I Don't Know What You Know Me From: Confessions of a Co-Star Page 9

  The Week I Had a Beard

  MY MANAGER CALLED ME ONE DAY AND ASKED IF I wanted to play a bearded lady for a week on the television show My Name Is Earl. Naturally, like any forward-thinking woman of the twenty-first century, I wanted to do this. I mean, how many times in a lifetime does a lady get to wear a full beard? Well, except for actual bearded ladies. Those women would probably jump at the chance to play a role that didn’t have a beard (note to self: don’t take non-bearded roles for granted anymore). Anyway, I was excited. It would be a fun new challenge! And that’s what I’m always trying to do with my career.

  The show brought in a special makeup artist just for me and my beard. She was lovely and awesome and I forget her name because I’m the worst, but we got really close that week. It’s personal work to apply a beard, and it took her a few hours to do it. She created four beard pieces that were glued on my face, and following that she would add individual hairs to connect the pieces. While she did it, I couldn’t move or talk or eat. It even took a while to remove my beard at the end of each day. She had to be really careful not to ruin the four original pieces and not to burn my face off with remover chemicals in the process. Some of my face burned off anyway, which I don’t blame her for, it’s just an occupational hazard. And at least it wasn’t razor burn. In theory this all sounded really cool, but in reality it was one of the weirdest weeks of my life.

  Having a full beard made me feel really sad. Mostly because, with all that hair glued to my face, I couldn’t smile! So, for an entire week of work, I had to try not to see/​hear/​think of anything that made me laugh or smile. It was also very hard to talk or eat with my beard on. I couldn’t open my mouth that wide, so sandwiches were out, and anything drippy like pasta or soup was majorly problematic because it would get all over my beard and that was super gross. And the truth is I love a breakfast burrito—it’s one of the treats I allow myself when I’m working on a short job—but that was not even close to an option. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t yawn. And I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror at all. I had longish hair at the time, and if I parted it down the middle and wore aviator sunglasses, I looked exactly like Chris Robinson from the Black Crowes. It was kind of mesmerizing, but for the most part it was sad. I would just sit and stare at myself. It was like I was staring at another person. I felt like I was in an eighties movie where people swapped bodies, but my movie swap was way more indie, on account of the fact that I couldn’t make any wacky faces during the discovery process or injure myself trying to swap back. I just stared at myself while sipping hot tea through a straw that was melting. Very indie indeed.

  Because the character I was playing was the bearded lady in a circus of human freaks, the props department made a poster of me for set decoration. It was pretty big, four feet by two feet-ish. When the episode wrapped, props gave me the sign to keep. I put it in the trunk of my car, facing up, and forgot about it until my car got searched when driving on the CBS lot several weeks later. The security guard gave me a really weird look after checking my trunk for explosives or kidnapped celebrities, but I had totally forgotten that the sign was still in it. It wasn’t until I got groceries later that day and popped my trunk that I saw my bearded face staring back at me. And seeing my solemn expression brought back all those melancholy bearded emotions. I felt bad for my bearded self, that she never got the chance to find happiness with her beard, that she never figured out how to smile. Which is why, if there’s a next time, I’m going to insist she can smile, even if it adds two hours to the beard-laying process. I feel she deserves at least that.

  Press Junkets

  A PRESS JUNKET IS A WEEKEND-LONG EVENT WHERE the main people involved in a film sit in a fancy hotel room and members of the press come in one at a time, for two minutes each, and ask you about the project you’re there to promote. But here’s the weird thing: I can’t tell them anything juicy or potentially damaging about the people involved or the production. I would lose my acting license, and no one would ever hire me again. OK, there’s no such thing as an acting license, and I’m not famous enough for my interviews to damage my career. But I’m no tattletale, although maybe sharing some dirt could potentially work to my advantage … Nah, it’s not worth it. Besides, I don’t really have any dirt. When you’re a co-star, you’re not really around long enough to get any good dirt. Basically, at a press junket, I’m there to sit in a chair, look pretty, and say that all the actors were great, that the director was great, that making the movie was fun/​important/​life changing/​great, talk about why I wanted the role (so I can pay my bills), and tell a moving story about shooting or a practical joke that someone played on set. This last question gets asked a lot when you work with a known practical joker like George Clooney. So, why do we do junkets if everyone is just going to say everything was great? To get people excited about the movie! And it is exciting. It takes about a year from the time you shoot the movie for it to be ready to be released in the theaters. So it’s been a year since I’ve seen the other actors, the director, and the producer. And I get to go to a screening of the film so I know what I’m talking about (and if I was edited out). After that first screening I always wonder if it’s going to be a huge hit. Will it change the way people view movies forever? Will everyone be a better person after seeing it? Will America be a better place once this movie is released? Usually, in my experience, the answer to all those questions is not really, but talking about it for two days before the release does get everyone all fired up, just in case.

