Пайпер Лори / Piper Laurie (Кэтрин Мартелл) о съемках в сериале "Твин Пикс"
Раскопки на Либрусековском архиве продолжают приносить трофеи. Автобиография Пайпер Лори, выпущенная в 2011 году.
https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Пайпер_Лори
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piper_Laurie
http://imdb.com/name/nm0001453
Piper Laurie - Learning to Live Out Loud. A Memoir (2011)
https://books.google.ru/books?id=G6c-35eEDwsC&hl=ru
https://www.amazon.com/Learning-Live-Out-Loud-Memoir/dp/082302668X
https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/piper-lauries-memoir-learning-to-live-out-loud/2011/10/27/gIQAgbHiQP_story.html?noredirect=on&utm_term=.2ba4bb78b8c7
Я начал читать с 16 главы Peaks and Valley, но затем так увлекся, что дочитал до финала, а затем... вернулся назад и начал читать рассказ о съемках в фильме "Carrie" по Стивену Кингу
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carrie_(1976_film)
https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Кэрри_(фильм,_1976)
а затем о съемках в первом фильме Мела Гибсона "Тим" 1979 года https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tim_(film) .... и вероятно, я прыгну еще назад, на более ранние главы об ее "классической" голливудской кино-театральной карьере и тревожном детстве.
Много интересных рассказов об ее общении с кино-театральной мировой "элитой", в частности ее романтические отношения с Джоном Франкенхаймером https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Франкенхаймер,_Джон и так далее.... Рональд Рейган, Тони Кертис, Пол Ньюман, Джеймс Вудс и многие другие...
Фрагмент из книги про съемки в "Твин Пиксе", в особенности о гриме "Японского Бизнесмена" из Второго Сезона, когда всё держали втайне от съемочной группы и распустили слух, что это, типа, настоящий актер, который работал с Куросавой...
16. Peaks and Valleys:
Though I never pursued projects that would become cult favorites, as it turned out, they found me. Fifteen years after Carrie jump-started my career and assured me immortality among followers of horror films, I was offered a part in a quirky gothic melodrama named Twin Peaks. David Lynch’s darkly comic venture into series television attracted a rabid following that rivaled fans of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
I first met David Lynch at a small dinner party, and he was not what I had expected. I’d seen all his work, including Eraserhead. He was not weird at all, but quiet and friendly, and I liked him very much.
Months later I was sitting in the reception area in David’s West Hollywood office. There was a stunningly beautiful Asian girl sitting there, waiting with me. I would meet Joan Chen later. Right now I thought she looked tense. I can’t say I was. I liked David and was actually looking forward to seeing him. I had read the pilot script and didn’t care that my part was very small; I wanted the experience of working with David. While I waited, I noticed a few men who obviously worked there moving about, coming in and out of doors, looking busy. I kept thinking there was something a little odd about the picture before me. Then I realized they were all wearing their hair very much like David’s: blondish and very high. I supposed the imitation was unconscious.
After a few minutes I was escorted into the office. It was tiny, but like the tresses of the men who inhabited the place, it too had a vaulted ceiling. Everything was ultra-stainless steel and stark white. Both David Lynch and Mark Frost, who was David’s partner and cowriter, were standing there looking really happy to see me, and so of course I was very happy, too. I stayed maybe five minutes, no more, leaning against the wall. None of us sat down. I agreed to do their pilot for Twin Peaks and left. Though I was sure it was a one-time thing, I had to sign on for a possible series. These things almost never go forward, and I was not interested in being tied up. As things turned out, the pilot was a spectacular success, and I was contractually committed to work on the series. I shut my eyes and threw myself into it. My part grew, and with the exception of the long hours, I enjoyed the work tremendously.
The exteriors for the pilot were filmed in the state of Washington on exquisite locations in the pines. The actual Twin Peaks studio and soundstage were in a converted warehouse deep in the San Fernando Valley, with the lodge painstakingly re-created indoors. While we were on the lush locations, we fancy stars slept not in the lodge but in third-rate motels with views of the gas station.
It was a pleasure working with David. He had a low-key, quiet style on the set, sounding, I thought, a little bit like Jimmy Stewart. One had to listen closely or they might miss the flashes of great wit. His mind was fearless and creative, like a child who has never experienced the dark.
My body behaved well, and I made few adjustments. I had to tone down the required wild dancing to moderately wild dancing for my character Catherine in one scene. I confided in our director for that episode, former dancer and choreographer Lesli Linka Glatter, whom I was confident would keep my secret. Cleverly, I traveled with ice packs on my legs as I drove myself home at night.
