Cybill Shepherd: The Hollywood Interview

Actress Cybill Shepherd.


CYBILL SHEPHERD: THE COMEBACK KID
By
Alex Simon

If you’re a man (or to be fair, a woman) of a certain generation, odds are that Cybill Shepherd was one of those women that gave you some of your earliest, yummiest impure thoughts that left little question as to which side of the sexual fence you lay. Born February 18, 1950 in Memphis, Tennessee, this southern belle was named Model of the Year in 1968, and was one of the country’s leading cover girls when, after seeing one of those covers, director Peter Bogdanovich plucked Shepherd from the modeling world and made her an overnight sensation with her turn in his classic “The Last Picture Show” (1971). Shepherd’s portrayal of a manipulative small town beauty queen won her accolades from audiences and critics alike. Shepherd followed “Picture Show” with another terrific turn in Elaine May’s “The Heartbreak Kid” the following year, and scored big in another classic, Martin Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver,” in 1976.

But Shepherd has also had a Phoenix-like ability to survive some disastrous careers choices, such as turns in former boyfriend Bogdanovich’s legendary misfires “Daisy Miller” (1974) and “At Long Last Love” (1975), the former which caused the dissolution of The Director’s Company, a seemingly-can’t lose partnership between Bogdanovich, Francis Ford Coppola and William Friedkin, then the three top directors in Hollywood. In the late '70s, Shepherd left L.A. for a return to her native Memphis following her split from Bogdanovich, where she married and gave birth to her first child, daughter Clementine Ford. Shepherd didn’t appear in another film for four years, until the TV-movie “The Yellow Rose” in 1983, but hit paydirt with the seminal ‘80s TV hit “Moonlighting,” which also made a sensation of co-star Bruce Willis. Shepherd very skillfully reinvented herself as a glamorous comedienne, of the Carole Lombard mold, with her portrait of Maddie Hayes, a former model-turned-private eye.

Once “Moonlighting” ended in 1990, Shepherd followed with a string of feature films, some good (“Chances Are”) some not so (the ill-fated “Picture Show” sequel “Texasville”), but found redemption once again on the small screen in 1995 with “Cybill,” a semi-autobiographical look at Shepherd’s own life, with a screwball comedy spin that combined the antics of “I Love Lucy” with a daring progressiveness in dealing with women’s issues such as sexuality, menopause and childbirth that pre-dated “Sex and the City” by three years. It also got Shepherd (who co-exec produced the show) and her creators in continual hot water with CBS censors. That, combined with other issues discussed below, got the show axed by the network, quite unceremoniously, when “Cybill” was at the peak of its popularity. Never released into syndication, the first season of “Cybill” arrives on DVD September 16 from First Look Studios. Shepherd published her very funny, and very frank, memoir “Cybill Disobedience” in 2000, to big sales and warm reviews, many praising her for the warts-and-all portraits of herself, and those she’s worked with.

The past year has been another busy one of reinvention for Shepherd, whose recurring turn on Showtime’s hit series “The L Word” has earned her an entirely new fan base. She also has three feature films in the can, and a new website (www.cybill.com) to her credit. Cybill Shepherd sat down with us recently to discuss her remarkable career as one of Hollywood’s greatest continual comeback stories.

Let’s start off by talking about “Cybill.” I know it was semi-autobiographical. In the beginning, did you sit down with the writers and tell them specifically what elements of your life you wanted to include?
Cybill Shepherd: Well, it was a collaborative decision to base it on my life. The original series that I conceived as my comeback to television, was not at all like this. A woman had written a script, where my character had no female friends; all her friends were guys. So I said that I wanted two women at the center of this story. I want a great friendship at the center of this story, and I wanted my character to be different from Maddie Hayes, and from a lot of the characters I’d played in the past: all glamorous, and perfectly coiffed and gussied up. So I thought it would be great to have someone as my sidekick who would embody that, which would allow me to fall in the mud, take pies in the face, that kind of thing. Ultimately it would be Michael Patrick King, who was one of our writers, who said that Maryann was the razor, and I was the heart.

That was one of the things about the show that was so “shocking” initially was that your character actually had bad hair days, and was very de-glamorized. No leading lady had really done that since Lucille Ball.
Yes, exactly! I remember I called up (writer/co-exec producer) Chuck (Lorre) and said ‘Why don’t we have my character have her first grand-baby, and we’ll do an episode about that?’ He said “God, you’re so brave!” (laughs) We broke a lot of rules, and we got smacked down for it too, which is why the show didn’t run for as long as it should have.

