20 Questions: Jeff Daniels

Here is Jeff Daniels, Michigan home boy, reluctant Hollywood actor-guy, grinning his sly, smirky grin. Barefoot and just slightly beered up, he paddles and putters his pontoon boat around the small lake on whose shores he makes his home. Daniels lives in the rural southeastern Michigan town where he grew up, a town whose name he prefers no one knew, because it is here that he likes to pretend that he is not a big-deal movie star. To the locals, he is just plain Jeff, tavern squatter, softball zealot. To the contrary, he is the fine laconic leading man whose quirky charms have enlivened such films as "Terms of Endearment," "The Purple Rose of Cairo," "Something Wild," "Sweethearts Dance" and "Checking Out." Due next is "Love Hurts," a tale of divorce and hope. Contributing Editor Bill Zehme spent one long afternoon on the pontoon and reminisces thusly: "We circled the lake roughly eight thousand times and drank many cold ones. Once, we went ashore to see the large house Jeff was building for his two small sons and wife, Kathleen. We watched workmen work. I asked him if he'd seen any signs of Elvis, who is rumored to be residing in the state. Daniels blanched and said that Elvis had recently stopped by, scrounging for money. 'He looked pale,' he reported, 'very pale. I told him to get lost.'"

1.

[Q] Playboy: By living here in Michigan, you disprove the maxim that you can't go home again. Just how wrong was Thomas Wolfe?

[A] Daniels: It's not the same as when I was growing up here. I mean, this lake was the whole world. Now it's just a three-mile body of water in one of fifty states. But it's a very grounded existence. You get a cleaner outlook, which is better for the kids. The people are nine-to-fivers, very realistic and have a different sense of humor. I told the guy in the general store today that Playboy's 20 Questions was coming. He just stared at me blankly. I said, "I knew that would impress you." The real stars in this state are the guys who read the news in Detroit. For me, living here between movies is much healthier than sitting around a pool in Los Angeles or being cramped up in a New York apartment, waiting for the next job. I can't rest in those two towns. There I'm an unemployed actor; here I'm on vacation. I also happen to live here.

2.

[Q] Playboy: Twelve years ago, you left Michigan for New York. Take us on a tour of the hellish depravity only a Midwesterner sees upon moving there.

[A] Daniels: One of my favorite memories was the big blackout in '77. I lived in this not-so-safe building at Seventh Avenue and Twenty-third. To get to my apartment, I had to walk up ten flights of stairs in the pitch black. I kept thinking, God, what's up this next flight? Is it my death? In the same apartment, there was a hole in the door where a lock was supposed to be. One day, I looked up from the couch and saw an eye peering through the hole. Then--whoosh!--the eye was gone. I remember walking down the street and seeing some guy just explode, vomiting something like green radiator fluid. I remember sitting on a bench in a subway station next to two people. Suddenly, a screaming woman ran up, grabbed a hunk of hair from both of them and ran down the platform. Tore out a handful and just disappeared.

But New York's supposed to be a challenge. You're not supposed to be comfortable there. You're in the way. And they don't care whether you live or die. They don't care because they're in New York!

3.

Playboy: You played a homosexual in Lanford Wilson's play The Fifth of July and shared a stage kiss, in successive productions, with William Hurt and Christopher Reeve. What did the folks at home think? And, more important, who was the better kisser?

Daniels: Oh, man.I had been living in New York for two years when my mother came to see it. She was very quiet after the play. I said, "Well, you know, Mom, it's a love story." She said, "It's not a love story, it's perverted!" And all there was on stage was a brief kiss in the first act. I mean, it's either kiss the guy or get fired from the job. In her defense, though, I hadn't dated anyone in a couple of years and I was living down in the Village. So there was some concern, yes. But Mom had no problems with it when the play later opened on Broadway [laughs]. By then, I was married, and although I was still kissing in the first act, that was considered, you know, fun.

