If writers historically are counseled to write what they know, then it might not seem so surprising that Jeff Daniels acts what he knows while playing frustrated novelist Richard Dunn in his new film Paper Man. Or maybe only partly knows: There might not be a distant wife (played by Lisa Kudrow) who leaves him in a cold Sag Harbor cabin to finish his second, not-so-highly anticipated second book. There isn't likely the 17-year-old stranger Abby (Emma Stone), roped into the mix as a sort of accidental emotional stabilizer. And there definitely isn't a cape-and-tights-clad imaginary friend named Captain Excellent (Ryan Reynolds) coaxing Richard's conscience along since childhood. But writer-directors Michele and Kieran Mulroney's curious indie does feature such influences orbiting the solitary, unglamorous head space that Daniels has plenty of familiarity with as the author of 14 plays -- and a 15th in the works.
Movieline recently spoke with the 55-year-old actor-playwright-songwriter about the quirky dynamics of Paper Man, when it's OK to have a voice in your head, and the writing methods that help him pen an entire play in a month or less.
This one took years to get going, and--
They all do nowadays! They all do.
How long had you stuck with it?
I think I read it a year before we did. When did we do it? November 2008? So I probably read it at the end of 2007 and wanted to do it. And was going to do it, but then they had trouble getting the money, and then I did this Tommy Tune thing. And I waited. And it was great, because I'm glad Lisa and Ryan and Emma were able to do it. Part of it was me just taking some other things while they tried to get the money.
I was just looking at the poster for this film -- and its tagline, "It's grow-up time." Does it have to be so all-or-nothing? Must Richard make such a clean break from his imaginary friend? The voice in his head?
Well, a voice in his head is one thing. Having Ryan Reynolds as your imaginary friend dressed in a cape who seems to control your life in a way where you can;t even move to the first sentence of your next novel -- or into Wednesday? You're stuck. I think there's moderation in having a "voice in your head." I think it's not just being stuck with writer's block; he's stuck in his life. He needs to get rid of that imaginary friend who he probably should have gotten rid of years ago, but he doesn't know how to do that. I think what he finds in Emma Stone's character -- the 17-year-old girl -- I think they know instinctively that whatever it is they're missing, or whatever they need to move on, is in that other person. Early on, they know it's beyond sexual; that isn't it. It's bigger than that, and they realize it's bigger than that. But they don't know what it is. I think that's what I found interesting about the story: that search.
I asked Emma this question as well, but what is Richard and Abby's relationship? I mean, there is some sexual tension there.
Yeah, and I get drunk, and I say... Yeah, that isn't it. Dead end. It's beyond that. What is it? I don't think he knows. For me, it's that person who understands you better than you do. It's supposed to be wife. In Richard's case, he doesn't think it is; in the end, he hopes it can be again. He doesn't understand himself, and he needs someone to understand him. Strangely, without even knowing her, she does. Or she doesn't find his struggles crazy or nuts or abnormal or outrageous as others in his life do. So there's that kind of "It's OK, I know what you're going through" thing that this young girl is for him. It's a search. It's a quest.
As a writer yourself, from where do you draw inspiration?
I learned from observing some of the best I've gotten to work with. Woody, Jim Brooks, Gary Ross and Pleasantville, Lanford Wilson. They all have radar. They all are listening and taking mental notes all the time. If you've got the radar working, then you're open to anything, whether it's a comment -- Lanford is really good at this -- or just something that somebody says in a diner that he happens to overhear. Off it goes, and this becomes that, or this becomes the reason he said that. The argument that they're having in the corner, you start to imagine as a scene -- as two lives that you want to write about.
Another thing that triggers it is when you have a question about something. Or you're angry about something, pissed off about something, and you want to resolve that somehow. Or not.
To some degree it seems like your performance is influenced by that frustration. Richard shouts at one point that he needs "something to do with my hands."
Having written 14 plays now, there is that battle. Stephen King calls it "chain yourself to the chair." Writing is hard. Writing well is very, very hard. And with Richard, he's not even considered a good writer. His first book is a failure, and now he's supposed to write a second one, so there's that whole self-esteem thing. There's just that battle within yourself to be better than you were. Whether you're an actor, a writer, a playwright, a songwriter: This next one has to at least move you forward. Don't start repeating yourself, because that's the beginning of the end. I think Richard, in his own way, is trying to move forward -- with the Ryan Reynolds character, stuck in life, stuck in the past, stuck, stuck, stuck. That's the battle of all creative artists -- moving forward. It's tough to do.
He also seems to throw a lot of obstacles in his own way, though, whether it's Captain Excellent, or moving all the furniture outside--
You know that writers spend a lot of time not writing.
Oh, totally.
"What do I have to do today where I don't have to write?" Yeah, he's not helping himself. But then it becomes bigger than just not being able to write a book.
What's your writing method? Typewriter, word processor, longhand?
Word processor. I've gotten better at it, smarter at it. Gary Ross told me this -- and at first I couldn't do it. But I would ask these guys, "How do you do it?" And he goes, "I make an outline or treatments for seven months, and then I write for two. I sit down to write when I absolutely have to. Passionate, ready to go, can't wait. The gate opens [claps], the horse goes. That's when you write." And I couldn't do that at first. I was terrible at outlines. So I said, "Well, let me just start writing." And I would meander all over the place. I'd write 700 pages to get the first 100. It's a waste of time. Horton Foote said this about... Dividing the Estate? Some play. Whatever it was, he said, "I wrote it in 10 days." I said, "Really?" He said, "Yeah, but I thought about it for a year." And it's that year -- those months leading up.
I've done it with the last four or five plays. It's the beauty of laptops in a certain way: "Oh, here's a line that leads to nothing. It's a line of dialogue half a page long; I have no idea where it is, but I think it's in that play." Boom -- dump it. It could be a character. The weeks go on, and you just start collecting these kinds of scrapbook things. You don't have the demands of a deadline, or having to perform in front of the keyboard -- yet. Once you have the elements in place, then I carve out the month of January and say, "That's when I write it." And I turn it in Feb. 1 at 10 in the morning. I hold myself to that: "No -- do it. Do it." And I've got all the notes; you're not staring at a blank page. There's all this churning. So I've got it to where I can write a first draft in two weeks, a second draft in one week and a third draft in one. Then I turn it in. The last three or four plays have been in really good shape. I've found my system.
How long did it take?
I've written 14 plays, so... I've done this for the last six. And I've really refined it to where I've literally written it in weeks but thought about it for months. The play I just turned in, actually I have notes on it from 2003.
What's it like working with two directors, especially when they're married?
It really helped that they'd written it. It also helped that it's an indie, and you only get two or three takes. "Gotta move the camera -- sorry!" I completely get that, and having directed two indies of my own, we just don't have the time. What we don't have the time for is for an actor to explore. With Michele and Kieran, I could go to ether one of them. Michele soon became that person who really worked with Emma; Kieran and I have known each other since we we
re in Gettysburg together. I would just go him and say, "What are you looking for out of Richard? You wrote him; you've been with him for years. I just signed on. What do you want? We've got two takes to do it." I just became the vessel.
They were so smart and so specific in what they wanted. They still allowed me the freedom to interpret that. It was like Scott Frank on The Lookout, or Matthew Warchus on [God of] Carnage: Their idea or their choice is, more often than not, one I never even would have thought of. And it's a really good one. Do that one.