Shepherd and guest star Morgan Fairchild in a clip from "Cybill." You broke major taboos for the mid-‘90s, in terms of how honestly you portrayed women. And this was three years prior to “Sex and the City,” which had the freedom to be on uncensored HBO, as opposed to a commercial network like CBS. The fact that you guys always pushed the envelope is what always kept me, and I’m sure viewers like me, interested. The Valentine’s Day episode, which was before Eve Ensler’s “Vagina Monologues,” I had come across this idea that Valentine’s Day was originally for “vagina.” So we went in with a very funny script about that, and the censors said “You can’t say ‘vagina.’” So we said to him, “How about ‘vulva’?” And he said “Okay.” And we’re all like “Holy fucking shit! Does he not know what that is?” (laughs) And he didn’t! So then we got in front of a live audience, and I go to the head writer and say ‘What if they don’t know what it is? Then they won’t laugh.’ “Well, let’s give it a try.” It was one of our highest-rated episodes and CBS said “Never do anything like that again!” (laughs) That will never be seen again on CBS. But it’s on the DVDs. That was the first nail in our coffin, really. We started to get buried after that. People started to really be over-vigilant. I was doing an episode on menopause, which is one of the funniest things to talk about in the world, and the network said “You cannot use any word to describe women’s biological functions except ‘Women’s biological functions.’” ‘So can we say “menopause”?’ “Yes.” ‘Can we say “menstruation”?’ “No.” ‘Can we say “period”?’ “No.” So during the first menstruation episode, we were throwing that shit around, like women do! So I said to the studio, ‘You’re going to have to go to the network, because I can’t do this episode unless I can refer to this in some way.’ They said “Okay, you can say ‘period.’” And that wound up being part of women’s health history and Time Magazine: the first time the word “period” was used in that way on network television. "Cybill" volume one DVD. You raise another interesting point. The woman I was dating at the time, we used to watch the show together, and she said to me “This is the way women talk when we’re together,” which most men never realize, that women can get every bit as down and dirty, if not more so, than men. No, they don’t realize that, and yes, we do! (laughs) It was the first time it had ever been done. You guys very cleverly combined that progressive sensibility with that of “I Love Lucy.”Yeah, it was my first chance to do broad comedy, and have the hair funny, and the shirt wrong, and the jeans that wouldn’t pull up over my butt. (laughs) Just like Lucille Ball: prior to “I Love Lucy,” she was a glamour girl, just like you were. And then she got “goofy” and reinvented herself, just as you did. Exactly, and that was my intention. If fact, there was a lot of criticism towards me, from one of the producers, who said that he was only trying to stop me from doing the “broad, Lucy-esque takes.” And the show was a hit! So we had to have a parting-of-the-ways because it was impossible to work with someone who was fighting you constantly because they had some sort of “Moonlighting” ideal that I had to be Maddie Hayes. You started out as a model, and for a majority of your career, you were a glamour girl, Maddie Hayes allowed you to branch out a bit, but did you feel objectified when you were younger, as if people didn’t really see “you,” only how pretty you were? Yes, also I remember seeing films like “His Girl Friday,” “My Man Godfrey,” and “Bringing Up Baby.” These women: Rosalind Russell, Carole Lombard, Katharine Hepburn, these gorgeous women, were falling down, doing shtick. And I remember thinking ‘I can do that, too.’ But it took forever (for other people to see me that way). Shepherd and Bruce Willis in a publicity shot from the '80s hit "Moonlighting." I always felt that Maddie Hayes was a Carole Lombard character. “Moonlighting” was a throwback to that era of screwball comedy from the ‘30s that you’re describing. Well, actually when I first read the 50 pages of “Moonlighting,” I went to (series creator) Glen Gordon Caron and said ‘You know what you’ve written?’ He said “What?” ‘A Howard Hawksian comedy!’ So we ran those movies. We studied those movies. With Bruce (Willis) on board, and that incredibly fast-paced dialogue, it was magic. In fact, those scripts were so dialogue-heavy that they were the longest TV scripts written up that point, right? Yes, because we talked so fast, that’s why we had to put ends and beginnings on all the scenes. I remember the last episode of “Cybill” ended on a cliffhanger. Someone’s boat had blown up…It said “To be continued…” Yes, and it was going to be so great how we continued it in the next episodes. They said we weren’t picked up because our budgets were too big, which was a lie. It was really about our deal that we had with the network, and somebody had to bite the bullet, and the network wasn’t going to do it because they’d been paying for everything. The studio had gotten this amazing deal with the network, one that no studio will ever get again, where they didn’t pay for anything until the show went into syndication. So what does that tell you? It’s never going to go into syndication, because why would they want to pay the network better? I thought this show was going to be buried in the salt mines, so the fact that it’s finally going to be available on DVD, it really moves me. My representatives and I have been fighting for this for ten years. Was it just about the numbers, or was that just the final straw in addition to the fact that the show was making the censors nervous? I think it was primarily about the numbers, that the studio would have to pay back this enormous amount of money, and the conflict with the censors didn’t help. But it was mostly about the money, which it usually is. Sometimes people don’t do the right things, you ask them why, and the response is because they could. L to R: Eddie Albert, Charles Grodin and Shepherd in "The Heartbreak Kid." I interviewed Lauren Bacall last year. Like yourself, she’s a strong woman who spoke her mind, and it seems that, male or female, in this business if you speak your mind, you’re automatically labeled as being “difficult.” If you’re a wet noodle in this business, do you notice how they tend to rise quickly, whereas if you’re the sort of person who puts their foot down and says “Bullshit,” it’s a tougher road? Miss Bacall said that’s really been the theme of her career: having to reinvent herself after being penalized for standing up for herself. Is that the key to surviving in Hollywood, continual reinvention? (laughs) That’s really interesting, and I agree. It’s tougher if you want to be treated with respect. You have to get back up and start up the mountain again. There’s a great gospel song that goes “I’m goin’ up the rough side of the mountain.” It’s so ironic and sort of extraordinary, this year is my comeback, with “Cybill” coming out on DVD, and my role on “The L Word,” and gradually it’s started to pay off wonderfully well. I’ve built this whole new fan base. I got guest spots on two other shows, and right now I’m working on my third feature film. I’ve been struggling the past decade. I’m not saying I’m poor, but it’s been a struggle to find something interesting to do. A lot of people don’t understand that you can be financially solvent, but if you’re an artist, someone who thrives on the creative process, it’s devastating if you’re not allowed to use those muscles. Yes, exactly. And I really disappeared the last ten years. I talk at length about this in my book, actually. But yes, if you aren’t able to create, or find some outlet that’s a fulfilling way to create, it’s tough, it’s painful. Shepherd in her film debut, "The Last Picture Show." Let’s talk about some of your other work. When Peter Bogdanovich discovered you for “The Last Picture Show,” did you have aspirations at that point to be an actor, or were you satisfied being a model? No. I hated being a model, in fact. I felt that people treated me like an object. They’d be really nice at the beginning of the photo shoot, and afterwards it was like I didn’t exist. Plus, I was so curious. I wanted to study. So when I was modeling full-time, I also went to college, first to Hunter College, then to The College of New Rochelle, then I went to NYU, and whenever I’d get a job, I’d finish a few classes, and then I had to leave. My final year was at USC, where they consider me an alumni. I never got my full degree, but I loved learning, and still do. Shepherd in Martin Scorsese's "Taxi Driver." What was your primary course of study? First it was art history, and then English literature. What was the “Picture Show” shoot like from the point-of-view of a 20 year-old kid? Well, it was amazing. Peter was my first acting teacher, and I was surrounded by this extraordinary cast. I was completely unencumbered by acting lessons. Every model in New York wanted to be an actor, except for me. I came to Peter completely un-messed with and un-self-conscious, and he was brilliant. I fell in love with making movies. During the shoot, I wouldn’t go home. I would sit on the set no matter what scene they were doing all night long. When you think that Robert Surtees photographed that, the man who the Academy Award for “Ben-Hur”! And then my next acting teacher was Elaine May on “The Heartbreak Kid,” who said to me “We’re going to improvise.” I said ‘What’s that?’ I didn’t even know what it was. So I had great teachers.

Shepherd and Charles Grodin in "The Heartbreak Kid." When you did “Taxi Driver” was it just another job at the time you were doing it, or did you know you were all creating magic? Oh no, it was love, love, love, love! We all knew. I never wanted it to end. We all made five thousand dollars for the movie, and shot with this skeleton crew. I’ll never forget the scene riding around New York in one of those old-style, big New York taxis, with Scorsese in the front seat and sound man in the trunk and the photographer…it was just magic, like we were stealing it. I had the same feeling on “Picture Show,” too. When they were both over, I just wept. Shepherd with Robert De Niro in "Taxi Driver." What was Scorsese’s process with actors?He always told me “Do less.” He’s a great fan of Hitchcock, and I talked to him about that, Hitch’s famous line to actors was “Don’t put a lot of scribble on your face.” Jason Robards said that once, too, when we worked together. He said “Acting is with your eyes, remember, not your face.” And Spencer Tracy really invented that, didn’t he?Oh, absolutely! God, I had some amazing mentors: Orson Welles…I was there for the end of the greats, for a world that’s gone now. I don’t know why Peter Bogdanovich doesn’t have a show on TV every week where he just talks to people, because when he’s gone, it’s really the end of an era. This town is rough. There aren’t any filmmaker/historians left like Bogdanovich. No, there aren’t. We’ve still got guys like Scorsese, and Spielberg who are students of film, film history and history in general, but there’s this whole anti-intellectual movement happening in our country right now that trickles down into pop culture, and is evident in the films that are being made. They’re anti-intellectual, anti-thought. Yeah, I just saw “Hamlet 2” the other night, and I totally agree with you. Any final thoughts about “Cybill” arriving on DVD? I thought “Cybill” was dead, and it turns out she’s alive. I had the chance when “Moonlighting” came out on DVD to watch all the episodes again years later and to comment on them. I found that nothing mattered except the work, and how brilliant it was, and thank you that I had the chance to be a part of it. When people start to see “Cybill” again, they’ll start to see that it was a great show, and the fans will have it back. And I’m back, not buried in a salt mine anymore in Utah!

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Barry Levinson: The Hollywood Interview

Filmmaker Barry Levinson.



BARRY LEVINSON:
MAKING OUT LIKE BANDITS
By
Alex Simon

Editor’s Note: This article originally appeared in the October 2001 issue of Venice Magazine.

In the annals of modern filmdom, few directors have amassed the kind of body of work that Barry Levinson has, in as short of period of time. Now almost synonymous with the city of his birth, Baltimore, Maryland, Levinson made his debut on April 6, 1942. Levinson's father owned the city's first discount appliance warehouse and young Barry initially followed in dad's footsteps, selling encyclopedias and used cars while attending junior college. It was after Levinson made the move to Washington D.C. to attend American University that he discovered his true calling, enrolling in radio/TV classes on a lark.