As for who's the better kisser, both of the guys have tremendous pucker quality. It reminds me of the Hoover vacuum cleaners of the Fifties. Just fantastic. I mean, that's why they're where they are today.

4.

Playboy: Tell us about your dramatic television debut on Hawaii Five-O. Any theories as to why Jack Lord's hair never moved?

Daniels: I was guest criminal--one of three college-guy jewel thieves--in the penultimate episode. We were standing on a windy cliff, shooting the "Book'em" scene, as it was called. My hair is doing a dance. Everybody's hair is flying. Then you look at Jack's--boom!--it's as rigid as Mount Rushmore. It was amazing, a freak of nature, a genuine phenomenon.

I remember Jack liked to use a lot of cue cards because, you know, Brando did, too. But he was the king of Hawaii, a god, and he commanded total autonomy on that show. For this particular scene, he was ready to deliver his big speech. My line to him was, "What now, Mr. McGarrett?" And he says, "I'll tell you what now! Prison for you punks!" But this was the sixth day of shooting and things were getting a little relaxed. At this point, the director didn't care at all. And somehow, I accidentally read my line as, "What now, Mr. Garrett?" Jack shouts, "Cut it"! gives me a very angry look and says, "That's Muhh-Garrett!" He then turns and walks away. The other actors are doubled over, stifling their laughter. I figured, Fire me, man. I've already got my Hawaiian vacation.

5.

Playboy: Any lingering scars from playing the lecherous weasel Flap Horton in Terms of Endearment? Do you think women still hold you in contempt?

Daniels: Well, the worm is turning. A lot of people have been coming up to me, saying, "You know, I don't know how you put up with those two women for as long as you did." I think, Yeah, yeah! Because for a while there, it was tough to go outside. There was a driver who took me to the Today show and told me, in passing, "When I saw you in Terms of Endearment, I just wanted to beat the hell out of you." How does one respond to that? Say thank you? I went to see the movie in Times Square and (continued on page 146)Jeff Danniels(continued on page 119) there was a girl from Queens sitting behind me, delivering commentary. When 1 first appeared on screen, she says, "Oh, God,he's not cute." Two thirds of the way through, she begins repeating, "What a jerk, what a jerk." And she's loud. At the end, she's one of the biggest criers. Then the credits roll and, going up the aisle, I put my hand on her shoulder and say, "Hope you enjoyed the movie." Then I run out. You just know she'll never go to a movie the same way again. She'll be in revival houses, looking over her shoulder for Steve McQueen.

6.

Playboy: After working in two of Woody Allen's films, you must have noticed: What makes him laugh?

Daniels: In The Purple Rose of Cairo, Mia and I were dancing in what would be a little montage sequence. We danced in a couple of styles, then Woody said, "Let's do a rumba." And I said, "I don't know how to rumba" Mia said she didn't know, either. Woody said, "I don't know how." So I turned to the camera operator, who was this big, very heavy-set guy, and said, "Dick, do you know how to rumba?" Dick just says [very deep, nonchalant voice,] "I'm not a rumba man." And Woody just turned and lost it completely, laughing. I'll never forget that. Watching Woody break up.

My other best memory of Woody also happened during Purple Rose. The line that 1 repeat over and over in the movie-- "Twenty-four hours ago, I was in an Egyptian tomb, and here I'm now on the verge of a madcap Manhattan weekend"--wasn't in the script. Early on, we were doing a scene and Woody said, "We're missing something here. Could you give me a minute?" He goes off to the side and writes the line on a scrap of paper, then brings it over to me. He said, "Could you memorize this?" I've still got the piece of paper. I've framed it for my new house.

7.

Playboy: Let's talk softball. Since you're an avid practitioner, name your preferences: Sixteen or twelve inch? Fast or slow pitch? Chicks or no chicks? And why exactly do you call your team the Clams?