My sister asked me if I was aware that my romantic leading man, Richard Beymer, was fifteen years my junior. She proceeded to tell me that I appeared younger-looking because I had good health and skin, and because I rarely drank. She knew almost nothing about my past since we’d been children, and I had no need to tell her. Sherrye was having a good time enjoying my newfound celebrity. Every relative and friend I possessed was watching the show, which had not always been the case. Clearly, we were a hit.
The crowning glory came after we wrapped up the first season. David called me at home and said, in his Jimmy Stewart drawl, “Rosie, I want you to give some thought to the next season. Your character was last seen at the fire in the sawmill. We don’t know whether Catherine escaped or not. When we come back, I want the audience to think you died in the fire. Your husband, Jack Nance, will think you’re dead. Everyone will think you’re dead, and we’ll take your name off the credits of the show.”
It crossed my mind for a millisecond that this was David’s original way of telling me I was being fired.
But he continued, “Now, Rosie, this is the part I want you to think about. You will return in some sort of disguise, as a man, and you’ll spy on the town and create trouble for everyone-your husband, your lover, everyone. You should probably be a businessman. I want you to decide what kind of businessman you would like to be. Maybe a Frenchman or a Mexican. Think about it for a while and let me know.”
I was so enchanted with the open possibilities and the power of being able to choose my part. Who was the child now? I decided I’d be a Japanese businessman because I thought it would be less predictable. I was so filled with excitement and laughter; this was joyful children’s play. There was no argument from David when I told him my choice, no attempt to influence me. He simply accepted it. Then came the hard part. David wished me to keep it a secret from the entire cast and crew. Not even my agent or my family was to know. That was important to him. I wasn’t to tell a soul.
There was so much preparation involved in pulling off the subterfuge. There were secret makeup and wardrobe tests at a laboratory in the Valley. Paula Shimatsu-u, who was Mark Frost’s assistant and one of the few people who knew, was helpful in making tape recordings of Japanese friends reciting my lines. I practiced imitating them while driving to and from work. I had assumed that, of course, the placement of my voice would be electronically altered, but they had given it no thought and were not prepared on the morning of my first scene. I am trained to keep going no matter what, and when I realized I was on my own, I ended up going to a place in my chest and throat to get that appropriate guttural sound. It turned out to be painful to sustain, and I sipped liquids constantly between takes. I shall never do that again for fear of injuring my voice permanently.
I’ve skipped the enchanting part. Paula Shimatsu-u also dealt with the press and released a bio about “the new cast member”: “Fumio Yamaguchi is a Japanese star who has worked primarily with Kurosawa. He has flown over especially to work with David Lynch. His English is a little shaky; therefore he needs an interpreter and learns his lines phonetically.”
The cast, crew, and all guest directors knew nothing; nor did my family. My name came off the credits, and Fumio Yamaguchi’s was put on. Because I wouldn’t talk about it when asked, my poor sister and her friends assumed I’d been fired. Sherrye was so upset that she started having asthma attacks, and I had to take her into my confidence.
I was introduced to Paula’s brother Derick, whom I hired to act as a much-needed personal assistant, and whom David later hired to appear on camera as “Fumio’s” assistant in the show. Derick would pick me up at three in the morning in Santa Monica and drive me to the special makeup lab way out in the Valley, about twenty minutes from our studio. There I would spend four hours being made up and dressed for my new identity. From the moment the studio van arrived for me, I was Fumio Yamaguchi. The driver, whom I knew personally, had no idea whom he was picking up. When the long day was over, I would be driven back to the lab and spend at least an hour and a half removing the prosthetics before Derick drove me home. Wisely, they never scheduled consecutive days for me. I needed at least three days for my face to heal until the next time the prosthetics were glued on.
The enchantment continued for me, though certainly not for the guest directors, who were not told what was up and had their hands full. I was flying! I constantly improvised conversations with Derick, my so-called assistant-interpreter on the set; I spoke fake Japanese in a very low voice, and Derick responded in real Japanese. Every time the poor director gave me a direction, I caused a five-minute delay while my assistant and I thrashed things out. I would instruct Derick to say to the director, on my behalf, things such as “This is not the way Kurosawa works!” When it appeared that the director was about to quit or have a stroke, he would be given a heads-up, quietly. But even then he didn’t know who I was. This was my life’s Harpo moment! And I did not deny myself.