After several more years of abortive attempts to finish his degree, Levinson packed his things and moved west, hooking up with actor Craig T. Nelson (Coach) in an improv class and forming a successful comedy duo that played clubs in and around L.A. during the late 60's and early 70's. Levinson got his first break as a writer working for the late Marty Feldman and Tim Conway, later moving to the legendary "Carol Burnett Show" as its leading sketch writer. Levinson and writing partner Rudy De Luca were enlisted by Mel Brooks to pen his hits Silent Movie (1976) and High Anxiety (1977, featuring Levinson in a cameo), kickstarting his career as a successful screenwriter, penning the features ...And Justice for All (1979), Inside Moves (1980), uncredited work on Tootsie (1982), and Best Friends (1982).

It was with the coming-of-age classic Diner (1982) that put Levinson on the map as a filmmaker. Telling the story of a disparate group of young men coming of age in the Baltimore of the late 50's, Diner re-wrote the book on low key character study infused with a healthy dose of humor derived from real life. It also introduced a cast of stars to be: Kevin Bacon, Mickey Rourke, Tim Daly, Steve Guttenberg, Paul Reiser, Daniel Stern, and Ellen Barkin. Levinson hasn't left Hollywood's "A" list since, helming such films as the classic The Natural (1984), Young Sherlock Holmes (1985), Good Morning Vietnam (1987), Tin Men (1987), the Oscar-sweeper Rain Man (1987) for which Levinson copped a Best Director statuette, Avalon (1990), Bugsy (1991), Disclosure (1994), Sleepers (1996), Wag the Dog (1997), Liberty Heights (1999), and An Everlasting Piece (2000).

Levinson's latest is another gem of understated comic charm. Bandits tells the tale of the country's most wanted bank robbers (Bruce Willis and Billy Bob Thornton) and their serpentine odyssey across the country with a dizzy housewife (Cate Blanchett) in tow who captures both their hearts. Barry Levinson spoke to us recently to spin his own story of cinematic success and innovation.

Tell us about the genesis of Bandits.
Barry Levinson: Well, it's funny. I was sent the script, and turned it down initially, twice. Then one day I suddenly got an idea of how it could work for me and decided to get involved with it, and try to make the film more in line with my own sensibilities.

At what point did Bruce Willis and Billy Bob become involved?
Well Bruce had been kind of intrigued by it early on, and then I called Bruce when I became interested. We discussed our thoughts, what changes we thought should have been made, things like that. So Bruce came on board, then I had a similar conversation with Billy Bob not long after that, and he came on board, and then I spoke with Cate when she was working on, I think, The Gift (co-written by Billy Bob Thornton). We met in person later on in Santa Monica and decided to come on board at that point. The pieces just sort of fell into place. It's nice when that happens, because it's so rare.

All three of your leads really show new sides of themselves in this.
Good, I thought so, too. Obviously each one of them is very different and have their own distinctive personas and ways of working. Bruce and Billy Bob really played off each other beautifully, and are both very good at just sort of letting things happen. And of course, both were very excited to work with Cate, and when the four of us would sort of play around with some of the scenes, some great things would happen.

Do you rehearse before you shoot?
No, I don't like to really rehearse. I've always felt that you can rehearse something to death, and then it gets stale. I like to talk about things before we do them. For stage, it's a whole other thing. For me, it's more like, let's get familiar with what we're going to do, then go from there.

Do you believe in leaving actors alone generally once the cameras are rolling?
Basically. I've always felt that you have to work within certain boundaries. Within those boundaries I want to create a kind of controlled freedom, you might say. I might come over, mention a little thing here and there, make an adjustment, and then take it from there. I don't like to be all over everybody because I feel that inhibits the creative process for an actor. If things are going well, there's no point in doing a lot of talking when things are working.

Bandits has a tremendous sense of fun throughout. Was it that way on the set?
It was overall. We were always traveling, always moving, so physically it wasn't always the easiest shoot, but we were able to find and play around with a lot of things, to explore the boundaries to see if there's any new moments to be had, and they were always up for that.

Let's talk about your background. I think all of your fans feel they know you a little bit through your "Baltimore" series of films (Diner, Tin Men, Avalon, Liberty Heights). Let's start with Avalon. Was it pretty much a straight autobiography?
It was very close. I never really thought about being a filmmaker growing up there. I mean, at that time in Baltimore, to think about directing movies would be like thinking about going to the moon one day, it just wasn't within the realm of possibility. What happened was, I got involved with radio and television in college just by avoidance! I thought, 'How hard can a course in radio/TV be?' (laughs) So initially I was looking for an easy way out, then found I really liked radio and television, which evolved to working at local stations, then to me moving out west to study acting, which led to improvisational work, which led to writing.

Your comedy partner was Craig T. Nelson (Coach). You guys seem like an unlikely duo in hindsight.
Yeah, we were in acting school together for two years, then we played clubs and wrote for television for a while, so we worked as a team for about three years total, I guess. It's funny because Craig really wanted to be an actor. I didn't know what I wanted to do, but I knew that I didn't want to act. When we were in improv class, we always got a lot of laughs, just goofing off, so we said 'Hey, why don't we play some clubs and make some money?' (laughs) So we actually got hired to play some clubs.

From there you got hired to write for Tim Conway's variety show.
Right, along with Rudy De Luca. We wrote for time and played a place called the Icehouse in Pasadena a lot. Ultimately, Craig wanted to focus on his acting, and I began to get involved with writing screenplays.

Tell us about Marty Feldman, for whom you also wrote during the early 70's.
Oh, Marty was fantastic. He was a great guy. I was pretty new to the business at that point. Larry Gelbart was the head writer/producer. He brought me over with Rudy De Luca to write sketches for Marty. Marty was really cool, had an offbeat sense of humor, and we wrote these really strange sketches, so it was a perfect collaboration and a great period of time.

Was Gelbart a mentor for you?
You know what was funny? We used to bring him a sketch. And he'd look it over, say "Yeah, okay, this is good. It could use a little of this here, and that there," and he would say everything we needed to make that sketch go from good to great in about seven seconds, that's how quick he is. As young kids in the business, our impression then was 'Wow, these producer/writers really know their stuff!' (laughs) When I worked for other people after that, nobody was close to Larry. There's nobody like Larry, and there never will be.

After that you got involved with Mel Brooks.
It's funny when you look back on it, all my mentors were former disciples themselves: of Sid Caesar! We got involved with Mel Brooks because the head writer/producer of the Tim Conway show, a guy named Ron Clark, had this idea to do a contemporary silent movie. At this point I was writing for Carol Burnett. This producer said "I'm going to pitch this idea to Mel, and if he likes it, you guys would be perfect to work on the script." And we go "Okay, sure!" Afterwards, we said 'What're the odds that he's going to get a meeting with Mel, that Mel will say "yes," and we'll be the writers?" Literally at 3:00, Ron calls us and says "Mel loves the idea, wants to meet you guys tomorrow!" We said "Really?!" (laughs) So we met with him the next day, and got to work on Silent Movie.

What's Mel like to work with?
He's a zany guy who's very serious about his work. Again, it was a great apprenticeship for me because I got to work with Mel as a writer, then I got to be around when he was shooting it, then later on when he was editing, through every phase of it. The same was true with High Anxiety. So for those two films, I was involved with all the aspects of it. That was a great introduction the film business for me. Even though my sensibilities would be different, that learning period was very, very helpful. Mel was actually the one who encouraged me to write Diner, after I told him all the stories about the guys there.

Let's back up and talk about Carol Burnett. That was the one show, pre-Saturday Night Live, that really shaped my generation's sense of humor.
It was great because most of the shows at that time had people reading cue cards, and it's really hard to get a rhythm going reading cue cards. Carol and the rest of the cast used to really work it and they performed it when it went in front of the studio audience. So, as a writer, you got a chance to see you work really played out. Then you could see where your mistakes were, and how they could get hold of something and take it to another level. It was a very well-run show. We used to do a lot of the Tim Conway stuff, like the old man sketches. We had a lot of fun.