Daniels: Sixteen inch is strictly a Chicago phenomenon. We use a twelve-inch Thunder, which makes heroes out of kids. It's like hitting a golf ball. I'm campaigning to get limited-flight balls, which are a little deader, lougher to hit out. Our league is slow pitch, so these balls are easy pickings for big, fat ex--football players who think a good game is thirty-six to thirty-four. Good softball should be about defense and placing your hits. Scores often to eight.

In the vernacular, we're "no chicks." Coed is great, if you want to go to a picnic on a Saturday. This is lor guys who still think they can play a little bit. Everybody is one play away from blowing out a knee. Their minds are eighteen and their knees are thirty-three.

As for the team name, my brother made it up. All the other teams in the league are named for hardware stores and factories. But our theory was that if we ever got lucky and won some games, the opposing teams would have to say, "Yeah, we got beat by the Clams." Which would be doubly humiliating. We just wanted to hear other people say it, to watch their mouths form the word clams. It's not pretty, believe me.

8.

Playboy: Is it true that you carry a Lou Piniella baseball card in your wallet?

Daniels: No, but until recently, I carried a Yankees wallet that I'd gotten years ago at a Father's Day game in New York. And I had Piniella sign the wallet at a Detroit sports bar when the Yankees were in town. But my most prized possessions are an autographed Al Kaline--Norm Cash baseball and a'68 Kaline trading card. I tracked down Kaline recently at a baseball-card show in a Detroit suburb. For me, it was kind of like meeting your Maker. I even wore his number--six--on my Clams uniform. I'd never been to a baseball-card show and learned you pay five bucks to get in, which entitles you to one autograph. I had a ball, two cards and my mitt. But this little snotty rich kid from this wealthy suburb is sitting there, like the autograph police. I had Kaline sign my mitt and, as he's about to sign my two cards, the kid says, "Just one autograph"! And Kaline stops, shakes my hand, ready to dismiss me. I freeze, fighting the urge to ask him whether he'd seen Terms of Endearment. But there's a line of thirty people behind me, and the kid is now shouting, "Come on! Come on! One autograph"! I'm being told off by this nine-year-old putz and, worse, I'm totally intimidated. So I leave, go out and buy two more tickets for ten bucks, come back and get in another forty-five-minute line, waiting for Al. Worth it, though. Very classy guy, Al.

9

Playboy: Defend Tigers fans.

Daniels: Tigers fans got a bad rap. Everybody remembers that Detroit burned some cars in the stadium parking lot during the world series. But those were kids who came in from the suburbs who didn't even have tickets to the game. Thanks to them, we're the car murderers. But, in reality, the Tigers have very knowledgeable and civilized fans. Yankees fans are the worst. Don't even think of going to the upper deck of Yankee Stadium without taking boxing gloves. Jesus, they like to throw batteries at Dwight Evans in right field. And even though the Tigers had idiots in the stands in '84, doing the wave, it wasn't nearly as vomit provoking as the Minnesota Twins fans of a couple years ago. I went to one play-off game where the wives of the Twins were huddled behind the dugout, about twenty rows up, blowing their whistles and waving their hankies. It was, like, time to get out the .22, you know?

10.

Playboy: It's rumored that when you're alone, playing baseball board games, you sing the national anthem beforehand. True?

Daniels: [Sheepishly] Only for my world-series games at the end of the season. So as not to cause commotion with the family, I try to play The Star-Spangled Banner when they're not awake--you know, six in the morning or twelve midnight. I put on a recording of Robert Merrill singing it, but I don't sing along. I just solemnly place my hat over my heart and imagine I'm standing on the dugout steps. It's important to create a little atmosphere. It adds purpose to the task at hand.

11.

Playboy: You grew up working in your father's lumber business. Is there a secret for the uninitiated on how not to look like an ignoramus in a lumberyard?

