Wildflower
Page 6
Self-portrait
THE BLUE ANGEL
There was a club in New York called the Blue Angel. It was in the bowels of the Lower East Side, and my friends and I frequented it. It was a dingy performance-art place with one small stage and soft lighting. My one friend Jon had developed an alter ego as “Dick Haney, the world’s worst comedian,” and one night, as he was doing a stand-up routine onstage, I spontaneously decided to join him during his set, which was as amateur as anything you can picture. I gave myself the name Lolita and jumped on to the stage. As the bit went on, I was inspired to dance around like an old ’60s-movie go-go dancer in slow motion, and take off my clothes, piece by piece, behind him. As this was a place for performance art, I seemed to do just that. At the point when I was like a little wood nymph behind him, we both realized it was time to wrap it up and have the curtain fall. In the snap of a finger it was over and our wild little show was over before it began.
I was in a very free state in my life. This is something I struggle with as a mom because now that I have grown up, I couldn’t feel more passionate about being appropriate. Everything in my world is about being “appropriate.” People ask me, what are you going to tell your daughters about some parts of your life? I don’t want to have to lie, but I am much more invested in telling them how I found my values.
I had to discover for myself what was tasteful or not. I ran through fields and on beaches naked. I was even in magazines in my amazing time of self-discovery. I was posing on the cover of Rolling Stone in nothing but a bathtub of flowers. I was working with the most artistic and famous photographers. I thought I was making art. And I was totally in exhibitionist mode without thinking there was a term for it.
In some ways I was just being. I was also playing a bunch of characters, from Poison Ivy to Amy Fisher. One way to escape the child-actress stigma was, ironically, via vixen parts. That certainly changed the perception, all right. Jobs started to roll in after the minor B-movie level of success of those projects. Within a few years I was getting work, but I was also getting typecast. Even in the film Bad Girls, my big break back into a studio movie, we played hookers on a mission of vengeance. I wondered where life was going to take me with this double-edged sword of opportunities.
Around this time Steven Spielberg sent a copy of the issue of Playboy I’d posed in to my birthday party that had been redone by his art department. I was now wearing ’50s-style dresses throughout the issue, and it was accompanied by a large quilt. The card read, “Cover up.” Yes. I agree. But I had one last stunt to pull, although I didn’t know it at the time.
That stunt came after I created my Blue Angel character with my friend Jon, who, by the way, was a serious intellectual who read the dictionary so intensely that his dictionaries were the kind of tomes you had to read with a magnifying glass. Our game with our group of friends would be to each pick a word from the dictionary and use it in as many sentences as possible that night. Like, “I only want to be philanthropic, but oh my goodness, you are so very misanthropic!” The high-low of our need to stimulate the mind and yet find silly things to do at night was just a silly juxtaposition, of course. But we were just kids then. Again, no one had photographed or documented any of what happened at the Blue Angel, but somehow word had reached David Letterman’s producer, and when I was going on to promote a film, it came up in our preinterview.
His booker said, “Is it true that you and your friend did a show downtown?” I described Dick Haney and my character, Lolita, and how silly and quick and crazy it was. So he said, if it was OK, could I talk about it on the show with David? “Sure,” I said. Again, I was in a very free state and I had always loved David Letterman since the day he went on the air. I loved people who were smart and funny. It would become my favorite combination of someone’s personality. So of course I would discuss it with Mr. Letterman.
The night of the show was David Letterman’s birthday, which made things very festive. I was onstage and we started talking about the incident downtown. He and I were bantering back and forth. Laughing and having a good time. I felt safe. As I was describing it, I suddenly out of nowhere got the idea in my head to start acting it out. And before I could even think, I was up on his desk. Trust me, had I thought this through, it wouldn’t have gone that way. That moment was just one of completely uncalculated silliness that started gaining motion like a runaway train. If I was trying to be sexy or get attention, it would have felt that way. You could see me trying to catch up to the train that was going, and after I was dancing on his desk, I guess I wondered how I could up the ante and strike a finishing moment, and boom! I lifted my top in a flash, only for David, where no one else could see.
I was shocked at myself, and again, feeling like the train was ahead of me, I turned around and threw my arms up in the air and looked to the audience, like what did I just do? Is this OK? Am I in trouble? I didn’t even know. But then I just thought, it’s time to get off the desk and go back to my chair, and on my way there, I grabbed David by the tie and brought him in for a sweet kiss on the cheek. And it was sweet, but the reaction of what he would think of this whole moment hung in the balance. Thank God, he threw his head back and laughed. He let everyone know that it was OK to enjoy the moment and not overthink. This was a true moment of freedom. And it got to be something fun rather than something wrong. Thank you for that, Dave.
When we got in the car after, I realized that this might make waves. I met up with my friends from the Lower East Side, and we watched the show together when it aired that night. As the show started, I said, “Um, so this might be a little crazy,” and they asked me why, and I said, “Let’s just watch,” and we did. As my dance on the desk started to fly, my friends were as shocked as anything you have ever seen but elated, and the whole thing ended in cheers and people saying “Oh my God” and “I can’t believe it.” They weren’t judging me, but they weren’t exactly condoning it either. Wow. I had done something really out there by actually putting it all out there. As I watched myself and my friends laughing from an objective perspective, I realized right then and there that this was the end of an era for me.
