The world's stroppiest actors
WARREN BEATTY WILL NOT BE SPEAKING WITH YOU.
Burned by journalists in the 1960s, Beatty was one of the first Hollywood bigs who refused to submit to the indignity of journalistic interrogation. Adam Sandler's used his box-office clout to resist interviews for his latest comedies, and you can't blame him. How many times can you answer the same questions about your life, your loves, your latest movie? There are actors like Tom Hanks or Harrison Ford who soldier onward, revealing little but at least making the gesture. Tom Cruise is all smiles and intense eye contact, a shining exemplar of all the self-help non sequiturs that stream from his anecdotes. Hanks is all sunlight and jollies. He doesn't say much, but it's always with lighthearted good-cheer. While Ford does the circuit, he telegraphs answers shorter than the dialogue of any character he's every played. "I do this because it's part of my job, I do this because, what's the word," he told me recently. "It'll come to me." He slow-burns that famous smile, nearly a smirk. "I'm a profit participant."
Yet those luckless artistes earning less than $20 million a picture are contractually obligated to meet the ladies and gentlemen of the press. Most Hollywood publicity is manufactured during an exhausting weekend-long clusterfuck, day-long series of seven-minute television interviews and twenty-five minute roundtables where journalists fire their impertinent (or idiotic) questions at increasingly punchy performers. We're all working here, you want to shout at the stroppy lot. For instance, Gary Sinise wastes little of his much-advertised theater training to appear less than disagreeable. Make the mistake of telling him who you write for, he's likely to snort his contempt not only for the publication, but that you would stoop to writing for them. Looking at his homely scowl and puffed-up muscles, you wonder: who died and made you talented?
One of the surest signs of polite boredom (and burning-up of interview time) is the actor who flatters the journalist with questions, or piles on layers of shaggy-dog stories, or asks that questions be repeated. Morgan Freeman is one of the most accomplished. At least three times, I've heard his story, apropos of little or nothing, of the day he saw the face of Satan in the swirling clouds while he was out on his boat with his wife. He tells it with Shakespearean grandeur, a great performance, yet it's useless except to impersonate to your pals at the local. I remembered a quotation once while Freeman was talking, something I'd read off the wall in the men's room of a Chicago vegan coffeehouse, that I knew he would ask to hear repeated, and would then repeat and savor, looking off into the distance with a knowing smile. I wrote it down on a scrap of paper while waiting. "It's like the African proverb, 'The true story of the hunt will never be known until the lion gains his voice," I say. He repeats it. "I like that," he says, "Could you write it down for me?" hoping to simply watch as I did. I hand him the scrap of paper. He grins, busted. He looks deep into my eyes. "Did you know the story of how I saw the devil in the clouds?"
Promoting Brett Ratner's Money Talks in 1997, Charlie Sheen was a big joker but also at the tail end of years of admitted whoring, drinking and drugging. Some journalists found him offensive; I thought he was hilarious. Wanna direct yourself, I ask? "It's getting real close. I'm tired of being the guy on the set that knows more than the chap calling all the shots." So you're angry about the business. "I'm just not fooled. Money. Where do they spend it? Where do you spend 200 million dollars on a movie? Do you eat it? Do you sit around at lunch eating cash? Do I seem angry? I'm not angry. I'm just... neutral." He pauses, turns his face into a scowl, "Yeah, I'm fucking pissed! What about it!" He breaks into a big smile. Your plans next? "I'm going to my father's birthday tonight. You bring the Diet 7-up, I'll bring the crushing familial guilt."
Any whiff of breezy self-destruction beats the odor of fire and brimstone: that is, half an hour in the company of the glummest, grumpiest git on the planet. Tommy Lee Jones, the Oscar-winning 55-year-old former soaps star once told People, "I really don't know much about comedy and often don't really understand what is funny and what is not. Irony, I have a pretty good grasp of, but not humor." Reports on his personal life aren't favored, either. "The only thing that's scary is the way the media sensationalized and exaggerated and flat lied about it in order to increase their ratings," he said of a 1998 horseback spill during a polo match. "I feel insulted by having been exploited by the media." We're just letting folks know who you are. "My reputation is derived from critics talking among themselves. It has nothing to do with the reality of who I am. those who work with me know better."
