CHRISTOPHER WALKEN DANCER
IN THE DARK
by
michael wechsler photography robin holland
grooming michelle brown
He dances. He can carry a tune. He has become a regular
host on Saturday Night Live. He loves Jerry Lewis, cats, Bugs Bunny, cooking
and painting. Oh, wait, I'm forgetting a few small details. He also won an
Academy Award in 1978 for playing a suicidal soldier in Vietnam, gave audiences
a lifetime of nightmares and sadistic chuckles playing a heavy in King of
New York and a thug amongst thugs in True Romance, and to this day has one
of the most recognizable hairstyles of anybody gracing the Silver Screen.
Frankly, I was more than a little nervous about interviewing Mr. Walken, based
purely on his resume of psychologically unstable characters. My initial thought
was ‘I hope he's nothing like the folks he's played.' Looking through Walken's
roles of the past three decades, it feels like a Zagat Guide of every classification
of Antagonist—a Villain du Jour menu that only Satan could cook up. Fortunately,
when I was greeted by the actor at his home in Connecticut, he didn't pull
out a gun and strong arm me. As a matter of fact, forget everything you think
you know about Christopher Walken based on his body of work because the man
couldn't be farther from the toxic characters he's played. He's instantly
likeable, very accessible, down to earth, and, uh, would you believe, just
a regular good guy. If there's ever a person for which the adage, “Don't judge
a book by its cover” applies, it would be Christopher Walken. The fact is,
he knows it, and he wants everyone else to know it, as well.
Lest you think he was hatched by the imagination of Edgar Allen Poe, the story
of Christopher Walken begins in Queens, New York, when he was born March 31,
1943. Raised the middle son of three boys, Chris spent a good portion of his
childhood working for his father, Paul, at the bakery he owned. Had the Golden
Age of Television never arrived, Chris could very well have been groomed to
become the next great pastry chef. But his mom, Rosalie, once an aspiring
actress before becoming a full time mother, transferred her thespian passion
to her boys, and Chris fell in love with being in front of the camera. During
the fifities, Chris spent much of his time jumping from one live telecast
to the next, racking up appearances on The Ernie Kovacs Show, Colgate
Comedy Hour, and Playhouse 90 to a name a few of the shows going at that
time.
So that these shows wouldn't conflict with his education, Walken enrolled
in the Professional Children's School in Manhattan, an institution that allowed
children to work and study side by side. Here, his focus and training was
dance, an art form that to this day he continues to utilize in almost every
movie or show he appears in. Chris dropped out of college when he got his
first big break, starring alongside Liza Minnelli in the Broadway Musical,
Best Foot Forward, and from there went on to dance in a number of musical
theater productions. The shift moved away from dancing when he was cast in
his first major acting role in 1966 as King Philip in The Lion in Winter.
For years, Walken worked steadily on and off Broadway, hoping to eventually
break into movies. After nearly getting cast in two roles that would've insured
an immediate leap into stardom— Star Wars and Love Story —Chris finally landed
his first leading role alongside Sean Connery in 1971's The Anderson Tapes.
His next standout performance came in a brief but very memorable role as Diane
Keaton's menacingly funny brother in Woody Allen's Annie Hall. Though he was
making a name for himself in the seventies in film, it wasn't until he was
cast in the part of Nick in Michael Cimino's The Deer Hunter, that the public
took notice. His portrayal of a suicidal American soldier in Vietnam not only
won him acclaim, it won him a Best Supporting Actor Oscar in 1978. That changed
everything and, at age 35, Christopher Walken occupied his own constellation
in the pantheon of great actors.
In 1980, Walken starred in what would become MGM'S last musical, Pennies from
Heaven, turning in a dance number that was so memorable that at a party he
was complimented by two of his favorite dancers of all time—Gene Kelly and
Fred Astaire.
After Pennies, the evil side of Christopher Walken was introduced to the movie-going
public with his acclaimed performance as criminal syndicate head Brad Whitewood
Sr. in At Close Range. Not worried or bothered by being typecast, Walken continued
to take on the bad guy whether it was a Bond villain in A View to a Kill or
an irascible drill sergeant in Neil Simon's comedy, Biloxi Blues.
The nineties established Walken as an icon of the independent film movement,
and it's an association that exists to this day. Currently, you can find his
countenance on the posters and billboards of this year's Sundance Film Festival
campaign. Whether delighting audiences with a lengthy monologue in Pulp Fiction or shocking them with his sinister ways in King of New York, Walken quickly
became the poster child for hip, artsy, and edgy cinema.
