Whatever Kristy Swanson wants, she gets. The 24-year-old actress is determined to have things her way--whether that's moving out on her own at age 16 despite her parents' objections, charming John Singleton into writing a role for her in his new film, or refusing to complete this interview unless the original writer was dumped.
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The interview game is, as many have pointed out, not unlike a romance. You can make too much of this analogy--I'm just the guy to do it, as a matter of fact--but the truth remains that there is an element of seduction whenever an interviewer sits down with an interviewee. You're almost always nervous going in, never knowing exactly what to expect. You try to make a good first impression, you want them to warm to your charms so that they'll tell you things they've never told anyone else. You want them to give you everything you've come to get. Or at least stick around until you've finished.
Which is more than Kristy Swanson did with the original writer assigned to this story. I'm the second writer on this job. The first writer and Swanson were not, it seems, a match made in heaven. She refused to talk to him for the second meeting. You see, after they first met, he called her boyfriend, an agent at CAA, to ask him a few questions. Swanson wasn't happy about this. (Ah, isn't it always that way when you make it a threesome? Someone feels betrayed.) In any case, in all my years as a magazine editor and a freelance journalist, this stands as an unusual situation; certainly it's an uncomfortable one. I'm afraid that's what my editors like about this whole mess. Of course, they don't have to talk to this future star and pretend we have a clean slate in front of us. Nobody likes being second in line, do they? Then again, I think optimistically, he was just the guy she met before she met me.
You may well ask--as I did when it was suggested I drop everything and rush in to become the second writer--who is Kristy Swanson to behave this way? Did I miss something? Did she become a famous star when I wasn't paying attention? Well, no, as a matter of fact. Swanson's been on the verge of becoming a star for a few years now, but it certainly hasn't happened yet. You might know her from The Program, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Mannequin Two: On the Move, Highway to Hell, Hot Shots!, Dream Trap or Diving In. Then again, you might not. How many of those films have any of us seen? Still, the jungle drums of Tinseltown say you will know Swanson. You will.
I get to the Bel Age hotel early and wait. A moment later, Kristy Swanson walks up to me. Unlike most actors in person, she looks completely normal--very So-Cal collegiate. "I'm sorry I'm a few minutes late," she says. She is, as far as I can tell, 30 seconds late. We head out to the patio.
"Do you smoke?" I ask.
"Mmm..."
"Your publicist said we should sit out here on the patio so we could smoke if we wanted to," I tell her. "I assume she wasn't saying that for my benefit." Swanson laughs, but when I offer her a Camel Light, she refuses it. "Sorry," I say, "I don't mean to tempt you." A minute or two later, Swanson whips out her own pack. Swanson, who is 24 but could pass for 18, comes off like the tennis star she played in The Program: calm, cool, collected, in control. The butts are the only hint that she may have a case of the nerves. Smokers. It takes one to know one.
"I have to admit," I tell her, "I didn't know what to expect when I met you. There was all that trouble with the first writer."
Swanson sighs, then says, "He told me he was going to be doing research, and talking, possibly, to people I've worked with. He never said anything about calling my boyfriend. And then he started getting tabloidy."
"He was probably just looking for an angle," I say. "And since you're a client at CAA and your boyfriend is an agent at CAA..."
"Richard's not my agent," says Swanson. "He's not involved in my career at all. We keep that totally separate. And I didn't feel comfortable talking to this man--it's like he was trying to make me, or Richard, or CAA look bad. I thought this interview was about me, and the movies that I've done, you know, and what I've learned in my life."
"Well," I say, "what it's really about is an interesting story. And that's whatever the writer and the editor decide. And of course, it depends on what the subject says."
"Movieline is a very highly respected magazine in this business," she says. "People like it. It's not People magazine. It's classy. I felt bad because I knew the magazine was on deadline. It's very possible the writer didn't think he was doing anything wrong. But still, when my guts say no..."
"Let's hope this one's a lot smoother," I say. Swanson nods. "So, Kristy, what is it about your personality-"
"Oh God, I hate these questions," she says.
"But wait--I didn't get to ask it. What is it about your personality that made you want to do TV commercials when you were only nine years old? That's hardly typical."
"I wasn't an overbearing child," she says. "But I was aggressive. I always managed to get what I wanted somehow. Also, I didn't know at the time that it was a career. To me it was fun."
