Random Reminiscing: Looking Back at my Many Random Roles Interviews (Part 12 of Quite a Few)
Having just passed the 10th anniversary of my career as a freelance pop culture journalist coming up on April 1st, I’m feeling a tad nostalgic, so I decided that I wanted to start looking back at the portion of my freelance career of which I’m most proud: my Random Roles interviews for the A.V. Club.
If you accidentally missed the previous part of this reminiscing, you can check it out by clicking right here…and if you missed the part before that, well, each installment has a link to the previous installment in the intro, so just keep on clicking back until you’ve read ‘em all!
If you’re all up to date, though, then for heaven’s sake, why are you wasting time with this intro? Just dive right in!
Jonathan Frakes:
Voyagers! (1982)—“Charles Lindbergh”
Jonathan Frakes: Oh, that was with the late, great Jon-Erik Hexum. Do you remember that story? I was doing Paper Dolls right next door when he accidentally took his life. God, this Cory Monteith story is horrible, too, isn’t it? 31 years old. I don’t think Jon-Erik was much older than that.
But, yeah, I played Charles Lindbergh, and after I was cast, I was sent to a place called the Western Costume Company, which was close to the Paramount lot, and deep in the bowels of the building, the costume designer pulled out a one-piece leather flight suit and said, “Try this on.” And as I was trying it on, I looked in at the label, on the collar, and it said, “James Stewart, Charles Lindbergh.” How cool is that? I’m giving you some good shit today! [Laughs.]
William Forsythe:
CHiPs (1982)—“Thrasher”
Once Upon A Time In America (1984)—“Philip ‘Cockeye’ Stein”
William Forsythe: Oh, yeah. [Laughs.] Yeah, it’s funny, because I used to be a doorman at the Troubadour, and one of my jobs was on Punk Rock Night. All of the punk-rock bands of the era would come in and play, and my job on Punk Rock Night was that I would go into the slam pit, and… I was 24 or 25, and I’d slam dance in the pit. Basically, what I was there for was—punks would grab girls who were walking by and throw them into the pit and start pounding on them—so my job was to slam over, free the girls, and then if the guy just kept doing it, my job was to slam over, look at the other door guys, and slam him to where they could drag him out of the place. So I had a lot of experience. And it’s funny, because some of the actual extras who were in the show were all these kids that I used to deal with when I was a doorman at the club. If you ever watch that clip, they’re throwing beers at my head. And I’m moving! You watch: They’re throwing them right at me, these kids are trying to hit me, and I’m… [Bobs and weaves.]
My favorite group was Fear. This guy Lee Ving, I watched him put a steel toe right through this guy’s mouth and not miss a chord. He was the guy I thought about when I thought about Thrasher. He was my favorite guy of that era. I wasn’t even a punk fan, but he was just so real. So he was the thought in my head when I was going there. But come on: I had a Mohawk, and Ponch and Jon were after me. Again, I was just very glad to get the work. And, you know, here’s a Ripley’s Believe It Or Not moment for you: That part was the only decent piece of footage I had to show to Sergio Leone when I was after the role in Once Upon A Time In America. So I actually got Sergio Leone to watch an episode—unedited!—of CHiPs. [Laughs.] And he watched it… and I got the job.
Once Upon a Time in America was the greatest gift I was ever given. I mean, people ask me all the time about my favorite movie, and I don’t really know how to pick a favorite, but I usually pick that one because, without Sergio, I wouldn’t have the rest of them. I mean, he gave me a chance to go from Thrasher to the big time. I owe him a lot. Him and Robert De Niro, because Robert approved me as well. It was an experience that was life altering, to go and work with such profound artists and in a project where everyone really wanted to make something great. I wish I felt more of that today. It’s the rare project where everyone has that energy, you know? It’s kind of a spoiler, really. At age 27, you start thinking, “Maybe they’ll all be like that.” But if you’re lucky, it’s one out of 10 or 20 that has that kind of special energy.
