I Blame Dennis Hopper (21 page)

 

CHAPTER TEN

Uncle Roddy

Hugo's restaurant on Santa Monica Boulevard. Photograph by Roddy McDowall. “You're not going to like these photographs,” he said, “but someday you will!” As with everything else, he was right.

It's not good to break down in tears when you are trying to make a good impression on a Hollywood legend, but luckily for me Roddy McDowall understood actresses and their frailties. I met Roddy right after I had auditioned for the part of Janice, the suspicious sister of Matt Dillon in the Gus Van Sant film
To Die For.
I was pretty despondent by the time I arrived at Hugo's, the restaurant where Roddy had chosen to meet me. I was convinced I was not going to get the part I so desperately wanted.

Sometime after
Cape Fear
came out, Roddy McDowall contacted my Los Angeles agent. I received the following message with utter astonishment, “The actor Roddy McDowall called and he would like to take you to lunch, and snap some pictures of you for his latest book.” Roddy was well known for his photography books of actors, a series called
Double Exposure,
so this was quite an honor.

Then it dawned on me. Wait a minute, Roddy McDowall,
the
Roddy McDowall? He wants to take pictures of me? Why? No, this is great. It will be great. Don't be nervous. I already knew a lot about him. There wasn't a celebrity bio I had read that hadn't had Roddy McDowall in it. Roddy McDowall was the confidant of Elizabeth Taylor, Natalie Wood, Montgomery Clift—basically everyone. Can I ask him about Elizabeth Taylor and what happened on the set of
Cleopatra
? The cult classics
Inside Daisy Clover
and
The Loved One
? His friendship with Montgomery Clift? Can I bring my copy of
The Legend of Hell House
and have him sign it? Can I bring
my
crappy camera and take pictures of
him
?

We set a date to coincide with my audition for
To Die For
. I was flying to Los Angeles for my
second
audition for the film. For the first audition, I had flown out to Los Angeles on January 16, 1994, and spent the night at the home of my former roommate, Steven, in Santa Monica. We had gone over all my scenes, had some wine, and said good night. I was feeling very confident and couldn't wait till the morning. I was sleeping on the floor in the living room and the next thing I remember, the earth was moving. Up and down and sideways. Pictures were falling from the walls, books came tumbling down, and dishes were crashing around me as I scrambled in the unfamiliar house to find Steven's bedroom. We held onto each other for dear life and prepared for the end. Two actors' lives tragically cut short. The shaking stopped, we went outside to see the destruction—even filmed some of it with my new toy, the video camera Marty had given me—and then, typical actress, I wondered if I was still going to have my audition in the morning. I even tried to call the studio. Yeah. No one answered. I had been upstaged by a really, really bad earthquake!

So I was back in New York when I received the call about Roddy McDowall's wanting to meet me. I know you know that, but I wanted to write it one more time. Roddy McDowall called and wanted to meet me! I was not going to let L.A.'s largest earthquake stop me from auditioning for
To Die For
. Auditioning for a part I thought I had been born to play.

My plan was to go to the audition and then meet Roddy McDowall and hope that I had some good news to share with him. “Roddy, I've signed on for the picture.” Something like that. Roddy chose the place. It was a restaurant called Hugo's on Santa Monica Boulevard. Another good sign.

I knew all about Hugo's. The first time I went to Los Angeles was to work on
Guilty by Suspicion.
Marty insisted I had to have breakfast at Hugo's. “Every morning!” he said. “Make sure you're seen!” Hugo's was sort of an in-spot in those days. “You never know who you'll meet there.”

So every morning I went to Hugo's and had breakfast. He was right. I saw a lot of famous folks. Didn't meet too many of them, but I saw them for sure. Then, at one of my last solitary breakfasts at Hugo's I see James Woods. There is nothing like the thrill of seeing a movie star, especially one you admire, swagger through a power-breakfast room, table-hop here, smile at someone there. Oh, wait—he's smiling at me. James Woods is smiling at me. He paused to say hello. My first welcome-to-Hollywood hello. (Something I reminded him the night when I spilled goat cheese on him.)

I remember calling Marty and telling him, “Marty, you're right. Hugo's is the best! I just met James Woods.” Long silence from the other end. “Stay away from him.” There were no hard feelings. They worked together years later on
Casino
!

When I went to meet Roddy McDowall, it was an unusually rainy day and I was still wearing my audition outfit, because I didn't have time to change. Here I was back at Hugo's. My place, I thought as I entered. Not only was I actually going to experience dining with someone there, but I was also going to meet Roddy McDowall. My first impression was of course to notice the instantly recognizable expressions and mannerisms and impish voice that I had seen and heard so many times in so many of his films. He would tilt his head, and I would think, Oh, my God, it's Cornelius from
Planet of the Apes
. Stay focused, Illeana. The next thing I noticed was the impeccable, Old World way in which he dressed and carried himself. His crisp white shirt cuffs were turned up over a baby blue V–neck sweater, which was covered by a tan Members Only cargo jacket. Wonderful cologne. He turned his gold ID bracelet on his left hand as he spoke. It's a cliché to say you want movie stars to live up to who you hope they'll be, but Roddy was everything I had hoped for and more. Charming, funny, gossipy. He dropped the name of a beautiful French starlet from the '30s and said, “She brought the clap to Hollywood—Gershwin, everyone had it.” He had stories about everyone, always with a wonderful aside—usually about their private lives or loves. I was in heaven.

Then he ruined it by asking me how the audition had gone. I sighed and started to describe the scene to him with as much humor as I could muster. Auditions are always competitive, but the line of twenty-plus girls who auditioned for
To Die For
was a who's who of successful actresses, including two future Academy Award winners. We could have all left and filmed another movie. There was that much talent. I was sandwiched between two really successful gals, and I was convinced that someone more famous than I would get the part. It had nothing to do with the work. The work had gone well. And I knew I had allies. At one point, I was struggling with the reader—the person who is hired to read opposite you during the screen test. She was stumbling over the lines, and Nicole Kidman, who had been watching, piped up and said, “Do you want me to read with you?”

