On Showtime’s new hit show “Yellowjackets,” which concluded its first season on Sunday, Christina Ricci plays Misty Quigley, an unscrewed nurse with a pet parrot named Caligula and a penchant for lacing household items with narcotics. Misty’s bananas behavior has deep roots. When she was a teen-ager, in the nineteen-nineties, she and her high-school soccer team were in a plane crash in the Canadian Rockies, and she destroyed the plane’s black box to insure that her cohort could not easily be rescued. Back in normal life, in New Jersey, Misty, the soccer-team equipment manager, had been an ostracized arch-dork in cat sweatshirts. In the wilderness, she discovered that she could be useful, and maybe even respected. She becomes popular enough to join a few of the players in forming a possibly cannibalistic forest cult, but we’ll have to wait until the second season to see just how craven their actions become.
Ricci, who started acting professionally at the age of seven, brings a terrifying perkiness to the role of Misty. Her affect—caustically peppy, eager yet menacing—is one that Ricci, who is forty-one, has been finely honing since she was a child star. Her innately sardonic nature, coupled with her petite physique and dark hair, made Ricci a phenomenon in the nineties: she was a baby goth, a wee anarchist, a tween cynic. When she played the sadistic, droll Wednesday Addams at the age of eleven and thirteen, she seemed born for the part, burning down summer camp or putting her brother in a guillotine with a bemused grin. As a teen-ager, Ricci continued to land roles that played on her verbal sharpness and ability to transmit acidic world-weariness. In Ang Lee’s “The Ice Storm,” she played a provocative suburban girl, who, when asked to say grace at Thanksgiving, gives thanks for “letting us white people kill all the Indians and steal their tribal lands and stuff ourselves like pigs.” Ricci did not shy away from macabre material or transgressive themes, and the media was glad to cast her as an unruly sexpot. She often gave confrontational interviews, which she told me was in part a way of coping with unwanted attention.
This is no longer Ricci’s interview style. When we spoke recently, via Zoom, she was silly and forthcoming, sitting in a slouchy black T-shirt in the garden of her house, outside Los Angeles. She still had her Christmas decorations up, she said, because she has been busy with the birth of her second child, Cleopatra. Ricci said that having children wiped away the nihilistic streak she’d exhibited coming up through the industry, though, as her performance as Misty suggests, she has hardly lost her edge. We discussed the “Yellowjackets” finale (spoilers ahead!), Ricci’s adolescent stardom and struggles with fame, and the younger generation working in Hollywood today. Our conversation has been condensed and edited.
Did the “Yellowjackets” showrunners always have you in mind for the role of Misty?
I think that they had a couple people in mind, and I was one of them. I met with them and had lunch with Karyn [Kusama, who directed the pilot] and the rest of the E.P.s. Misty just has that little tiny scene in the pilot, but they went over what they imagined her becoming, and who she was, and I just really responded to playing someone like her. I liked the opportunity of playing someone, in particular, who deals with rage in the way that Misty does. I love passive aggression. I think it’s incredibly underused, and being a five-foot-two woman . . .
I’m five-one.
So you get it. Like, we can’t walk around being openly hostile to people, but I can be nice to the point where it hurts. I think it’s an incredible thing that’s sort of been overlooked. I loved the idea of playing this character who was so put into one position, and so marginalized, and so dismissed that she’s learned to just take what she needs by utilizing what she has. Like, “Oh, you guys think I’m so innocuous and so adorable?” She pushes that to an extreme and weaponizes it in a way that I think you don’t see as much.
Everybody is absolutely “Yellowjackets” obsessed. Did you have the sense it would be that kind of a show?
No. I’m sort of like Misty in that I’m not really that clued in to pop culture. I knew that I really felt strongly about it. I loved the way they were talking about all these women characters, and I loved the way they were dealing with girlhood, and there’s just nothing precious about it. I didn’t know that people were going to really love it as much as they do.