I learned that suppressing laughter all day long while I stayed in character was actually physically difficult. Even if I went to a private place like the bathroom (I had a locked private one next to some offices), I could crack and ruin the makeup by laughing. So I stayed controlled, and I was too tired when I got home to whoop and holler in the wee hours.
The regular cast on the set bought the act at first. They were a little intimidated initially by the strange foreigner and were told to be very respectful to me. Jack Nance, the innocent, who played my husband on the show, went to David and Mark at the end of the first day and said, “Boy … is that new actor weird!”
When the cast got used to me being around, they looked a little more closely and could see I was wearing very heavy makeup. Later most of the actors said they knew something was up, but they never revealed that in front of me. And no one suspected “Fumio” was me. I heard that Peggy Lipton was convinced I was Isabella Rossellini. Jack Nance and I had a number of important scenes together, but he didn’t know it was me until weeks later, when he read the “reveal” scene in his script.
Matt Roush, the journalist and critic who was then a reporter for USA Today, was a special fan of my character Catherine Martell. He wanted to know if it was true that Piper Laurie was no longer on the show. He said he missed me. Paula Shimatsu-u said she couldn’t discuss it but could arrange an interview with the new star from Japan. Roush had seen the “new actor” in several episodes and said he would be interested. And so Paula invited Roush to come out to the studio to interview “Fumio Yamaguchi.”
A time was set for a meeting in Mark Frost’s office. If this were a close, face-to-face meeting, Roush would immediately spot the heavy makeup, so when he arrived, he was told, “Mr. Yamaguchi is exhausted from yesterday’s work and wished to rest at home, but he has offered to speak to you on the telephone. He has his interpreter with him at home.”
Roush agreed and began an interview with me on the telephone while I was actually just downstairs in an office. Derick and Paula were by my side as I spoke in my guttural voice and broken English. I don’t remember if it was Roush or me who brought up baseball, but for some reason it became an important part of the conversation-that, and in what ways David Lynch was different from Kurosawa, who was then still very much alive. Every once in a while I’d put Derick on the phone to pretend to explain things for me, and after a good half hour the interview ended. Roush thanked me in an extremely formal and nice way. Moments after hanging up, I walked upstairs to Mark Frost’s office and said, “Hi, Mark, I just dropped by to say hello.” (Of course, Mark was expecting me.)
Mark introduced me to Roush, who said, “I’m so relieved to see you here, Ms. Laurie. I presume this means you’ll be doing more episodes. I was getting concerned-I really loved your character.”
“Oh, thank you,” I replied sweetly.
The conversation went on for quite a while, and I made myself comfortable on the couch, flirtatiously close to Mr. Roush. Mark joined in the conversation, and I drifted into talking about baseball and quoted the reporter and myself in a subtle way from our phone conversation.
Finally, and it was just an exquisite moment, the lightbulb went on. Mr. Roush suddenly turned whiter than he was, looked squarely at me, his eyes wide, his face turning rose red. Jumping up, he threw himself on the floor, kicking and screaming, “No … no … no … I don’t believe it!” He got himself up off the floor and fell back onto the couch again shouting, “Oh … no … no!” He was hitting himself and laughing, and we all had such a long, deep, wonderful laugh together. It made up for all the times I couldn’t laugh while I was working. Matt Roush was such a good sport and wrote two good pieces about the show for USA Today.
When Twin Peaks ended, I was nominated for an Emmy and also a Golden Globe for my performance. I went to the Foreign Press’s Golden Globe ceremony out of loyalty to David Lynch. I didn’t expect to win anything. It was awfully nice that they always seemed to nominate me whether I deserved it or not, and every year it was the same: I never won. My agent was my escort. Everyone from Twin Peaks who had been nominated sat together, having dinner at one large table. Before the ceremony started, feeling a bit trapped behind a railing and between colleagues, I felt lazy and didn’t bother going to the ladies’ room to tidy my hair for the possibility of a camera spotting me. Happy to be one of the crowd, I sat back and made myself comfortable, leaning on the railing. My category came early in the show, and we were all poised to applaud enthusiastically for whomever, when suddenly I heard my name. Oh dear God, no!
