by Alec Baldwin
There are not many directors who shoot films allowing for actors to simply “behave” in front of a camera in a realistic way, like Cassavetes or many of the great Europeans, and even Spielberg in films like Saving Private Ryan. Certainly those directors frame their shots deliberately, but inside of those frames, there is a latitude that is rare to find in conventional moviemaking. The normal order of business is for the actor and director to create the scene inside of an “invisible cage” imposed by the limitations of the camera, lighting, sets, and the script itself. Before you roll the camera, an Arthur Murray–esque pattern of preapproved moves is designed to lead you from one prearranged mark to the next. Once that staging is agreed upon, you are usually asked to re-create it, over and over again, varying only your intent, intonation, pace, and physicality.
As I became more experienced, the expectation was that I would bring more variety to the individual takes. If I asked the director if I could try something, the answer was usually yes, giving me more freedom to contribute ideas about scripts and character. A scene can be shot in a week or a day or an hour. Therefore, due to the normal limitations of time, my mind was often on simply manipulating the lines. I’d think, “How smart is the character? Is he a good talker, like Bill Clinton or Noël Coward, with the words at his fingertips? Or must he dig for the language to express himself, halting along the way? Is he passionate or private? Or both?”
I had to develop some relatively quick, handy ways to build a character, assuming that most directors would offer me little—and that the shooting would often be rushed. I saw early on that the production rarely rushed the cameramen’s work. Directors and cinematographers are engaged in a marriage. Shooting a film is an enormous jigsaw puzzle that director and cinematographer are primarily charged with figuring out. In this process, the actors are like midwives of creativity. Thus, the technicians want to get the performances over with as quickly as possible. In many of my films, acting would eventually become about delivering lines smartly and with as little fuss as possible.
In the 1980s, I met Sol Yurick through my friend Ronnie Dobson. Yurick, a wiry, rabbinical man, had written the great novel The Warriors in 1965, which Walter Hill had made into a wonderful film in 1979. Yurick also wrote the novel Richard A and the unusual short story “The King of Malaputa.” In 1996, my company acquired the rights to Yurick’s 1966 novel Fertig, and adapted it into a film starring Ben Kingsley, Amy Irving, and me. My friend David Black wrote the script for the film, whose title was changed to The Confession, and won the Writers Guild Award for best adapted screenplay the following year. The film tells the story of a man, Harry Fertig (played by Kingsley), who believes that certain hospital staff and administrators are directly responsible for the death of his young son through negligence. In what he sees as a biblical act of revenge, Fertig murders these staff members. He is represented by a conflicted lawyer named Roy Bleakie (played by me), and at trial he insists on pleading guilty and serving out whatever sentence befalls him in memory of his son.
This was the first film I produced, and I found it a difficult undertaking. Securing a budget, a director, a decent crew, the right cast, and appropriate New York locations was a job that ultimately distracted from my work on-screen. Add to that the fact that my part just wasn’t written as well as Ben’s role. Bleakie’s conflicts and inner turmoil didn’t come through as clearly as I had imagined, or maybe I just wasn’t very good. I began to believe that I didn’t have the ability to do both jobs. I certainly lacked the desire. I am continually amazed by and have the deepest amount of respect for someone like Warren Beatty, who has developed great scripts with top writers, then directed those films while starring in them alongside some of the world’s greatest actors. For his efforts on Reds, he won an Oscar for best director and was nominated for best picture and best actor. You must have abundant talent and drive to do that. Beatty once told me, “Until you take ultimate responsibility for all of it, you’re going to end up frustrated.” But I lacked the patience to emulate him in that regard. I wanted the right producing partner who could speak for me in all things and protect me so I could just act. But the best producers in the movie business want to work with the actors who bring with them the resources necessary to improve their odds.
