The actor has designed fashion collections, directed plays and starred in films stretching from Of Mice and Men to Being John Malkovich. His latest, Opus, is a psychological thriller in which he portrays Alfred Moretti, a reclusive pop star who invites journalists, including Ariel Ecton (Ayo Edebiri), to his remote compound under the guise of a listening party for his long-awaited album. Here, he speaks to Port about his instinctual approach to craft, the theatre’s enduring pull, and why the best roles are often the ones still unwritten
What’s it like being John Malkovich?
It’s fine. Busy.
When you’re not playing yourself, how do you get into character?
I never play myself, as I don’t have much in common with the characters I’ve portrayed. I’ve never been in their shoes or done the things they’ve done or often even lived in the time periods that they’ve lived. I read the script and simply try to imagine. In a movie, you are a figure in someone else’s dream, so one of the first things I would try to do is understand how the director views the material and the story.
Do you think of style as something one chooses to have, to craft over a lifetime, or are you born with it?
I suppose if style is something that interests someone, it has probably arrived over time, I would think. I would doubt one would be born with it; I would imagine one would develop or refine it over time, providing one even has an interest in it. I’ve always referred to style as being the only constant in life, but I meant it more in the sense of style as being the way one moved through life – a way of regarding the world and perhaps a way of perceiving the world around you, and maybe even a way of behaving in that world.
Do you ever become obsessed with things: pens, or clothes or shoes? If so, what are you currently looking at?
I’ve been obsessed, I suppose, with all kinds of things and the way they look. That could be cars, tiles, chairs or fabrics or just about anything. I bought a pair of ankle-high, what used to be called après-ski boots, in Bulgaria six to eight years ago. My wife makes fun of me because I’ve never actually worn them, although I’ve dragged them to several countries over time. I would rather them not get ruined, so I am still just waiting for the right occasion, which I’m pretty sure will turn out to be the 12th of never.
What is it about theatre that you value over film?
I don’t know that I think much about valuing one or the other over or under. Theatre is living, and film is not. Film might be able to capture and show something that lived or was once living, which is obviously not the same thing. I think I’m probably just more suited to theatre. If one were to think of theatre and film as instruments, I would think of them as two different instruments, sort of distant cousins.
What drew you towards your new film Opus – was it the character of Moretti, the film’s meta-approach to fame, or something else entirely?
I met and liked Mark Anthony Green, the writer and director of Opus. That’s actually the reason I did it. It wasn’t really about the character or who or what he was, nor what he did or didn’t do. I like Mark Anthony’s calmness and his manner and his vision. I’ve had some excellent experiences with first-time directors, and the experience with Mark Anthony was a real pleasure.
What did the role demand from you that felt new or unexpected?
Though I used to sing when I was young – in choirs and then at university in coffee houses and bars and what have you with my guitar – I hadn’t sung much in 40 years except in an opera a bit, and once on a Russian TV show some years ago. So, recording and performing songs, both in a studio and live in the movie, was quite a new experience, and my dancing career was launched with the release of this film – though I suspect that career will be mercifully brief. In truth, there aren’t tons of things in the human experience that could seem incredibly new to me at my age, though there may be ways of expressing them that might be unfamiliar, or at least not commonplace to me. I often somehow end up doing things that are unexpected to me, but then I think to a certain extent that we are constantly being born, and I have a tendency to let my instincts and impulses guide me in work, rather than having everything be carefully planned beforehand.
How has your approach to acting evolved over time?
I’m not so sure that my approach has changed over time. I devote more time to preparation now, but I think the approach is really the same. Show up, be prepared and let my instincts lead.
Which roles have been the most rewarding or meaningful to you, and why?
Generally speaking, those roles would be in the theatre because those are the roles which one explores most profoundly. One lives next to that character for several months, or longer, whereas in movies, you do each scene – generally speaking – for one day. Sometimes scenes last a whole two days. In a movie you may do three takes or 10, or even 15, but in the theatre, you could easily do that in a single rehearsal and often do. It’s the difference between a passing acquaintance or encounter, and an enduring love or friendship – both can be beautiful, but they are not the same thing.
The meaningful ones would just be meaningful to me, perhaps not to anyone else. It’s meaningful to me if I think or feel beforehand that I may not be able to do it. Any well-written role is rewarding, I would say. I’ve been afforded the opportunity to play some interesting characters, sometimes ‘serious’ ones – if characters in movies or plays can be considered serious – and sometimes decidedly less serious ones. I’ve enjoyed both and enjoyed playing both.
As for favourites, maybe John Wilmot, the second Earl of Rochester in Stephen Jeffreys’ play The Libertine; Buck Howard in the film The Great Buck Howard; Alan Conway, the grifter queen in the film Colour Me Kubrick; the Vicomte de Valmont in the film Dangerous Liaisons; Lennie in Of Mice and Men; an android and his creator in the film Making Mr. Right (though enjoy is maybe not the word I would use here), Tom in The Glass Menagerie; Pale in Burn This and Gustav Klimt in the film Klimt. I enjoyed many others as well, but of course, just because I enjoyed them doesn’t make them good or not good, it just means they were interesting for me or interesting to me, often because of the people directing them, and my colleagues or the writers, of course.
Is there a character you would love to play?
Yes, the one not written yet.
You’ve always seemed more interested in the work than in fame. Has that been a conscious choice?
No, I don’t think it’s a choice at all, actually. The work is interesting to me, fame not so much.
What’s something about acting that still surprises you?
How much fun it can be, how quickly it makes the time pass and how easily it can be forgotten by me.
Is the current political climate in the US something that surprises you, or do you think it’s part of a wider and perhaps predictable global trend?
I would say the latter.
Who currently is your favourite writer and why?
I am not up on current writers. I was emailing with an old friend a few days ago who is in a book club, and she mentioned a number of books her club had read, and I knew none of the books and only one of the writers. That is not good. I have been a big fan of DeLillo, Faulkner, Naipaul, Bolaño, Márquez, Sabato, Anne Tyler, Vargas Llosa, among many others. I’ve been working on a Bolaño piece as a classical music collaboration for the last three to four years, but favourite is a big word.
Do you have a hero?
My dad, probably. Václav Havel, kind of. Both are no longer with us. Hero is a big word too, though.
What is your most treasured possession?
Sanity.
What is the future of cinema? Will people still be going to public cinemas in 100 years?
I doubt it, but I’m usually wrong. I’m not a gifted prognosticator.
John Malkovich wears Dior throughout
Photography Alec Soth
Styling Alexander Fisher
Grooming Allison LaCour
Production Hyperion
This article is taken from Port issue 36. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe head here
