No. Why would I do that?
Will you look at the box office?
No, I don’t know what it means. I promise you. I’ve never looked at the box office or Rotten Tomatoes.
Have you ever googled your name?
No.
Have you ever put your name into Twitter to see what people are saying about you?
I don’t have Twitter.
[Pause.] Well, my silence expresses my skepticism of all your answers.
But why would I do that? The movie’s done. We did it.
Self-torture. When, late at night, insecure, drunk, you think: “Who hates me?”
Why care? It’s none of my business.
I do it. I read every review on Rotten Tomatoes, skipping through looking for the green splats. Sometimes there’s hardly any, but they’re the ones I make a beeline for.
Why would you do that to yourself? Especially when you can’t sleep?
I know. Self-harm. It’s an addiction.
Addiction to?
Self-flagellation.
Is it that or is it the hope for validation?
No, because I skip the good ones.
To prove to yourself that you’re right, that you did a terrible job.
It’s sick, I know.
You cut that out.
If you were born again, would you rather be an actor or a musician?
That’s a hard one. I do like the music.
I never knew this. Do you play an instrument?
Badly.
Which?
I tinker on the piano and guitar. And you? If you came back, if you were 18 and going to university, would you be an actor?
No.
I wondered if I would too, because I’m not sure that the way that it works now, celebrity and all of that stuff, I don’t know that that suits me.
Would you say there’s been a change in what that life is like over the last 25 years?
Probably. There used to be a line between celebrity and art.
Do you feel you’ve now been dumped in the same pot as people who perhaps just want to be famous? That people think you set out to be a celebrity rather than an actor?
The line has become increasingly ambiguous. And notorious and famous and known are now all the same thing. It used to be that you were known because you had done something that was worth knowing about.
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