But being versatile and wanting to show that behind the dark exterior lurked
a rich sense of humor, Walken turned on his funny bone. He became a regular
host on Saturday Night Live, and to this day is—with Alec Baldwin— a member
of the exclusive “5 times club,” with an open invitation to host anytime.
Neither his comedy nor his film roles could prepare audiences for what would
come in 2001, when he danced his way through the Spike Jonze-directed music
video of Fat Boy Slim's Weapon of Choice.
In the last few years, Chris has expanded his horizons beyond acting, creating
a cooking show for Split Screen, writing and directing the short film, Popcorn
Shrimp for Showtime, and writing the play Him, which he starred in playing
Elvis Presley as figured in the afterlife. He's also an avid painter, though
he considers that part of his life more of a hobby.
Considered one of Hollywood's busiest actors, Walken's hard work looks like
it may pay off once again. Walken could be up for another Academy Award in
2003, judging from the heat he's already received for his sensitive and spirited
performance as Leo DiCaprio's father, Frank Abagnale, Sr, in Steven Speilberg's
highly-touted, box-office smash, Catch Me If You Can. Though he appreciates
the attention, Walken doesn't rest on his laurels or abandon his love of small
cinema either. This month he will return to the indie screen in Poolhall Junkies,
a movie about a pool hustler struggling to make his way. To look at these
two films is to understand that Christopher Walken is an actor who can play
both sides of the film fence without alienating either camp—the Hollywood
studio system and the American Independent. That, above all else, is what
intrigued this writer enough to quell my nerves and meet him on his home turf.
Arriving at his house in Connecticut (which for some reason I imagined might
be a dark castle at the top of a hill), I encountered a scene more Norman
Rockwell than Max Shreck, the villain he played in Batman Returns. Despite
his non-stop work schedule, Christopher Walken leads a relatively “normal,”
quiet life with his wife of 34 years, Emmy-Award-winning casting director
Georgianne Walken. Within moments in his home, he has made me a delicious
cup of coffee which fuels the conversation that follows. We cover his beginnings,
his processes, his opinions on everything from acting to cooking. If only
every breakfast could be this much fun.
Venice: How do you prepare for a role? What's the Christopher Walken process?
Christopher Walken: I do the same thing every time.
Which is?
What I do has a lot to do with the words. My favorite thing is to have two
scripts at the same time, and study them simultaneously in the kitchen. Go
over the words, over and over, do them different ways, different inflections
and rhythms. For me, rhythm is very important. I think we express ourselves
as much with rhythm as with the words. It's not what you say, it's how you
say it. I think it's very true. If you start to say your lines and it sounds
right, usually I stick with that. If it sounds right, it probably is right.
It's curious, how you're not collaborating with anyone at that point, and
by the time you get there with other actors on the set, usually what you've
done at home makes sense, and it's acceptable to everybody. The thing I have
trouble with, because I'm so dependent on knowing my lines, is that if suddenly
somebody says, “Here's a big speech. You're going to do that instead,” I get
lost. At that point, I understand why Marlon Brando loves cue cards.
If you have a scene and the director comes over and says, “We're cutting
this,” is that what you're talking about?
Well, cutting is another thing. I'd love to be a silent movie actor. [laughs]
If I had a day in movies where I get on the horse, come to town , tie up horse,
come out, shovel some hay, that would be great.
What about research for your roles? Does that come into play?
I used to do that. It's everything I was taught, but it didn't work for me.
I found I did my best when I found something in [the material] that was kind
of like a “secret.” Often it has to do with humor. I've played scenes in which
I had a secret. I would be playing a scene like “so and so,” but I don't tell
anybody. It's just on my mind. I pretend I'm somebody else. Not necessarily
anybody to do with the movie. Suddenly I'll be in a scene with you and I decide
in this scene I'm Elvis, but I'm not going to tell you.
Can you give me some other examples of this “pretend?”
I do it all the time. I'll pretend I'm a U-boat commander. I do a Woody Allen
thing. I'm a terrible impersonator. I'm the worst, but it's good for that
because I'm doing something and nobody knows what it is.
You ever find you have time for rehearsal? How do you feel about it as
an actor?
I love rehearsal. It's something that if I ever got to direct a movie, I would
do. It's restrictive because agents will say, “You use him for a week, you
pay him for a week.” So a rehearsal can be enormously expensive. When I worked
with Sidney Lumet, we went into a big room with tape on the floor, the way
most plays are initially rehearsed, and we went through it scene by scene,
just like a play. And then, when it came time to shoot it, it did make things
a lot easier. I'm all for that.
Rehearsal allows you to go home and sleep on it. If I'm shooting a scene with
you next week, and the director says on your day off, let's go to the locations,
go through the lines. It makes an enormous difference because you go home
and you know where the door is, you know where the stove is, you know that
you don't want the chair there, and a few days go by and even if it's subconsciously,
you're working on it and it makes a huge difference.