Perhaps I was wrong, however. Perhaps expanding my curiosity and responsibilities would have benefited me. Every take in front of the camera is an opportunity. But if acting is the only card you have to play, that can be a lot of pressure. I tried to get to a place where the work was its own reward. I wanted the results to become secondary. Free of the phone calls on Saturday mornings, when agents reported the disappointing news about a particular film, I could enjoy acting more. By the late ’90s, I embarked on a string of leading and supporting roles that gained little attention, though each offered its own charms and gratifications. I want to mention a few of those and why I think they were ultimately worthwhile.
Thick as Thieves (1999): In which the wonderful gentleman Scott Sanders directed his own screenplay. I had a ball shooting with Andre Braugher (if talent were the only requirement, he’d be the biggest star in the world), Bruce Greenwood, Michael Jai White, and the nonpareil of independent cinema, Richard Edson.
Notting Hill (1999): Where, for just one day, on a set in London, I got to breathe the same air as the remarkable Julia Roberts.
Outside Providence (1999): A funny script from the Farrelly brothers directed by the very talented Michael Corrente. Jon Abrahams as “Drugs” Delaney steals the movie with the dramatization of his letter to his friend Dunph at boarding school.
Thomas and the Magic Railroad (2000): Britt Allcroft (who adapted the Thomas video series and the film from the post–World War II books by the Reverend Wilbert Awdry) was one of the kindest and loveliest people I’ve ever worked with. I’ve often had my eye out for children’s programming because of my own kids. Working with Britt was one of the best experiences I’ve ever had as Britt coaxes the child out of each cast member, which I found sweet and fun. Plus, I got to shoot a movie with Peter Fonda!
Nuremberg (2000): Canadian production rules demanded we use a French-speaking Quebecois crew and director (Yves Simoneau), which added a layer of difficulty to shooting this miniseries for TNT. But the opportunity to be on camera with Chris Plummer and Max von Sydow was enough to make it all worthwhile.
State and Main (2000): Putting together a great ensemble cast is difficult, and on this film, we were very lucky. To get to work every day with the likes of David Paymer, Bill Macy, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Sarah Jessica Parker was a rare experience for me. Mamet writes great comedy, and this is one of the few of my own movies that I can stand watching.
Pearl Harbor (2001): At three hours, the movie was severely bloated, in my opinion, and Michael Bay reminded me of the G. D. Spradlin character from the movie North Dallas Forty to Jerry Bruckheimer’s Steve Forrest: two demanding men who expected their stars to leave it all on the field. But Ben Affleck is a prince. And the chance to research my character, Major Jimmy Doolittle, and his career in aviation was a wonderful bonus.
The Royal Tenenbaums (2001): I’m not in this movie; I just provide incidental narration. But it’s so damn good that I like listing it among my credits. Wes Anderson pulled off something amazing here. After Hackman spent the ’90s smirking through most of his roles, Anderson somehow got Hackman to stifle that impulse, and the result was one of Hackman’s best performances ever. Which is saying a lot.
Path to War (2002): I got a call from my dear friend John Frankenheimer—he of The Manchurian Candidate, Birdman of Alcatraz, Seven Days in May, and Seconds, to name a few—for an HBO film about Lyndon Johnson and the escalation of Vietnam. This would be John’s last film. What an honor. He was a great director as well as urbane and funny. Again, the research for this film was fascinating, and I owe the late Richard Holbrooke a note of thanks for his insights into my character, Robert McNamara, and his career.
The Cooler (2003): When I read the script
and got to the page where my character kicks a pregnant woman in the stomach, I asked my agent, “Don’t I have enough troubles?” He told me to keep reading. Eventually, I found that writers Frank Hannah and Wayne Kramer had a great movie. Kramer, who directed, was prepared, insightful, and fantastic to shoot with. His cinematographer, James Whitaker, shot efficiently and everything looked great. Again, working with Bill Macy, a great actor who keeps you on your toes, is always fun. I was nominated for an Oscar for the role and lost to that fucking Tim Robbins for that fucking Mystic River directed by that fucking Clint Eastwood. Just kidding.
