Bruce Willis: Planet Willis

"You might have to become a little more thick-skinned as a celebrity in America these days."

Willis leans forward and tenses his whole body. "Where does it say that? I mean, actors are sensitive by nature--that's why they become actors. And then you get famous and you have all these assholes from tabloid television following you around and going through your garbage. Where does it say that in order to be in the entertainment business you have to give up your privacy and dignity?" His voice hasn't risen above a whisper, but I feel like he's yelling at me.

"Maybe that should be in the actor's training manual," I say. "Instead of talking about method acting, it should say that when you finally hit it big, you'll have to give up your precious privacy. Would that have stopped you?"

Willis shakes his head. "When I first started, I don't think anything would have scared me. I was so excited to be working. But it was different when I was in New York. And when I went to L.A. to do 'Moonlighting,' it was different there than it is now. The whole tenor of the press has changed in that time. It's become much more aggressively hostile. There's a reward for that kind of behavior. No matter what it takes to get that video to 'Inside Edition' or 'Hard Copy,' they'll take that risk, because (a) they might become semi-famous because of it, and (b) they're gonna make money."

"So, why do people want to be famous now?" I ask.

"Most of the famous people I know don't want to be famous. But I think the desire for fame is overwhelmingly obsessive in the United States. Look at all these people on these daytime talk shows, telling their darkest secrets."

"So you don't like being famous?"

"It's not that I don't like what I do... I love it. I love the movies and the acting. What I don't like is that when my wife was pregnant, we were walking down the street and a guy popped out of the bushes with something in his hand that he's aiming at her. So, it turns out to be a camera, big deal! By that point, your adrenaline is pumped. If you're a man and that happens to you, you just want to take a swing at him, it's just so out of control. But it's not up to me to say this. I'll just sound like another whiny actor. 'Oh, poor me.' It's you who should be saying these things. You should be wailing about the abuses, the stalkings, the invasions of privacy."

"You think the sickos who are bothering you give a shit what I have to say? 'OK, all you psychos out there who think Bruce Willis's life is a thousand times more interesting than your own, please stop making pains-in-the-ass of yourselves. Leave movie stars alone. These people are entitled to their privacy.' Is that what you mean?'

Willis ignores me. "We don't really live in Hollywood anymore and we don't do the whole Hollywood scene..."

"Wait a minute. Every time I see a picture of you and Demi, you're onstage at some Planet Hollywood opening, playing with your band (The Accelerators), and you're surrounded by movie stars."

"Yes, those are the times we do it. That's when being a... what?... celebrity?... whatever it's called, that's when it's the best, because then the fans are having such a good time, and you're doing what you do, and it's relaxed and contained You don't see us out a lot in Hollywood. Most of the time we're home with the kids or we're on location. Our friends aren't Hollywood people."

I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted already. What happened to the dishy small talk that precedes discussions like this? I try a different tack.

"Would you take off your hat, so I can see what your hair looks like?"

"Why?" Willis asks suspiciously.

"So I can describe you."

Slowly he slides the baseball cap off his head, revealing short blond hair with black roots. I write on my pad, "blond, with dark roots." Willis turns the pad around and reads it.

"Why would you say that?" he asks.

"Because our reader want to know what you look like in real life."

"But it'll sound so silly." "OK. I'll say that we both have blond hair with dark roots coming in." This seems fair enough.

"But your readers don't know what you look like, so it won't have the same impact to say we both have blond hair with dark roots."

"Duly noted," I say, feeling as if I'm on the witness stand.

"Anything else you want me to take off?" he asks.

"No. Is it so weird to ask you to take off your hat? I'm just trying to report what's up with you now."

"Not what's up with me. Just what's up with my hair."

I throw up my hands. "OK, fuck the hair. I'll just say that you're wearing a baseball cap, a white T-shirt, blue jeans and sneakers."

"That's it?"

"No, I'm going to say that you're very defensive about your hair. Is that OK?"

Willis rolls his eyes but flashes his $16 million smile. "When was the last time you took a swing at someone?" I ask, remembering what he said about that guy with the camera.

"Not for a long lime. I can't remember the last time, in fact. Just because you want to do something doesn't mean you will."

Pages: 1 2 3 4