And so I started my journey into no sex scenes in movies, modesty clauses in my contracts, and a total lack of nudity in any public forum from there on out. And year after year, I became more uptight. One button higher on the blouse, one inch lower on the skirt.
After that, even though it went so well, and couldn’t have come off with a better, more playful tone, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I knew that film had been my great opportunity in the past, so I needed to make it my big opportunity again. I wanted to be a good girl, and I wanted goodness to be the theme of my life and my work.
I had a long road in front of me, but I was ready to walk down that ambiguous and unforeseeable path, and do whatever it took to get there. Even if I had to create the path myself. And I will say it was when I found a script called Ever After that I knew I was on the right path. This film was a complete spin on the tale of Cinderella. And it started with a woman telling the Brothers Grimm that they got it wrong. That she was actually a strong, bright, amazing woman who captured the heart of the prince with her mind and her strength. She said that she rescued herself, instead of what we have been taught for years, which is that he rescued her.
I fell in love with that story. Rescue yourself? It empowered me more than anything I had ever known. To realize that we can be conditioned to believe that things are one way, and then later be set free to understand they can be different. Fairy tales are also always dark until that light comes and it is earned. I wanted to rescue myself. And I did. I wanted to become a lady. And although it took years, I feel like I did. And I now know how to teach and instill the pillars of wholesomeness. And that it doesn’t have to be boring. You can be a warrior and be full of grace and class. That being free is about freeing yourself. In full clothes, of course. Corset, chastity belt, and a full turtleneck.
FLOWER LIFE
One of the questions I get asked most, other than “Why are you so much shorter in person?,” is “How do you do so much?” First, thank you for even thinking I do, but if I actually do, I believe it’s because of the people I work with at our company, Flower.
The thing that was so revelatory about Flower, which began as a film company but became so much more, was that by creating it, I was also building a family. It was also about learning that you do absolutely nothing on your own. By yourself, you are just a solo daydreamer. But with a partner or a team, you are unstoppable. I have worked with Nancy Juvonen for more than twenty years on all the films we have produced. And almost every morning of my life, my first call is to Chris Miller, our other partner. He and I have worked together side by side for seventeen years. And I cannot imagine life without either of them.
We are all multitaskers and doers. We can spin plates, and yet much like Nan, Chris always keeps a level head. I have learned so much from them about “reaction” or “how to handle things” or “perspective.” If Nan is my sister, then Chris is my brother. When I first met Chris, I knew I met someone as prolific as I wanted to be, and we also happened to share a sense of humor. Chris and I are of a similar age, and so all our cultural references are the same. From old commercials to Mommie Dearest and Pretty Woman quotes. We work long hours, but we are laughing most of the time, and that’s where my other valuable lesson came from: to feel blessed and recognize that working with people you like will make you want to work more! Everyone wears many hats and we all like to do many different things at our company. We all dream stuff up, but more important, we find ways to make it a reality. We say to each other, “What about this?” And if we like it, we figure out a way to do it.
We started out in 1994 as Flower Films. We wanted to produce movies. For three years, we didn’t officially contribute but were allowed into the process on four films (The Wedding Singer, Home Fries, Scream, and Ever After) so that we could really learn how to do things with the greatest effectiveness as producers. It was invaluable, and we were grateful everyone was so open with us.
Then we got to make our very first film, which was Never Been Kissed. And we labored over every little detail and could not have been more invested, and we put so much love into every minute of it. It worked well for the studio, but mostly we were relieved by the success because it meant we got to do it again. Next we tackled Charlie’s Angels, then Donnie Darko; 50 First Dates; Olive, the Other Reindeer; Duplex; Music and Lyrics; Fever Pitch; Whip It; He’s Just Not That into You; and more to come. We just tried to make stories that we really personally enjoyed and believed in. We kept our heads down and always tried to let the work speak for itself. To us that was everything.
Eventually we actually made our employers an accumulation of almost a billion dollars. Which was, once again, a relief. We wanted them to be as happy as we were for believing in us.
Now we work a little less, due to having families, and we work on different things other than films as well, like all things “Flower.”
Flower Beauty, a company I started five years ago, is my main focus these days. I get to work all day right now at a job that is romantic in its art of creating pigments and innovations for color cosmetics; we scour the country going to all the different labs in search of the latest innovations for our line, and yet it satisfies my business side as well, because I am a part of the function and success of the brand. We also make fragrance and eyewear, and are expanding categories by the year. Most important, I run all the advertising, marketing, and publicity, so that makes me think all day long about what women need and how to make them feel good. Positive images and messaging. I come from a storytelling background and I learned so much about marketing as a producer.
