I Blame Dennis Hopper

by Illeana Douglas

  During some time off, Aleksandra arranged for me to visit the Swedish Film Institute and tour its archives. To my delight, they showed me that I was in the Swedish archives—a part of Swedish film history. When Cape Fear came out, my scene with Robert De Niro was considered too violent to be shown in Sweden, so my scenes had been trimmed. They had the only uncensored print of Cape Fear along with some scathing letters from someone named Martin Scorsese denouncing censorship. I was told the debate over the movie led to the end of censorship of all films in Sweden. The other absolutely crazy coincidence was that in Easy to Assemble I had written the joke “I’m very big in Sweden … I played an ice-skater in To Die For.” Well, it turns out what I wrote was actually true. To Die For was a big hit in Sweden, and everywhere I went I was complimented on my ice-skating skills and invited to come back in winter and go sea-skating.

  They had a bigger surprise for me. They brought out Ingmar Bergman’s private notebooks and journals and handwritten scripts for me to look at. I put on white cotton gloves to hold the script of Fanny och Alexander, and they told me, “We’ve only let one other actress do this, and that was Catherine Deneuve.” Pretty good company, I thought. His journals were filled with drawings and photographs and personal stories. They reminded me of my own journals, which I began because of Roddy McDowall and which were filled with my own recollections and observations. We sat in the room while page after page was translated for me. It was as if Bergman himself were with us.

  Season two of Easy to Assemble had a scene in which Illeana finds the long-lost journal of a fictional IKEA designer S. Erland Hussen, played by Ed Begley Jr. (Erland was named after Bergman’s friend and collaborator Erland Josephson.) Hussen comes to her as a ghost, giving her words of inspiration, and they become the key to her journey of self-discovery. I was holding Ingmar Bergman’s journal, holding his thoughts in my hands, and I couldn’t help thinking of the line I had written, which he had inspired: “I made something with my hands that came from my heart.” Ingmar Bergman wrote in his autobiography, The Magic Lantern, “As a child when I was shut in, I hunted out my torch, directed the beam of light at the wall and pretended I was at the cinema.” I took his journal and held it to my heart, and said a silent thank you.

  Epilogue

  The 2014 TCM Classic Film Festival. I am about to introduce Richard Dreyfuss. He made me wear his hat. I am doing what I love—talking about movies with the folks who made me love them, like Richard.

  In 2012 I began working with the Turner Classic Movies network. TCM and its prime-time host, Robert Osborne, have been a constant in my life since they first went on the air, in 1994. TCM has helped expand my knowledge of films and filmmakers, and it has kept me up all night with obscure Bette Davis movies. While I was going to school in New York City, there were many great revival houses where we’d go see classic movies. The Thalia, seen in Woody Allen’s Annie Hall; the Metro, at Broadway and 99th Street; the Hollywood Twin, where I saw a double bill of Mean Streets and Taxi Driver; the Regency, where I saw The Guardsman—the only film in which Broadway greats Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne starred together. When I saw The Guardsman, I was sitting in the fourth row with my roommate Steven and there was only one other person in the theater. When the lights came up, we saw that it was Kevin Kline. Those theaters are gone now, so the opportunity to learn from film legends has slipped away.

  TCM does incredible work to fill that void. Robert’s contributions as a film historian have been essential to the channel’s success. His familiarity makes you feel as if you know him. Ben Mankiewicz, TCM’s second host, with his own knowledge and wry sensibility, is equally adept at introducing films and interviewing legends. TCM remains a beacon, uplifting us when we are down, making us laugh, and reminding us of the commonality of movies.

  The first time I was on TCM was to highlight the work of my grandfather. My role soon expanded into introducing films at the TCM Classic Film Festival. That relationship grew further, and I am proud to say that I am now part of the TCM family. In my work with TCM, I still have that same gee-whiz excitement I had as a kid doing movie reviews in high school. I get to talk about movies, write about movies, interview folks about movies. But there’s more to it than that. I introduced a show on the Friday Night Spotlight segment called Second Looks, which focuses on overlooked films such as Elaine May’s A New Leaf and Billy Wilder’s Ace in the Hole. I like shining a light on overlooked films and undiscovered classics. The movies are an art form that I hold in high regard. Movie history is important to me, and because I also work in movies, I want to see them stay around for a while.