The movie that changed everything for you was Diner. Tell us about your seagway into directing and how this story, which had obviously been gestating for some time, grew into what it was.
What happens is, sometimes you write a screenplay and you say 'I want to direct this, because it will be inexpensive to make.' And then every once in a while, a door opens up at the studio where you can sneak in. It happens every so often. We got to sneak through a door with this little film that nobody really paid any attention to.

So the brass left you alone during the shoot.
Yeah, it was really cheap to make, $5 million, and was eclipsed by all these other huge films that (MGM) was working on, initially.

You also discovered the greatest cast of young actors since American Graffiti (1973).
That's what happens sometimes with a film like that where you have a young cast, you get to dip from this incredible pool of emerging talent. Ellen Barkin was the first and only person I read for the girl. The minute she came in, I knew she was the one. I thought 'Hey, casting is easy!' (laughs) Then I read literally hundreds and hundreds for the guys.

What was the transition like from working writer to famous filmmaker?
I think with Diner I went through all the stages one can go through with a movie: I made the movie the way I wanted to make it. The studio hated it, barely released it, then pulled it. So I felt basically like a bum. It was like "You did this terrible film. It's unreleasable. You'll never work again in this business!" (laughs) Then within six weeks, the movie gets rediscovered and it's this highly-praised film. Then all of the sudden, "You're terrific!" So I got to see both extremes in a very short time. It was a real lesson.

There was actually a short-lived TV spin-off of Diner, right?
Not a series, just a pilot. They thought it wasn't compatible with the current programming line-up they had. You remember who was in the cast: Paul Reiser, James Spader, Michael Madsen, Robert Pastorelli and I'm forgetting somebody. We had a great cast for that too, but CBS thought otherwise.

Your next film, The Natural, is one of the most beloved films of all time. It's still the only film to capture why it is we all love sports so much: because of the mythic qualities that surround the games and their players.
When people talk about baseball games, or "a game," and it gets told over and over, it becomes bigger and more magnified. That's the way we tried to approach The Natural: a story that keeps being retold until it reaches mythological status. And baseball itself, if you watch it without understanding the past, it's a different game, because when the pitcher is about to pitch, it's not just about that particular game. It's about how that pitcher's been pitching, how that batter's been hitting, what's the history between the two teams, it's all adding to that moment. So when you blend those two things, that's what we tried to do in The Natural. At the time, people thought it was really unusual, plus with Randy Newman's score with that great Americana sound, all those elements were pretty new at the time. The reviews were mixed at the time it came out, but now I think people seem to get it for the most part.

Your films have always seemed to me to have much more a European sensibility than American. Who are some of your biggest influences?
I can't think of anyone specifically. I can talk about the people I like. Probably the earliest influence I had was Elia Kazan. I remember as a kid thinking that there was something going on with these actors in On the Waterfront, that I'd never seen before. I saw a lot of Bergman movies when I got older and very foolishly thought I understood everything that was going on (laughs), and thought it was really fascinating. I would also say Goddard, in terms of Breathless (1958) and a couple films around that time that he did were really interesting in the way he turned American pop culture on its side. I always liked Fellini because he created this reality that was an invention, that's what always intrigued me about his work.

Young Sherlock Holmes was an interesting departure for you.
I loved the idea of being able to do a Victorian type of film, and also loved the idea of how flamboyantly wild it could be. At that time, it was very unusual to have special effects in that kind of film. I thought it was interesting storytelling. There's a point where you do have to expose yourself to all kinds of filmmaking and I wanted to force myself to work in the special effects area. The scene with the stained glass was the beginning of CGI effects that are now standard in films.

Is it a different experience directing your own scripts as opposed to someone else's?
To a degree. Obviously the stuff I write is a lot more personal, therefore I have an understanding of it already, whereas when you direct someone else's material, you have to learn that understanding so it's second nature to you. You've got to really know it in your bones what you're up to so you can react at any given moment and change, and fix anything at that given moment.

Let's talk about Rain Man, another very unusual film.
Well, I wanted to show a way to deal with issues regarding family, even though there are a million ways to deal with those issues. I also didn't want to treat the subject of autism in such a serious, reverential way as you would in a TV movie. I thought we needed at times to laugh at it in the context of what was happening, which would give us the audience greater empathy for it in the end, instead of being so serious about it all. Then when certain things happen, they're even more frightening, like the scene when the smoke alarm goes off. So I knew that we had to find that kind of freedom and not have the feeling that we were making something "important."

This is the first film you did with Dustin Hoffman, who's become your most frequent collaborator in terms of actors.
I have a great time working with Dustin, as I did with Tom, although we haven't worked together since then, which I hope will change. One of the things that happened with Rain Man was a combination of elements, one of which was I got involved in the script very late, and then the Writer's Guild strike happened right when we were going off to shoot. I worked with Ron Bass up to the point when we discussed why they would drive to California. I brought up the point of why wouldn't they just fly back instead of driving all the way cross-country. I mean, who the hell does that anymore, right? (laughs) So we decided to give him another phobia, fear of flying, and I happened to know the fact that Quantas Airlines had never had a crash. So we worked all that into the scene, and that was the final scene he worked on before the strike commenced. So we went off to film and had a lot of open issues, which we basically handled as we went along on the road, and made up a lot of stuff!

Like what?
The accident on the highway, which explains why (Dustin Hoffman) won't go on an interstate anymore. I said 'I'm tired of all these highways. They all look the same.' So we invented that scene to get them on the back roads. The whole thing with K-Mart we did ("K-Mart sucks") about underwear and things, not leaving the motel because it's raining outside, all those kinds of things began to filter their way into the film as we went along.

What was it like winning the Oscar?
It's sort of an unreal experience, really. Like I said, I never had this ambition to be a director as a kid, so the idea that I'd grow up and one day win an Oscar wasn't even in my mind. Certainly when I did the movie, it wasn't in my mind, either. Even when the movie opened, we didn't do big business that first weekend. It gained momentum through word-of-mouth that, unfortunately, doesn't always apply to movies nowadays. Now you have to have that $100 million opening weekend or you're done for.

Your approach to Bugsy was interesting because you didn't approach it as a gangster picture, but as a love story. What did you learn about Bugsy Seigel and his world?
I think the line in the ad campaign summed it all up: "Glamour was his disguise." That was how we shot it as well, and this made him acceptable to people as a person even though ultimately he was a really sick human being. Warren was great to work with. Annette was just beginning to break out as an actress around then. She seemed to be a good match for Warren with her sexiness, intelligence and strength. Who knew that would lead to marriage? (laughs)

Did you get to know the late, great Bill Graham (who played mob boss Lucky Luciano) at all during the shoot?
A little bit. Remember the mamba bit he did in the film? We were talking one day and he told me how much he loved that kind of music and how he loved to dance to it. So that's how in the movie, Lucky Luciano is dancing the mamba while Bugsy is kicking hell out of Joe Adonis. Bill was a fascinating character. We just had him to talk one day, and he told us that originally he wanted to be an actor. When that didn't work out, that's when he began his career as a concert promoter.

Sleepers was an amazing film, and another departure for you in terms of style and subject matter.
Yeah, it had a completely different look to it. We caught a lot of flack from certain camps about whether it was true or not, particularly from the religious right. It was because the character of the priest (played by Robert de Niro) lied on the stand at the trial, without understanding what the issues were that he was lying about! Just the thought that we'd show a priest lying under oath was abhorrent to them, and we got a ton of hate mail for it. Most of the people who attacked the film, of course, hadn't even seen it, otherwise they would have seen that the priest was one of the most sympathetic characters in the film. He tried to protect these boys and fought for them and believed in them, and was an extremely nurturing human being. So, God knows how it all got turned around and swept up in this controversy, but it did. But on a positive note, it was a very interesting shoot and it was great to work with those actors: Dustin again, De Niro, Brad Pitt, Kevin Bacon.