I shot out of my seat as if reporting for duty, afraid to waste anybody’s time, not stopping to hug or kiss anybody. It seemed to take forever to squeeze past the railing and find a pathway to the stage, and I cringed as I approached the microphone. I had always dreaded this possibility and frankly always preferred losing because of it. Some things never change completely. There were lots of smiling faces looking up at me, among them Van Johnson, of all people, with whom I’d made a movie and hadn’t seen in decades, looking so happy for me and applauding! I have no recollection of what I said, and I’m certain I was hyperventilating.
https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Пайпер_Лори
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piper_Laurie
http://imdb.com/name/nm0001453
Piper Laurie - Learning to Live Out Loud. A Memoir (2011)
https://books.google.ru/books?id=G6c-35eEDwsC&hl=ru
https://www.amazon.com/Learning-Live-Out-Loud-Memoir/dp/082302668X
https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/piper-lauries-memoir-learning-to-live-out-loud/2011/10/27/gIQAgbHiQP_story.html?noredirect=on&utm_term=.2ba4bb78b8c7
Я начал читать с 16 главы Peaks and Valley, но затем так увлекся, что дочитал до финала, а затем... вернулся назад и начал читать рассказ о съемках в фильме "Carrie" по Стивену Кингу
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carrie_(1976_film)
https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Кэрри_(фильм,_1976)
а затем о съемках в первом фильме Мела Гибсона "Тим" 1979 года https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tim_(film) .... и вероятно, я прыгну еще назад, на более ранние главы об ее "классической" голливудской кино-театральной карьере и тревожном детстве.
Много интересных рассказов об ее общении с кино-театральной мировой "элитой", в частности ее романтические отношения с Джоном Франкенхаймером https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Франкенхаймер,_Джон и так далее.... Рональд Рейган, Тони Кертис, Пол Ньюман, Джеймс Вудс и многие другие...
Фрагмент из книги про съемки в "Твин Пиксе", в особенности о гриме "Японского Бизнесмена" из Второго Сезона, когда всё держали втайне от съемочной группы и распустили слух, что это, типа, настоящий актер, который работал с Куросавой...
16. Peaks and Valleys:
Though I never pursued projects that would become cult favorites, as it turned out, they found me. Fifteen years after Carrie jump-started my career and assured me immortality among followers of horror films, I was offered a part in a quirky gothic melodrama named Twin Peaks. David Lynch’s darkly comic venture into series television attracted a rabid following that rivaled fans of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
I first met David Lynch at a small dinner party, and he was not what I had expected. I’d seen all his work, including Eraserhead. He was not weird at all, but quiet and friendly, and I liked him very much.
Months later I was sitting in the reception area in David’s West Hollywood office. There was a stunningly beautiful Asian girl sitting there, waiting with me. I would meet Joan Chen later. Right now I thought she looked tense. I can’t say I was. I liked David and was actually looking forward to seeing him. I had read the pilot script and didn’t care that my part was very small; I wanted the experience of working with David. While I waited, I noticed a few men who obviously worked there moving about, coming in and out of doors, looking busy. I kept thinking there was something a little odd about the picture before me. Then I realized they were all wearing their hair very much like David’s: blondish and very high. I supposed the imitation was unconscious.
After a few minutes I was escorted into the office. It was tiny, but like the tresses of the men who inhabited the place, it too had a vaulted ceiling. Everything was ultra-stainless steel and stark white. Both David Lynch and Mark Frost, who was David’s partner and cowriter, were standing there looking really happy to see me, and so of course I was very happy, too. I stayed maybe five minutes, no more, leaning against the wall. None of us sat down. I agreed to do their pilot for Twin Peaks and left. Though I was sure it was a one-time thing, I had to sign on for a possible series. These things almost never go forward, and I was not interested in being tied up. As things turned out, the pilot was a spectacular success, and I was contractually committed to work on the series. I shut my eyes and threw myself into it. My part grew, and with the exception of the long hours, I enjoyed the work tremendously.
The exteriors for the pilot were filmed in the state of Washington on exquisite locations in the pines. The actual Twin Peaks studio and soundstage were in a converted warehouse deep in the San Fernando Valley, with the lodge painstakingly re-created indoors. While we were on the lush locations, we fancy stars slept not in the lodge but in third-rate motels with views of the gas station.
It was a pleasure working with David. He had a low-key, quiet style on the set, sounding, I thought, a little bit like Jimmy Stewart. One had to listen closely or they might miss the flashes of great wit. His mind was fearless and creative, like a child who has never experienced the dark.
My body behaved well, and I made few adjustments. I had to tone down the required wild dancing to moderately wild dancing for my character Catherine in one scene. I confided in our director for that episode, former dancer and choreographer Lesli Linka Glatter, whom I was confident would keep my secret. Cleverly, I traveled with ice packs on my legs as I drove myself home at night.