There is, I am thinking, a healthy amount of self-awareness in people who admit that they generally get what they want. Of course, there is also a pretty good chance that they actually do get what they want. Although Swanson grew up in Orange County, arch-conservative home to Disneyland and well-tanned John Birchers, her parents--both teachers--were progressive enough to educate her at home, once her acting schedule became complicated. Also, says Swanson, a lot of her peers didn't understand her life in front of the cameras. "If I talked about my career, they thought I was stuck up. If I kept quiet--because I didn't want everyone to hate me--they thought I was a snob. I couldn't win."
I light another cigarette, as does Swanson, and ask, "Didn't all those Orange County parents keep their kids away from you, the young girl on TV who didn't go to school? They must have thought you were, what, a Communist?"
"Mmm..." says Swanson. Her pleasant way of deflecting questions--giving me a dreamy smile while she studies the air in front of her--is her attempt to suggest that neither of us really wants them answered. Having demonstrated this, she moves on. "Going to school at home saved my life as far as education went. My parents were able to give me the attention I needed." It turns out, though, the most valuable lesson Swanson learned was how to be independent. "And they didn't realize it at the time. I was surrounded by a very adult world, working in L.A., so I grew up fast." So fast, in fact, that at 15, she not only got her high school diploma years early, but she also became emancipated from her parents.
Emancipation--being able to work legally as an adult--is something a kid might consider if, for example, her parents are money-grubbing ogres who live off the sweat of their tyke's brow. But Swanson says her parents "never spent a dime [of my income]." Even so, Swanson had her minor status changed so she could compete with girls 18 and over who were getting roles she wanted. At 15, she looked and acted older. "My parents and I made an agreement that it was for work purposes only. That didn't totally stick," she laughs. "Once I figured out what it really meant, I kind of used it to my advantage." She pauses. "I didn't kind of use it to my advantage. I did use it to my advantage. I didn't mean to hurt anyone, but I realized what I was capable of, so by the time I was 16, I told my parents I was ready to split." Kristy found an apartment in North Hollywood, which is a long way from Orange County. Her mother "was not happy about it." How unhappy? Kristy offers another "Mmm..." and says, about herself, that she felt "an enormous amount of freedom. I'm not saying all kids should do this. Most kids should stay with their parents until they're 18."
How easy could it have been for a beautiful 16-year-old girl to survive, alone, in a wicked town like Hollywood? "There were times when I was coming home late from work when the garage was scary," she admits. "But I wasn't naive. To this day my friends call me paranoid and I explain to them--I'm not paranoid, just cautious. I'm aware of everything that goes on around me." But wasn't she lonely? "After about a month of living on my own, I began to feel it," Swanson allows. "I bought some plants. I remember I named one of them Penelope and I would talk to her and water her every day. Apparently, I over-watered her and she died. That's when I knew I needed a roommate. So I got one."
This woman seems unflappable, I think--but then I see her light yet another cigarette.
As her teenage years progressed, Swanson worked in TV movies and in films like Deadly Friend and Flowers in the Attic. Along the way, she played small roles in two John Hughes movies, Pretty in Pink and Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
Hughes's teen star Molly Ringwald was then at the peak of her career. Was Ringwald a role model? "No," Swanson says. "I never thought, I want my career to be like Demi Moore's or Molly Ringwald's." After all, look at Molly's, I say. She's disappeared from sight. "But we're not in her head," cautions Swanson. "It's possible that she might not want to be working." Come on, I say chidingly, actresses want to work. But Swanson insists, "That's unrealistic for me. What is realistic is to sit down yearly and think, 'Okay, I've done this and this this year,' and think about what my needs and desires are for the next year. I may go through a period five to 10 years from now where I don't work for years. If I decide to raise a family. Or no one hires me. You never know," she says with a shrug.
Swanson's career, then, has progressed in a remarkable parallel to the way she responds to journalists' questions--in slow, measured and careful steps. No phenomenal risks--no phenomenal breakthroughs. In 1992, at 22, she starred in a film that looked like it might take her up to the next level of success. This was the much-hyped Buffy the Vampire Slayer. "Everyone expected a lot from it," she says of the film's failure. How big a disappointment was it for her? "I can't take that on my shoulders, because then I set myself up for a big letdown. I just kind of hoped people would like it. I can't ask for every movie I make to be great and brilliant. I can only try. It's a crapshoot."