What was Vittorio Gassman (who played the mob boss) like?
Oh, just wonderful! I had been a huge fan of his going all the way back to Big Deal on Madonna Street (1958). He wasn't really well at the time, but I was thrilled when he agreed to do it. He was a real old school gentleman, a real kick to be around.

Wag the Dog turned into one of the most prophetic films of all time.
The irony of that, right? (laughs) It was bizarre. We had great reviews everywhere except from the Washington Post. It said I was naive, stupid, that I didn't know any better, what a far-fetched piece of junk. Even the title was stupid! (laughs) I couldn't have been raked over the coals any worse! Then two weeks later, the President and Monica, and she was wearing a beret, "Wag the dog" is being used as part of the vernacular for press manipulation. The transition amused me to no end. We shot this thing in 29 days for very little money with the idea that it would be this little, independent movie. Who knew? (laughs)

Liberty Heights, I think, is your greatest film and was unjustly overlooked by Oscar. Let's talk about the quartet of Baltimore films, and what it's like writing a personal film. Is it possible to retain objectivity?
I'm not sure. All you know is what does it sound like, feel like and look like to you. That's the only thing you can really go by. Whether it's objective or subjective, I'm not really sure. I tried to be honest with Liberty Heights and wanted to deal with those issues that we addressed not in a singularly dramatic manner, but to let some the humor come out in the absurdity of the way we deal with one another. That was my objective, really. When I think about the things that went on with anti-Semitism or racism, I remember so many things that went on, that I heard or observed with such astounding naiveté, or downright stupidity as opposed to hatred or real bigotry. We've seen those movies handled before. I wanted to show the other side of that, which really boiled down to a lack of understanding between people. It's crazy when you think that relatively recently, Jews and blacks couldn't swim in certain public pools, that blacks couldn't go to school with whites until 1954. And we really thought that we lived in a democracy then! Things changed very quickly and suddenly.

Are there going to be anymore Baltimore films?
I'd like to, but I don't really know how to approach it anymore. I can't go down the road of putting my heart into making those films and then having the studio just sort of toss them away.

Liberty Heights and An Everlasting Piece were both just sort of dumped by their respective studios, which shocked me, because I would think that those would be the kinds of films that the studios would market as Oscar contenders, especially Liberty Heights.
You have to nurture those kinds of movies. Miramax and Harvey Weinstein really nurtures those kinds of movies. But if you don't have someone who's basically willing to stand up and take a position, you can get lost in the crowd. We came out, had really good reviews, but the studio didn't stand behind them in a way that was necessary. There are no real villains here, ultimately, because they were the sorts of films that shouldn't have been made at a studio. Terry Semel, who okayed Liberty Heights, wanted to prove that Warners could go down that road and do that kind of film as well as Miramax. Terry wound up leaving before the film came out and Warner Bros. didn't have the tools at that time to do it correctly. So I don't think I'd ever do another one like that unless I got some kind of guarantee that the same thing wouldn't happen, because I don't know if I could handle that again. With An Everlasting Piece, it was even worse. Most people in the business I know didn't even know the movie existed. It was out for a week and then pulled. You can't release a movie at Christmas time unless you're really willing to do a selling job. We didn't even have ads for the first week when we got really good reviews! My wife went into the city to try and see it and couldn't find it anywhere!

Any advice for first-time directors?
Somebody once told me the best advice was "Don't stand up too much." (laughs) I think what you need to do is be prepared for how exhausting an experience it is, so you never get to a point that you're too tired to not want to do something that you need to do. Because what can happen is, you can get so tired that you'll go "Oh fuck it, let's not do that." The second you do that, you begin to compromise your movie. That's all I know. (laughs)

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OLIVIA WILLIAMS: The Hollywood Interview

[Olivia Williams and Paul Bettany in The Heart of Me.]

Note: This article originally appeared in the April 2003 issue of Venice Magazine. I remember that they had poor Olivia doing the interviews in some very cluttered office at the publicist's. She was sitting behind the big desk when I walked in and acted as if this were a job interview. Then she jokingly asked for my resume. The Heart of Me is a pretty bleak film, so that's about as fun as it all got that afternoon.

Olivia Williams opens her Heartby Terry Keefe

Blessed with a face that could have been made from porcelain and an elegant British voice that is like a pleasant melody to the ears, actress Olivia Williams has often been cast playing women who are so perfect and irreplaceable that their romantic interests would understandably do anything for them. In The Sixth Sense [1999], her deceased husband Bruce Willis so wants to be with her just a little longer that he lingers around the material world for an extra year as a confused ghost. Jason Schwartzman's high school student Max Fischer gets so obsessed with her teacher character, Miss Rosemary Cross, in Rushmore [1998] that he soon finds himself in a romantic duel for her affections with a devious Bill Murray. In The Man From Elysian Fields [2001], reluctant male prostitute Andy Garcia becomes not-so-reluctant after experiencing a few nights with the lonely millionaire's wife that Williams plays. But with her newest film, The Heart of Me, Williams shows us something we've yet to really see in her canon of work: a darker and more selfish current running beneath the pristine surface. The film showcases a real breakthrough role for Williams who creates a character full of surprises.

The Heart of Me opens on the London of 1934, a bleak time if there ever was one. The first World War has been over for some time but the second one lingers on the horizon. Williams portrays a stiff and proper society woman named Madeleine who is married to the wealthy Ricky (the always great Paul Bettany). When Madeleine's father dies, she and Ricky take in her eccentric bohemian sister Dinah (Helena Bonham Carter). Soon Ricky and Dinah are drawn to each other like star-crossed magnets and find themselves in a disastrous affair. Madeleine wants it to stop of course, but not so much because she loves Ricky as because she wants her life to maintain its status quo. At first glance, it seems obvious where this story is headed: Madeleine is the evil wife who prevents true love from blossoming. But what is so defining about the film, directed by Thaddeus O'Sullivan and deftly adapted by screenwriter Lucinda Coxon from the Rosamond Lehmann novel The Echoing Grove, is that there are no “good” or “bad” characters in the story. Madeleine takes some devious steps to disrupt the romance, but you will also come away from the film feeling great sympathy for her. The illicit lovers Ricky and Dinah will commit some despicable acts as well, ensuring that you won't necessarily be rooting for their love to succeed. Symbolic of the way the film views humanity is the bracelet that Ricky makes for Dinah - it’s engraved with a line from her favorite Blake poem which reads, "And throughout all eternity, I forgive you, you forgive me." By film's end, all the characters may not have quite forgiven each other, but we the audience will have. Or at the very least, we understand why they did what they did.

Williams was born in London and educated at Cambridge University, where after graduating she joined the Royal Shakespeare Company and the National Theatre. Her first American feature role was opposite Kevin Costner in The Postman [1997]. She has also appeared in the films The Body [2000], Born Romantic [2000], and Dead Babies [2000]. She'll next be seen in director P.J. Hogan's take on Peter Pan, as well as the historical drama To Kill a King.

Do you think Madeleine forgives Dinah in the end?

Olivia Williams: [thinks deeply before answering] I think she finds peace. Forgiveness though, I don't think you can really [laughs]. That's coming more from me than Madeleine. That's Olivia speaking. I think Madeleine's line "A man might well remember the woman he loved" is her sort of accepting defeat. That's as much as you're going to get [from her]. But it's enough to mean that she and Dinah can live in peace together.

Something that makes the film great is that it doesn't judge either Madeleine or Dinah.

