By Matt Zoller Seitz
The three words that spring to mind when I think of Owen Wilson are "generosity of spirit"—a phrase that's being returned in kind by strangers as Wilson recovers from what has been described as a suicide attempt.
Wilson and I are the same age, 38. We're both from Dallas, and although we didn't cross paths until our mid-20s, we glancingly share enough geographical flashpoints that I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. Wilson and his friend and filmmaking partner, Wes Anderson, shot part of a black-and-white short film prototype for their first feature, Bottle Rocket, in Greenway Parks, a five minute walk from my house. We both frequented the Inwood Theater, the clubs in Deep Ellum, and the Cosmic Cup, a coffee shop and arts hangout owned by Indian-born actor, magician and juggler Kumar Pallana, who had small roles in Bottle Rocket, Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums.
In the mid-'90s, I interviewed the duo twice—first for a feature about the process of taking the short version of "Bottle Rocket" to the Sundance Film Festival, and then for a cover story that followed the making of the feature from principal photography through editing and marketing. After Wilson and Anderson became sought-after and busy, they continued to talk to me for stories that had nothing to do with their own projects. I interviewed them twice on the subject of Charles Schulz, first for a 1995 Star-Ledger feature about the 30th anniversary broadcast of A Charlie Brown Christmas—a recurring touchstone in Anderson's movies—and then again in 2000 when I was gathering quotes for a story about Schulz's retirement.
Thinking back over that time span—pre- and post-Hollywood—what strikes me is the consistency of Wilson's temperament. Of all the people I'd ever interviewed who seemed to have the potential for stardom, he was the person who seemed best equipped to handle it, because he seemed capable of getting along with pretty much anyone, and had what might be described as a sporting curiosity about fame. When he talked about the movie industry—his knowledge based, at that point, mainly on secondhand reports from older filmmakers and the same faux-insider film monthlies that everyone else read—he sounded like a kid excitedly summarizing the research he'd done for a paper on deep-sea diving or petrified wood. In 1995, after he'd moved to Los Angeles and started going on auditions and meeting with powerful people, he still seemed more or less the same guy—observant, bemused, inquisitive and entertained by the unpredictability of life. When I did some follow-up interviews in late 1995 for my Bottle Rocket cover story—which turned out to be my last Dallas Observer piece—Wilson told me about a recent family reunion at which a young cousin asked his opinion of the budget overruns on Waterworld. "He asked, 'What do you think about the cost?'" Wilson said. "He sounded like a Los Angeles agent. I thought, 'What an odd question for an eight-year-old to be asking!' I told him, 'I don't know. It's not really my position to think about the cost.' Then his dad came up. He said, 'Oh, you're just protecting the industry. You're just a home-teamer.' That seemed kind of unfair to me, because I saw Waterworld, and I kind of liked it."
I lost touch with him about six years ago, but I saw him in a lot of movies, and enjoyed him even in ones that weren't good. I was pleased to see that he'd made a point of building an acting persona that was true to his personality. You could see bits and pieces of the performers who influenced him—mainly Bill Murray, who perfected the art of being committed to a movie while still remaining amusingly and somewhat mysteriously outside of it. But he was never an imitator. From the moment he busted out that nasal drawl in Bottle Rocket, he was his own man—a Zen clown, warm and laid-back but with a goofy streak. Although he has played roles with a hard edge (the downed flyer in Behind Enemy Lines) or a dark heart (playing an intriguing killer in Hampton Fancher's The Minus Man), his specialty is feather-light comedy spiked with unselfconscious yearning. He's at once knowing and sincere—an almost impossible trick. To paraphrase Pauline Kael's review of E.T., he clears the bad thoughts out of your head. When I saw Meet the Parents in a lower Manhattan movie theater on opening weekend, I didn't know that Wilson had a small part in it, and I was surprised and glad to see him up there, unbalancing his soon-to-be inseparable screen partner, Ben Stiller, by casually referring to Jesus Christ as "J.C." I was even more gratified when the audience applauded his first appearance, then clapped again when he showed up presiding over the wedding ceremony. The character's hippie cleric robes seemed appropriate. Wilson's a good-time shaman; when he appears, you smile, because know you're about to have fun. He makes good films better and bad films tolerable. Onscreen, he's a human sunbeam.