What were your thoughts on the American cut of the film?
Well, we all hated it, but it broke Sergio’s heart. I mean, the only European director in history who made movies about America, and what did they do? They brought in the editor of Police Academy [Zach Staenberg] to butcher his movie because the company was afraid. So they put out a two-hour-and-20-minute version that feels longer than the five-hour version because it makes no sense. It was terrible. And can you imagine? I waited two years for it to come out, thinking it was going to be the break of a lifetime, and then when it came out, they put out that version, and it opened to a sleepy audience. Worldwide it’s one of the biggest movies in history, and in America it’s a cult film. Everywhere else I went I was treated like the president, but not here. It’s so weird.
When we asked Elizabeth McGovern about it, she said the butchering of the film was almost too extreme for her to be horrified by it.
Yeah. Like I said, we all hated it, but poor Sergio. [Sighs.] He made American movies, but he was over in Russia preparing to make a movie when he passed away because he had given up on us. He was going to go try going the other direction. But it wasn’t in the cards.
Peter Weller:
Shoot The Moon (1982)—“Frank Henderson”
Peter Weller: Wow. I just showed that movie to my wife. I hadn’t seen it since it came out. What a brilliant movie, and how proud I am to be a part of that movie. You have to remember, that movie was made during… Now, see, I’m bringing up social and intellectual history here, but that movie was made during what was called the second wave of feminism. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve run into students now who have no idea that there was a social revolution in this country [in the ’60s], or in the world, and that people actually died. Whether you liked it or not, whether you understand it or not, you have to be aware of it. Like Cicero said, “He who is not aware of the history of the state is doomed to mental infancy forever.” And, you know, the history of America… I’m sad to say that they don’t teach the social revolution of the ’60s or Vietnam or anything. They stop with Kennedy. I guess there’s no point of… I guess there’s just too many points of view about that.
But after Germaine Greer, Betty Friedan, and Gloria Steinem—social revolution becomes a methodology in teaching everything. It doesn’t matter if it’s classics, humanism, the humanities, history, art, music, and musicology… whatever. You have to study the methodologies of the ’70s, and one of them is feminism. The second wave of feminism is when feminism, or the point of view of what female gender had in everything, became a huge part of filmmaking. Before that, you’ve got a couple of flicks, like I’ll Cry Tomorrow, about a woman going to the electric chair, and The Women, which was a brilliant play by Clare Bloom Luce. But in the ’70s and early ’80s, man, you’ve got three or four major, major films about women and their particular point of view… and one of them was written by the great Bo Goldman, and it’s Shoot The Moon.
When that movie came out, honest to God, I was sitting with an executive who was a friend of Frank Capra, and he said, “I got a compliment for you from Frank Capra.” I said, “Come on!” He said, “No, I just got off the plane with him, he’s an old friend, and he said you were fantastic in that film. But as fantastic as you were, the film is important.” I said, “What is Frank Capra saying about the importance?” I didn’t get it at all. Now I get it. Frank Capra was a guy who’s steeped in social comedies. That’s what he made most of his life. And he looked at Shoot The Moon, and he said, “Wow, this has really got something poignant to say about the survival of women in the United States, in particular women who’ve been buried in domestic situations and obviously have no out.” You have to remember, in those days, if a woman had an affair with someone she worked with, she could be fired. There was no maternity leave. Can you imagine that? Were we living under a fucking rock then, or what? I don’t understand it, man. But Shoot The Moon… I’m so proud of that movie. Sorry to wax on like that. But it’s a fantastic film, a real winner, and, by God, Diane Keaton’s performance is one of the great performances by anybody. That performance… you can’t recreate that, man.
George Segal:
The Closing Door (1960)—actor
The Young Doctors (1961)—“Dr. Howard”
The Desperate Hours (1967) —“Glenn Griffin”
It looks as though your very first TV appearance was as part of the cast of a televised play called The Closing Door.