That's why I took the film. I had very little interest in playing this character when I read the first half of the script. You know, the cold woman who behaves with a very restrained, almost martyr-like response to being betrayed. But then she says the interesting line to Ricky, "Dinah's ultimately cold. You’ll discover it in the end." It's like she’s saying, "I may look cold, but just wait until you get close to my sister. She's actually the devil here. At least you know where you are with me. With Dinah, you never know where you are." And then later, when you're thinking, "Poor Madeleine, she's lost everything. She's so upset," she pulls this hideous trick of bringing Ricky home from the hospital to her house and locking him in the study, where he's not allowed to leave, and pretending that Dinah's gone off with some French bloke. Ricky's not there of his own free will and isn't in possession of all the facts. So you hate her again and I like that. It was a fun, meaty, and unexpected thing to play.

You seem very sweet in person. How do you get into character to play someone like Madeleine?
[laughs] There is quite a bit of Madeleine in me, in that I'm impatient with people who refuse to behave in a way that's appropriate to the situation. I think that people who behave histrionically when they shouldn't should learn to restrain themselves. [laughs] So that's quite a lot of Madeleine in me. But I also think there's quite a lot of Dinah [in me]. I had wanted to play Dinah originally because she was less like the stereotypes that I've played in the past. And I feel like I have a bohemian, feely-touchy, physical person in me as well. But then the Madeleine complexity won me over in the end. I liked her layers of damage and pain. They were actually more interesting to play for me. But no, I'm very fluffy - I'm not like Madeleine at all! [laughs] I'm in fact the younger sister [in my family], I'm the attention-seeker. My older sister's a lawyer and I was the younger child singing into a hairbrush, standing on the table, or sitting on my mummy's knee going "I love you, mummy!" And my sister standing there, I'm sure she was thinking that I was a vile thing that needed to be restrained. I'm surprised she didn't thump me more often than she did. I must have been very insufferable. So when I first read the script, I identified much more with Dinah being the attention-seeking younger child. But I definitely drew on my sister's experience to play Madeleine. Not that I fled with my sister's husband [laughs]. The comparisons [to the film] start at around age 11 or 12 when we chose to grow up. Dinah and Madeleine didn't.

The screenwriter Lucinda Coxon said something which really sums up the melancholy that hangs over the film. She said, "In the 1930s, it was commonplace that people of this generation would lose their parents in one war and their children in the next." That must have been one difficult period to live through.

My character [in the film] was very much influenced by my grandmother. She was the right age. She was born in 1901 and died 90 years later. She had lived through that. My grandfather had survived the first World War but she spoke of how a generation was wiped out. And how that ensured, just in sheer demographics, that there weren't enough blokes to go around. Enough men went off to war and never came back, that it left many women unmarried from that time. And playing the loss of a son to a war, again one of my very first boyfriends was a French boy. And he was 19. They have national service in France. He died in Lebanon. His mom and I became very close. I was young, I was 15. I had no idea what it meant to lose a child of that age. But I can remember the huge and inconceivable grief. That she felt that it was all in the wrong order. That she felt that she had no right to be alive, that she was meant to die before her child. That was hugely influential on the scene when Madeleine talks about the loss of her son. And the fact that she doesn't really talk about him as an adult, that she talks about him as a child, you know? [She talks about] when he was a little boy and afraid at night. I haven't been through any of these things so as an actor you have to use your observation and your empathy.

What was the relationship between you and Helena on the set? Did you try to stay away from each other to stop from becoming too chummy?

No, it was great. We were actually at school together [Note: at the Southampton High School for Girls], so we had kind of a shared history. I didn't know her at school. She was in a different class and was headed for being sort of extraordinary, even at that age.

Did everybody at the school know this?
Oh definitely. I remember her poetry was extraordinary. It was always in the school magazine. And we all knew she was going to be extraordinary, we just didn't know at what. So meeting up again and playing sisters, it was ideal because we didn't have to invent that common history. We had all the kind of parallels that sisters would have had, being at the same school and the same humor and remembering the same nightmare history teacher. Or the uniform we had to wear. So we had this common thing. The intervening Hollywood years just sort of disappeared and we were back to being Southampton school girls. That was very useful in the sisterly thing. And I think we made good sisters. We were as similar and different as sisters can be.

Did you and Helena do any theatrical productions together in high school?

No, we were in different years so I just sort of admired her from afar. I was a pretty insignificant nobody [laughs] and she was an extraordinary person who had a sort of cult following.

I did a profile last year on Paul Bettany for Gangster No. 1. Ricky in this film is obviously a completely different role but I barely recognized him from one film to the other. He has quite a range.

What a great actor. You have it right there. You don't see a glimpse of the total murdering nutcase that he played [in Gangster No. 1]. He's a consummate actor. He and I were friends from a movie, it was called Dead Babies in England and Mood Swingers here. We met and got on very well. I showed him The Heart of Me because I wanted his opinion as a friend. I thought it was wonderful but I wasn't sure if my judgment was off because I'm over-obsessed with good writing. The script was very literate and literary. And that doesn't necessarily make a good film. He's got a much better sense of film than I have. So I showed it to him and he really liked it. But there was another guy attached to play his role. When he dropped out, I said, "Paul, do you think you would do it?" And I never thought he would but he was interested because it was so outside his regular casting. The director loved him but the producer was like, "Who is this guy? We need names." And I thought, "You don't understand. You're getting this man in the millisecond before he becomes too expensive for you." I think he had just turned down Red Dragon and they were saying, "Who is this guy?" I was like, "You're mad. Take him now or you're going to regret it." [laughs] He's a funny, charismatic, very bright bloke, and yet he managed to play this confused, morally beaten-up young husband. It's such a great performance.

You had a prominent role in The Man From Elysian Fields which was also one of James Coburn's last films. What was that experience like?

It was wonderful. You'd never know that he wasn't long for this world. He was full of energy and was funny and charming and stubborn and brilliant. What an honor. I remember my dad waking me up and bringing me downstairs to watch The Magnificent Seven on the telly when I was little. I couldn't believe it, here I was playing his wife, it was so surreal. It was one of those jobs that came at the last minute. They asked me with about 3 days left in pre-production. I flew out into this wonderful pre-existing situation. The script appealed to me. And then married to James Coburn and shagging Andy Garcia - how bad can life be? [laughs] I'll take it!

How was director Wes Anderson to work with on Rushmore?
He's wonderful also. He's a very precise man. His writing is so good that the emotional stuff kind of just jumps out of it without you having to push. You need nothing more than the lines. I love his writing and I think he's genius. [That set] was surreal. I had my first movie job that summer on The Postman. Then I came back to do ADR and post-production on The Postman and got Rushmore. Suddenly, I'm in Houston, Texas with a 16-year old boy and Bill Murray! [laughs] It was surreal but eminently enjoyable. Bill Murray was charming and generous and funny. And Jason really was Max Fischer. And Wes would appear occasionally in the hotel looking harassed. And we'd watch movies and talk about them. And then Brian Cox shows up, to add to the surreal. He's such a guru from my childhood. We were all sitting around the fire at the hotel. And I've got Bill Murray, the kid, and Brian Cox. It was a very confusing time but immensely good fun [laughs].

How were you cast in your first big role, that being The Postman?

From a really dreadful audition video. My agent rang and said "Do you want to go on tape?" and I was like "Is there any point? I’ve done this before and paid 10 quid for a taxi ride and never hear from anyone again.” So I rode my bike there and read the thing and a month later, God bless him, Kevin Costner rang me up and asked me to come over to America and be in his movie.