A lot of the dialogue around the show is, like, “Oh, it gets at the brutality of girlhood and understands how teen girls would actually be in this sort of desperate situation.” But you’re somebody who seems to have always understood the brutality of girlhood.
I have been described as a brutish woman, to tell the truth. That was something yelled at me by an ex once.
VIDEO FROM THE NEW YORKER
Coming Out as a Trans Woman at Fifty-Eight
When I was growing up, there weren’t many representations of a kind of girl who was aware of how fucked up the world was, and of the harshness of being female. I feel like all of your characters have that awareness, even from a young age. I wonder whether those were the roles you were seeking.
Being a child actress, I was so separated from my peers. I didn’t really grow up with the social pressure to conform, because I was just removed all the time and told that I was wonderful for who I was. It was also that time when L7 was huge—and Courtney Love. It was before Courtney cleaned up. I was very much in the middle of all those influences, and I was pretty nihilistic. I’ve never really enjoyed the feeling of too many people liking me, because I feel like I’m going to suffocate.
What was life like for you before you started acting?
I had a pretty difficult childhood, just in terms of my family and things I went through as a kid. I definitely expressed all that rage as soon as someone asked me a question. So yeah, I mean, I was a troubled, rageful teen who was then allowed to do junkets and press. And I didn’t lie about any of it, really.
You once gave an interview to Blender magazine where you’re wearing this black leather jacket and, to paraphrase, you’re, like, “I got this at a thrift store. Fuck parents; they don’t understand you. If I stopped acting tomorrow, I wouldn’t care.” It’s great.
I was a nihilist! As much as it doesn’t seem like I was trying, I was actually trying to be more normal. I tried really hard for a really long time to be someone who said the right things and did the right things.
Do you feel like it’s easier now for women in terms of whatever the “wrong thing” is considered to be? Does it feel like there’s a more open field?
Yeah. I mean, I do feel like it’s treacherous, because there’s always a wrong thing to say. There are always parameters. But I do think it’s much more acceptable now to be the way I was when I was a teen-ager.
You were “discovered” at the age of seven in a school production of “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” in New Jersey. What were you doing in a school play at seven that made someone say, “This girl is a star”?
I had to pee very badly, and when I was a child I had that thing where I thought I was going to miss something if I went to the bathroom. So I didn’t go to the bathroom before the play started, and I spent much of the play putting my legs together and dancing around like little children do. People thought that that was really just adorable, and that’s what I was discovered for: for doing the wrong thing onstage, ruining the Christmas play.
Did your parents push showbiz on you?
No. I’m the youngest of four kids, and every one of my siblings had been approached to be a child actor.
You all got approached to become actors?
Yeah, it is striking. We were all really verbally advanced, and that probably had a lot to do with it. My mom had been a model in her teens and early twenties. And so, she was, like, “No way would I put my kids through that,” because I guess her experience was not good. But, by the time they came and approached me, my siblings were old enough to actually have influence, and they made my mom basically allow me to do it. I didn’t have any idea what I was supposed to do, but I think I watched the other little girls at auditions. I remember my first audition, really watching this other girl and saying to my mom, “It’s almost like all these girls are flirting.” And she was, like, “Well, we don’t call it that at your age. But yes, be charming.”
Did you feel ambitious at that age?
I was competitive. I also just liked the praise of doing something well. I was very, very small, which made me look very young, but I was a great reader and I could memorize anything. So at each audition I would be given praise. That became more my ambition as a child—achieving, not really knowing what the goal was per se.
When you were ten, you landed a role playing Cher’s daughter in “Mermaids.” What was it like to be on the set of a big movie?
There was so much to learn as a child on a set, coming from a suburban town. I remember seeing Perrier water for the first time. I loved it. Also, when I was younger, I got into a lot of trouble at school, before I was working. I talked in class. I did disruptive, strange things. I provoked this child into beating me up every day for a while at school, which was unnerving for everybody. When I had the outlet of the acting, all of that stopped.
