattered more than applause. She didn’t chase perfection; she chased something rawer, stranger, more human. Directors learned to trust that if they handed her a role, she would find the bruised, beating heart inside it and hold it up for everyone to see.
Later, when television and film finally caught up to what the stage already knew, she carried that same ferocity into close-ups and quiet scenes. Between takes, she was the one asking if everyone had eaten, the one staying late to run lines with the newest cast member. Now, as theaters dim their lights in her honor, the real tribute is quieter: a generation of actors walking onstage a little braver because of her.