Speaking of your bike, I read on the Internet Movie Database that you insist on riding your bike to and from the set every day. True?
[nods] There's this absurd situation on a movie set where your trailer's here and the set is here and the lunch tent is here. And you're not allowed to get yourself from these three places. You have to be taken. You can be very hungry here and the food is there and you have to wait until a man with a microphone finds you. Then he sends a message to the driver, the driver drives from over here, where he's eating lunch, and then drives you 10 feet. So I got myself a bicycle. And I didn't know at the time that it was irregular. I was like, "Then the driver guy can eat his lunch and I don't have to wait." And what I didn't realize is that the car is an instrument of control. You need to be escorted everywhere in case you suddenly wander off into the wilderness and fall down a hole and the movie has to come to an end because you've broken your ankle. I thought I was saving everyone a lot of hassle. But when I got on the bike, my hair extensions got tangled in the wind [laughs]. So I learned the hard way. But I do try to cycle everywhere I can. I cycle to rehearsals in London. It's my control issue. It's like, "No, I want to be in control of wherever I go." And I hate environmental damage. So I ride a bike when I can. Here [in Los Angeles] it's weird because people have bicycles, but they're purely recreational. They're not a way to get from A to B. They're a way to lose weight. The irony of the gym where somebody says, "I couldn't exercise today because I had no electricity, so my running machine didn't work." I'm like, "No, the running machine should be wired up so it's like a dynamo system - when you pedal the bike the lights come on!" How do you get into a situation where you use electricity to ride a bicycle?! In my future home, my children will be out pedaling away so I can watch myself on the television [laughs]. That's my ecological dream. No, I like cycling when I can but it has as much to do with my own control issues as it does with saving the planet.

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John McTiernan: The Hollywood Interview

Filmmaker John McTiernan.


JOHN MCTIERNAN:
AFFAIRS OF THE CROWN
By
Alex Simon

Editor’s Note: This article originally appeared in the August 1999 issue of Venice Magazine.

John McTiernan was born January 8, 1951 in Albany, New York. The son of an attorney, the family moved to a rural farm community in upstate New York after his father became ill. McTiernan attended Exeter prep school during his high school years, and was admitted to Julliard with the intention of studying theater directing. While there, McTiernan quickly discovered that his true love was film and enrolled in an experimental film program at the State University of New York, later moving on to the American Film Institute for graduate school, where he studied under the tutelage of the great Czech director Jan Kadar.

After spending the next decade making a name for himself as a talented TV commercial director, McTiernan landed his feature debut with Nomads in 1986. The eerie supernatural thriller, his first collaboration with a young television actor named Pierce Brosnan, received mixed reviews and didn’t burn up the box office, but McTiernan was singled out for his sure hand and distinctive directorial eye, enough so that producer Joel Silver recruited McTiernan to direct the blockbuster Predator (1987), the high-octane Arnold Schwarzenegger thriller that combined The Most Dangerous Game (1932) with Alien (1979), to create a box office smash that also helped solidify Schwarzenegger as a major box office draw. McTiernan became one of the hottest directors in Hollywood after his next feature, Die Hard (1988), reinvented the action-adventure genre and went on to become one of the most-imitated films in history, and helped to establish another action hero screen icon in Bruce Willis. McTiernan flexed his intellectual muscles and kept the explosions and gunfire to a minimum with his taut adaptation of Tom Clancy’s The Hunt for Red October (1990). The Alec Baldwin-Sean Connery starrer, was a box office champ the year of its release and, many feel, remains the best of the three big screen Clancy adaptations. McTiernan made a more personal picture with Medicine Man, (1992), again teaming with Connery in the tale of a scientist in the Latin American rain forest. Although many regard The Last Action Hero (1993) as a major stumbling block in McTiernan’s brilliant career, the film went on to gross over $100 million worldwide. McTiernan re-teamed with Bruce Willis for the third Die Hard installment, Die Hard: With a Vengeance in 1995, and re-established his box office clout in doing so.

McTiernan’s latest film will undoubtedly be regarded as his finest work thus far. There are so many good things to say about McTiernan’s remake of 1968’s Steve McQueen classic The Thomas Crown Affair, that an entire sonnet could be composed to extol its virtues. Here’s just a few: 1) It’s made with intelligent adults in mind, not 15 year-old boys. 2) Rene Russo is living proof that a woman need not be a 22 year-old refugee from the WB network to burn up the screen with her sexuality 3) It’s the only remake I can think of (since John Huston made the third, and definitive version of The Maltese Falcon in 1941) that is better than the original. Pierce Brosnan ably fills McQueen’s shoes as the super cool, ultra rich Thomas Crown, who gets his kicks pulling daring heists in his spare time. Russo, in one of the most free-spirited displays of healthy sexuality in screen history, assumes Faye Dunaway’s former role as insurance investigator Catherine Banning, who intends to catch Crown in the act, and instead finds herself caught up in an act all their own. Leave the kiddies at home and don’t miss this smart, sexy winner. The MGM release is currently playing all over southern California.

In person, John McTiernan doesn’t come across as a director of action heroes, or a man who has blown up glass skyscrapers to thrill the masses. McTiernan is a man who almost resembles a character out of Hemingway, a man’s man whose speech style is both verbose and lean. Lean back and dig some of his verbosity.

Your version of The Thomas Crown Affair is one of the only remakes I've seen that surpasses the original.
John McTiernan: That's very kind, but part of making movies is the ability to capture the time in which they were made. I think the original was a product of its time (1968), so it's not fair to say that the original doesn't hold up by today's standards. The more something is a piece of its time, the it's going to date afterwards. So I think that to say the original is dated is almost a compliment to it. It says that it really captured the era in which it was made, which I think it did. It's funny, if you remade a movie in 1968 that was originally made in 1938, nobody would think twice, because you'd be spanning this chasm that made it another world. Maybe it's because there's such a huge population of baby boomers that still think of 1968 as being a fairly recent time that we don't feel that distance now. When you look at the original now, at the time it was so cutting-edge, and now that sort of high-style cinema verite, which today looks quite theatrical trying to give the illusion that it's real. I wanted to do a remake that wasn't quite a remake, but a compliment to the original, a bookend, a sequel...I don't know what the hell you'd call it. (laughs) I wanted to give a sense that this movie respected that one.

I think the best remakes are the ones that are re-imagined. Literal remakes have never worked.
No, they don't. You take a portion of the story and go with that, then it can work. No one thinks twice of doing Shakespeare productions every year. It's not "We're re-doing MacBeth," because (Shakespeare) is part of our landscape, so the idea that those plays keep getting renewed is perfectly normal. And I think that eventually, people will start doing that with movies, because there's enough of a history of movies now.

The other thing I liked about your film was the fact that it was made with adults in mind.
Yeah, but interestingly enough, we scored just as high with young men as we did with adults, and we figured out that it was the whole Mrs. Robinson thing, with young men having the hots for Rene.

Another great thing about this movie: it shows a woman who's in her 40's, who still incredibly sexy and very comfortable with it. It's not a 22 year-old lead actress with a 50 year-old leading man. That was very refreshing to see.
I didn't know that Rene was in her 40's until she started doing interviews about it, bragging about it! Her age is never an issue in the film, but she's making an issue of it now. I'd better stop her! (laughs)

But that's what 40-50 looks like nowadays. It's not like it was 20-30 years ago. People are staying youthful longer.
Yeah, that whole dynamic has changed. Now that time period of 45-50 is when a woman is at her hottest, I agree. There's a great line about that: "The most important sexual organ is the eight inches from here (indicates his ears) to here." It takes a while for that to develop. (laughs)

It was also nice to see Rene Russo playing a sexy, elegant woman, as opposed to a tomboy who happens to be sexy.
Yeah, that's true. Her whole persona prior to this was of a gorgeous woman who didn't care that she was gorgeous and just wanted to be one of the guys. Because I wanted to make a love story, and not a caper film, the audience had to fall in love with the characters, too. Both Rene and Pierce have this quality. Even when they've played bad guys, the audience can sense that somewhere in there is a good person, because they can see it in their eyes. You can't lie about that. There are many great actors, who are great-looking who can never play a lead because there's something in their eyes that makes they audience go "Well...I don't know if I trust him. I don't know that he represents me." That's one of the few aspects of this craft that's God-given and can't be learned. So I was looking for two people with whom the audience could have a secret with. For the first half of the film, they're both real crocodiles, very difficult to sidle up with. They're both dangerous people, but the audience has a secret where they just know "You know what, underneath that there's a really great guy, and underneath Rene's front there's a really sweet girl."