George Segal: That’s right! With Dane Clark and Kim Hunter. I’d seen Dane Clark in a hundred things, probably. He was the king of B-movies in the ’40s. And Kim Hunter, I first fell in love with her in Stairway To Heaven, but, of course, she was Stella in A Streetcar Named Desire. I remember she wore penny loafers. [Laughs.] That was thrilling for me. I felt for the first time, “Oh, my God, I’m a real actor! Look what I’m doing! I’m in a play with Dane Clark and Kim Hunter!” It was a mind-blower to get that.
In The Closing Door, there’s a successful brother and a jealous brother. Which one were you?
Not a clue. [Laughs.] Look, I’m just happy I remember I was in it!
I noticed that there’s a common thread between your first TV appearance and your first film appearance, in The Young Doctors: Arthur Hill was in both.
You’re kidding! Arthur Hill was in The Closing Door? I didn’t remember that! But after The Young Doctors, I also did… oh, what’s that one that Humphrey Bogart did in the movies? Desperate Hours! I did that, and he was the father in that. Arthur Hill. Love him. He was a great guy… and a great Canadian!
So we’ve talked about your first TV role and your first film role, but how did you find your way into acting in the first place?
Well, I was taken in 1941—which would make me 7 years old—to the local movie house in Great Neck to see This Gun For Hire, with Alan Ladd as this unrepentant gangster and Veronica Lake as his moll. He had a trench coat and a gun, and it occurred to me as I was loving this movie that this was a job. This guy came in every day, they put the coat on him, they gave him the gun, and then he went home at the end of the day. So if it’s a job, then maybe I could get a job like that. [Laughs.] That’s the first time I put all that together.
Then when I was in 7th grade, Art Linkletter had a show in the afternoon called House Party that all the ladies listened to, and all the kids listened to it when they were home sick from school. They did it in L.A., but they moved the show to New York for, like, two weeks, and they always had a section of these five precocious kids. Art Linkletter would ask them a question, and after telling him a few things about themselves, they’d give these adorable, funny answers.
Well, when I was in 7th grade, they came out to my school to talk to the drama guy, I guess. Anyway, I was put on a bus and went to New York. I was petrified. The other kids didn’t know what this show was, but I’d seen it, and I knew that you had to be really brilliant and listen to what Art Linkletter said to give one of these answers. When I got there, though, one of his assistants, who were backstage, said, “Mr. Linkletter’s gonna say this to you, and when he says that, then you say this.” And he gave me the line that I was supposed to say. Which, if I may say, got a nice laugh. [Laughs.] But I put that together and went, “Oh my God, the fix is in! These kids didn’t think of a thing! All these years I’ve been listening they’ve been giving them the answers? Sounds like a job for me.” So that kind of cemented it.
Of course, I also loved all the attention, and maybe that’s because I’m the youngest in my family. I guess I just wanted that attention. Because those two brothers had been around and knew everything, it always made me want to say, “Shine the light over here!” I was a painfully shy kid, but, and I know this sounds crazy… I only felt comfortable when I was on the stage. I was lifted by it, and I was energized by it. It’s therapy. [Laughs.]
Craig T. Nelson:
Lohman And Barkley (1970)—actor/ writer
The Tim Conway Show (1970)—actor /writer
In trying to find the farthest flashback in your career, it appears that you started as a writer on The Tim Conway Show.
Craig T. Nelson: Well, yeah, I was, but my first job was actually before that, on a show called Lohman And Barkley. That was on KNBC, a 90-minute live show. That was ’69 and ’70, and… I think we got hired off of that show to go to Tim Conway, which was network.
Kevin Pollak mentioned that you’d been part of a comedy duo with Barry Levinson. What were the comedy stylings of Levinson and Nelson like?
