Like many performers originally trained and influenced by actor-director
Joseph Chaiken, Will Patton is spiritually questing and predominantly physical
actor-qualities that have carried over to his subsequent work in theater and film.
When he replaced Ed Harris in the original New York production of Sam Shepard's Fool for Love, Will and I worked out at the same gym, and it became a
running joke for him to display his battle scars from banging off the walls in that
play. He fractured the knuckle of the same finger twice, and both his hands
swelled to almost twice their size. So when we met for this interview, while Will
was in rehearsal for another physically strenuous performance in Shepard's
A Lie of the Mind, we began by catching up on his injuries.
The arrangement of words on a page cannot adequately convey Will's speech
pattern, a cultivated affectation. He talks very hesitantly, in a breath, slow
voice, lingering over any exclamation, only occasionally speaking loudly, clearly,
articulately.
The Interview
How long were you in Fool for Love?
I did it for ten months. Physically, I felt all right the whole time, aside from
the broken bones and having a split head, black eye, and broken noses. But
toward the end, I began to feel emotionally hurt, because I had to change
women so many times. It was like falling in and out of love over and over again,
having my heart broken over and over and over again when a new actress would
take the part.
How do you like acting in movies?
I don't like the lack of control, being slipped into that nozzle and taken away
somewhere where I can't see what's going on. But I do like working in the
movies a lot and want to do more. I got to work in from of the camera a lot
when I was doing Ryan's Hope and Search for Tommorow. Soap Operas can be good
for you, and the can be very harmful. You learn to take the things that matter
most, like love and death, and throw 'em out like they're candy. You learn to be
frivolous and settle things. Otherwise you kill yourself. Because you have to
work fast. You usually get one take. Unless you say "fuck." By accident.
What was working with Martin Scorsese in After Hours like?
He was incredible! A lot of directors have a tendency to let the atmosphere be
dead and technical and not create an at mosphere of theatricality or intensity or
electricity. They'll say, "Here's the camera," and you've got clothes on, and
everything's very still and stiff like a vacuum. And Scorsese made it, like,
"This is making movies!" Pow! The room would be made ready for an experience
of some sort.
Where did you grow up?
South Carolina, North Carolina. My father was a preacher, and at one time
he had a farmhouse for juvenile-deliquent boys. I guess they were all about
thirteen when I was about five.
Did your father stop being a preacher?
Yeah, he dropped out. He lost all his morals. Well, no. When I was about
thirteen, he ran off, found another woman, and broke from the scene. I was
back and forth from my mother to my father.
My father was all over the place, never in one place too long.
When did you start acting?
When I was five years old, my mother and my father dressed me up in this
hula skirt adn put all this makeup on me and danced me in front of all these
juvenile-delinquent boys. I remember how much they were excited by me; I was
able to dance in this outfit and overwhelm them. That's my first memory of my
being able to do something. Later in school I was always kind of crippled and
shy, unable to do sports, unable to talk to girls. When I would get up in front of
the class to read something I had written or to be in a play. I would feel everyone
was my friend all of a sudden. Everyone understood me. It became my way of
reaching the world.
Had you been performing before you came to New York?
I went to North Carolina School for the Arts for three-quarters of a year. It's
like the Juilliard of the South. I wasn't ready for school. I was totally drunk the
whole time. I was out of control and got kicked out, just traveled instead.
Does the work you did with Chaiken help with other work you do?
Yeah, but I think I will never be quite legitimate because of it. I may not ever
make a lot of money because of certain feelings I have about acting and certain
ways I'm not able to be across a desk. Most of the people you're dealing with
from L.A., and in the movies are talking on the phone while you're looking at
'em. They're a really horrible bunch of people. Someone flew me out there one
time for a TV thing. I walked into the room, there were talking, and I said,
"What's going on in this room? What happened? Did you just have an argument,
or what? There's something strange going on here." They looked at me,
like, "What do you mean? This is the way we are, this is the way we behave." I
went out in the outer office and said to this guy, "Get me on a plane right away
or I'm gonna hit somebody." That was my experience in L.A.
What were they doing that was so horrible?
[He makes a face and emits some inarticulate sounds.] Lying! Or playing this
game that doesn't have anything to do with working with you. You'll be here
and these people come through the room and they play this game with you.
They try to, like, stab you before you even get started.
Stab you?
Take advantage of you vulnerability, strangulate you, and somehow slip you
soul into their pocket.