I Don't Know What You Know Me From: Confessions of a Co-Star (15 page)
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Authors: Judy Greer
KELLY
Trying to lay out in words, what it’s like being best friends with Judy is tricky yet terribly simple.
There is an unconditional love like a sister, so honesty comes easily.
Honesty from Judy comes a bit TOO easily. She is forthright and a ball buster. She wants you to be the best you can be and will hold you to it. She will call you out on your BS. With that said, she’s a pretty great listener—so be careful what is thrown out there.
She will laugh hysterically at the most odd moments and stories
and sightings. Not caring if anyone else finds it funny, she will laugh to tears (quite often and it’s fun to watch!).
Being best friends with Judy always lends itself to “out of the ordinary” outings (going to the Golden Globes, hanging out with George Clooney and friends, movie premieres, etc.) but then will be as humdrum and typical (if not slightly boring) as hanging out with her stepkids and (amazingly awesome) husband at their home in the suburbs.
It’s never a dull moment, even when it is dull …
It’s pretty darn easy and fulfilling, even when it’s challenging. Kinda what most all relationships should be like …
Xo
JANET
Dear Judy,
You asked me to write a little something about being friends with you. I’ve been procrastinating, trying to think of the perfect little something to sum it all up, and basically I’ve boiled it down to this.
You know how we wanted to be John Cusack’s girlfriend because we saw what a great boyfriend he was in Say Anything? Or how we’re convinced the world is wrong and Gwyneth Paltrow would be so much fun to be friends with? How we constantly romanticize the characters and celebs and assume that who they are on screen, or in magazines, translates to real life?
Well, I am the best friend of the girl who always plays the best friend—the girl in the movies that probably tons of girls think, “I’d totally be friends with her.” I am best friends with Hollywood’s go-to best friend.
But here’s the thing, you’re fucking better than all those snarky,
quippy, perfectly-made-up-to-look-not-as-pretty-as-you-really-are characters. The real, unscripted you is a thousand times more interesting than any character you’ve ever played.
The real, unscripted you doesn’t always have the perfect comeback. You don’t always have good advice (remember when you told me to wear headphones to block out my baby’s crying?). You cry fifty-five times a day. You quit too easily. You love Subway. You don’t wash your hair enough. You frequently make people uncomfortable by walking around your house naked. You feel sorry for yourself, like, all the fucking time. And your car smells like dog.
You have your shit together but, girl, you are a disaster. And I love it.
I couldn’t be friends with Red Carpet you. Because Red Carpet you is just someone else’s version of you. I’ll take the real thing any day.
Crying now. Fuck.
Love to you my best-est best friend. Don’t start getting too good at life—or we’ll have a problem.
XOXO,
Janet
(AND THEN THERE WAS THIS TOO)
On Fri, Jun 14, 2013, at 11:44 AM, Judy wrote:
Now I’m crying for a 5th time today. 3 times in spinning this am, once in Old Navy. Why do you have to be so awesome? It makes me miss you more. Next week? Let’s get together and get emotional.
Oh, and these were really cute at Old Navy. Have them both now.
http://oldnavy.gap.com/browse/product.do?cid=26193&vid=1&pid=385340002
in the lightest color.
http://oldnavy.gap.com/browse/product.do?cid=26193&vid=1&pid=387492012
I got a 4 and it’s a little big, but your boobs are bigger so it would probably fit you. I’m going to have mine taken in because it was so cheap and so cute.
in tears,
judy
On Fri, Jun 14, 2013, 11:52:52 AM PDT, Janet wrote:
And the last, best reason I’m friends with you …
You just said my boobs are bigger than yours.
LOLA
OK, Lola hasn’t sent one in yet, because she’s being fabulous with her fabulous husband in Mexico, so I will write hers for her. In my fantasy, it would go something like this:
Judy is everything to me. More important to me than my husband, my children, my stepchild, even my parents. In fact, the only thing I love more than Judy is … never mind. There is nothing.
OK, fine, I’m taking a lot of poetic license here, but Lola has a way of turning even the simplest activities into something special, and for that I excuse her tardiness.
I did have a moment where I wasn’t going to print these e-mails and just save them so I could always read about how much my friends love me and tell them that I played the best joke on them by making them send me these e-mails. That would have been
awesome. It especially would have been funny if there wasn’t even a best friend chapter in my book and I waited until it came out to tell them about my scheming. Janet was right, I do quit too easily. I’m gonna work on that one, but I will never, and I mean
never
, stop walking around the house naked.
IT
’
S HARD TO BE AN ACTRESS FOR SEVERAL REASONS
, but one is that it’s really hard to be constantly scrutinized for things that are not under your control. For example, the way I look. Well, I guess I could get plastic surgery, but that feels cowardly. I have been told that I have a terrible voice. That I’m not pretty enough. That I look tired. That I look unhealthy. That I seem sad (that is mainly a comment I get from people on the street, even before I was an actress). That I have gained weight. That I am too skinny. That my nose is big. I guess if you are willing to put yourself out there, you have to be willing to deal with the consequences. But telling me I am much prettier in person, and why do they make me look so ugly in movies, is not really a compliment. You could stop after “you look so pretty in person.” I don’t need to know that you think I am ugly in my movies. That doesn’t make me feel good or want to take a photo with you. I once got stopped at a Super Bowl party by a girl who was gushing
about how she just “couldn’t believe” that I was attractive because they made me look so ugly at work, and she wouldn’t drop it. She wanted to know how they did it and why I let them do it. You would think these answers were obvious, but I felt compelled to say, “Uh … it’s not up to me? This is just how I look?” And, by the way, in the movies she was talking about, I actually liked the way I looked.