Ingmar Bergman, on all of his movies, his actors knew, no matter what happened,
you would shoot the first two weeks over again. If good stuff happened, he'd
keep it. He'd shoot it again. Because getting started on a movie is sometimes
difficult.
Is typecasting a problem?
I'm grateful to work. No. Occasionally you get to do something different like
Catch Me If You Can or the Spike Jonze video Weapon of Choice.
You have played an eclectic group of characters. What inspires you in choosing
your roles and films?
I don't hear actors talk about it that much. I hear people ask actors about
their choices. I can tell you that with my career, there is very little about
it that's planned. I more or less just take the best thing in front of me.
I've always been that way. I was in show business since I was a kid. When
I was in musicals someone asked me to be in a play and I was then in a play.
Someone asked me to be in a movie, I auditioned and got the part. And now,
it's still the same. I don't have children and I don't have hobbies and I
like to go to work. It's better for me physically and mentally, everything.
So I ‘ve made a lot of movies. Most are independent movies. I haven't made
that many big studio movies. Part of that is because I lived in New York all
my life. I've never lived in California. The other part is that you know independent
films usually take less time to make ‘cause they don't have a lot of money.
Most movies that I make— even if I'm in them from first day to the wrap party—
it was usually five to six weeks. So there is something to be said about those
small movies. In fact, a lot of the movies people consider the classics— those
movies from the 30s or 40s in black and white— they were shot on sound stages
for like six weeks. I think those Bogart movies, like Casablanca, took six
weeks.
The classics were shot in the same amount of time as today's low budgeted
indies.
Not only do they have great writers/and actors/directors/stories, but they
were done on soundstages, very controlled environments. They were black and
white, which always helps. You see black and white and you say, ‘This is a
movie.' Even if it was harbors with docks and boats, it was soundstages. Very
controlled environments where shots weren't screwed up by helicopters or the
sun going behind a cloud. You can see it in the movies. There's something
to be said of making movies fast.
You were at the Actors Studio. You studied under Lee Strasberg. What was that
experience like for you?
I had apprenticed at the Actors Studio for a long time. For years. It was
an interesting place to go. A regular thing to do. And sometimes the moderators
would be fascinating. Every Christmas, Kazan would do a session. He was great.
They had people who were very interesting moderators: Ellen Burstyn, occasionally
Al Pacino. And I worked there. I helped them do sets and stuff. At one point
I auditioned and got in. Strasberg was there a lot when I was there.
To be frank, there's something about the method that I've never understood.
I'm not sure what it is, even now. There was one single thing at the Actors
Studio that made something clear to me that I've carried with me my whole
life. After I'd been a member, I was doing a scene from Death of a Salesman with another actor. There's a famous scene where two brothers are talking
in the bedroom. Somebody in the middle of my scene dropped a cardboard box
full of dishes and it made a tremendous noise. I noticed the whole audience
go like this [shifts his head] and I went on. Afterwards, Strasberg said to
me, “What do you think?” I said I thought it went well. He said, “You know
somebody dropped a big box of dishes when you were performing. Everyone jumped
except you. You didn't even react.” I said, ‘Yes, I was concentrating.' “That's
not concentrating, that's bad acting.” [laughs]
You can't exclude life from what you're doing. You bring it with you. You
make it your own. You use it. If I don't feel well one day, that's going to
affect the scene and it should. If I'm mad at somebody, that's going to affect
the scene and it should. And it's a good thing because it's real.
There are things about movies that don't make sense to me like the notion
of ‘Action' and ‘Cut.' It's funny. Movies still are the same as they were
with D.W. Griffith. They go from reel to reel. The scene starts with ‘Action'
and ends with ‘Cut.' The best directors are aware of the fact that things
segue; that what you bring onto the set with you should be part of the scene;
that the scene begins way before ‘Action' and is over way after ‘Cut.' I've
worked with directors that don't say ‘Cut.' You run out of lines and the scene
is over and nobody says ‘Cut.' Sometimes very interesting things happen. Actors
keep ripping it. It's like jazz. Sometimes you get your best stuff from accidental
scenes.
Good directors know that. Interesting movies are full of stuff that nobody
knew was there. Abel Ferrara does that a lot. I think it's true that you can
look at a script and say, ‘That's my big scene,' when that's not your big
scene. The big scene isn't something in the script.
It hasn't happened.
It hasn't happened. You can't surprise anybody if you can't surprise yourself.