On the surface--for surely that is what I'm getting here--it is hard to argue with what Swanson says. But her incredibly relaxed attitude towards the pressure-cooker environment of the film business might, if it goes deep enough, answer this magazine's cover question: Why Isn't This Woman a Star? Even if Swanson herself has no interest in answering this question, others are willing. On the one hand, casting director Johanna Ray, whose lesser credits include Buffy the Vampire Slayer, says, "Kristy's got everything it takes to become a major star--she just needs that one defining hit film to make the difference." On the other hand, another top casting director who prefers to remain unnamed observes, "I run hot and cold on her. She's got the talent, but she also has a lot of attitude. She's been around for a long time, and it's made her tough. I think that conceivably could get in the way of her becoming a star."
Swanson isn't hurting for work. She describes her latest film, The Chase, in which she co-stars with Charlie Sheen, as "a 90-minute high-speed chase. It's full of action, it's a love story, and it's a slam on the media. It's very commercial." But she has less to say about another film she's finished, Getting In. "I don't know if it'll ever come out. It's about med school. A murder-mystery kind of dark Heathers movie. I don't really know how to explain it." She can't even recall the director's name. "Uh--umm..." There is a long pause. "Doug Liman. Sorry! The movie's fun. You know, cute."
Since she works frequently, and since Hollywood isn't particularly easy on beautiful blonde actresses, I ask Swanson whether she has any tales from the casting couch. She ponders the question, and replies with her now-familiar politesse. "I've been approached in those ways where people have tried to treat me... a certain way. I've always fought it. I usually let people know right up-front that I'm not about that. I guess Hollywood treats women a certain way and some of it you have to take and some of it you don't." I've noticed she's managed to avoid typical traps like excessive nudity. Has she been pressured? "One time [shooting 1990's Dream Trap] this director said, 'I know you have a "no nudity" clause in your contract but we really need you to take your top off in this scene. We can't shoot it unless you do.' And I said, 'Well, we won't shoot the scene, then, will we?' He said, 'Can't you get in the water and start to take it off?' I said, 'We have so many naked girls in this movie, what do you need me to be naked for?' They backed off. When I was 16, they asked me to do it for Flowers in the Attic. They actually had a meeting about it. My agent was there, my parents, my lawyer. The director. His lawyer. It was totally a waste of time."
More than one casting director has said that Swanson often seems ill at ease during the auditioning process, so I ask if that's a difficult time for her. "Auditioning? Auditioning can be tough. Very tough. Especially now that I'm older. Competition is stiffer." I ask who else she's in competition with, but Swanson prefers not to get into this. "I don't really pay attention to that," she says. "I don't usually go to see the movies I audition for." But aren't there obvious names that she's in competition with? She thinks. "The obvious ones would be--all the actresses in my age group." She pauses. "Those would be the obvious ones." I wait. Like? For instance? "I don't really want to say their names," she says. Okay. So are there roles she's tired of seeing come up again and again? The girlfriend? Sex object? Damsel in distress? "Mmm..." she says.
As she reaches for another cigarette, I say, "You don't really seem to enjoy the whole celebrity thing."
"I don't consider myself a celebrity at all. I just love what I do. I'm not an actress to be famous." But does she understand the American fascination with celebrity? She got a taste of it when she co-starred with Luke Perry in Buffy and the rumors abounded that they had an affair. "It's really about him," she says. "They naturally assumed we were having a romance. But nobody ever asked me. Nobody ever asked Luke... If I go to a screening where paparazzi are taking pictures," continues Kristy, "I get uncomfortable. Why do they want my picture? Why are they yelling, 'Kristy, Kristy, over here!'?" That's what they do for a living, I remind her. "The whole experience is so horrific," she says. But you're expected to pose a little, I say. That's one of the rules. Surely she knows this? "Uh-huh," she says, unconvinced. Speaking of the paparazzi, I ask whether it's true she once had an affair with Alan Thicke. Swanson appears visibly unhappy and says, "No." I tell her this strikes me as a surprising reply, given that there were paparazzi snaps of the couple out on the town. Her response? You guessed it:
"Mmm..."