  My work with TCM also gives me the opportunity to talk to actors I know professionally and personally whose work has inspired me. This combination of being both an insider and an outsider offers a unique perspective. It’s like being in front of the camera and behind it at the same time, which is something I could have only dreamed about back in my black-and-white bedroom.

  Not long after I started working for TCM, I was cast in a movie called Max Rose. All I knew about it was that it was going to star Jerry Lewis. When Daniel Noah, the writer-director, called me about it, I just said yes, I didn’t even read the script. Of course, I had heard so many great stories about Jerry from Marty, and I knew about all the contributions he had made to The King of Comedy. I had seen all of Jerry’s films, from the Dean Martin and Lewis comedies to the Lewis solo films. I saw many of those films for the first time on TCM back in the ’90s. There was a musicality in Jerry’s work that I loved—I’m thinking of The Ladies Man and Cinderfella. He also has a unique ability to combine total control and total lack of control, as he did in The Bellboy. And Jerry exemplifies the physical comedy of Chaplin in The Nutty Professor, but there is something else in Jerry’s performance in that film, something I couldn’t quite place.

  Before filming started for Max Rose, Daniel Noah and Hadrian Belove hosted an evening for Jerry at everyone’s favorite revival movie theater in L.A., Cinefamily, where I have spent many wonderful hours getting lost in the dark. There had been a lively Q&A session, and I threw out a question or two. Afterward, in the back garden of Cinefamily, I met Jerry. We posed for pictures, and I told him how excited I was to be in Max Rose. We began talking about The King of Comedy. He said some very nice things about Marty and Bob. Jerry treated me as if I were a peer more than an admiring fan, sharing insights about his films. He took my hand as we continued to speak. I felt as if I were meeting someone I had been searching for all my life. Someone who was so at ease with himself that he was giving me permission to do the same. We were in a roomful of people, but suddenly it felt like it was just the two of us. Jerry was holding my hand, and he said, “You must do everything with truth and love.”

  “My work,” he said, “is an outpouring of love.” I understood immediately what he meant. And that was it. That was that secret ingredient—pathos, my favorite word—underneath the broad comedy. It was an outpouring of love that I had felt.

  I related that story when I introduced Jerry at the 2014 TCM Classic Film Festival. Being a part of TCM’s tribute to him was one of the highlights of my career. Interviewing Jerry at the El Capitan Theatre before The Nutty Professor played to a packed house and being a part of his handprint-footprint ceremony in front of the world-famous Grauman’s Chinese Theatre were thrilling events for me. It seemed unthinkable that Jerry Lewis’s handprints and footprints were not already cast in cement in Hollywood for all to see. To know that I helped be a part of making it happen is quite a humbling experience for a movie-lover like me.

  Through our conversations about films, Jerry and I became friends. I guess it was natural that he became a mentor to me. Who wouldn’t take advice from Jerry Lewis? He’s a genius. And I mean that sincerely. I was going to be shooting some introductions for an upcoming TCM Second Looks program, and Jerry helped me out with a story about Jack Benny and another one about Billy Wilder that I used in my intros. More and more he became involved with my relationship a
t TCM. I appreciated his guidance, because I was finally feeling like I was ready to come into my own. Jerry said to me, “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be confident!” He was right about that, and so many other things—for instance, that I should never wear the color green on camera! Remember, he said, “I dressed some of the great ladies of Hollywood.” I did not argue with Mr. Lewis. Green was forever banished from my wardrobe.

  One day out of the blue, Jerry asked me if I had a flashlight. I told him I didn’t. He said, “Why don’t you have a flashlight? You need to have a flashlight.” So he gave me one.

