Interview Magazine
 


 

off the wall with Walken
by Tinkerbelle

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Christopher Walken is an actor who stands unique and apart from other performers because he possesses a quality that can best be described as strange, which in contemporary 70’s terms is the new definitions of “It.”  Walken is indeed attractive, charismatic and talented, but to date his real turn-on is his gift for bringing to his characters a sense of what is loosely defined as being “off-the-wall.”   In ANNIE HALL Christopher played the troubled and contemplative brother of DIANE KEATON who, after confiding in WOODY ALLEN, inspired Woody to remember that he had an appointment on the planet Earth.  Those fortunate enough to have seen Walken star opposite IRENE WORTH in SWEET BIRD OF YOUTH remember him as being not another Paul Newman but most certainly a performer memorable enough for critics to classify his CHANCE WAYNE as the Chance of a lifetime.

In NEXT STOP GREENWICH VILLAGE Christopher Walken shared the screen with LENNY BAKER, JEFF GOLDBLUM, and ELLEN GREENE, and it’s more than a coincidence that all of these performers are still working. 

 Christopher’s work currently involves filming of THE DEERHUNTER in which he is co-starring with ROBERT DENIRO.  Obviously the success of this film remains to be seen – but whatever the outcome, Christopher Walken will most definitely always have “It” to fall back on.

The interview took place in CHRISTOPHER WALKEN’S upper West Side apartment which he incidentally owns.  The ceilings are so high he could fly a kite in his living room, and in case someone tells him to, he has one strategically hanging on a brick wall.  The apartment also features a patio terrace which really came in handy on this particular afternoon, considering how it was raining cats and dogs.  Walken is a sexy guy – or anyway he was that day.  I felt a little nervous and in awe of meeting him and when he asked me how I was, I answered “fun” instead of the customary “fine”.  It was a short-lived embarrassing moment though because, as it turned out, Walken was nervous too.

CW: Interviews make me nervous.

TINK: I know the feeling.  I swallowed an ice cube on the Susskind show.  Do you do many television interviews?

Yeah, and I usually just shut up.  But the trouble with most people when they’re nervous is that they don’t use it.  They try to hide it.  Nervous-ness is just as interesting as anything else. 

Sometimes more interesting.  (Take now, for example.)

I think people should just expose their nervous- ness.

A lot of performers are nervous but would never dream of owning up to it.  I saw Elliot Gould on the Carson Show recently, and he admitted that he’s nervous all of the time.  Even if it was an exaggeration, I respect his admission. 

Certain actors made a career out of it.  Like Montgomery Clift.  He was always a little nervous.  But I suppose people called it sensitivity.

Are you an admirer of Clift’s work?

I like him very much.  He had a slightly frenzied quality about him which I thought was interesting.  He was one of those people who was able to surrender to his nervousness.  I met him once.

Did you two hit it off?

I have no idea.  We certainly were comfortable together.  I sat next to him for half an hour before I realized who he was.  It was just before he died.  We had the most terrific conversation that you could have without saying anything.  We sat there.  There was nobody else around.  I had nothing to say to him.  He had nothing to say to me.  We drank, smoked cigarettes and didn’t speak. 

Sounds intense.

Once I realized who he was, it still didn’t make any difference.

How did you come away from that experience?

I just got up and left.

Those who knew Clift claim that he drank because he had a death wish, but maybe he drank because he liked to.

Everybody has a tendency to moralize a bit. 

Do you think that extremely nervous performers are borderline neurotics?

I don’t know, but I suppose that the point of analysis for many performers is to learn to overcome being depressed about certain qualities they have and learn to celebrate them instead.  The trick for an actor is to take all those qualities that are considered liabilities for most other people and make them useful.

Do you feel that there’s much psychology involved in acting?

I never thought much about that word, but I recently became a member of the Actor’s Studio and they talked about that a lot and about all the things that make it hard for you to act which are really very useful – like distractions.  They’re as much a part of good acting as they are a part of your life.

I remember Lee Strasberg once saying something to the effect that the Method is a summation of what actors have always done unconsciously whenever they acted well.

I don’t know what that means.  I guess he’s right.  He’s very smart.  Most actors create a personality for themselves that they use over and over.  It’s that something that’s useful and works and is good in a jam.

That’s not technique?

I guess it’s a form of technique.  It’s something that they manufacture over the years until they know they’ve got something that works.  That’s of course, contrary to all ideas of good acting.  It’s not necessarily what I believe in, but it is something that I’ve noticed. 

I’ve noticed people do that with their lives, especially transvestites.  They develop and model themselves after and into a fabulous character and just turn into that person.  Sometimes it’s magnificent.  I think that’s what Muhammed Ali did.  He developed the perfect schtick for himself and just became it.  Not that I’m implying that he’s a latent transvestite.

I saw him in The Greatest and I was really impressed with his performance.  It was a silly film, but to see him in front of a camera was incredible.  He was light, he was funny, and he handled women with such charm – almost like Cary Grant.  He’s got it.

Yeah.  He’s got good technique.

It’s an amazing thing.  Very mysterious. 

Speaking of myst-erious, I remember seeing you in Sweet Bird of Youth where you played an off the wall type of guy, then I saw you in Next Stop Greenwich Village where you were fascinating in an off the wall way and in Annie Hall you practically made off the wall history.  Can this have any bearing on the fact that in real life you might be a little (you guessed it) – off the wall?