The celebrity game may get much more intense for Swanson. I think about warning her, but I have a pretty clear idea by now that she can take care of herself. When I observe that she has smoked as many cigarettes as I have, she says, "Don't mention that in the interview."
"What?"
"Smoking."
"Why not? I just saw you put down at least half a dozen cigarettes."
"Nuh-uh," she says. Then she smiles: she's kidding. "Only when I'm working. Nobody's perfect." Though it's remained hidden till now, she does have a playful side to her personality.
As if she's feeling confident that she's shown me she never has to answer a question unless she wants to, Swanson suddenly offers, out of the blue, to tell me the only unsolicited story of the day. It's about her next movie, John Singleton's Higher Learning. "It's about going to college, getting out in the real world," she says. "He deals with Campus Crusade for Christ and skinheads and the feminists and the gay groups and rape and it just kind of covers everything. It's about our generation.
"Right now John has me reading [The Autobiography of] Malcolm X," she says.
"Because when I first met with him a year-and-a-half ago..." She pauses, then confesses, "This story makes me look like a fool." I shoot her a look that says, So spill it. "We were talking and he was like, 'Where are you from?' and I said, 'Orange County,' and he started laughing. He said, 'I'm from the hood,' and all that shit. I got mad and gave him the finger. I felt like he didn't like me. And he was wearing this necklace of this three-dimensional head and I go, 'Is that Sammy Davis Jr.?' And he fell on the floor, he was laughing so hard. He goes, 'You don't know who this is?' and he gets the guy at the next table--'Who's this, who's this?' The guy goes, 'That's Malcolm X.' And John says, 'That's Malcolm X, Kristy,' and I said, 'Who's Malcolm X?' I was so embarrassed. I mean, it just wasn't taught to me in school. I heard about Martin Luther King and George Washington and all those guys, but I'd never heard of Malcolm X. But he forgave me." So what character is she playing in Higher Learning? A naive white girl from Orange County? "Yes!" Swanson says with a laugh. "I'm playing Kristen, from Orange County. He wrote it as a joke. For me! He's like, 'You're the real thing!'"
As we part I can't help wondering whether Kristy Swanson is about to become Hollywood's idea of "the real thing" as well. Time will tell.
Joshua Mooney interviewed Daniel Waters for the March Movieline.
FIRED BY KRISTY SWANSON:
ONE MAN'S STORY
Yikes! I've been sacked by Kristy Swanson. Impaled by Buffy herself. Made mincemeat of by Mannequin Two. After 10 years of bringing forth pearls from the murky oyster bed of Hollywood, after palavering with Burt and Kirk and Eddie and Meg and Greta and Adrian and Joel and Emma and Kenneth and Lara Flynn, after all that, what do I get? A cold backhand from the mall doll of Mission Viejo. My dismissal occurred after the first of what were to be two interviews. Our get-acquainted chat, while pleasant enough, did not yield the kind of juicy fruit we word pluckers are fond of. So at the end of that session, hoping for some galvanic responses, I suggested a game of fill-in-the-blanks. I encouraged Swanson to answer as quickly as possible, and to say the first thing that came to mind. I said, "At night I like to get into bed and curl up with..." and after much thought, she said, "Richard." I said, "My favorite time of day is..." and Swanson, again after much thought, replied, "When Richard comes home." I said, "Sometimes I catch myself fantasizing about..." Guess what she said? Since the Richard who figured prominently in this, and most other segments of my chat with Swanson, is an agent at a big talent agency which represents Swanson, I thought, here's a possible angle. Dating at the office. Love and work. So I called Richard at CAA. His secretary warned me that he might not want to talk to me about Swanson, but lo and behold, he returned my call. He listened to my first question and told me he didn't wish to be included in the story. "Fair enough," I said and hung up. I guess it was later that night that Swanson got word of my journalistic sleuthing, and it so upset her that she clamored for my dismissal. Now, I'm not sure what Swanson thinks journalists do all day, but for future reference, let me point out that one thing we do is pick up the phone and call people we consider relevant to the story we're working on. It's sorta, like, part of the job. And these people we call, most of whom are grownups, can either respond or not. Some people think that Swanson may be on the verge of stardom. While we wait for that to happen, her minions might want to explain to her the difference between a star and a supernova.
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Jeffrey Lantos