My sister asked me if I was aware that my romantic leading man, Richard Beymer, was fifteen years my junior. She proceeded to tell me that I appeared younger-looking because I had good health and skin, and because I rarely drank. She knew almost nothing about my past since we’d been children, and I had no need to tell her. Sherrye was having a good time enjoying my newfound celebrity. Every relative and friend I possessed was watching the show, which had not always been the case. Clearly, we were a hit.
The crowning glory came after we wrapped up the first season. David called me at home and said, in his Jimmy Stewart drawl, “Rosie, I want you to give some thought to the next season. Your character was last seen at the fire in the sawmill. We don’t know whether Catherine escaped or not. When we come back, I want the audience to think you died in the fire. Your husband, Jack Nance, will think you’re dead. Everyone will think you’re dead, and we’ll take your name off the credits of the show.”
It crossed my mind for a millisecond that this was David’s original way of telling me I was being fired.
But he continued, “Now, Rosie, this is the part I want you to think about. You will return in some sort of disguise, as a man, and you’ll spy on the town and create trouble for everyone-your husband, your lover, everyone. You should probably be a businessman. I want you to decide what kind of businessman you would like to be. Maybe a Frenchman or a Mexican. Think about it for a while and let me know.”
I was so enchanted with the open possibilities and the power of being able to choose my part. Who was the child now? I decided I’d be a Japanese businessman because I thought it would be less predictable. I was so filled with excitement and laughter; this was joyful children’s play. There was no argument from David when I told him my choice, no attempt to influence me. He simply accepted it. Then came the hard part. David wished me to keep it a secret from the entire cast and crew. Not even my agent or my family was to know. That was important to him. I wasn’t to tell a soul.
There was so much preparation involved in pulling off the subterfuge. There were secret makeup and wardrobe tests at a laboratory in the Valley. Paula Shimatsu-u, who was Mark Frost’s assistant and one of the few people who knew, was helpful in making tape recordings of Japanese friends reciting my lines. I practiced imitating them while driving to and from work. I had assumed that, of course, the placement of my voice would be electronically altered, but they had given it no thought and were not prepared on the morning of my first scene. I am trained to keep going no matter what, and when I realized I was on my own, I ended up going to a place in my chest and throat to get that appropriate guttural sound. It turned out to be painful to sustain, and I sipped liquids constantly between takes. I shall never do that again for fear of injuring my voice permanently.
I’ve skipped the enchanting part. Paula Shimatsu-u also dealt with the press and released a bio about “the new cast member”: “Fumio Yamaguchi is a Japanese star who has worked primarily with Kurosawa. He has flown over especially to work with David Lynch. His English is a little shaky; therefore he needs an interpreter and learns his lines phonetically.”
The cast, crew, and all guest directors knew nothing; nor did my family. My name came off the credits, and Fumio Yamaguchi’s was put on. Because I wouldn’t talk about it when asked, my poor sister and her friends assumed I’d been fired. Sherrye was so upset that she started having asthma attacks, and I had to take her into my confidence.
I was introduced to Paula’s brother Derick, whom I hired to act as a much-needed personal assistant, and whom David later hired to appear on camera as “Fumio’s” assistant in the show. Derick would pick me up at three in the morning in Santa Monica and drive me to the special makeup lab way out in the Valley, about twenty minutes from our studio. There I would spend four hours being made up and dressed for my new identity. From the moment the studio van arrived for me, I was Fumio Yamaguchi. The driver, whom I knew personally, had no idea whom he was picking up. When the long day was over, I would be driven back to the lab and spend at least an hour and a half removing the prosthetics before Derick drove me home. Wisely, they never scheduled consecutive days for me. I needed at least three days for my face to heal until the next time the prosthetics were glued on.
The enchantment continued for me, though certainly not for the guest directors, who were not told what was up and had their hands full. I was flying! I constantly improvised conversations with Derick, my so-called assistant-interpreter on the set; I spoke fake Japanese in a very low voice, and Derick responded in real Japanese. Every time the poor director gave me a direction, I caused a five-minute delay while my assistant and I thrashed things out. I would instruct Derick to say to the director, on my behalf, things such as “This is not the way Kurosawa works!” When it appeared that the director was about to quit or have a stroke, he would be given a heads-up, quietly. But even then he didn’t know who I was. This was my life’s Harpo moment! And I did not deny myself.
I learned that suppressing laughter all day long while I stayed in character was actually physically difficult. Even if I went to a private place like the bathroom (I had a locked private one next to some offices), I could crack and ruin the makeup by laughing. So I stayed controlled, and I was too tired when I got home to whoop and holler in the wee hours.
