//

Interview: Tracy Letts Talks August: Osage County

The playwright discusses the limits of control and his opinion that his own mother is “a goddamned liar.”

Interview: Tracy Letts Talks August: Osage County
Photo: Showtime

You know you’re dealing with an assertive artist when he’s the one who starts the interview. Before I even sit down to speak with Tracy Letts, the Tony- and Pulitzer Prize-winning actor-playwright known for conceiving and adapting works like Bug and Killer Joe, he’s already grilling me about Slant’s not-so-ecstatic recaps of Homeland, a series on which Letts starred this season as the shady Senator Andrew Lockhart. Apparently, Letts doesn’t miss a bit of press that’s linked to his work, nor does he blindly speak to outlets without doing a little digging. Though always perfectly respectful, Letts is direct, and forthcoming, which should really be no surprise given the uninhibited stories he’s put his name to.

Having penned the screenplays for Bug and Killer Joe, two indelible bits of mind-fuckery that teamed the author with William Friedkin, Letts is now unleashing his adaptation of his most personal piece, August: Osage County, the film version of which marks a partnership with director John Wells—not to mention a monumental cast. Though a far cry from the Friedkin collaborations, August: Osage County is similarly no-holds-barred, dropping the viewer amid a venom-spitting brood inspired by Letts’s own family.

A sensation when it stormed Broadway in 2007, the story of August: Osage County takes place in Letts’s home state of Oklahoma, and it’s infused not just with the drama of dysfunction, but a Midwestern history with which he’s all too familiar. The man behind the narrative that’s now led to heavy awards buzz (particularly for leading ladies Meryl Streep and Julia Roberts), Letts discussed the story’s Native American themes, his opinion that his own mother, Billie Letts, is “a goddamned liar,” and, more than anything, the limits of control. That is, of course, after addressing those recaps.

[I enter]

Don’t we continually get bad reviews on Slant from the guy who writes the episode recaps for Homeland?

You might! One of our writers does recap the show on our blog. But, to be perfectly honest, I haven’t read those pieces, because I’m behind on this season of Homeland and I’m avoiding spoilers.

Yeah, well, I’ve read them. I read it all. I’m shameless. I read everything.

Oh yeah? Well, I do know that we at the site are fans of movies based on your work, like Bug and Killer Joe. Slant really digs Killer Joe.

Great. Glad to hear it.

Advertisement

Speaking of which, since Bug, Killer Joe, and August: Osage County are so different, I’ve been trying to think of how they connect thematically, and what I’ve come up with is this element of control—people trying to control their worlds via their bodies, shady deals, self-medication, even family. Is the issue of control something you consciously try to explore?

Oh man, that’s such a good question, and I haven’t had that question before, because I haven’t really had anyone pay that much attention to the works in total. I don’t know. Perhaps I just think it’s the stuff of drama, but perhaps it’s something from my own life as well. I mean, I’ve been sober for over 20 years, and I’m a subscriber of AA and its philosophies. So there probably is something in there about my belief that a certain giving up of control is good for the soul. I certainly think that, in August: Osage County, that moment in the play when Barbara insists she’s “running things now” was always a choice moment for the audience, and it’s in the film as well. And I think it taps into something that people feel, particularly in regard to their families: “Oh my god, if you would just do what I want you to do we’d be so much better off. If you’d just behave the way I feel you should behave.” As opposed to allowing people to make their own choices, for good or ill.

In what ways do you think you try, perhaps, to exert too much control in your own life?

I don’t know. I hope I don’t. Or I hope I’m somewhat vigilant about not trying to do that. When I was a young man, I used to get really angry. There’s a lot of anger in young men, or there was in me, certainly. And it was probably about that very thing: If you feel like you’re in control of everything, and then things aren’t going well, you feel like you’re failing. But I guess I don’t struggle with that so much anymore, because I don’t get angry nearly as often. But I probably still am guilty of it, and there are probably still some things I have to stay vigilant about. What those things are…I don’t know.

The issue of control brings directors to mind. Why not direct any of the film adaptations of your work yourself? Have you ever considered doing that?

No. First of all, I can’t remember what Bug cost—maybe $7 million? And Killer Joe was $10 million?—but I don’t think anyone would have given me $7 million or $10 million to make those movies. Or $30 million, in the case of August: Osage County. And I don’t really consider myself a filmmaker. I’ve just written these adaptations of my own work. You know, I met with Warren Beatty right after August opened on Broadway. We had a lovely meeting and he sort of suggested that I be the producer of August: Osage County, because the only way I’d see it done the way I really wanted it done was if I exerted control over the production. And I said to him, “Mr. Beatty, I’m not a filmmaker.” If I spent 10 years dragging that ship over the mountain, and trying to get August made exactly the way I want it made, it might end up being the film I would want to see. But my focus is primarily on the theater. I don’t want to spend 10 years of my life and career dragging that ship. That’s not the hill I choose to die on.

Well, what are some of the biggest concerns when seeing your work translated to the screen? Because I read that, at various points, you weren’t thrilled with some of the things that were happening with the August: Osage County production.