Surprise is a big thing. There are so many great things. Dancers have a great
mentality about what they do. They say great things. A choreographer used
to say to me, “Show me something I never saw before. I don't care what it
is. Just do something original.”
Speaking on the subject of dance, with the Fat Boy Slim music video “Weapon
of Choice,” that was the first time I became aware that you started out as
a dancer.
I danced from the time I was a little kid when I was a chorus boy until I
was about thirty-something.
Is it true you try to incorporate a dance move into every one of your roles?
I do that a lot. Lots of times they've kept it in.
Can you give some examples?
King of New York, At Close Range. I dance for a minute in Catch Me If You
Can.
Talk a little bit about doing “Weapon of Choice.”
It's a very catchy tune. The big thing about that for me was to work with
Spike Jonze. He's terrific. And young. He asked me to do that based on my
work on a movie twenty years ago, Pennies from Heaven. The best thing about
that for me was I'm going to be 84 years old [kidding] and at this point [it's
nifty] to be able to be in a music video and actually have kids think it's
cool. I suppose musicals have always been my favorite thing— I'm talking about
movie musicals. If somebody asks me if I want to go see a show, my choice
is almost always musicals. I think if I was in the movies at an earlier time,
I might have been in a lot of musical movies. But certainly MTV and music
videos, some are brilliantly done, little movies.
I would think it's difficult to dance to something electronic like “Weapon
of Choice.”
It is good for tap because it has a deliberate almost drum-like beat. They
say tap dancers are like drummers.
Who or what had the single greatest impact on you as an artist?
I think certainly my movie-going as a kid. I was a religious moviegoer. In
those days, going to the movies was different. You never went to see a movie.
You always went to see at least two movies and on Saturday, usually three
features, 27 cartoons. Wasn't any particular movie or actors but it was that
whole experience of going to the movies. When I was growing up, there were
a lot of movies influenced by the Second World War and then the Korean War.
Also a lot of great westerns.
Would you say that's how you caught the acting bug? Going to the movies?
It was typical of that time. My friends and I would go to the movies, go to
some vacant lot, and then act it out. Particularly war movies. It was the
thing that kids did. Also kids in those days went to dancing school. Parents
would send their kids on Saturday to dancing school. This was a working-class
neighborhood. It was a typical thing for kids to go to tap class, girls to
go to ballet or acrobatic class.
Touch on how you got involved in TV as a child actor.
It sounds odd but it wasn't at all. It was the late forties to late fifities.
The so-called Golden Age of TV was born to the world. Came from NYC. Came
from a six-block radius from Rockefeller Center. Three networks had their
facilities in that small area which was connected to suburbs by subways. Ninety
live shows every week; some were only 15 minutes, some 30 minutes. And they
used a lot of kids. They weren't child actors necessarily. They were put there
as set dressing. I didn't often have a lot to do. I would occasionally have
a line. I did that and my brothers did that. The thing those days was to be
a “triple threat.” My brother did a TV show which had a radio show connected
to it, a soap opera called The Guiding Light. Sometimes he would be too
busy doing other things and I would do the radio show because we had a similar
voice, and the thing was to be a triple threat, which meant you could sing,
dance and remember a few lines. That made you eminently hireable. I remember
my older brother went to an audition once. They said, “We're looking for a
young man who can play an accordian.” My brother raised his hand. He didn't
even know what an accordion was. He rented one, had a few lessons, played
“Home on the Range,” and got the job.
You like to cook. You shot a cooking show with Julian Schnabel called “Cooking
With Chris.”
The thing about cooking is it's so interesting to watch. I don't know why,
but if you go to somebody's house and they're making something, they usually
say interesting things while they're cooking. I watch cooking shows a lot.
I don't watch them as much now because the commercialization of them has become
greedy. If you watch a cooking show, a half hour will rarely be 18 minutes.
If you watch them, the host is almost always saying, “And when we come right
back.” Cooking with Chris was really amusing. Julian and I and this other
guy, a friend who has a restaurant in Little Italy decided to do this cooking
show that had to do with buying the food, cooking it, then eating it. Three
acts. I thought it was entertaining.
Let's talk about the short film you directed, “Popcorn Shrimp.”
The same people who did the cooking show came to me. They were doing five-
minute shorts. They had a bunch of actors do their own pieces and they asked
me. I hung up the phone and wrote it. The story is about a case of mistaken
identity. The police had seen these people who were suspicious. They thought
they were dangerous looking. Whenever we cut to them they are talking about
food. The experience demonstrated that I'd be a lousy director.
So directing is not something you're interesting in doing?