It was really… [Starts to laugh.] It would be really free form. It was… The best thing I could compare it to, and this is a little presumptuous, but it would be Monty Python-ish. It had a kind of quirkiness and eccentricity that we brought to stuff, and it was not necessarily… it was more of an act. It wasn’t a routine. We acted out a lot of different parts. Walt Disney meeting Mickey Mouse for the first time, with Mickey Mouse being a real character. It was a lot of fun.
Is any of that committed to film?
No. This was almost before film. [Laughs.] But I just loved working with Tim Conway, and the fact that he gave us an opportunity to go up not only in salary, but also in exposure, because we performed on the show, too. And Mike Ovitz was our agent, so… it was kind of cool. Getting to know Tim was great, but the guest stars he had… I mean, Joan Crawford? Lana Turner? Come on! And then getting a chance to meet Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks, to work with Ron Clark and Sam Bobrick… It was really a great opportunity.
[If the above clip doesn’t take you to it, you can find Nelson and company at the 10:26 mark.]
Harry Dean Stanton:
Big Love (2006-2010)—“Roman Grant”
You haven’t done a lot of time on television in recent years, but you did have a lengthy recurring role on Big Love.
Harry Dean Stanton: Yeah, I did that for about three years, I think. It was just like doing a movie.
No additional challenges?
No, not really.
In your documentary, you talk about the song “Everybody’s Talkin’,” by Fred Neil. It wasn’t until I talked to Bill Paxton that I discovered that the heroin use of your Big Love co-star, Luke Askew, inspired it.
Yeah, Luke gave him the idea for that. I think they were both on heroin at the time. It was written about heroin, written on heroin… and probably performed on heroin, too!
Christopher Plummer:
Starcrash (1978)—“The Emperor”
Christopher Plummer: [Breathlessly.] Starcrash. Oh, my God. There are two things I can say about that: One, give me Rome any day. I’ll do porno in Rome, as long as I can get to Rome. [Laughs.] Getting to Rome was the greatest thing that happened in that for me. I think it was only about three days in Rome on that one. It was all shot at once. And the girl… What’s her name? Munro?
Caroline Munro.
Caroline Munro. She was something incredible to look at. That was a great pleasure, too. But beyond those two things… I mean, how can you play the Emperor Of The Universe? What a wonderful part to play. [Laughs.] It puts God in a very dicey moment, doesn’t it? He’s very insecure, God, when the Emperor’s around.
Sam Elliott:
Shakedown (1988)—“Richie Marks”
Peter Weller spoke highly of the experience of working with you on Shakedown.
Sam Elliott: I spent a winter in New York, it was colder than shit, and we shot a lot of nights on that abandoned freeway where they shoot so many films, right there close to the water. Can’t remember that section of highway. But I remember hanging off of bridges and doing weird shit in that movie. There was a shot in the end where I’m supposedly under the nose of a plane, hanging onto the landing gear, and I end up in the fucking bay. I remember being about as cold as I’ve ever been in my life, doing that fucking scene.
Peter was… Peter’s an interesting cat, you know? We kind of sniffed each other out, I think, for about half that film. And then one day in the middle of the fucking movie, Peter goes out and competes in the fucking New York Marathon, and I was standing there at the finish line… no, it wasn’t the finish line, but it was along the way. So I gave him a big shout-out. I gave him a big “Fucking come on, Peter!” [Laughs.] And he looked over, and I think it shocked him that I was there seeing him run. From there, we really got along pretty well. It was kind of a weird thing. We’ve also both had the same agent, which compounded the fucking problems, if there were any. It was all about script. It was all creative differences, as I recall. But I enjoyed that a lot.
He made particular mention of the fact that they actually closed down 42nd Street, and that you had armed guards on set because of all the lowlifes.
Yeah. But that was a deal where I was coming out of a fucking window onto a fucking movie marquee, and the movie marquee ends up breaking or some shit. There was all these big stunts involved, but that’s not what I think of when I think of that movie. I think of that old defunct freeway. Or at least it was at that time. It was an old freeway that had been shut down. It was something that had a lot of traffic on it during its day, and its day had passed. I don’t remember where it was.