Promoting Men in Black II, Jones was calmer than in prior punch-ups with the press, but inner pain danced across his rumpled, pocked features, as if doing painful penance for dull duds like Blown Away and Batman & Robin.
Brow creased, black eyes growing more black like hellish coals, he offers a dull "How y'all doin'?" then notes, "You got some nice tape recorders here."
To the predictable question, "What's it like acting to imaginary aliens?" gets the same answer as the question, "What's it like acting to imaginary lava (or Anne Heche)?" in the unforgettably forgettable Volcano. "That's what actors do. We're always being asked to react to things like angles, devils and werewolves. They're no more less real than the lava." Or Jones' contempt.
So is it a challenge playing to computer-generated imagery? "Not at all. We've often called upon to use our imaginations as actors. Ummm." He seems to recollect a past root canal. "CGI doesn't make anything easier, it doesn't make anything any more difficult. It certainly enhances the effect of a science fiction movie, and that's certainly to our benefit in this case." A lonnnnnng pause. "I'm not uncomfortable doing anything that's good... or has a chance to be good. I don't hate love scenes or murder scenes. I don't hate any scenes. " He laughs. "I'm supposed to be comfortable! That's part of the job description!"
What drew you to the first Men in Black? "I thought that was pretty cool. Interesting. Thing to do." A challenging glare.
What about your chemistry with Will Smith? "Will is a very hard-working actor, serious work ethic, always on time, energetic. I don't know how to answer your question except to say we tried real hard."
What'd you think about the joke with Michael Jackson as an alien in the film?
"I didn't think about it at all."
Do you enjoy loose, low-key atmosphere on the set, like Barry Sonnenfeld supposedly has? "We have fun all day every day."
Do you watch yourself closely when you see the film? Do you laugh? "Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I'm just amazed at how good Will is or how well a scene works. I sort of laugh, I suppose, in a knowing way. but I'm rather critical and analytical when I watch these movies, but I certainly don't take it personally. It's not a personal experience for me."
What genres are you a fan of? "I'm a fan of all good movies! I don't think in terms of genre. I've heard the term applied to cinema before, but I'm always skeptical. What is a western? Y'know? It's a movie with horses and dust and guns. Uh... I don't know what a genre is." He wheezes a laugh under his breath.
Is it fun to make a film that kids can appreciate as much as adults can? "I like it when I'm able to improve the time of children. I love that." He stares out the hotel suite window toward Central Park.
Jones gives his best performance in answering the question, So how about working with that goddam little pug dog? Talking in circles like a pup trying to sit, he answers, "Um-hum. No problem. That little dog. I wound up liking that little dog. I don't' like dogs that have no skills. My own dog is a cow dog. He's a hound. He works very hard. He has skills. And a life. He really earns his T-bones. Frank, Mushu is his name I think, is a good little dog. That dog will run across a room, hit a mark and stop and sit down or stand up, look in whatever direction you tell him to. I didn't have any problem with that dog. At first, I didn't like him or trust him because he's a dog. But when he showed that he could do something, then I liked him. I like dogs that can do something and I don't like dogs that can't or won't. I like good dogs, I don't like bad dogs, okay?" He laughs.
Are there any ideas that you tried out on the set that you miss? "I can't remember all the discarded ideas. That's like going through the wastepaper basket in an office somewhere. I remember most of the ones we allowed to live. There's never been any kind of profit in that kind of thinking. The short answer to your question is, I don't know."
Are you going to further exploit your comic side any time soon? "I've always just been glad to have a job. And comic roles haven't come my way. Maybe they will in the future." Publicist opens the door and Jones cuts his first killer grin. "Bye now!" [Originally published in a different form in September 2002.]