Actress looks directly into camera: That's what's called a good sign.

A bad sign? Buck Henry had his feet up on the desk the whole time I was there, rocking back and forth in this high-end office chair. Rock, rock, rock. When you are auditioning, and maybe this is just me, you survey the room when you walk in and think, Hmmm, who do I need on my side? Along with Gus Van Sant, producer Laura Ziskin, Nicole Kidman, and some Sony execs, there was the towering giant of a screenwriter
,
Buck Henry. Hadn't counted on that. Twice nominated for an Academy Award—Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material from Another Medium, for
The Graduate,
and Best Director, for
Heaven Can Wait
. Let's throw screenwriter of
Catch-22
,
What's Up, Doc?
, and co-creator of
Get Smart
into the mix, too.

There he was, feet up on the desk, chewing gum, having seen a million auditions, not impressed, not laughing at any of my jokes, and why should he? He's Buck Henry. He cowrote
The Graduate
! Not on my side.

Now, that's what the scared actress is assuming he's probably thinking. When is lunch? Or, I wonder how big my on-screen writing credit is going to be? What's the hotel like in Toronto? I remember all through the audition thinking, this is going very well, and if I can just get Buck Henry to stop rocking in his frigging office chair it will go even better. Nicole Kidman gave me a secret smile as she said goodbye, or maybe I was assuming that, too. Gus took a Polaroid of me. That might be a good sign? I was recounting the entire experience to Roddy McDowall when he stopped me.

“Do you mind if I take some pictures? You're very … expressive.”

“Sure,” I said reluctantly. I hadn't expected him to take pictures right there at the table. I mean, I didn't even have any makeup on, but I think he sensed something was going on with me emotionally. He took out his camera and began snapping away. I was trying to smooth my hair, trying to look pretty for the camera, and I started to feel really self-conscious. Roddy McDowall had photographed some of the great leading ladies of our time. In fact, stop reading this right now and go pick up his four-book
Double Exposure
series, and you'll see what I mean. As he snapped away he asked me, “Do you think you have the part?” I wanted to laugh and say, yes, of course, I have the part—but all of a sudden I was pretty sure, in fact I was convinced, that I did not have the part.

I looked down at what I had chosen to wear for the audition. A white Capezio bodysuit with tights, Doc Martens boots, and some crazy short jumper I had bought at a Village flea market. Pseudo–Audrey Hepburn chic was the look I was going for. I had worn it so often it was already starting to rip under the arms. I mean, who wears something like that to meet Roddy McDowall? Would he notice? And now photographs would prove that I actually wore things like that to try to get parts in movies. I began to feel ridiculous and out of place in Hollywood. Meanwhile, the rain was coming down. I hadn't valet-parked, because I wanted to save money. Always thinking of money. I would have to make sure that Roddy got into his car before I did so he wouldn't find out. What kind of actress doesn't valet-park?

Roddy was snapping away, and I started to unravel. “No,” I said. “I don't think I got the part. I don't have a chance.” Then came the tears. I was convinced that another actress had cinched it. I said to him, “I saw the way she hugged everyone goodbye.”

I'm not sure why, but I started to tell Roddy about the pressure I felt coming out here and competing against actresses who had already “made it” in my mind. About the pressure of having a famous boyfriend like Martin Scorsese who was so successful, and what would he think if I didn't get the part. I was revealing insecurities I didn't even know were there. Listen, I'm sure if I had had the clap I would have confessed that to him, too. He was a very good listener.

Roddy put down his camera, and handed me a handkerchief to dry my tears. “Oh, you poor dear,” he said sympathetically. He started talking to me as if we were old friends, and I felt as if we
were
old friends. I'm sure a lot of other actresses had cried on his shoulder: Natalie Wood, Tuesday Weld, Elizabeth Taylor, and that actress with the clap. He was everyone's confidant. Now he was becoming mine.

“Now dry your eyes and listen to your Uncle Roddy,” he said. “It's so important to find joy in this business, because as the years go by, people will try to steal that joy, so that is something as an actress you must hold onto. Marilyn could not hold onto joy. All we have is the joy of the work, and if they could kill that joy, they would. Marty, or Spielberg, they are beyond feeling any happiness in the work. They know better. But that is both a blessing and a curse.”

It was like a secret actor-to-actor pep talk. Those words, and the fact that they came from him, set me straight. It gave me a confidence that I could wear like armor to all future auditions. Here was a man who was in his sixties then, in some of the greatest movies of all time, and he told me he was still auditioning. He had no bitterness. He was a child star who went through the studio system and had many ups and downs in his career. I took his advice to heart. I was on my own path, and I didn't need to compare my career with anyone else's. Soon we were back to laughing and gossiping. He dropped this brilliant aside involving two actresses known for playing prim and proper ladies on-screen, one a British redhead, the other a cool blonde.

He said knowingly, “The ones who play the virgins. They're the ones who sleep with everyone.” Snap. Snap. Snap.

He paused, putting his camera down again and making a Cornelius expression. “You are not going to like these pictures,” he said. “But when you are older you will.” He was right, of course. He made the sun come out for me that rainy afternoon at Hugo's. From that day on, he became my Uncle Roddy. Always there to lend a sympathetic ear or to have a nice gossip with. When I told him I was cast in
To Die For
, he laughed and said, “You see now. All that worry for naught.” We started to write back and forth. We would send each other silly postcards that he would sign, “With love to I.D.” The nickname stuck. Given to me by a Hollywood legend who never stopped working.