Daniels: No.It's like a pro golf shop. You go into a pro golf shop and say, "Just looking for some clubs," and they immediately know you're a hacker. Same thing if you go to a lumberyard, approach the counter and say, "I need wood." Or, "I'd like to build a basement. Any suggestions?" The counter guy will just roll his eyes and mutter things. But I contend that's why there are architects. As far as I'm concerned, I don't want to know. I don't care about two-way doors or thermal insulated windows--just put 'em in. I mean, I can tell a two-by-four from a one-by-eight, but the real talent is to glance at a piece of wood and say, "That's a fourteen-footer, but it's cut a little short." Can't do that. Couldn't care less.

12.

Playboy: When you were starting out, you made a number of commercials. In what kind of roles were you typecast?

Daniels: Oh, dumb jock. I was the guy who cooked the burgers in the McDonald's commercials. I would assure viewers of the great care taken in preparing meat patties. I was into my Method acting phase then and would invent real lives for these mannequins 1 played. I was way over the top, imagining I was a high school football star named Jerry Smith, working my summer job at McDonald's to support my hobby, which was mounting butterflies or whatever. The agency guys would sigh and tell me, "Just get it inside thirty seconds this time, Jeff."

Then there was the Head & Shoulders spot in the laundromat, where I'm this typical guy who doesn't know anything about laundry. I come in with messy hair, wearing a sweat shirt, and see this attractive girl. In a cartoon balloon over my head, I think. Hey, she's kind of nice-looking. And she looks at me and thinks, Oooh, bad hair. And I scratch my head. I go shampoo and, two weeks later, return to the laundromat, dressed like a banker. My hair is perfectly combed and moussed. This time, the girl actually talks to me. And while the announcer does his voice-over pitch, we're supposed to ad-lib a conversation that no one hears. I decided to take some liberties. What looked like me making pleasant small talk went something like this: [Weird sotto voce] "Uh, I've been watching you. I'm the guy in the green Pontiac who sits outside your apartment. It's been--what?-- a year and a half now. It's nice to finally get to talk to you. Heh-heh-heh." She just freaked. But she did like my hair.

13.

Playboy: When does it pay to be a former boy scout? How many scouting tenets have you retained?

Daniels: [Recites]"Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent." And they all still apply, don't they? Especially in show business. Actually, hanging on to any three of those in this business would be a worthy goal. Problem with my troop was, yes, you learned how to build fires and camp out, but you also learned to drink Boone's Farm wine without throwing up and play a version of mumblety-peg that involved knives being flung at your feet. It was like delinquent survival camp.

14.

Playboy: What are your hidden talents?

Daniels: I moon-walk. I learned it for the high school--reunion scene in Something Wild. Unfortunately, there were about three hundred extras standing around watching me learn, and half of them were black. They were not impressed at all. But I eventually got it down and can now do it without looking like too much of a white guy. And it does get a lot of looks when I do it in local taverns.

15.

Playboy: As an inveterate songwriter, were you tempted to show any of your work to George Harrison, who produced Checking Out?

Daniels: No, but I had my Gibson guitar with me, which I use whenever traveling. If that guitar fell out of a plane, I wouldn't be too upset--except that's no longer the case. One day on the set, I asked George to sign it. He said, "Oh, I'll be happy to." He told me to get a permanent marker and how to make the signature last. I took it and led him into a back room, so an autographing line wouldn't form. He signed it and added a little mystic symbol, then started tuning it for me and began strumming an A minor, a G, an F--he was playing All Along the Watchtower. And singing along! Forty-five minutes later, he had performed Hoagy Garmichael songs, Buddy Holly songs, a piece of Norwegian Wood, lots of blues stuff. I mean, he just had a ball. This was before the Wilburys, and he was saying, "I haven't played in so long." I couldn't get the smile off my face. It was frozen there. So I never played or sang for him. But he did say, "If you're ever in England, stop by--we'll sit around and play guitars." And the guy is nice enough that 1 think he meant it.

16.

