It belongs to me, I earned it. I kept getting up to bat, just like my dad said. However, work is work. I go into each project wanting to do my best, be my best, hoping for the best outcome. Hoping to be promoted. I get myself a little gift each time. I just kept coming to work and spending the day constantly getting retouched in my trailer and being with my baby. Of course the film was a bomb. The level of insecurity and unprofessionalism, and I would guess drug abuse, required to make those kinds of choices never leads to good work.
But as a superstar, which at that point I was, and a woman, I had no say. That was how it was in my day. Even a high, abusive director had more power than I did. Thank God it is not that way now. The whole system is changing. Men who would come in and shut the show down when things were going wrong, men who would talk to me. Those men helped us make great pictures.
Those men helped us make great pictures like Casino. Those men shut down a show I was on when the director was so high on cocaine he was spinning. Now that same director has sobered up and gone on to do fabulous and important work. Not with me, of course, as I aided in the shutdown. Being an actress used to be everything to me. Really, just everything.
I used to eat, sleep, breathe, run, play, and work at nothing but acting. I loved everything about it. The feeling of pulling up to a new location, like running away with the circus. I was putty in the hands of a great director, thrilling to his every thought, and angry to be held hostage by the mediocre ones. I wanted to be great like they were. I wanted to be a superpro. I wanted every movie to be a hit; I worked my ass off to sell my movies all over the world to make sure they were.
I was proud to do it, happy to be a studio girl. I stood up for gay actors and actresses. I told the studio when their people were not available to work because they were too high to talk or too drunk to drive. I was on the side of the studio, and I loved my job. It would be fair to say I fucked myself. Now, I suppose in retrospect, I might seem dependable. I was the one who always sold my films, good or not so good.
Showed up to work on time, did my job. They preferred us to be ornaments. I was supposed to do what I was told. I had actor approval in my contract. No one cared. They cast who they wanted. To my dismay, sometimes. To the detriment of the picture, sometimes.
I had a producer bring me to his office, where he had malted milk balls in a little milk-carton-type container under his arm with the spout open. He walked back and forth in his office with the balls falling out of the spout and rolling all over the wood floor as he explained to me why I should fuck my costar so that we could have onscreen chemistry.
Why, in his day, he made love to Ava Gardner onscreen and it was so sensational! Now just the creepy thought of him in the same room with Ava Gardner gave me pause. Then I realized that she also had to put up with him and pretend that he was in any way interesting. I felt they could have just hired a costar with talent, someone who could deliver a scene and remember his lines.
I also felt they could fuck him themselves and leave me out of it. It was my job to act and I said so. This leaves us all with a little bit of our dignity. Sex, not just sexuality onscreen, has long been expected in my business. I do not in any way think that this is about my business, particularly. But I know how scared she felt. Now, go out there and win, and they will respect you. While my dad made me strong and he made me tough, and this protected me from a sea of ravages, it also put too much armor around my femininity.
It has taken the MeToo moment for my mother and I to talk and for me to gain the perspective of my true feminine power and the glory and beauty of it. For my generation of women, this could be seen as good-naturedly spilling the milk shake I was serving onto the lap of the asshole who put his hand up my skirt as I worked my way through college in blue-collar Pennsylvania.
I tried that. Tried so long to keep working without compromising myself. People criticize me and say that men are intimidated by me. That just makes me want to cry. I was often alone on a set with hundreds of men. Hundreds of men and me. Often not even the caterer employed women when I was first working.
My makeup and hair were men. Can you imagine what it was like to be the only woman on a set—to be the only naked woman, with maybe one or two other women standing near? The costumer and the script gal? And now I am the intimidating one. This new press circus, with the humble letting go of the accused with a tidy yet massive settlement, is not due process for what are in fact crimes, crimes for which we have not discovered practical jurisprudence.
Where is the law? Did we let our pussy-grabbing president take that with him too? The decision was made in Europe, where she had moved when her career in Fashion started, pursuing a life as an actress instead of one as a model. The return to New York happened so she could be an extra in Stardust Memories , by Woody, but film by film she conquered her close-up rightful spot, collecting experiences in the big screen as well as in the small one.
I play a wealthy woman with an invalid son. This went on for weeks. I had a two-week-old baby when this started. Yes, they have. And demonstrating women as women, quite frankly, are not. Most films are written by men, directed by men, made by men, with the male mentality. Not at all considering how women actually are, how we do think and feel. That is why many of my characters are drunk or drug addicts or crazy, that is the only way I could support their behavior honestly.
Her uncanny intelligence is even more palpable in the times she is brutally honest. Each answer seems to happen with one filter only - the unconditional truth one. Sharon Stone commented on Jonah Hill's looks as a response to his request for fans to stop.
Getty Images. More On: sharon stone. Most Popular This Week 1. Bella Hadid admits she cries pretty much 'everyday' and 'every night'. Billionaire oil heiress Ivy Getty weds in San Francisco. Share Selection. It was already out before I got married. No one else made a decision to get married? No one else made a decision to have children?
You say that you were sleepwalking during the shoot. Why did it take such a psychic toll? Believe me, it was taking a toll on everybody. There was tremendous pressure on that set. Now people walk around showing their penises on Netflix, but, in the olden days, what we were doing was very new. This was a feature film for a major studio, and we had nudity, sex, homosexuality, all these things that, in my era, were breaking norms. Thank God for Michael Douglas. He really cares about everything he does.
People would interview me immediately after seeing the film—these knee-to-knee interviews, literally sitting twelve inches away—and they were afraid of me.
Well, Bob Evans was the producer. Once again, this was the olden days, and there were a lot of men who thought that they knew what they should tell me what to do. I can tell you that Bob Evans was one of the most bizarre human beings I ever encountered in the film business, and one of the most inappropriate. And the people around me, from my agent out, not any of them had all four wheels on the highway. Fair enough. He had no idea what these monster men were up to.
They threw him in the deep, deep end of the pool. Quite frankly, I think trying to escape my grandfather all the time gave me some skills about getting away from people. I can smell it coming. Or that there must have been a nice girl where they grew up, and I was that girl. Honestly, grow up. Do you think that kind of thing is going to stop happening now, or is Hollywood reverting to what it has been? This thing begins in the home.
This thing begins in rich homes and poor homes. It happens because we blame people it happens to, not the people who do it. Your sons are fourteen, fifteen, and twenty.
Do you talk to them about becoming men and how to treat women? One in five women admit to sexual assault. So imagine how many people have been sexually abused—men and women. Now read the billboard again. And so we really talk frankly. We had four years of Trump! The truth that matters.
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