  It was a strangely significant present. When I was a child I used to have a recurring dream about leading a group of people through a dark forest. In the dream it was night. I was frightened, and lost, so I would cry out for help. Suddenly in the sky a large flashlight would appear. I would have to reach up and grab this gigantic flashlight, somehow holding it, guiding the people through the darkness of the forest to safety. Finally we would reach a meadow, and look up, and see the night sky full of stars.

  I love my Jerry Lewis flashlight, and he’s right, I did need it. Every time I use it I think of him. It’s a symbol of what I do as an artist. To try to shine a light in the darkness. It’s a role I am suited for. I’m like an usher in a vast movie theater using my Jerry Lewis flashlight, guiding people to their seats, talking about movies, showing them something they may not have seen. Shining a light on the importance of movies as an art form, from both sides of the camera lens. “My work,” as Jerry taught me, “is an outpouring of love.” Advice from the movie gods.

  Inspiring words from my grandpa: “Always order a club sandwich.” Best advice he ever gave me!

  Enjoying the perks of being an “inner city youth” in the musical Two Gentleman of Verona. Yes, those are jazz hands.

  My roommate and acting school buddy Steven Rogers and me posing like movie stars circa 1925. I got this raccoon coat as an homage to Rudy Vallée. Steven went on to become a successful screenwriter of many romantic comedies.

  Are you talking to me? My other acting school chum Elias Koteas (on the right) doing his best De Niro. Years later he would ask me, “How did you end up with my life?”

  Answering the phones for publicist Peggy Seigal: Marty calling me post-Oscars after losing Best Director for The Last Temptation of Christ.

  First trip to Hollywood. Priorities. Clean Joe Mankiewicz’s star on Walk of Fame. Then try to call Billy Wilder. Years later his grandnephew, TCM’s Ben Mankiewicz, would thank me for being the family maid.

  Me photographing the billboard of Goodfellas outside Warner Bros. for Marty.

  Robert De Niro, Marty, and me on the set of Cape Fear. Marty is staging what took two days to shoot.

  Typical day on the set of a mountain. Frank Marshall said Alive would be a great adventure, if I lived through it! Tough conditions brought the cast and crew together.

  This picture makes me hungry. Ethan Hawke and me on the set of Alive. Wonderful actor, and his singing and guitar playing are pretty good too.

  A last-minute costume change from director Gus Van Sant made this scene even more chilling. To Die For is one of my favorite films. Photo by screenwriter Buck Henry.

  What can I say? I played Matt’s sister in To Die For and his wife in Grace of My Heart, and playing his wife here in Grace was more fun. Just a brilliant and intense actor.

  Didn’t get to talk about Happy, Texas, but I love this picture, and I love the movie. Miss Schaefer, y’all!

  Favorite picture from a set ever. Director Glenn Gordon Caron and me shooting Picture Perfect (starring Jennifer Aniston … hmmm, whatever happened to her?) laughing about how lucky we are.

  I should have married Uncle Roddy. My best-best man, Roddy McDowall.

  I interviewed Jerry Lewis for the 2014 TCM Classic Film Festival. I’m getting some last-minute direction from The King of Comedy backstage at the El Capitan and enjoying every moment.

  Meeting Joseph L. Mankiewicz got me in trouble with another director, Martin Scorsese. The caption reads, “Twenty years ago this pose would have been blurred.”

  Clockwise from top: Well, I blame him for everything. Dennis Hopper, Griffin Dunne, and me on the set of Search and Destroy. Finally I would learn, “That’s what it’s all about, man”; Always sing in the key of Liza. Meeting my idol Liza Minnelli at the 2013 TCM Classic Film Festival opening-night screening of Cabaret; Shooting a “Friday Night Spotlight” for TCM in Atlanta. I got some dress advice from Jerry Lewis; Shooting a sex video with Tom Arnold on the floor of IKEA for my branded web series Easy to Assemble. The only mandate from IKEA was to “keep the aisles clear.” ETA lasted four seasons; Now it gets weird. A last-minute casting change brought Peter Fonda / Captain America / the other half of Easy Rider into Grace of My Heart as my guru “Dave.”