The year after “Mermaids,” in 1991, you played Wednesday Addams for the first time. I’m sure you’re sick of people identifying you with her by now.
I’m actually fine with it. I’m glad it’s not a more annoying character, because that would be difficult, but she’s kind of great. Wednesday to me felt like who I could be when I didn’t have to put it on for other people.
Expand on that.
I was very much used to performing for people even before I was an actor. It was sort of the youngest-child thing I would do. When fights broke out in the house, I would do something crazy and make everyone laugh. I knew when I had to be charming and happy, and when other people needed to be cheered up. With Wednesday, there was no emotion, no nothing, and for me that was great, because it felt like I could just relax and not do any work at all.
It felt natural to you to be that affectless?
Yeah, it did. You know, there are moments in “Addams Family” when you see Wednesday giggling and laughing. But she just was not a child that performs for adults.
You stayed in school, even while you were taking all these jobs?
Yes. I had two lives. I never spoke about work when I was at school. The first time I came back from working—when I came back from “Mermaids”—I realized that no one wanted to hear about my time with Cher, and that it would in fact make me a pariah in school. So I never ever spoke about it.
You moved to New York in the mid-nineties. Where did you live?
I lived in the Police Building in Little Italy. We moved into that building because I was obsessed with “The Alienist.” It was this really tiny, not really functional apartment. I was kind of in contact with a few people, like Sandy Stern, who collaborated with Michael Stipe, and a photographer I worked with named Frank Ockenfels. I remember the first weekend we moved to the city. I didn’t know anyone, and Sandy invited me to a party, and I literally walked up to this party at the Bowery Bar in my Anna Sui baby tee, my Carhartt jeans, my John Fluevog shoes, and my baby backpack on. And Frank Ockenfels came running out and was, like, “Oh, good. You’re at this party?” And I was, like, “Yes, but I don’t know if I’m supposed to be, because I’m fifteen and I just walked up alone to a fucking party for Michael Stipe.” But that’s how I was. I was very much, like, Let’s see if this works.
You came of age at perhaps one of the hardest times for teen girls in the media. Now everybody looks back at the nineteen-nineties and two-thousands and sees that it was a nightmare.
Yes. People would write things about me when I was very young that I thought were so inappropriate. I remember there being a review of “The Opposite of Sex” where they described me as having a “slutty physique.” I was seventeen when I made that movie. And I just felt, like, This is an adult, a respected film critic, and this is what they’re allowed to say about me? So that kind of thing happening over and over again filled me with a lot of rage. I just did not want to be affable or perfect for anyone.
I know you’ve talked about struggling with an eating disorder.
I had that thing when I was a teen-ager where I really wanted to be left alone. I don’t need the attention in the room. I’m happy for other people to speak. So, to be that kind of teen-ager, I was twisting in the wind.
At the same time, you were taking on these incredibly provocative roles—in “The Opposite of Sex,” “The Ice Storm.” I’m wondering where the drive came from to take those roles.
The sexual aspects of all those roles were not something I liked. For me, those kinds of things are just necessary evils. But I always wanted to play more complicated characters. And I guess when it’s a teen-age girl, the issue of sexuality is going to be part of it. But I hated the whole “sexy” thing, and people talking about my boobs. It was just gross to me. Totally gross.
Did you feel like there was some creepy or exploitative intention from the directors who put you in those roles?
I never really felt that way. The thing that people were enjoying was taking this chubby teen and making her really sexual or really desirable. I think for people that was a novelty, because I wasn’t Buffy, or something else that was more traditionally sexualized in our culture. So I feel like there was a distance and an intellectualization of it that kept it from being creepy. Nobody was actually really attracted to me on set. They were just, like, “Oh, my God, let’s put her in this thing and see if other people think she’s sexy.” I was this antihero, the anti-sex symbol. But then also sexy in some way? I don’t know. I didn’t get it. I was, like, Please, everyone, just leave me alone!