Offscreen, who knows? I don't—and frankly, to borrow Wilson's response to his Waterworld-obsessed cousin, it's not my position to speculate on what demons he might have been wrestling with when this horrible incident occurred. But I will say that when I read news stories expressing incredulity that a well-liked comedic actor might be depressed enough to try to end it all, I wonder what planet these writers are from, and if they've ever spent time among the humans that populate this one. Tempting as it may be to seize on cheap ironic contrasts between an artist's life and work—and comb his career and personal life for harbingers of suicidal intent—the process is usually reductive and sometimes insulting. Of course that hasn't stopped the media from trying. "Meanwhile, his fans and colleagues were left to wonder how the perennially good-natured comedic actor, nicknamed 'The Butterscotch Stallion' for his womanizing ways, could be struggling," wrote Marcus Baram, in an ABCNews.com story titled, "Tears of a Clown." "Wilson has been romantically linked to numerous women, from Demi Moore to Sheryl Crow, and reportedly has a healthy appetite for the night life. But since breaking up with actress Kate Hudson just before Memorial Day weekend, he's been much quieter...Numerous comedians, from Jim Carrey to Sarah Silverman, have epitomized the cliche of the sad clown, struggling with depression."
What rot. Wilson might have been sad as hell about any number of things, but comic actors aren't inherently more depressive than dramatic actors, novelists, police officers, schoolteachers or bus drivers. People are people, and each one is unique.
As for the talk of warning signs, yes, Wilson co-wrote Tenenbaums, which contains a scene where ex-tennis pro Richie Tenenbaum (played by Owen's brother Luke) slashes his wrists over a woman, and yes, Wilson (and Anderson) could not have written it persuasively unless they had experienced despair. But what person hasn't experienced despair? All that scene tells me is that Wilson is a funny, honest writer who has had dark thoughts and isn't afraid to write them down. That scene is not his Rosebud, any more than the Elliott Smith song that serves as its soundtrack, "Needle in the Hay," inevitably foretold Smith's death by his own hand. Smith wrote a lot of songs that sound in retrospect like obvious cries for help, but Neil Young and Lou Reed wrote dozens more, and they're both in their sixties and still prolific. Art is always informed by life, but one doesn't automatically predict the other. Depression is a implacably private thing, a fog comprised of biography, present-tense experience and body chemistry. It's as unpredictable as the elements and as unknowable as God. It's an abyss that you fall into, and you either die there or climb out.
I wish Owen Wilson good luck in his ascent from the abyss, which I am sure will be willful and permanent. I look forward to seeing another five decades' worth of performances, and listening to his droll speech when he accepts his best original screenplay Oscar, and hearing secondhand reports of how he dotes on his grandchildren.
Hi. This was a very moving piece. When I read about Wilson last night, I felt confused and shocked like it was a friend I was hearing about. My best friend took his own life earlier this year and in some weird way, I got the same immediate flash-feeling reading about Wilson as I did then. Weird.
I did a Undergrad. Senior thesis on Bottle Rocket and your article was one of the few real pieces of writing about the movie that existed when it came out.
Thank you for this thoughtful post.
I really didn't know how to handle the news. I honestly did not believe it. I did not want to believe it. It made me sad. So I started looking at imdb and some other stuff and I came across the recently updated page for Darjeeling Limited, which now shows Bill Murray as among the cast. This made me cheer up. This reminded me he will have friends there to cheer him up, whether he wants it or not. (I know I've tried my best to refuse cheering up a few times when down in the dumps.) This reminded me that one of Owen Wilson's friends is a world-famous filmmaker with whom he wrote three remarkably astute, and funny, films. This made me think that, just maybe, Owen Wilson would write with Wes Anderson again — and make their best film yet. I sure hope so. I sure hope we get those five more decades of Owen Wilson. He has been as important to me as the more intellectually prominent Wes Anderson has been. And why forget it? Just because Wes directed Owen? Nah, man, both are the tops. I really wish I was in NYC to see Darjeeling ASAP because I know it, too, would reassure me that Owen Wilson and Wes Anderson will not let Owen Wilson fall away. At least, that's my dream.