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, thank you to my family, especially my mom for her help with the photos, quotes, and stories. And see, I got Alan Bates in there! A special thank you to my dear friend Danny Ferrington. And a separate and equally deep thank you to John Carroll and to Michael Irpino. Thank you to my wonderful team at Flatiron. Take yourselves out to lunch! This entire experience has not only been fun; it’s been a privilege. I will forever be grateful to Flatiron editorial director Colin Dickerman, whom I met over the phone, and it was love at first hearing. Thank you so much for listening and laughing. Thank you for shaping all these stories in such a cohesive way, for being an amazing cheerleader, and for always making it seem easy. Ha! I say to that. Mostly, thank you so much for believing in me. Whitney Frick, you came in at the finishing line with thoughtful and supportive comments that also happened to be great! Thank you also to James Melia, Diana Frost, Bob Ickes, publisher Bob Miller, associate publisher Liz Keenan, and publicity director Marlena Bittner.

  I want to thank and give a big hug to my attorney, William Soble, for his everlasting faith in me. Thank you for your counsel, your constant composure, and your sense of humor—you need it representing me. A big thank you to Jason Allen Ashlock and Alan Goldsher, who got the ball rolling, and to Adam Chromy of Movable Type Management for having seen it through.

  Thanks to Brentwood Management for their invaluable service and to the late, great Patti Dennis. I never could have accomplished what we accomplished on Easy to Assemble without Patti, and I miss her every day. Thank you to Julia Buchwald and Matt Luber for understanding every time I said, “I can’t; I’m writing today.”

  Thank you to Paul Young and Maggie Haskins of Principato-Young Entertainment. Thanks to all the folks at IKEA for the opportunities you gave me.

  Thanks so much to my TCM Family. We all love movies, and I love you. Robert Osborne, Ben Mankiewicz, Charles Tabesh, Jennifer Dorian, Sean Cameron, Gary Freedman, Genevieve McGillicuddy, and most of all, the doll of dolls, Darcy Heitrich. Your support has been invaluable. Thanks for the hours of talks and laughter and camaraderie. And to my special friend I.A.U.

  I want to thank my #TCMParty gang for your support and friendship. Thanks for loving movies and for loving my comments about movies. Big thanks to Hadrian Belove and Cinefamily, the best revival house in L.A., home to many memorable moviegoing hours in the dark. Phil and Monica Rosenthal and the Sunday night movie gang: thanks for keeping me going with pizza and wine after long weekends of writing! Thank you to Ryan O’Neal/Sleeping at Last, who provided the background music I listened to most days when I was writing and needed that extra cinematic fuel of inspiration. Thanks to the best listener of them all, Father Michael Cooper.

  I am indebted to all of the friends and colleagues who have advised, helped, and encouraged:

  Peter Avellino, Jeannie Berlin, Candi Cazau, Wayne Federman, Lee Kernis, Bryan Lourd, Ben Mankiewicz, Kliph Nesteroff, Patton Oswalt, Greg Poehler, and Carole Shashona.

  Finally, a deep bow and tip of the hat to those who have given me opportunities to learn:

  Allison Anders, Hal Ashby, Ingmar Bergman, Peter Bogdanovich,
Marlon Brando, Albert Brooks, Glenn Gordon Caron, Robert De Niro, Brian De Palma, Matt Dillon, Richard Dreyfuss, John Frankenheimer, Jeff Goldblum, David Greene, Ethan Hawke, Buck Henry, Dennis Hopper, Olivia Hussey, Nastassja Kinski, Jerry Lewis, Joseph L. Mankiewicz, Frank Marshall, Lee Marvin, Elaine May, Paul Mazursky, Liza Minnelli, Roddy McDowall, Mike Nichols, Richard Pinter, Vanessa Redgrave, Steven Rogers, Martin Scorsese, Peter Sellers, Garry Shandling, John Patrick Shanley, Peggy Siegal, Sharon Stone, Jennifer Tilly, Gus Van Sant, Rudy Vallée, and James Woods.

  If I have failed to remember everyone or give proper credit, it is not intentional and is based only on the author’s growing forgetfulness. I’m sure I will wake up in six months and hurt myself.