I don’t know.  Of course, if you are off the wall you’d probably be the last one to know it.  People that I know well don’t refer to me that way.  Could be they think it.  But I’ve noticed that too.  When you’re an actor you wonder.  You find out things about yourself by what people ask you to do.

Were you cast for Annie Hall because of your role in Greenwich Village?

 

I really don’t know.  I met Woody Allen and we had a meeting for about two minutes.  We didn’t talk much.  He just looked at me and gave me the part.  But you do get glimpses of yourself by what kinds of parts you’re asked to play.

But you have done Shakespeare too.

I got into Shakespeare by accident.  I was in musicals for a long time.  I was a dancer.  Like most things that happen to you, it was an accident.

I’m impressed with the mere thought of being able to remember all those lines.  Not to mention delivering them.  Did you know that Olivier used to ad lib Shakespeare? It’s a coup how actors can even memorize those kinds of parts.

I know.  The same thing occurs to me.  A lot of the problem with learning and performing Shakespeare is finding out what you’re talking about first.  When you find out certain things, you learn that they’re repeated in the play.  I don’t have any trouble reading Shakespeare any more because I know what everything means.  Elizabethans were great punners.  A conversation like this would be filled with puns.  It was part of an educated person’s repertoire.

Have you had many on-stage embarrassing moments like forgetting your lines?

Have I ever gone up?  I have a pretty good system for dealing with that.  I just stand there and another actor will give you the line or call it from the wings or it’ll just come back to you.  The trick in a situation like that is not to panic.  You can just ad lib in a contemporary play, but you don’t blow your lines as often as you think you would, and the tendency to forget Shakespeare is rare because it’s metered and one thing follows another.

When did you first realize that you were dramatic?

Never.

You never sensed it?  Do you recall being good in a school play or a Christmas pageant?  You weren’t dramatic as a child around the house?

As a matter of fact, until I was 20 I never had any interest in doing anything in particular. 

I love a guy with drive.

Not that I didn’t hope I would some day.  I suppose I always had faith that things would turn out well

I see, an optimist.  Were you an innie or an outie in high school?

What’s that, my bellybutton?

It’s a long story; are you sure you want to hear it?  I’ll try to make it short.  It’s based on the theory that many creative and successful people became that way as a form of compensation for being unpopular in high school.  Mike Nichols said that he was an “outie” and long after high school he was doing his night-club act and a fellow from Mike’s high school approached him and said, “Do you remember me?”  As it turned out this guy was an “innie” when Mike was an “outie.”  So Mike said, “Yeah, I remember you, you were a real shit.  What are you doing now?”  Well, the guy said he was a used car salesman and Mike Nichols said, “I’m so glad.”

I conveniently have no recollection of high school because I would prefer to romanticize my past.  I have an attraction to outlaws I suppose, but when I look back I was very unnoticeable at the time.

Then maybe the theory does work because you’re so noticeable now.  Were you a rebel?

No.  I’d like to tell you I was.

A loner?

Yes.  I think that’s a tendency.  You have it all your life.  I don’t know why one should be that way.  I don’t have any trouble being alone.  Maybe that’s why. 

It’s not that I don’t want other people around.  It’s just that I don’t have any trouble being by myself.   That’s probably why most loners are loners.  Because there isn’t any need not to be alone.

I heard that you were doing some research in coal mining areas in preparation for you role in The Deerhunter.

I went and took a look around the steelmill towns because I don’t know anything about that part of the world.  My part calls for a man who works in a steelmill from one of those towns in Pennsylvania.  It’s the kind of life that I don’t know about because I’m from right here, New York.

Did you see Harian County?

I’m really sorry I didn’t.  A lot of people have told me that I would have done well to see that.

What’s DeNiro’s role in The Deerhunter?

We’re both a couple of guys who work in a mill and spend a lot of time hunting together and then go to Viet Nam as guys did.  Guys that join up together as in every war, buddies.

Is The Deerhunter based on a famous short story or novel that I should know about?

There’s a famous novel called The Deerslayer, but it has nothing to do with that.  Everybody asks me that.

It must be because hunters and slayers are so similar.  I thought it would be a good question.  It turned out to be a trite one.  What do you do when you’re not out hunting deer? Should I re-phrase that question?

One of the tremendous responsibilities of an actor is what to do with one’s time.  An actor has to deal with idleness more than most people.  I don’t know whether it’s true or not, but I’ve heard that Sylvester Stallone wrote Rocky because he just didn’t have enough to do as an actor.  Sometimes something terrific comes out of that idleness or you have other choices.  You could drink…

That sounds like fun.  Do you keep a diary or a good bar?

What would I put in a diary?  I do a lot of writing, though.  But it’s so mediocre.  I’ve written plays including some one act plays.  When I started as an actor I was pretty bad and it took a long time to get to know how to do it well.  I just had to keep doing it and put up with a lot of people telling me, “You stink” and sooner or later, it seems to me, that acting like anything else – you just learn how to do it.  You make mistakes and you go back on your mistakes and learn how to perfect.  I feel that way about writing.  If I keep doing it, sooner or later I’ll learn how.  That’s how I feel about everything.

August 1977
Publisher – Andy Warhol

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