I also had a real hard time doing press for a film called
Barry Munday
. In that movie I played Ginger Farley, who didn’t care how she looked. She didn’t bother to do her hair or makeup, she didn’t bother to buy flattering clothes or put together cute outfits. When I was doing press for this movie, I was floored at how the reporters reacted to my look in the film. I didn’t really do hair and makeup. The makeup artist just put on some tinted moisturizer, a few extra freckles, and cherry ChapStick. I washed my hair and let it air dry. I wore big glasses, and that was about it. All the questions they asked me were about the process to get me looking
so
ugly. “How many hours were you in hair and makeup to achieve that look? Did they use prosthetics? Was it a wig?” I mean, they might as well have been asking me if the creature creators from George Lucas’s compound were flown in for our eighteen days of shooting in order to help my transformation along. I mean, really? One couldn’t look at me and tell straightaway that the look of Ginger isn’t that far off from how I actually look? And, yes, maybe I should be flattered and take it as a compliment that I look so much better in person, but I don’t want to translate a person’s well wishes. I just want that person to say a nice thing to me or not say anything at all. Remember that saying? Remember learning it in kindergarten?
I know I’m probably extra sensitive, but there are a lot of stupid things that people say. Like, was that your real voice? Did you gain weight for that role? What’s your name? I can never remember
it. Are you somebody? Why don’t you ever want to look pretty in a movie? Do you just not want to be the lead? Isn’t it weird that
you
are the one who gets to kiss (George Clooney, Ashton Kutcher, Gerard Butler, Jake Gyllenhaal)?
It’s hard to know what to say when you come across an actor you love from movies and television shows, I know, I’ve had it happen to me. You’re not prepared for a chance meeting with someone you recognize but don’t know her name or anything she’s been in. Well, here is a handy list of possible things to say to a recognizable person:
I like your work.
You are good at what you do.
It’s nice to see you in person.
It is so cool to bump into you.
I hope you have a great day.
Keep doing what you’re doing, I like it.
You’re great. Remind me of your name again?
What can I look forward to watching you in next?
Great work.
Memorize these phrases if you’re not cool on your feet (I am not, so I would never judge you) and it will help. One time an employee at Sephora slipped me a note—I still have it. It was sweet and said encouraging words about me being an inspiration to actors. That was nice. He didn’t draw attention to me. He didn’t ask me my name or what I was in, just kept it low-key and paid me a nice compliment. For all I know he didn’t know my name or my work, but wanted to say something nice and planned on figuring it out later.
“I like that you don’t try hard” is not something you should say to a stranger. A statement makeover might sound like this:
“You seem mellow and cool about your career.” Also, please don’t ask me why I wasn’t in
Bridesmaids
. It’s not for lack of trying, I promise. I auditioned for that movie, like loads of other actresses, but I didn’t get the part. It’s like asking why I wasn’t at the most awesome party of the year so I can tell you I wasn’t invited. I will tell you that, believe it or not, I am glad I am not in that movie because if I was, I probably wouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do and watch it as often as I do. Although the residuals … No, I’m sticking with my answer.
Now, if you know what you know me from, and are excited about it, I’ll take that enthusiasm! Yell, clap your hands, squeal with delight, I love it! Tell me you love that movie and why. Show me your boobs and say, “Say good-bye to these!” I love to hear that I’m funny, wouldn’t you? I love that you like my work. I do want to know what movie or TV show I’ve been in that was your favorite. I’ll even take a “my cousin has a crush on you,” but unless you’re getting paid to interview me, please don’t ask me why I let them make me look ugly, because maybe I didn’t.
IN 2012, I WAS INVITED TO THE OSCARS BECAUSE THE
movie I was in for thirteen minutes,
The Descendants
, was nominated. As it turns out, I don’t kill it at the Oscars. So many embarrassing things happened in the course of an hour I almost don’t know where to start.
Actually, I definitely know where to start: my dress. It was lent to me by the designer Monique Lhuillier, and it was pretty amazing. It was tight, black, and altered to fit my every curve, and there are a lot. It had a thick stripe of silver beads down the front. Tiny little silver beads. Those fucking beads started it all. My very first step on the red carpet, someone stepped on the hem of my dress and the beads just started unraveling. Everywhere. I’d like to take a moment to tell you what a red carpet at the Oscars is like, in case you don’t know. Imagine standing in front of bleachers on a high school football field. Now imagine the bleachers are full of people wearing black. Imagine they are all aggressively screaming your name and “Over here! Up here! In the front! To the right! To the left! Move out of the way! [Your name here]!!” as loud as they can. Now add to that image their cameras all flashing together. That’s close, but not as intense. The noise is deafening,
and the flashes are blinding. Back to me … So there are now a hundred little silver beads on the carpet surrounding my dress, and Jessica Chastain is on the carpet behind me. She was nominated, so people were already screaming out her name. I was starting to get trampled due to the fact that I couldn’t move because my publicist was on all fours in front of me trying to sew my dress back together and stop any more beads from falling all over the place with the tiny sewing kit she kept in her purse for red-carpet emergencies. It was really hard to hold myself together; I couldn’t believe it was happening. I am not cool; I wanted to cry. It was my first Oscars, possibly my only Oscars, and my dress was falling apart right in front of my eyes, right in front of everyone’s
eyes, and there was a woman on all fours in front of me as celebrity after celebrity walked past, looking beautiful and confident, wearing dresses that were able to stay in one piece for the twenty-foot walk from car to red carpet. My publicist told me that you couldn’t tell, but you totally could. I can tell when I look at the photos. Instead of one thick silver stripe, there are several. I stopped for photos but couldn’t do any interviews. I was afraid if I opened my mouth to speak, I would cry, because I was
sobbing
on the inside.