Truly a touching essay, Matt. I hope Owen gets to read it.
Great piece, Matt. At first it struck me as kind of odd to be reading something that read like an obituary for someone who who didn't die…but then it turned into a really thoughtful rejoinder to celebrity culture. The points about comedians being no more (or less) depression prone than anyone else are especially relevant and appreciated.
To hazard a guess: Wilson has probably been suffering from some kind of mood disorder for some time, probably controlled by medication. He's kept that private because of the stigma attached to mental illness and maybe also because it might create a problem with his getting bonded.(*) For whatever reason — perhaps because of personal problems that were causing him unhappiness, perhaps because of some kind of hiccup in his medication — he succumbed last weekend to a depressive episode, and there's really not much more to it than that. The "real" Owen Wilson is still the person people know, except that we now know that he's a person who's got a mood disorder, God bless him.
(* Most readers of this site probably already know that studios financing films obtain "completion bonds" from insurance companies on lead actors and other key persons to offset their costs in the event that an actor or other key person is unable to complete making the film. Insurance companies won't issue bonds on actors who have personal problems that might cause them to be unable to complete a picture — e.g., Robert Downey, Jr. 10 years ago. It seems at least possible that having a mood disorder would make it harder to get bonded.)
Well done.
And then there's this, via a "friend" who talked to Star magazine about longtime problems with pills and drinking — which, if true, were likely a contributing factor in this incident, and (let's say it again) hardly unique to actors.
This is one of the most thoughtful posts I've read in a long time.
Thanks for such a thoughtful and moving piece, Matt. We may experience vicariously what celebrities like Owen live through daily, but to endure a depression so deep as to push one to suicide, this should encourage us to step back and give the man some space. He will need it to heal and give us those five decades, those awards speeches, and those grandchildren.
I think far too often depressed people hear about celebrities who commit or attempt suicide and ask why, falsely believing that if they also had fame and fortune, their own problems would be solved.
Thanks for a great post, Matt. Miss you in the Star-Ledger and I'm glad to see you "out there," so to speak.
Excellent post, Matt. As good as he can be in other films, Owen Wilson is, for a lot of us, rooted as an on-screen presence in Wes Anderson's films. That unique blend of humor, near-surrealism, and human warmth, all presented with an obviously high level of craft, has been for a lot of us like a voice of sanity among the usual film fare of today. More than anyone else, Owen Wilson has been the public face (with a broken nose) of that sensibility. In all of Anderson's films, there is the sense that we have good reasons to be sad, but if we work at it things can be better–and that it's not just Hallmark sentimentality to think so. Which is why this event seems so shocking.
So maybe the lesson once again is: it's only a movie up there on the screen, however convincing it may be. And Owen Wilson does not owe it to us to be that character he so convincingly portrays on-screen. I wish him and his family well in this difficult time, and that his future may be better.
That was a very thoughtful post on Owen's film career and personality.
I have always thought though that his film roles, especially the comedic ones, have conveyed dark tones, but in as light a manner as possible. I feel like Bottle Rocket succeeded in introducing or re-introducing narcissism as a desirable quality, and virtually all of Owen Wilson's characters (though Luke Wilson's character in Bottle Rocket encapsulated this better than Dignan) have been narcissists, relatively benign and ultimately irresistible, but narcissists none the less. Nowhere is this better personified than in Wedding Crashers, where the final speech in the church can be summed up as "Hey, I'm Owen Wilson, your engagement's over, enough said, let's go."
And depression is a form of narcissism, an infatuation with all the negative aspects of one's self that paralyzes any positive action. I hope that he finds some balance in his life.
"Depression is a implacably private thing, a fog comprised of biography, present-tense experience and body chemistry. It's as unpredictable as the elements and as unknowable as God. It's an abyss that you fall into, and you either die there or climb out."
Beautiful.
Thank you.
From the nostalgia file: after David Denby wrote a crude takedown of Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson wrote a letter to The New Yorker in response.