Second Nature (2003): My divorce custody case exploded as I boarded the plane for London to shoot this film. A great script by the talented E. Max Frye (who wrote Something Wild and, later, Foxcatcher) gave us a real opportunity. But the combination of all-day shoots and painful nightly conference calls with my divorce lawyer took its toll on me. My company produced the film, but I couldn’t shake the distractions I carried to work. One great memory, however, was meeting Sir John Mills while we filmed in Denham.
The Cat in the Hat (2003): Bo Welch, one of Hollywood’s most prolific and admired set designers, made his directorial debut here. I had worked with Bo on Beetlejuice and seen why everyone loves him. The film was a disappointment in several ways, but it was nice to shoot on a lot (for a change) and watch them spend a gagillion dollars on costumes, sets, and all things Seussian.
Along Came Polly (2004): The draw here was the writing of John Hamburg, who also directed. This is another of those films in which I played a supporting role to a big-ticket comedy star (Myers or Carrey or, in this case, Stiller), which is never easy, because you’re not there to make people laugh—they are. So your scenes are cut. But at least the pressure’s not on you.
The Last Shot (2004): Jeff Nathanson, a great writer (Catch Me If You Can), made his directing debut on this film. I had always wanted to work with Matthew Broderick, and a bonus was working with Tony Shalhoub, surely one of the most talented men I’ve worked with. If you want a sample, check out the scene in Tommy Sanz’s living room while he watches rugby. Shalhoub’s performance as a benched mobster is as dry as sheetrock and incredibly funny.
The Aviator (2004): I couldn’t miss the opportunity to work with Scorsese, and to watch Leo at work, however briefly, was just as important. In his film roles, DiCaprio takes full advantage of the opportunities showered on him. He is a great film actor. And although the movie was a tad voluptuous, the fact that Marty lost best picture and best director to Million Dollar Baby is another example of Oscar weirdness.
Elizabethtown (2005): Filming this movie was a bit of a blur, as my personal life was beginning to suck the oxygen out of everything else. But Cameron Crowe’s writing is so fresh and weird, while he is perhaps the greatest gentleman in the directing business. I’d go anywhere to work with him again.
Mini’s First Time (2006): In this indie comedy-drama, my character is having an affair with his stepdaughter. I was forty-seven, and it never occurred to me to ask how old Nikki Reed was. When I found out, just as we finished, that she was seventeen, I flipped out on the producers, who had told me something different. In any case, Nikki is a wonderful actress who has become a steadfast advocate for animal rights, which I admire her for greatly.
The Departed (2006): Scorsese came calling again, and this time my character and dialogue had a bit more crackle. Marty won the Oscar (finally) for this film, and although I’ll never play a lead role in a movie directed by someone of his caliber, it was a thrill just to spend those couple of weeks in Boston with that cast. FYI: Bostonians don’t approve of your accent even if you grew up in Boston!!
The Good Shepherd (2006): It is not easy to have a director approach you with his notes after a take when that director is Robert De Niro. As I looked into his face and heard that unmistakable voice, I saw an onslaught of movie moments streaming in my mind. The movie itself, I think, suffered from Matt Damon’s signature warmth and humanity, which colored his character, the embodiment of American exceptionalism. The role required a screen persona of cascading whiteness who had performed a conscience-ectomy on himself, like William Hurt.
Prior to my divorce, I could name every film I had made and in what order. After 2000, that became impossible. One thing all of these disparate films have in common is that I remember only a few things about each of them. This is a natural consequence of getting older as that list grows longer. But my fight for custody of Ireland was like fighting cancer. It hung over every relationship, holiday, and job. All of my actions, every plan I made, every detail, was completely dictated by the chance of seeing my daughter. Often those plans were jettisoned at the last minute, in complete violation of the court’s order. I was separated from Kim in December of 2000. By the end of 2005, I was battered and numb. During this period, a whole host of other ancillary types of jobs started to pop up, work I took just so I could stay home in New York or LA. Voice-overs, sitcoms, guest starring with Jimmy Caan on his show Las Vegas, you name it. I didn’t want to ever miss a shot to see Ireland because I was in Prague or Sydney. I rearranged everything so I wouldn’t lose a single visit.