I love multigenerational brands. I now think about Chanel, Esteé Lauder, and Clarins, brands that have families running them. I want my daughters to run this company if I have earned the right to keep it going! It’s for women by women, and it is a healthy mind-set and life to bring my girls up in. I also can work from home sometimes and wake my kids up, spend most days with them, as well as do dinner, bath, and bed. I am a traveling salesman at times, but nothing that truly keeps me away. I have found a profession that is conducive to my life now, in this most important chapter!
Maybe I feel like I can do many different things because all my life I played characters that did different things, so that kept my mind open to fantasize. I try many other things. Photographer? Why not? I have taken pictures for the past twenty years; sure, I can shoot the cover of that magazine or publish a book of my photos. Write books? Why not? It will only take me a solid focused year of working on it every day, but yes! This needs to come out of me. So yes! I can do this. Make wine? Chris and I traveled for seven years trying to upstart our label, and here we finally are—we make wine with the Jackson family and travel the country to get it out there.
I have an insane work ethic! I am strict with myself. I’m trained to work. I don’t know life without it. Work takes giving it your all, or it will not get done right. You have to kill yourself. Do your homework. Exhaust yourself. Focus on every detail. You have to put all of yourself into something with your heart and your gut instinct, your personal taste and your belief, or it will not get done right. Which can lead to failure. Even if that failure is just knowing that you cut corners. And that is not an option.
Again, I don’t know where my motivation comes from. My parents were both hippies who really did not perform on any level. Whose genes am I pulling from? Ironically, Chris and I both come from single-mother homes that did not have privilege on the outset. For me, whatever I lacked in stability or tradition was replaced by a great instinct of who to follow. Nan has lived all over the world and is adventurous, and Chris is up for going anywhere we need to be, geographically speaking. Due to being someone who started my own adventures so young, I recently calculated that I have lived in approximately fifty different cities, states, and countries for work or life, so I am also open to going anywhere. Mason Hughes, a gentleman at Flower, he and I have a saying . . . “You never know where the day is going to take you!” and it’s true. One day we are with a Chicago sales team for wine, the next we are in Fayetteville, Arkansas, for an optical lab visit for our Flower Eyewear line at Walmart, and the next may be deep in Oxnard, California, at a laboratory, looking at the latest developments in skin care. Then one day I might find myself in New York at none other than Penguin Books, with my editor, Jill (love her!), finishing the final touches on this book. A book I had wanted to write for seven years, but it was never the right time, until now.
So when I call my fellow Flowers some mornings, I love that ideas are welcomed. We may not be able to do them all, but it is a safe place to dream. And sometimes, if you really work hard enough, dreams come true.
Australia, 1998
ADAM
When I first met Adam Sandler, I was in my early twenties. I met him at a coffeehouse in Hollywood because I begged, borrowed, and stole to get him to sit down with me. He was very popular from Saturday Night Live and from his films Happy Gilmore and Billy Madison, the latter of which was directed by my friend Tamra Davis, who confirmed he is such a good person, which is everything.
I was convinced at the time we were supposed to pair up. I knew it. I knew it in my bones. I thought Adam had a goodness that was so unique. I could tell that he possessed something different, and I was so drawn to his light. I wanted to make love stories, but I wanted them to have a certain energy that was about true love and chemistry and timelessness, and I was convinced of us doing something together.
When I finally got to meet him, I showed up in a long vintage leopard coat with jet-black hair, pink plastic high heels, and groovy sunglasses. Adam was in sportswear. Cargo shorts. T-shirt and baseball cap. It was definitely not obvious we were supposed to fit as well as I bel
ieved because we looked like a preppy and a punk set up on a bad blind date. But I shook his hand with fervor, thanked him for meeting me, and began to plead my case to him.
I told him that, for whatever reason, I knew that we were supposed to become a team. I said we both have production companies and clearly like working with people we trust and want to find our own material. He wrote and I didn’t, but I said I had some ideas for films, and if he had anything written, would he consider seeing me in it and tailor-make it for us? It was bold, but I have always been a “you only live once, so let your love show and take risks” kind of person.
He liked my pitch and I had planted my seed. I was happy, and I told him I would follow up. We hugged good-bye and then he told me he was having a party so I should come by, and I apprehensively did. His party was really fun and lots of people were there, but I wasn’t a big Hollywood social type, and I made a mental note right then and there that I didn’t want to be seen as another party girl to him. I knew we were destined for something meaningful, and dating and socializing were not what I was after.
Months later I would check in here and there, send him scripts with a question mark on them, and one day he called me. He told me he had the idea of a movie about a guy in a wedding band and that there was a script, but it would have to be completely rewritten.
So I came on board, and we got Carrie Fisher to write the girl’s part to make it balanced. Frank Coraci was the director, and I just knew he had everyone’s back and I loved him. Then Adam and Tim Herlihy, his longtime writing partner, did their pass again because the whole first script was theirs, and then they got their friend Judd Apatow to write on it, and after all these cooks came in, well, it was so good I couldn’t take it. And lo and behold, we were off to make a movie called The Wedding Singer.