Meanwhile, I know you had other dreams besides acting. You’ve said that as a teen-ager you tried to write a screenplay based on a Jean Cocteau novel.
I did! I wrote an adaptation of Jean Cocteau’s “Les Enfants Terribles,” which helped me get into Columbia. I never went there, but I did use it as my writing sample.
What led you to the Cocteau book?
I can’t remember why I read that book. I keep trying, but I can’t. I loved the codependent brother-sister relationship. I felt like it really dealt with the brutality of children.
Were your parents big readers, too?
We were all big readers, and almost all my siblings wrote as a hobby. I remember that the proudest I ever saw my family was when I correctly used the term “collective apoplexy” in a sentence when making fun of somebody. My mother was obsessed with the arts. We went to museums in the city all the time. We went to the ballet. She was obsessed with Hitchcock films, and I had watched all of those by the time I was very young. My dad had been involved in the film industry, and prided himself on being a bit of a film historian. Even though we didn’t have any money, we were still, I guess, like, a quality family. And the arts were pushed. You know, if anybody showed any kind of inclination toward any form of art, my father would immediately support it and try to send you to classes. My mother’s favorite actress was Meryl Streep. So I’m sure she was, like, “Great, grow up into that.”
Why did you decide not to go to Columbia?
Well, I was not raised with a lot of money, and I didn’t have a lot of money even then. My mom and I were pretty much in debt, and we had borrowed money just to live in New York when I was in my late teens. I started getting a lot of work in my senior year of high school, and that just continued. First of all, I didn’t have the money for Columbia. And also, all of a sudden, I was successful in making money. So I deferred for a couple years. And then it was just, like, I’m not going.
Do you feel like that was a big loss, not getting to go to school?
Now that I’m older, I do. At that age, I was resentful of the idea that no one would think I was smart unless I had gone to college. So again, the rebellious teen in me was, like, Fuck that and show everyone anyway. I probably would still be writing if I had gone to the creative-writing program like I’d wanted to.
Do you think you ultimately lost acting opportunities because of your rebellious streak?
I do. I know for a fact that people were a little put off in the industry. I understand being nervous about casting someone who seems so volatile and uncontrollable.
Were you ever like that on set?
No, I was totally professional and fine on set. I really loved working. Work had always been an escape, a safe place for me. As much as I didn’t love the fame, I loved the actual work.
What I was always called as an actress is “specific.” I was too specific, always specific. So my joke up until three years ago, when someone wanted to meet me about a role, would be, like, “Oh, is it a really specific character?” It’s not necessarily been a terrible thing for me. There just was a period of time when there were no “specific” roles. So I had a really hard time.
We’re talking about the mid-two-thousands. Were you knocking on doors to try to get work?
Definitely. I couldn’t find the right fit during that time. Comedies were a really big thing then, and they’d send me in, and they’d always say, “Well, they have to meet you, because they want to see if you’re funny.” All the other actresses my age, we joke about it, because that’s what they would say to us: They just need to see that you’re funny. But I was never funny in the right way. I got a lot of notes, like, “She should probably try to be more accessible like Tara Reid.”
Was there a time when you thought you might actually step back or quit?
No. I just assumed that once I got to a certain age I would be more successful, because the roles themselves wouldn’t be based on me being sexually attractive or likable. At that point, the roles would be complicated enough that I would be valuable again.
Has that borne out for you?
It seems like it. It’s happening, finally.
You played Zelda Fitzgerald in the series “Z: The Beginning of Everything,” for Amazon, in 2015. It was a project that you spearheaded. What drew you to the Fitzgerald material?