This is the second film you've done with Pierce. I've always felt that he was an underused actor, in the sense that many filmmakers rarely let him act, but just wanted him to stand there and look pretty.
They never knew how good he is, how smart he is. He's changed very little since I worked with him before, which is good. I think in many ways some of the (hardships and tragedies) he's endured over the past decade have helped to season him in a good way. He's not so boyish anymore, and I think as he gets older, he'll just become even more impressive. I kept beating up his make-up man on this saying 'Leave him alone! Quit trying to make him pretty. Let me see the age on his face. Let me see the hard edge around him.' He's just getting on the cusp of that now, just getting enough steel in his face, enough grit.

Remember how scary he was in his first role (The Long Good Friday, 1981)? It was his boyishness that made him scary (playing an IRA assassin).
God, he was great in that! Remember that last scene with him just staring at Bob Hoskins in that car?! He was brilliant in that film, and it was his the sweetness and boyishness of his face that made him so scary. There were people in my family who worked for Michael Collins back during the Troubles. One of my relatives had to disappear and come to the States. This man was the most deferential, wonderful man who had the warmest smile, and the reason he fled to the States is he dropped an egg basket full of hand grenades into the lap of a British General. I knew him as a very old man, but he was so sweet, and so polite...it was as if he wouldn't have stepped on a crack in the sidewalk, he led such a straight and narrow life. But that was where he came from.

Let's talk about where you came from.
My dad was a lawyer and became ill for quite some time, so my mother, sister and I moved back with her parents on a farm in upstate New York. I still live on a farm today, in Wyoming. I went to Exeter for prep school, which was quite terrifying for me. Here I was, this middle class kid, not very cosmopolitan, in this upper crust place, and it terrified me. I did well academically, but didn't fit in at all socially. I became intensely interested in film, so much so that I almost didn't go to college so I could make films. I went to Julliard, then to the State University of New York, which had an experimental film program going on. I was one of the only film students that wasn't stoned the whole time (laughs), so I ended up using most of the money and resources they offered. Then I went to the AFI after that.

Was there any one film that ignited your interest?
No, but I remember when I decided that that's what I was going to do. I went about it like it was reverse engineering. I knew that I had to go and learn what a movie was, not just my experience of going and watching a movie. So I went and sat in Truffaut's Day for Night (1972), watched it for three days straight, eight hours at a time and memorized it shot-for-shot. I got past the story, all the original and secondary experience, so I could study what it was that I was really watching. Film is really sort of a chain that's really linear. Yet when it's all strung together, it just sort of feels like an experience. It takes quite a while to be able to deconstruct that experience to figure out what you really saw.

Tell us about your experience at AFI.
One of the sort of perks there is they don't have grades, but they would take the person they felt was the most likely to succeed, and they'd give him or her to the filmmaker in residence as an assistant. So I worked for Jan Kadar, the great Czech filmmaker. If you read Hemingway, half of the information you get is in this style of how he tells you, his prose style. It's not literally the events he recounts, it's how he recounts them, which appears to be obsessively simple in nature. There's a hint to what people are thinking, but he doesn't go off into these vast internal monologues. That's what Jan's style was like. He used to make me sit down and learn movies shot-for-shot. And we'd watch films by some great masters, like Kubrick and Fellini and Jan would say "See! Look what he did wrong there! That's wrong! Do you understand why it's wrong?" And I'd say 'What's wrong with it? It's a nice shot.' "No, no," Jan would say, "visually, it's out of key." He had a whole sense that you had to approach filmmaking like you were composing a piece of music. It wasn't about making a translation from a literary source. To decide what the next note is in a piece of music, you don't think about the plot, or what it means, you think about: what does it sound like? Is it in the right rhythm, the right key? So the montage in a film needs to be in the same key, and if you're going to change key, you'd better transpose it into the other key, as if you were composing a concerto. In color and lighting also, there are visual melodies. It's weird because I'm sort of known as an "action guy," who gets 10,000 machine guns and blows things up. But I cut my teeth on very esoteric European films. Maybe what Paul Verhoeven (Robocop, Starship Troopers) and I did was to take the technology that the Europeans developed in the 60's and started applying it to mass market American movies. Paul has an expressive narrator in that his camera is an active, expressive person. I think it's a very angry, very fiery person. If you think about American films before the European influence in the 1960's, there was no active narrator. With a few exceptions, the camera just photographed the action and didn't really have a distinctive voice of its own.

Let's talk about some of your other films, starting with your first, Nomads. What was it like making the jump into features?
Well, I'd done a little feature called Tales of the 22nd Century that got me into AFI. I only did commercials to support myself, really, while I was in school. It was sort of a jump in the other direction, because I started making films, then moved into commercial directing. So going back to making a feature wasn't that big a jump, really.

I know you didn't go into Die Hard thinking you were going to re-invent the action-adventure genre. What were you aiming for?
I think to try to make a thriller that could be jacked up a notch with a great story underneath it. There were also a lot of technical things I was really anxious to do, like have a really active camera. When I broke into the business, the rule was that you weren't allowed to cut a moving camera shot into another moving camera shot. At the beginning of Red October, I had to fire an Academy Award-winning editor, because he literally didn't know how to cut the stuff. He didn't know how to deal with a moving camera and an active narrator.

With Red October were there different challenges filming an existing novel than from an original script?
No, in many ways it just makes it better. I enjoy working from a novel.

I really enjoyed Alec Baldwin's interpretation of Jack Ryan. What was it like working with him.
Terrific. He's tremendously intelligent, another good Irish-American kid. (laughs) We had a great time. He's fiery, and somewhere behind the fire is a worry about something, if you can find out what he's really worried about.

You opted not to do the second Die Hard, as well as the two Tom Clancy sequels. Why is that?
Well, they wanted to do Patriot Games, which had the villains as the Irish Republican Army. Both Alec and I, as Irish-Americans, were a bit uncomfortable with that, since it's our heritage. They had another script (Clear and Present Danger) that both Alec and I wanted to do, and for various reasons we decided not to. With Die Hard, I guess I just found myself bumping heads with Joel Silver a lot.

You've done two pictures with Sean Connery. What was he like to work with?
I knew I was doing alright with him when he began calling me 'boy.' That's sort of his mark of approval. At the end of the night he'd say "Good night, boy." (laughs) Sean loves movies, really knows a lot about them. And he really liked my style of working, the way I like to shoot. So it was very easy to work with him.

Medicine Man seems like it would have been a tremendously difficult shoot.
It was. We had all sorts of rigs mounted in the trees, all over the jungle. We probably spent three weeks working 125 feet above the forest floor.

What did you learn in making The Last Action Hero?
Well first of all, I learned the idiocy of releasing a film the week after Jurassic Park (laughs). And also that a studio will do anything do push a movie out, even if it's unfinished, which it was. It's largely unedited and large portions of it still appear exactly as it was when it left the camera. It wasn't ready yet. I don't know that I'll ever get the chance to go back to it. It's like having a model with an extra 20 pounds on her. There's a really neat movie in there. In order to get a sense of fun that was clear to the audience, it needed tightening, and it needed another month in editing to do that.

Any advice for first-time directors?
It's the same thing of how you get to Carnegie Hall: practice, practice, practice. (laughs) Also, I'd say get a hold of a video camera and just shoot as much as you can, of anything. If you have a script, get a couple actors together and shoot two pages from the script, then edit the footage on a really basic video editing program. It takes as long to develop a prose style on film as it does a prose style in writing, so it's crucial to practice whenever and however you can.

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