My weakness as a director was if somebody would ask me something I'd say,
‘Just do whatever you want.' [laughs] My impression is that a director must
be a little like a general. You'd hate me to be running a war because I wouldn't
know what anybody is doing. [laughs]
Let's talk about some of your movies that are out now. Catch Me If You
Can was a much different role for you.
Oh yeah. It's really important. One of the reviewers really hit it on the
head. They said I finally got a part where I play a human being.
Not a monster.
Somebody who doesn't want to take over the world with radon. [laughs]
You weren't the headless horseman.
Playing the part of the father, I was a person, and a person who was struggling.
I don't know much about a movie until I see it. There were a couple things
I thought immediately after reading the script. I'm a big Jerry Lewis fan.
I heard him say once in an interview that his big secret is he's only nine.
That all his life he's only been nine years old, and I thought, yes, absolutely.
He's like a kid. You get that feeling with certain people. Mick Jagger has
that. I think that's a wonderful quality, especially as you get older. I did
get the feeling that Frank Abagnale, Sr. and his son were like a couple of
juvenile delinquents.
What was it like working with Speilberg?
It was wonderful. I know because of watching his films, among the many things
that's amazing about his movies is how good the actors come off. Every actor
in every movie he's made is good. I figured he cast me for his own reasons.
There's a physical believability between me and Leo. I never discussed it
with him and we never discussed it while we were making the movie. It was
very efficiently done. There wasn't a lot of sitting around. He's very fast.
You also have another film coming out. A much smaller movie but an enjoyable
film called Poolhall Junkies. This was a classic case of a first-time director
with very little clout, Mars Callahan, and you helped get the ball rolling
on this script he's had floating around for years.
I was in a play in New York and Mars came to see it. And he told me this film
he was doing. He sent me the script. We shot my scenes for little more than
a week.
Mars did an Orson Welles on it. Wrote, starred, directed, did the publicity
for it. It's his baby.
Let's talk about comedy. I watched your “Saturday Night Live” shows (five
total). You have an open invitation to host. You obviously enjoy working with
the troupe.
I think I enjoy funny people. Olivier has said no matter what the part is,
even if it's King Lear, look for the jokes. I love watching comic actors.
People who are funny are just a blessing to work with. I'm hosting my next
Saturday Night Live on February 22.
Do you approach comedy differently?
I think of everything I do as comedy. Even when I'm holding a machine gun.
The villains you've played always seem to have a chuckle behind them, like
a wink to the audience.
I've never gotten away from the idea of the performance thing. I come from
musicals where there is no fourth wall. I grew up watching Zero Mostel in
pieces like A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum. And Jerry Lewis,
with Damn Yankees, he'd walk out and do the scene and always turn to the
audience and [makes funny expression]. There's always in the cast list of
a play an unmentioned character. It's the audience and I carry that with me
into the movies. When I play these villains, I think people can see that's
Chris, pretending to be Max (from Batman Returns) and Max knows he's really
Chris, and Chris knows that you know that Chris knows that.
You are a genius with monologues. Movies like Pulp Fiction and True Romance
are memorable because of your speeches. You have a gift for them.
People don't have monologues in movies. I get monologues a lot. I worked with
Peter Berg in the last thing I did, Helldorado. He was directing and he came
in and gave me this big speech that was three pages. He said, “You're good
at big speeches.”
Berg wrote it after he hired you?
He did. I think it comes from doing so much theater.
What about the long speech in Pulp Fiction?
Pulp Fiction was eight pages long. I was talking to the camera. It was great.
I had the speech for months. I must say in that case every time I went through
that long speech, every time I got to the end, it cracked me up. It stayed
funny.
Do you have any favorite directors?
I've enjoyed working with almost everybody I've worked with. And there are
people I'd like to work with. I've never worked with Scorsese.
That's shocking to me.
I almost worked with him once. He tried to make The Last Temptation of Christ a number of times. At some point I was going to play Jesus. I spent some time
with him and it was fascinating, but then the studio wouldn't let him make
it and ten years went by. I almost got to work with him. So many wonderful
directors I'd love to work with: Sydney Pollack, Spike Lee, Bernardo Bertolucci,
to name a few.
What do you hope the next 10 to 15 years will bring for Christopher Walken,
the actor?
As I get older, I think the whole thing with Catch Me If You Can is maybe
the beginning of something where I play uncles, fathers— you know, decent
people.
I have my James Lipton (“Inside the Actors Studio”) question: When all
is said and done and you're gone from this planet, how would you like to be
remembered?
There's something about movies. You know when I sit there and watch Bogart.
I watch Cagney, I watch Olivier. Are they dead?
That's what I want. *
Reprinted with the permission of Venice Magazine.
< < Return to Celebrating
Christopher Walken Home Page
|