  Sometimes after sitting in the same dark room, answering the same questions over and over, I start to go a little nuts. Isn’t that a definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over expecting a different outcome? I think I read that somewhere, probably a self-help book. Anyway, a few years ago a publicist taught me how to make it fun. I play the junket game! And I am totally victorious at this game. Between each interview, someone from my crew gives me a new word to fit into my answer, any word, and I have to naturally and honestly incorporate it into my answers during that two-minute interview.

  I really excelled at this during the junket for Elizabethtown. My standout was “alligator.” When asked how I liked working with Susan Sarandon, I remember saying to one journalist that Susan Sarandon and I got along so well we were like two alligators swimming in the Everglades. Alligators in the Everglades? Do they even swim in pairs? I got a full three seconds of silence from my interviewer. That is the one I’m most proud of. It was awesome—and the crew gets a kick out of the game too. “Helicopter” was a really hard one, especially since I don’t do action movies, but I did it. I bet you a movie ticket that I can work any word into an interview without lying. Susan and I did get along like two alligators. And Jennifer Aniston is as sweet as a lollipop. Katherine Heigl does not ossify dialogue—she brings it to life! So, while you don’t often see my interviews, because I am just a co-star, if you happen to catch one, see if you can pick out my word. I bet you can’t …

  FAQ

  THERE IS A FUNNY THING ABOUT BEING SLIGHTLY recognizable but not immediately able to place. It happens to me every day of my life if I leave the house—someone wants to know how they know me, what I was in, who I am, and generally why I look so familiar. There has to be an answer, and they need to know it right away. I am not complaining. I knew this was a possibility when I started working more and more. And in a lot of ways it’s the best of all worlds. I can go about my business, run errands, get drinks at a bar, floss my teeth in a public restroom, read a book in a park, walk my dog in my jammies, and maybe I have to answer one of these questions, but I still have my privacy. Every once in a while a weird thing happens, though, that is uncomfortable for everyone involved. It’s when neither the fan nor I can figure out what they know me from. It starts out innocently enough: A person is so enthusiastic about getting my identity right and they are excited to meet me, even though they don’t really know why yet. I am feeling flattered and I want to help. The question in thes
e scenarios is usually, “Aren’t you an actress? I know you! What are you in?” I begin with fan profiling (see my introduction if you skipped it), but when my first few tries fail, I have to go to phase two and ask what they like, TV, movies, romantic comedies, indies? The answer will usually be either “Everything” or “I don’t watch TV, and I never go to the movies.” Now the fan is getting a little impatient, and I start to sweat. My fan starts to doubt me, thinks I’m trying to pull one over on them. But wait, he/​she stopped me! My fan will try to help: “Well, what’s the last thing you were in?” “Um…[enter last project here]?” I squirm. The fan says with a sigh, “No. I didn’t see that.” I will then list a few other credits. “No. No. Maybe. No.” I make a last-ditch effort, I’m feeling like shit, the fan is irritated, we’re both late, I blurt out something obscure like, “The TV Set?” Fan says, deadpan, “Yeah. That’s it. Cool. Well, ’bye. Nice to meet you.” Fan has lied. We both know this is a lie, but we’re both relieved because we both want this interaction to end, we need it to end. I need it to end because I have been forced to list every job I’ve had in the last fifteen years in order to prove something to a total stranger and I have failed, and Fan wants it to end because now I’m not as shiny and exciting anymore. Fan feels duped, and I’m probably not even the person he/​she thought I was in the first place. Fan won’t remember me anyway, and I will just re-promise myself I will never engage like that again. Sometimes I get fun questions like if I’m in a punk rock band. Sometimes I get drunk-girl questions like, “You’re … OHMYGOD! You’re her! Are you her?” I try to be nice. I try to answer them with a smile on my face even if I’m holding my bleeding arm in an ER in the middle of the night. Here are a few of the questions most people who walk by me in an airport, shopping mall, restaurant, bar, ER, Starbucks, bathroom, funeral (I could go on here, but you get it), tend to ask. I’ve included my answers since maybe you’re wondering too. In fact, you may have been one of the people to ask me.

  Q: What do I know you from?

  A: First of all, hi. Second of all, that’s a tough one. I can’t read your mind, and I don’t know what you’ve watched recently. Maybe if I hung out with you for a short while, I could make a proper assessment of your tastes and give you an idea. Or you could just ask my name and Google me later. There’s also IMDb, do you know that Web site? I think you’d like it. It’s pretty easy to use, and it will answer all your questions. I’ve been in about forty movies and who knows how many television shows. It would take me a really long time to list them all for you, but, hey, if you have the time, let’s do this! I’m sure I can just catch the next plane to my destination. Yeah, I’m running through an airport, but whatever, let’s figure this out together.

  Q: What are you in?

  A: Clothes. A building, just like you! My skin? See answer above.

  Q: Is Arrested Development coming back?

  A: I don’t know, and if I did, why would I tell you before it was officially announced? (Before Netflix released the new episodes, I got asked this question all the time. Now that Netflix has shown all the newest episodes, I thought my days answering this question were over. And I was right, they are. What I didn’t think about was the new question.)

