|
MY
OWN PRIVATE INTERVIEW
|
| Magazine
& Date: |
Seventeen,
August 93 |
| Written
by: |
Malissa
Thompson |
| Provided
by: |
Rosanna |
It's close to midnight and
I'm sitting on a bale of hay in the middle of a cold, rain-soaked
slab of land thirty miles north of Los Angeles where the
film The Thing Called Love is being shot. Wind bites through
my leather jacket as if it were chiffon. My boots are caked
in mud and my frozen toes are about to fall off. For the
last five hours I have been wearing a smile, slightly pinched,
that I hope declares, "I'm harmless really... it's okay
to talk to me."
River Phoenix is slumped against
a split wood fence fifteen feet away. He knows who I am.
I've been here before... trying to get the interview he's
been promising for nearly two months.
River's shoes are not muddy,
by the way. And he looks pretty cozy in a thick, plaid pendleton
shirt, baggy jeans, and a leather jacket. Stars of big movies
like this get perks like toasty trailers and cappuccinos
to thaw them out. Visitors - like me - do not. Peter Bogdanovich
has just guided River through a live singing stint. Tonight,
River's job, as James Wright, a guitar-slinging cowboy,
is to wrangle Miranda (Samantha Mathis) away from her main
squeeze Kyle (Dermot Mulroney). This is a hip country /
western musical about three on-the-verge country songwriters
who have two-stepped it to Nashville to rustle up some fame
and fortune, or at least a record deal.
At the moment, though, it's
chow time, and River is sauntering my way. I think he recognizes
me, but I can't be sure because of the mass of matted hair
hanging in his face. I stand up and am nearly floored when
the lanky twenty-three-year-old throws his arm around my
shoulder and says, "Thanks for stopping by."
Suddenly my zillions of questions
evaporate like the guts of a busted balloon. Not that it
matters. The moment River spies my tape recorder, the cool
cowboy gets downright Arctic. "You don't expect me to do
this now, do you?" he asks gruffly. "What do you think I
do for a living, anyway?"
Well, let's take a look at
your résumé. Since 1986, when you starred as the leader
of a small-town brat pack in Stand by Me, until 1989, when
you portrayed the earnest, PC piano student in Running on
Empty, you've been refining America's idea of the boy next
door.
Then in 1991, your sweetness
started to sizzle with your version of a ruthless romancer
in Dogfight, followed by your riveting performance as a
narcoleptic teen hustler in My Own Private Idaho.
So, basically, Riv, you've
gone from an earnest, tender kid to a tough, edgy, raw leading
man. Your job description today? Remaining one of the hottest
young actors on the face of the planet. Does that about
sum it up, River? I come to my senses as I watch the elusive
one step into his trailer to munch on some trail mix or
fried tofu, and I am, uh, left standing in the cold.
Three weeks later, I'm baaack
(stubborn is my middle name). I'm inside the Paramount studio
and I've been assured that River is ready to flow ( metaphorically
speaking). Still, hours go by before I manage to bump into
River at the food cart. Knowing he's a closest smoker, I
have brought cigarettes as bribe material.
"I know this hasn't been easy
for you," he says, piercing me with those deep baby blues.
"In the movie you're not a very nice guy," I say. "I was
beginning to think it wasn't an act." But apparently an
act is all it is. "No one is that easy to be around when
they are supposed to be terribly self-centered," he explains,
shuffling to a remote corner of the stage.
"You seem much more driven
than when we first met,' I say, reminding him of the night
I saw his funk-punk alternative band, Aleka's Attic, at
a club in New York. "Oh, I was probably doused in suds,"
he explains. "We'd been on the road so long." "Is it scary
to make the switch to country music?" I ask." "I'm totally
into it because of its root form," he says. "But I"m not
doing this film to get recognition for my music." "But,"
I counter, "you did write the song Lone Star State of Mind
for the movie, and you sing." (His singing, although underscored
with anger, sounds amazingly urgent and sweet.) "That song
is an ode to solitude and the preservation of one's independence,"
he says. Privacy is something River yearns for. But growing
up in the spotlight, he has had a hard time hanging on to
it. That and friendship. "With fame like yours, it must
be hard to find girls you can trust," I offer. "Friendship
is pretty sparse," River admits. "I'm not very available.
I'm with people when I'm with them. When I'm not, I don't
drop postcards. I don't call."
" Is your family as eccentric
as they sound?" "I've never read anything and thought, oh
yeah, this is what it was like. They've been sensationalized."
"Is that true of you, too?" "I try to lie as much as I can
when I'm interviewed. It's reverse psychology. I figure
if you lie, they'll print the truth." The vision of my editor
throwing out this interview suddenly comes to mind. "Does
that include me?" I ask nervously. "I'm not lying to you
right now," he says nicely. "I want this to be wholesome
for you. I know this has been hard." Yeah, hard, I think
as I turn off my tape recorder. Knowing the interview is
officially over, River visibly lightens up. Moments later
he lives up to his on-the-set rep as a ladies' man when
a friend of Samantha Mathis's arrives sporting a badly dyed
do. "I'm blonde now," she says shyly. River, pretending
not to notice, croons, "You look beeyooutiful."
How easily he smiles when
he's not the center of attention. "It seems to me," I say,
"that you just want to be left alone to do your work and
live in peace." The actor nods enthusiastically. "But River,"
I mumble under my breath as I pick up my bag, "what do you
think I do for a living anyway?"
END OF INTERVIEW
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