Well, I always liked the idea that movies can get to places that plays can’t. Growing up in a small town myself, I didn’t have access to great theater. A lot of my access to those things came through the movies. And I think that’s true for a lot of people. So I always wanted to see a film made, but I’m aware that a film is different than a play, and that a film isn’t going to be the filmed record of the play. It’s its own separate entity, and I’ve come to peace with that. During the process of making it, I’ll fight like hell for the things I think are going to make the movie better. But while Killer Joe and Bug and August: Osage County are all Tracy Letts plays, they’re also William Friedkin films and a John Wells film. And I felt my job was to help John Wells make the best John Wells film he could make. And he knew that. He said when he first met me, “If this thing’s fucked up, I’m the one they’re going to look at. I’m the one they’re going to blame. You’ve already written the play and won the awards.” And I said, “Well, then let me help you make the best movie you can make.” Me fighting for certain things didn’t have anything to do with preserving my play; it had everything to do with thinking, “This material is important for the thematic integrity of the piece.” I lost some of those fights and I won some. There were moments along the way when I wasn’t happy, but that’s the process of collaboration. We come back to that issue of control, right? I’m not going to insist that everyone try to do things my way. It’s about all of us pitching in our ideas.

I read that your mother, Billie, another famous writer, said that all the people in your plays “wind up naked or dead.” Is the fact that there’s no nudity in August: Osage County, and only one unseen death, in any way a tribute to Mom?

Advertisement

My mother is a goddamned liar, and not all of the people in my plays wind up naked or dead. My mother also issued that quote as a kind of defense of her own work, and of how her own work is so nice and friendly. And that’s a goddamned lie too. Because there’s actually a pretty good streak of cruelty in my mother’s books as well. Though they’re popular novels, there are definitely moments of great human cruelty in her works. So. “My mom is a goddamned liar” is the answer to that question.

[laughs] Okay. And Violet—in the writing of her and the creating of her, is there any of your own mother there? And whether there is or isn’t, when writing that character, were there specific people or actresses you were picturing?

No actresses I was picturing. It’s very much based on my grandmother—my mother’s mother. My mother’s father committed suicide when I was 10 years old, by drowning. My mother’s mother then descended into years of downer addiction. The impulse for the play was autobiographical. And while the characters are very much an amalgam of fiction, and the story is heavily fictionalized, there are also a lot of moments of truth from my life in the piece, or, at least, my perception or memory of it. And certainly in the character of Violet. She’s very much my grandmother, perhaps not in language, but in attitude and inclination. In fact, I gave the play to my mother to read, which I knew would be hard for her, and her first comment to me was, “You’ve been very kind to my mother.”

Wow.

Yeah. So…

And your grandmother also lived in Oklahoma, where you were born? Enhancing that strong connection to the place?

Yes. Absolutely.

And the Native American aspect—you clearly incorporate this as a commentary on roots, and America, and generational views of minorities in the Midwest. But it’s a touchy thing to include, specifically having Johnna, this Native American maid, in the ensemble. Can you discuss the provocations and the delicacy of that inclusion?

First of all, if you’re from Oklahoma, Native American life is part of your experience growing up. I myself am part Native American. It’s not uncommon for people from Oklahoma to have that background. My parents and all of my grandparents are from Oklahoma; my grandfather was born in Native American territory before it became a state. So there’s a lot of Oklahoma history there. And though we lost some of Johnna [played by Misty Upham in the film] from stage to screen, the truth is that the title is still August: Osage County, with the name of the [Native American] tribe in the title, and Johnna is Cheyenne. And, yeah, I always felt there was some strong thematic resonance. I can tell you this: The actress who originated the role, an Oklahoma native name Kim Guerrero, was Cherokee. And she said to us while we were rehearsing that the idea she had been raised with, by other natives, was that, “This is our land, the white people are here for a while using it, we’re going to be good to them while they’re here, and then when they’re gone it’s going to be our land again.” That was kind of a governing principle when I was writing the piece. I always felt that inherent in the work was the idea that, perhaps, we have sown the seeds of our own destruction, by that genocide. And that Oklahoma, positioned right in the center of the country, was somewhat representative of a national shame.

Advertisement

Speaking as both a writer and an actor, is there a character in this piece with whom you identify most? Or who you might play? My guess was you identified most with Barbara, but, naturally, she might be a little tricky for you to portray.

I mean, they’re all me, right? I guess I believe in that idea that if you write the thing, it’s some part of you. And they’re all some part of me. Having lived through that time with my grandparents, and my grandfather’s suicide when I was 10, to some extent Jean [played by Abigail Breslin in the film] is me. But then I think I’ve also played the role of all three of the siblings, Violet’s daughters. I’m the youngest of three brothers, and I think I’ve played each of those roles at different times. And I think I’ve behaved despicably, as some of the characters do, over the years. So I think I could be any of them. Barbara, as the protagonist, holds some of my ideas, but I think if I were to play a character, I would probably play her husband, Bill [played by Ewan McGregor in the film]. He’s not a particularly noble character, but you should understand: I’m never going to play any of them. I don’t act in the stuff that I write. I have no interest in doing that.

It’s the holiday season. Families are gathering around the table. Can you give me an August: Osage County-style anecdote from your own life? Maybe something wild that happened around the table that’s not incorporated here?

Oh! [laughs] You know, people see this, and I tell them that it’s based on my family, and they assume that I came from some kind of horrible, hysterical circumstances. That’s not true. My family, my nuclear family, was actually very close. My mom and dad were great parents and they encouraged a real rich, creative life for me and my brothers. My extended family, like every family, has some darkness, and some violence of some kind, emotional or otherwise, in their past. I think that’s part of the appeal of August: Osage County. People can recognize their own families in the piece. But in terms of actual stuff around the table? No, you’ve seen it. Hell, it’s up there on the screen.

All right then. Well, thanks so much.

Yeah, it was good to meet you. And tell that Homeland recap guy I’m looking for him. [laughs]

R. Kurt Osenlund

R. Kurt Osenlund is a creative director and account supervisor at Mark Allen & Co. He is the former editor of Out magazine.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.