Nice piece, but they shot Bottle Rocket at the Book Stop that used to be in the parking lot at North Park, next to the old Fuddruckers, just sayin'
Anon: You might be right about that, but I loaned my DVD to someone who has yet to return it, so I can't check it myself.
Owen Wilson was there for my high school friend who was attacked at a Dallas bar and was nearly paralyzed for life. His hospital visits were low-key and sans entourage. He also participated in a couple of fundraisers we had for paying the medical bills.
My sister and I once saw him on the patio of a local restaurant and we introduced ourselves and thanked him for his support of David. He, in turn, introduced his friend. We did not talk about movies, we talked about our mutual injured friend. Owen was most gracious and really, it seemed as if we could have just sat down and knocked back a few margaritas with him. Yea, he is a regular guy, and a caring one.
So I wish him the best and I would like to let him know he's always welcome in Lakewood.
Matt, a beautiful column. Thanks. Would you please drop your FW friends a note at mitchwhitten@charter.net? kns
Thanks for this piece, Matt. I haven't seen everything Owen Wilson has been in, but I always love to watch him—for me, he stole the show for me in his scenes as Hansel in Zoolander; and of course his collaborations with Wes Anderson are wonderful as well—and I was genuinely shocked to hear what had happened to him, simply because I would have never pegged Wilson for having this kind of apparent breakdown based solely on his lovable screen persona and his public image. But your piece reminded us of his humanity—always a good thing when it comes to even the most seemingly out-of-control tabloid stars—and that's a welcome alternative to the gossip-y speculation of other publications. I wish Wilson well, too.
JJ says–
Thanks, Matt, wonderful article. I really feel for Owen. (Depression? Lemme tell you about depression.) Thanks for this.
So as I'm reading the comments, the random shuffle on my Itunes cues up a recording of Sylvia Plath reading "Lady Lazarus". Yikes. Hope that's not an omen.
Me too, JJ.
Beautifully written piece, Matt. Certainly the best thing written about Owen Wilson that I've seen & a welcome antidote to the cynical and misguided pieces floating around right now. I was a faithful reader of your reviews in the NY Press and was glad to discover this site. I hope you don't mind that I've linked to it from my own blog.
Wonderful piece. I feel so bad for Wilson–depression is hard enough without the added pressure of having all aspects of your life magnified for public consumption. I hope the media and the world in general will pull back from him a bit and give the guy some space to heal.
A terrific piece, Matt. I was truly sorry to hear Owen Wilson was having personal problems.
It reminded me of an interview I heard on Fresh Air with Sidney Poitier a couple of years ago.
At the end of the interview, Terry Gross casually asked him if he had given up acting.
She was shocked when he said "Yes" and he offered several reasons why he couldn't or wouldn't do it anymore.
"Well," she answered back, "we all miss you up there."
All he could say in return was "thank you."
There is a certain point in any well-known filmmaker's career like Sydney Poitier’s, like Woody Allen's, when they've entertained us for so long and given such interesting performances that their careers somehow no longer belong to them. They belong to us. (Perhaps this is why Hollywood turns out so many biographical movies about the lives of our most beloved entertainers like Charlie Chaplin, Jackie Gleason, James Dean, Andy Kaufman, Peter Sellers, Orson Welles, Marilyn Monroe. We love them so much that we'll take them even if they're portrayed by someone else.)
Owen Wilson's career is most certainly headed in that direction. He's gifted and totally original and unfortunately, this is what success brings in our culture. But, make no mistake about it, our impositions on and our expectations for his career have nothing to do with his personal life. We're lucky because we get to watch him work.
Sidney Poitier didn't have to explain why he gave up acting. He did so out of courtesy.
Ken Cancelosi
Thanks, Matt, for a thoughtful post about an actor that I always enjoy watching. He comes across as infinitely likeable…and funny. I've avoided reading stories about this episode beyond the initial reports because, mainly, what insights would the papers have to offer? And it seems like the man needs some privacy. But I'm glad I read this piece and the comments. Whatever is going on with him, I hope he works it all out.