Burned by journalists in the 1960s, Beatty was one of the first Hollywood bigs who refused to submit to the indignity of journalistic interrogation. Adam Sandler's used his box-office clout to resist interviews for his latest comedies, and you can't blame him. How many times can you answer the same questions about your life, your loves, your latest movie? There are actors like Tom Hanks or Harrison Ford who soldier onward, revealing little but at least making the gesture. Tom Cruise is all smiles and intense eye contact, a shining exemplar of all the self-help non sequiturs that stream from his anecdotes. Hanks is all sunlight and jollies. He doesn't say much, but it's always with lighthearted good-cheer. While Ford does the circuit, he telegraphs answers shorter than the dialogue of any character he's every played. "I do this because it's part of my job, I do this because, what's the word," he told me recently. "It'll come to me." He slow-burns that famous smile, nearly a smirk. "I'm a profit participant."
Yet those luckless artistes earning less than $20 million a picture are contractually obligated to meet the ladies and gentlemen of the press. Most Hollywood publicity is manufactured during an exhausting weekend-long clusterfuck, day-long series of seven-minute television interviews and twenty-five minute roundtables where journalists fire their impertinent (or idiotic) questions at increasingly punchy performers. We're all working here, you want to shout at the stroppy lot. For instance, Gary Sinise wastes little of his much-advertised theater training to appear less than disagreeable. Make the mistake of telling him who you write for, he's likely to snort his contempt not only for the publication, but that you would stoop to writing for them. Looking at his homely scowl and puffed-up muscles, you wonder: who died and made you talented?
One of the surest signs of polite boredom (and burning-up of interview time) is the actor who flatters the journalist with questions, or piles on layers of shaggy-dog stories, or asks that questions be repeated. Morgan Freeman is one of the most accomplished. At least three times, I've heard his story, apropos of little or nothing, of the day he saw the face of Satan in the swirling clouds while he was out on his boat with his wife. He tells it with Shakespearean grandeur, a great performance, yet it's useless except to impersonate to your pals at the local. I remembered a quotation once while Freeman was talking, something I'd read off the wall in the men's room of a Chicago vegan coffeehouse, that I knew he would ask to hear repeated, and would then repeat and savor, looking off into the distance with a knowing smile. I wrote it down on a scrap of paper while waiting. "It's like the African proverb, 'The true story of the hunt will never be known until the lion gains his voice," I say. He repeats it. "I like that," he says, "Could you write it down for me?" hoping to simply watch as I did. I hand him the scrap of paper. He grins, busted. He looks deep into my eyes. "Did you know the story of how I saw the devil in the clouds?"
Promoting Brett Ratner's Money Talks in 1997, Charlie Sheen was a big joker but also at the tail end of years of admitted whoring, drinking and drugging. Some journalists found him offensive; I thought he was hilarious. Wanna direct yourself, I ask? "It's getting real close. I'm tired of being the guy on the set that knows more than the chap calling all the shots." So you're angry about the business. "I'm just not fooled. Money. Where do they spend it? Where do you spend 200 million dollars on a movie? Do you eat it? Do you sit around at lunch eating cash? Do I seem angry? I'm not angry. I'm just... neutral." He pauses, turns his face into a scowl, "Yeah, I'm fucking pissed! What about it!" He breaks into a big smile. Your plans next? "I'm going to my father's birthday tonight. You bring the Diet 7-up, I'll bring the crushing familial guilt."
Any whiff of breezy self-destruction beats the odor of fire and brimstone: that is, half an hour in the company of the glummest, grumpiest git on the planet. Tommy Lee Jones, the Oscar-winning 55-year-old former soaps star once told People, "I really don't know much about comedy and often don't really understand what is funny and what is not. Irony, I have a pretty good grasp of, but not humor." Reports on his personal life aren't favored, either. "The only thing that's scary is the way the media sensationalized and exaggerated and flat lied about it in order to increase their ratings," he said of a 1998 horseback spill during a polo match. "I feel insulted by having been exploited by the media." We're just letting folks know who you are. "My reputation is derived from critics talking among themselves. It has nothing to do with the reality of who I am. those who work with me know better."