But, it was a trip shooting on 42nd Street. I’ll tell you what was weird about that: When the people around there recognized you. I get a lot of that. I think a lot of it is because a lot of those people are vets from my war, the Vietnam War. I call it “my war” only because it was the war I would’ve gone to had I ever gone to war. I was fortunate enough to be in the National Guard, so I didn’t go. But it’s always a trip to be exposed to people that are living on the streets. There but for the grace of God, you know?
Ana Gasteyer:
The New Adventures Of He-Man (1990)—production assistant
In attempting to go as far back as possible, there’s a credit for you on IMDB that I need to confirm is accurate.
Ana Gasteyer: God almighty…
Were you really a production assistant on The New Adventures Of He-Man?
Oh, my God! Was that really on IMDB? That’s so funny. Yeah, I was! That was one of my first day jobs when I moved to L.A. Yeah, it’s where I learned about animation. I had to count the number of times that each character that there were action figures made of were in each script. [Laughs.] I was, like, the office P.A. It was fun. It was a total hook-up job from a fellow Northwestern grad, and it was lucky. It just paid the bills, for sure.
Did you have any particular interest in animation, or was it just a matter of wanting to be in the business?
No, it was just a matter of not being hungry. [Laughs.] I’ve actually done voiceover work since the beginning of my career, though, because I got lucky, in that somebody else I also went to college with was a commercial voiceover agent and brought me in really early for commercial work. So I’ve always done commercials, but animation is only something I’ve done very recently. I did a lot of animation on Saturday Night Live. A lot of Robert Smigel and Andrew Steele stuff. You know, The Ambiguously Gay Duo and all those. But in terms of actually making a living on it? No. Especially not the ’90s, when I first moved to L.A. It was a very rarified, not-celebrity-driven craft. It was, like, old-school Warner Bros. voices. There were about 15 people who had every job, so I never even assumed that I could do it. Which is sort of funny. So it was that job and waiting tables.
So what led you into acting in the first place?
It’s the most boring answer in the world, which every actor always says, but it was just the first thing I realized I could actually do without screwing it up. [Laughs.] I was a really good violinist, and I was in a very not-theater-y world. My mother’s an artist, but she’s a fine artist. She’s not a performer in any way. And we knew actors from the Arena Stage in Washington, D.C., so I kind of knew that. But I also knew that I would have to find my own version of it, which I did. Luckily, I went to Northwestern, where improv kind of played a big part, being so close to Chicago and everything. I found the comedy people, and I realized that was what I did better than other things. But, yeah, definitely in high school I knew that’s what I wanted to be when I grew up. There was no question about what I wanted to be.
So when you were playing P.A. on He-Man, did that parallel when you were in the Groundlings?
Yeah. Well, my very first paid job as an actor was in high school. I was in the children’s chorus at the Washington Opera. That was, like, my first professional paycheck. But then my first real, like, post-college job was that I was in The Real Live Brady Bunch national tour. So we drove around on the bus with Davy Jones of the Monkees—may he rest in peace—playing himself, needless to say. There were a few episodes that we did, and we would do live, exact stage performances of The Brady Bunch. I played Alice. An early born mugger. [Laughs.] And we just toured around and lived on a bus. It was incredibly fun, and I did that for, whatever, five or six months.
So I’d go away and do things like that and come back, but I’d always stay involved in the Groundlings. Kathy Griffin actually told me to be in the Groundlings. We did an audition together, an improv audition, and she was like, “I don’t know why you’re not in the Groundlings. You’re an idiot if you’re not. You’ll never get seen.” Because I was coming from Northwestern, I didn’t know that many other people who were in the Groundlings, and it was a very, like, Second City-cool, long-form improv crowd. But the Groundlings totally changed my life. It was great.