The regular cast on the set bought the act at first. They were a little intimidated initially by the strange foreigner and were told to be very respectful to me. Jack Nance, the innocent, who played my husband on the show, went to David and Mark at the end of the first day and said, “Boy … is that new actor weird!”
When the cast got used to me being around, they looked a little more closely and could see I was wearing very heavy makeup. Later most of the actors said they knew something was up, but they never revealed that in front of me. And no one suspected “Fumio” was me. I heard that Peggy Lipton was convinced I was Isabella Rossellini. Jack Nance and I had a number of important scenes together, but he didn’t know it was me until weeks later, when he read the “reveal” scene in his script.
Matt Roush, the journalist and critic who was then a reporter for USA Today, was a special fan of my character Catherine Martell. He wanted to know if it was true that Piper Laurie was no longer on the show. He said he missed me. Paula Shimatsu-u said she couldn’t discuss it but could arrange an interview with the new star from Japan. Roush had seen the “new actor” in several episodes and said he would be interested. And so Paula invited Roush to come out to the studio to interview “Fumio Yamaguchi.”
A time was set for a meeting in Mark Frost’s office. If this were a close, face-to-face meeting, Roush would immediately spot the heavy makeup, so when he arrived, he was told, “Mr. Yamaguchi is exhausted from yesterday’s work and wished to rest at home, but he has offered to speak to you on the telephone. He has his interpreter with him at home.”
Roush agreed and began an interview with me on the telephone while I was actually just downstairs in an office. Derick and Paula were by my side as I spoke in my guttural voice and broken English. I don’t remember if it was Roush or me who brought up baseball, but for some reason it became an important part of the conversation-that, and in what ways David Lynch was different from Kurosawa, who was then still very much alive. Every once in a while I’d put Derick on the phone to pretend to explain things for me, and after a good half hour the interview ended. Roush thanked me in an extremely formal and nice way. Moments after hanging up, I walked upstairs to Mark Frost’s office and said, “Hi, Mark, I just dropped by to say hello.” (Of course, Mark was expecting me.)
Mark introduced me to Roush, who said, “I’m so relieved to see you here, Ms. Laurie. I presume this means you’ll be doing more episodes. I was getting concerned-I really loved your character.”
“Oh, thank you,” I replied sweetly.
The conversation went on for quite a while, and I made myself comfortable on the couch, flirtatiously close to Mr. Roush. Mark joined in the conversation, and I drifted into talking about baseball and quoted the reporter and myself in a subtle way from our phone conversation.
Finally, and it was just an exquisite moment, the lightbulb went on. Mr. Roush suddenly turned whiter than he was, looked squarely at me, his eyes wide, his face turning rose red. Jumping up, he threw himself on the floor, kicking and screaming, “No … no … no … I don’t believe it!” He got himself up off the floor and fell back onto the couch again shouting, “Oh … no … no!” He was hitting himself and laughing, and we all had such a long, deep, wonderful laugh together. It made up for all the times I couldn’t laugh while I was working. Matt Roush was such a good sport and wrote two good pieces about the show for USA Today.
When Twin Peaks ended, I was nominated for an Emmy and also a Golden Globe for my performance. I went to the Foreign Press’s Golden Globe ceremony out of loyalty to David Lynch. I didn’t expect to win anything. It was awfully nice that they always seemed to nominate me whether I deserved it or not, and every year it was the same: I never won. My agent was my escort. Everyone from Twin Peaks who had been nominated sat together, having dinner at one large table. Before the ceremony started, feeling a bit trapped behind a railing and between colleagues, I felt lazy and didn’t bother going to the ladies’ room to tidy my hair for the possibility of a camera spotting me. Happy to be one of the crowd, I sat back and made myself comfortable, leaning on the railing. My category came early in the show, and we were all poised to applaud enthusiastically for whomever, when suddenly I heard my name. Oh dear God, no!
I shot out of my seat as if reporting for duty, afraid to waste anybody’s time, not stopping to hug or kiss anybody. It seemed to take forever to squeeze past the railing and find a pathway to the stage, and I cringed as I approached the microphone. I had always dreaded this possibility and frankly always preferred losing because of it. Some things never change completely. There were lots of smiling faces looking up at me, among them Van Johnson, of all people, with whom I’d made a movie and hadn’t seen in decades, looking so happy for me and applauding! I have no recollection of what I said, and I’m certain I was hyperventilating.