Playboy: In Checking Out, you played a guy coming to grips with the death of his best friend. Did it trigger thoughts of your own mortality?

Daniels: I never went through what this guy did. Where, as a sympathetic response, you actually feel like you're going to die, too. It was described to me in detail by those who've experienced it, though. I've always been a runner and fairly healthy. I've never had anxiety attacks where I've been on my hands and knees in my underwear on the front lawn, gasping for air, with my heart pounding. You get the sensation that your heart is going to burst out of your chest. Or you're convinced that you're down to five last heartbeats. You think, Four-three-two-one and now it's stopped....[Choking] And ... now ... I ... can't ... breathe....[Exhales] I mean, this character doesn't imagine himself falling off buildings to his death. He just figures the heart beats, beats, beats until someday, when it just stops.

I think of my mortality, sure, but much less obsessively. That's one of the reasons I write songs. They're like a diary and 1 always tape-record them. I figure that if I do go in a car accident, my kids can turn on a tape and hear me. That's also what's nice about films. They can put in a video cassette and see what Dad did. In theater, your work just vanishes into thin air. Which is romantic and wonderful for people who love to act in theaters. But I don't.

17.

Playboy: What resonant wisdom has Jack Nicholson imparted to you?

Daniels: I remember I was the last guy on the set of Terms to meet him. I'd kind of held back because I was in such awe of him. Finally, Winger drags me over and says, "Jeff, Jack; Jack, Jeff." He says [doing dead-on Nicholson,] "How are ya?" I said, "Jack, it's a thrill. You know, I grew up in Michigan, kind of near where Magic played ball in college." He said, "Oh, you played with Magic?" I said, "No, I didn't play with-- Oh, never mind." I was just fumbling for words. Then he said, "So what have you done?" I said, "Well, I've done Ragtime and mainly a lot of Broadway." He looked at me and said, "Well, this ain't Broadway. This is the pro game" That was like a little gift he gave me. It kind of stays with you.

18.

Playboy: Describe the most maddening experience you've had with a difficult leading lady. Names are optional.

Daniels: The worst one: I had practically finished doing an entire film with this woman, in the course of which she continually missed her mark by two feet, didn't know her lines, couldn't ad-lib to save her life, blew takes left and right. And now, it's almost the end of the movie, and they're lighting her, getting ready to shoot her in a close-up. Meanwhile, she's standing there reading Less than Zero-- which in itself is a clue to something--and she's got one paragraph to go to finish the chapter. The director says, "We're ready!" Everybody--I mean, everybody--is in position. She says, "I just want to finish this one paragraph." [Pauses] Thirty seconds later, she closes the book and says, "Jeff, you really ought to read this book." I couldn't believe it. I mean, what gall.

19.

Playboy: How do you know when you've stolen a scene?

Daniels: When you look into the other actors' eyes and see confusion. You can see them thinking, What's my next line? Because you're not just reading your lines-- you're doing things, trying different behavioral nuances, keeping them off balance. And they can't keep up with you. Sometimes you do it because you're provoked. You go into a scene, knowing that off camera the guy is being a jerk or the girl is being, ah, difficult. Then you're just trying to save your butt. So you turn it up a little bit, basically saying, "Keep up with this." Sometimes it works to fire people up and make a scene better. Other times, they just say, "Cut"! because they can't remember their lines. Which is satisfying in itself.

20.

Playboy: Let's explore the title of your next film, Love Hurts. When does love hurt the worst? When does it hurt the best?

Daniels: Love hurts the best when she's clinging to the headboard, her back is arched to the ceiling, she's coming like she's never come before and she looks into your eyes and you're smiling and you both know you have miles to go before you sleep. Love hurts the worst when you're spent, exhausted, your back is glistening with sweat and not only was it great for you--it was the best for you in God knows how long. And you look at her and she says, "Is that it?"

hollywood's likable laconic lunk on softball, small towns and when love hurts the best