Promoting Men in Black II, Jones was calmer than in prior punch-ups with the press, but inner pain danced across his rumpled, pocked features, as if doing painful penance for dull duds like Blown Away and Batman & Robin.
Brow creased, black eyes growing more black like hellish coals, he offers a dull "How y'all doin'?" then notes, "You got some nice tape recorders here."
To the predictable question, "What's it like acting to imaginary aliens?" gets the same answer as the question, "What's it like acting to imaginary lava (or Anne Heche)?" in the unforgettably forgettable Volcano. "That's what actors do. We're always being asked to react to things like angles, devils and werewolves. They're no more less real than the lava." Or Jones' contempt.
So is it a challenge playing to computer-generated imagery? "Not at all. We've often called upon to use our imaginations as actors. Ummm." He seems to recollect a past root canal. "CGI doesn't make anything easier, it doesn't make anything any more difficult. It certainly enhances the effect of a science fiction movie, and that's certainly to our benefit in this case." A lonnnnnng pause. "I'm not uncomfortable doing anything that's good... or has a chance to be good. I don't hate love scenes or murder scenes. I don't hate any scenes. " He laughs. "I'm supposed to be comfortable! That's part of the job description!"
What drew you to the first Men in Black? "I thought that was pretty cool. Interesting. Thing to do." A challenging glare.
What about your chemistry with Will Smith? "Will is a very hard-working actor, serious work ethic, always on time, energetic. I don't know how to answer your question except to say we tried real hard."
What'd you think about the joke with Michael Jackson as an alien in the film?
"I didn't think about it at all."
Do you enjoy loose, low-key atmosphere on the set, like Barry Sonnenfeld supposedly has? "We have fun all day every day."
Do you watch yourself closely when you see the film? Do you laugh? "Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I'm just amazed at how good Will is or how well a scene works. I sort of laugh, I suppose, in a knowing way. but I'm rather critical and analytical when I watch these movies, but I certainly don't take it personally. It's not a personal experience for me."
What genres are you a fan of? "I'm a fan of all good movies! I don't think in terms of genre. I've heard the term applied to cinema before, but I'm always skeptical. What is a western? Y'know? It's a movie with horses and dust and guns. Uh... I don't know what a genre is." He wheezes a laugh under his breath.
Is it fun to make a film that kids can appreciate as much as adults can? "I like it when I'm able to improve the time of children. I love that." He stares out the hotel suite window toward Central Park.
Jones gives his best performance in answering the question, So how about working with that goddam little pug dog? Talking in circles like a pup trying to sit, he answers, "Um-hum. No problem. That little dog. I wound up liking that little dog. I don't' like dogs that have no skills. My own dog is a cow dog. He's a hound. He works very hard. He has skills. And a life. He really earns his T-bones. Frank, Mushu is his name I think, is a good little dog. That dog will run across a room, hit a mark and stop and sit down or stand up, look in whatever direction you tell him to. I didn't have any problem with that dog. At first, I didn't like him or trust him because he's a dog. But when he showed that he could do something, then I liked him. I like dogs that can do something and I don't like dogs that can't or won't. I like good dogs, I don't like bad dogs, okay?" He laughs.
Are there any ideas that you tried out on the set that you miss? "I can't remember all the discarded ideas. That's like going through the wastepaper basket in an office somewhere. I remember most of the ones we allowed to live. There's never been any kind of profit in that kind of thinking. The short answer to your question is, I don't know."
Are you going to further exploit your comic side any time soon? "I've always just been glad to have a job. And comic roles haven't come my way. Maybe they will in the future." Publicist opens the door and Jones cuts his first killer grin. "Bye now!" [Originally published in a different form in September 2002.]
