Cathy Moriarty: Disappearing Act

White of the Eye is a sicko bloodfest about a woman whose husband may or may not be a serial killer who stores the organs of his victims in the bathroom, under the couple's hot tub. (Perhaps we are supposed to believe that the potpourri masked the stench.) You can't help but feel for Moriarty as she tries to breathe some life into an underwritten character in this gory, low-brow bomb. She took the part, she says, because "I got to show a lot of different emotions...fear, love, sadness, and I got to do some yelling." You realize, after hearing a comment like this, that overnight success has indeed been a curse for Moriarty. The need to be taken seriously as an actor is still gnawing at her. She still doubts her worth. And she's still choosing roles because she thinks these roles will allow her to showcase her wide range, not because they're the best roles she's offered. Moriarty was nominated for an Oscar in the film-of-the-decade because in that film she appeared not to be acting at all. Regrettably, the lesson there hasn't sunk in yet.

After the failure of White of the Eye, Moriarty underwent back surgery to correct problems that lingered from the car accident. She did not say, as she was wheeled into the operating room, that compared with comedy, this is easy, but she could have. Her life, at this point, seemed an example of Murphy's Law. She could have taught an extension course on what not to do in Hollywood.

I asked her how she made it through all the tough times. "When all else fails, and you're really down...all you have is your family. They'll never let you down. You can go back no matter what." Her parents--who were born in Ireland--had seven kids in nine years. They still live in New York, and every few months, Moriarty flies back to see her siblings and her new nieces and nephews. "We order pizza and make tents and play Candyland and beauty parlor." When she talks about a recent family gathering with her proud parents at one end of the table, she gets all choked up and turns off the tape recorder. "I miss my family desperately," she says. "I miss all the new babies--the new generation."

Prayer, too, has helped Moriarty through the ups and downs of the past decade. She's a practicing Catholic who goes to services every Sunday. "You'd be amazed at who you run into in church. I was five minutes late last Sunday, and a well-known actor turned around and waved his finger at me."

"Do you confess?"

"I didn't have anything wrong to confess to."

"What would have happened," I ask, "if, 12 years ago, after all those rehearsals with Scorsese and De Niro, after the screen test and the high hopes, what would have happened to Cathy Moriarty, the receptionist in the garment district, if she hadn't gotten the role in Raging Bull? What would she be doing?" Moriarty doesn't reflect for a moment: "The same thing I am doing. Either you can act or you can't. My high school English teacher told me, 'You like being different people. You're always putting on a show. Acting is inevitable for you.' I've worked very hard for what I have. It didn't come easy..."

"Here comes the mantra," I think to myself. And sure enough, she says, right on cue, "I'm happy. I know exactly what I'm doing. I do a good job. This is great. It's a dream come true."

Perhaps, though, Moriarty knows something I don't. Perhaps her mantra has helped her get past a wasted decade and into a happier time. She recently received an unusual present from her Soapdish director, Michael Hoffman. Knowing that it was Moriarty's 30th birthday, Hoffman arranged the shooting schedule so that she was called upon to perform her most challenging scene in the film. In it her character recites one of the great tragic monologues in American drama. A monologue about unfulfilled promise and wasted youth. When she concluded, someone on the set yelled, "Happy birthday, Cathy," and the cast and crew gathered to celebrate with her. It must have been a strange moment. But at least Moriarty's no longer among the disappeared. She may no longer be Hollywood's idea of young, but she's still Hollywood's idea of astonishingly beautiful, and her life is once again full of promise.

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Jeffrey Lantos is a freelance writer who interviewed Joe Ruben in our February issue.

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