Since I was a kid, I’ve read a lot of biographies about women. When I was young, I was always obsessed with this idea that, in the olden days, all women would go crazy at some period of time and have to be put into a mental institution—not understanding at all that it was just what we did to women who were too “difficult” and having a normal, natural human reaction to the repression in their lives. Zelda Fitzgerald is a really incredible representation of a woman at that time. I guess I connected with that level of fame. I also felt Zelda always was somebody who made a terrible mistake. She was smart. She could write. She could have taken a more difficult path, which would’ve been going to college and gaining success on her own, but instead she took a lazy path, and she thought she’d get there by marrying a man. And she paid for that decision for the rest of her life. It’s a glamorous world. They’re the toast of the town. But really she is trapped and suffering.
Was the project also a chance for you to be in a leading role?
Yes. I never would’ve gotten that part if I hadn’t found the book and produced it myself.
Your co-stars on “Yellowjackets” include Melanie Lynskey, Juliette Lewis, and Tawny Cypress. What do you think of this narrative around the show which is, like, “All these great actresses from the nineties are finally getting a revival!” Does it feel like you all are a cohort?
People have asked, “Do you guys talk about coming up in the nineties?” And I was, like, “No, never occurred to us to discuss that!” We do talk about the industry. We tell stories. But I don’t think that’s a huge part of our identity, to tell you the truth. I might have gone away for other people, but I’ve always been here for me and very much existed in the mid-two-thousands, the twenty-tens, and now.
We do talk about things in terms of some of the youngers on this show. We call them “youngers.” I know that’s not proper English, but it just seems easier. They stand up for themselves or set boundaries themselves in ways that we never could have or would have.
The show in many ways is about a group of older women trying to run away from a younger notoriety. Did you relate at all to the idea of being a woman in your forties looking back on something that happened to you as a teen and feeling like you are desperate to move past it?
I definitely have things I’m ashamed of. I can relate to that feeling—really wanting to distance yourself from some behavior as a teen-ager. It’s not like I’m ashamed of who I was when I was famous at a certain age, but there are definitely things I did that I would like to move away from.
Do you ever feel protective of these so-called youngers whom you work with now?
Not really, because I just think about how I would’ve been in that situation, and I would not have wanted anyone to tell me anything. I give advice if someone asks me, but I would never just offer up anything to anyone.
Do you think, among the younger actors, that there’s not as much of a sense of nihilism as you had?
Definitely. You know, in the late nineties, being cool was not caring. You couldn’t be overly ambitious, you couldn’t court attention or fame. That was lame and was not respected. Over time it has become totally fine. We would absolutely not have been caught dead posting selfies, or taking pictures of ourselves. Now people are fine with being completely sincere. Sincerity wasn’t cool back then.
When we leave Misty in the “Yellowjackets” finale, she’s just gone to the reunion. She’s chopped up a body. She’s poisoned a woman with a fentanyl cigarette. Obviously, everybody thinks Misty is a total loon. At the same time, I’m not sure everybody is in total agreement that she’s bad.
Well, I think that Misty is very self-centered, and her drive is so selfish that she’s not necessarily a safe person to be around. You can’t trust her in any way. But I think that one of the things about all the women is that none of them are safe. Misty, because she doesn’t really have a lot of boundaries in terms of what she’s willing to do to get what she wants—that is a dangerous person.
I wanted to bring up the tragic wig that Misty wears.
The character has the haircut my mother had my entire childhood: a curly bob with side bangs.
I really don’t mind it. I don’t like how people treat me once I’m in costume. But aside from that . . .
Wait, how do they treat you when you’re in costume?
It’s like a bizarre social experiment. The second you get into Misty’s wardrobe—wig and glasses—people forget that you’re an actress. People teasing or making jokes about you, taking a lot of liberties. I had to be very cold and mean, to offset it. My attitude had to always be very “Don’t touch me. Why are you touching me?” People have a reaction to the way she looks, which is very informative as to how this person would have experienced life. I was just, like, Oh, this is so interesting, that just because I’m wearing this wig and glasses they’ve forgotten I’m No. 3 on the call sheet.
No comments:
Post a Comment