  Q: Will there be an Arrested Development movie?

  A: I don’t know, and if I did, why would I tell you before it was officially announced? No one tells me anything. But if I find out there is, well, I probably still won’t tell you, because I wouldn’t be allowed to talk about it. So I guess you’ll find out when it’s officially announced, and a little bit after I do.

  Q: Have you ever done stand-up?

  A: No, I don’t have what it takes to do that. I can hardly handle a snippy parking lot attendant, not to mention a roomful of people expecting me to make them laugh. I think my heart would stop on that stage or I would become a raging alcoholic. Or both.

  Q: Did you do Second City?

  A: Nope, even though I am mainly in comedies and went to college in Chicago, I didn’t. I’ve never even seen a performance at Second City. I’d worry I’m not funny enough, and Second City seems really intense and cutthroat. I would burst into tears, and then no one would take me seriously. I’d be the crying girl and get kicked out during my first week of PMS. However, I do now realize the error of my ways. There are so many cool people I could have met, and I think it would have made me funnier and tougher, assuming I could cry in private, but again, I would have no doubt ended up a raging alcoholic.

  Q: What’s Charlie Sheen like?

  A: Really? Still? What do you think he’s like? He was nice to me but put a lit cigarette out in my fresh cup of coffee, and for that I will always hold a grudge. It took a long time to finally get to enjoy that cup of coffee, and I had made it just right. It is the little things sometimes, you know?

  Q: How come you haven’t starred in a movie yet?

  A: Well, it doesn’t really work like that. I don’t know, it’s not like there’s an audition form with star and co-star boxes and I keep accidentally checking the co-star box. Maybe I’m not good/​funny/​pretty enough? I really don’t know. I’m trying, don’t you worry, but believe it or not, it’s not that easy to get to star in a movie. But I promise you (and myself) I will keep trying. But for now, please know that I am very happy with my career. I work all the time, and I can still go to Target without a security team. What more could I ask for? OK, you know what I mean. But, if you’re so inclined, feel free to start a campaign on my behalf.

  Q: Are you a cop?

  A: Whaaaa? Me? A cop? I mean, that’s awesome, but no way. (I am not making this up. It has been one of my favorites. A lot of people recognize me but don’t know why. Once I got pulled over for not coming to a complete stop at a four-way intersection, and when the cop walked up to my window and took a good look at me, he asked me that question. I burst out laughing.)

  Q: Do you live at the Lake of the Ozarks?

  A: Uh … no.

  Q: I love Bridesmaids! Can I get a photo?

  A: Sure! You know I’m not in it, right?

  Q: Aren’t you that actress?

  A: Yes. I am.

  Celebrities I’ve Peed Next To

  THERE ARE A LOT OF PERKS WHEN YOU’RE AN ACTOR. Free food at work was my second favorite in the beginning, but my first, I have to admit, was the weird stuff. Like seeing celebrities at 5:00 a.m. in no makeup, finding out what they ate and what size shoes they wore, and admittedly the weirdest was listening to them pee. It didn’t happen often, and I don’t have a fetish or anything, maybe I shouldn’t even call it a perk, but there is something so humanizing about bodily functions. I think it’s what really levels the playing field. I have peed next to several very A-list celebrities, and every time I hear the tinkle of celebrity pee, I giggle. I have no idea why. They have to pee—I know that—but you know how when you were a kid, it was really jarring to see your teachers outside school, or walking to their car, or crying? That’s what it’s like. In fact, that’s how I feel about celebrities doing anything normal—not “stars, they’re just like us” normal stuff, but really normal stuff, like peeing, getting blood drawn, having cramps, dropping their house keys seven times when walking from their car to their front door, forgetting to change out of their slippers before leaving the house for the day, having a really ratty bathrobe that they never, ever wash, etc., etc. Another aspect of celebrity life that I also envision is that they are so busy and have no free time ever. That they must always be at a fabulous party or rushing from an airport to a photo shoot and then to a fabulous party while sending hundreds of e-mails/​texts/​tweets from two different smart phones. I imagine that their homes are meticulously organized, that their dogs don’t fight, that they have never had a squirrel die inside the walls of their house which attracted every fly in Southern California, that they have great hair all the time, and that their washing machines don’t break down mid-load the night before a trip.

  But what I also wonder—as I stress out about missing a r
ecording session for Archer, the animated show I do a voice on for FX, or figure out when I’m flying up to Oakland for a recording session at Pixar, or panic about how I’m going to find time to write this book, while I shoot a video for my Web series, Reluctantly Healthy, pack for a month in New Orleans, get another job, read all the scripts that have been e-mailed to me—is if maybe I am busier than a real celebrity. I can’t afford a full-time assistant to organize my life, I don’t have a chef cooking meals for me and my family, I barely have time to work out or walk my dog (OK, fine, I do a have a dog walker. I mean, I’m not going to shortchange my dog Buckley, come on). And don’t even get me started on trying to see my friends and still have a social life with my husband and stepkids. It’s a lot to keep straight!