During my visits with her, Ireland and I would lie on the floor of her bedroom. We’d make a bed out of every blanket we could find and put pillows up against her dresser. We’d watch her favorite shows, The Fairly OddParents or The Powerpuff Girls. Not a lot was said during these viewings. My job was to simply keep the healthy snacks and watered-down juices coming. Before long, Kim would emerge in the doorway, glaring and tapping her watch to indicate that it was time for Ireland to be bathed and gotten ready for bed. I try to remember, when I’m with my young children now, how precious these moments are. After I was separated, there were times I would have traded anything to be back on the floor of Ireland’s bedroom watching Dexter’s Laboratory.
The love of a parent for a child is ineffable. When I think of all that I missed, of the chances to be a father to my first child and how much of that was stolen from me by some hateful, rapacious lawyers or cowardly judges, I’m overwhelmed by a great loss of faith. I wrote a book about my divorce called A Promise to Ourselves, which was the cri de coeur of a father who is alienated not only by his ex but also by the divorce-industrial complex, including the courts themselves. One of the more gratifying experiences of my life was to have fathers, and even some women who had suffered at the hands of that system, thank me for the book. It’s something I’m very proud of.
When things did not go my way, when one indignity after another piled up until I couldn’t take it another minute, bad things happened, for which I have no one to blame but myself. In 2007, at the height of that battle, I left a very angry voicemail message for my daughter that my ex-wife and her lawyers then released to the media. Like rubbernecking drivers making their way past a serious accident, news and entertainment programs played it over and over again. Commentators like Nancy Grace stated that the tape should affect the outcome of my custody case. Some years later, Entertainment Tonight saw fit to dedicate a segment to the “anniversary” of its release. And even though I had been led to believe, by virtue of my employment at the time on 30 Rock, that I was part of the “NBC Family,” Matt Lauer invited Harvey Levin, the intrepid reporter and erstwhile attorney, on to the Today show to discuss the release of the tape. The show only contacted me after Levin was done giving his views. I haven’t appeared on the Today show since.
If the goal of my ex and her lawyers was to damage or ruin my relationship with my daughter, then I certainly gave them the ammunition to do that with. My friends and family, the people closest to me who actually understood the situation, knew that the words on that tape were actually aimed at someone else. But as a therapist later told me, correctly, “If you hadn’t left the message, none of this would be happening.” In all honesty, my relationship with my daughter was permanently harmed by that episode. And in that sense, my ex-wife and her lawyers succeeded. I fully expected Ireland to move to Paris or London
or somewhere else far away to attend school. Or head to India to do relief work the moment she was old enough to get far away from both of her parents who, as she would rightfully believe, had allowed bitter resentments and egos to overwhelm their love for their child.
My relationship with Ireland has healed. But just as something that has been broken is never quite the same, the fragile years of childhood that are battered by high-conflict divorce are irreversibly affected. Divorce itself is child abuse. I tell friends and loved ones now that if they have to split up, to know that any failure to achieve “collaborative divorce” will take a toll that will last forever. I think the worst thing one can do is to put a child in the middle of these battles. That is what I did. And I am reminded of it and I am sorry for it every day.
The voicemail and its aftermath killed a number of activities for me, and my ongoing support for specific issues and particular candidates was one of those casualties. On a beautiful summer afternoon in 2007, Senator Barack Obama was entering the lobby of my Central Park West apartment just as I was leaving. He was no doubt heading to meet potential Democratic supporters, which my building had in number. It had been only a few months since the voicemail had leaked, and I wasn’t feeling like someone you’d want to be standing alongside if you were running for the highest office in the land, but I nodded to Obama and he smiled back. I have the highest admiration for President Obama, and I believe he served his country with an abundance of intelligence and grace. But at that point, I couldn’t imagine he or anyone else wanted my support, so I’d stopped offering it. I’ve often regretted any lost opportunities during Obama’s years in the White House, the chance to work with his administration on behalf of the arts or children or the environment. I simply felt that my family life and reputation were in tatters.
