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US Magazine
April, 1997
Do not present Jennifer Aniston with a crisis unless you want her to solve it. "If I can't make everything fine, I feel very defeated," she admits, which at least helps explain why the 28-year-old actress is standing behind David Schwimmer on the Burbank, Calif., Friends living-room set, making weird faces. As Schwimmer moans piteously about a dialogue change, Aniston signals to Robby Benson, the director of this particular episode, that there's nothing to worry about, it's just the way her lanky co-star is. Schwimmer wails, "Why can't the script be the way it was?" Aniston crosses her eyes. He bends down his dark head in frustration. She contorts her pretty features. Now her clenched hand is flying up in the air. Are those jokey stabbing motions she's making at Schwimmer's back? As Benson's shoulders visibly droop with relief, Aniston calms down her screen partner by calling out the Friends producers' names. Moments later, the prop door swings open and David Crane and Marta Kauffman emerge, ready to hash out the situation. "See?" Aniston says soothingly to Schwimmer. "Everyone's here."
This is a tricky little moment that Aniston just negotiated, one that gives insight into what made young female America rise up as one and clone themselves in her image. In the press, her breakout status has always been linked to her perfectly lustrous locks- which sort of misses the point. (The "hair thing" is how Aniston glumly summarizes the topic that, she has come to worry, overshadows everything else about her.) As any beautician will tell you, when women want to steal a look, they want to steal an essence, too. Thus, when the Rachel haircut reached disturbingly high saturation levels, it was really a mass homage to Aniston's natural warmth as well.
There is a user-friendliness about Aniston, and it's something she seems capable of translating to the big screen. Last year, when Friends reached it's phenomenal apex, some of her colleagues lunged at the first slick feature that came their way. But Aniston chose to ease into the movies, having already paid the price of prudence. (The 1993 horror flick Leprechaun is worth renting only to observe how her dubbed-in screams emerge from closed lips.) Instead, she went for the low-budget route, winning over critics as a sexually frustrated wife in She's The One. (She also did a few day's work in next months
Til There Was You.)
Next up is this summer's romantic comedy Picture Perfect, Aniston's debut as a marquee player, as measured both in screen time (her ad-exec character pops up in nearly every frame) and in her reported $3 million paycheck. As a Friends fan, the film's director, Glenn Gordon Caron, expected Aniston to have great comedic timing, but he was unprepared for how she'd inject complicated vulnerability into a scene. "On some level, everything Jennifer does as an actor has to be with the business of being a human being," says Caron, who believes the actress has staying power. "What makes her special isn't peculiar to youth. I could see her working into her 60's."
Aniston's dad, a soap-opera actor, first noticed that his daughter had theatrical aspirations when she was 15. "I'd taken her to work with me on day," recalls John Aniston, who plays mustache twirler Victor Kiriakis on Days of Our Lives. After depositing his teen in a waiting room, he returned to find her busily plotting out her first career move. "She was on the telephone with my agent," reports her progenitor, " asking him to get her an audition for a movie."
Aniston dropped other clues about her growing interest in the dramatic arts. Grades 9 through 12 were spent at the High School of the Performing Arts, in New York, where she lived with her mother, Nancy. Seven years ago, Aniston moved to California, where she specialized in small parts in quick-to-expire TV programs and was repeatedly informed by her agent that she's lost yet another film job to Kristy Swanson.
Aniston bonds in fast forward: 45 minutes after you meet, she has chipped your name down to a one syllable diminutive. Not long after, she has you in the Friends wardrobe room, chatting away as she tries on a series of costumes over her white tank top and black G-string. Later, as she gets her hair washed in the make-up room, she is informed that the Duchess of York is dying to meet her. "Fergie? I like her!" says an only slightly flummoxed Aniston. Then she notices that there is something bothering Courtney Cox. Twisting from the waist, Cox is worried craning her neck to study a smear of hair dye that has ended up on the derriere of her pricey-looking dress. Although there are several people in the room and Cox is growing frantic, Aniston is the only one who cares. "Hold still, Court," she says, intently daubing at the stain until it nearly disappears.
"Let's go smoke!" she says, inviting you into her dressing room. Upon entering, only the briefest flash of hesitation crosses her face. "Um, I guess this is part of who I am," she shrugs, surveying what looks like a hotel suite that's received a polite trashing- metal corkscrew on the floor, packs of Merit cigarettes on the coffee table, clothes and balled up Kleenex strewn everywhere. On an end table there's a vase of long-dead flowers sent by actor Tate Donavan , her boyfriend of a year and a half. Barging in at five-minute intervals is Matthew Perry, seeking only to tease her affectionately- something that Aniston clearly views as a job perk. During one of these riffs, she just sits on the floor and giggles as Perry sinks onto her debris-covered sofa. "Is this one-half of your bra?" he asks, gingerly plucking a floral cloth bag out from underneath him and swinging it aloft.
When Aniston heads home , she leaves the mess behind. A tour of her antique-filled hilltop residence- where most of this conversation took place- reveals Aniston's pride of ownership. From the tiled bathroom with the sunken Jacuzzi to the private gym to the paperless office , each room has a quality of decorated fastidiousness. Sitting in her living room, you are surrounded by flickering candles, family photographs and a view of nighttime Los Angeles that stretches all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Aniston sees other things. "Excuse me," she'll say, and then move an overstuffed chair a centimeter to the left. "I can't stand when things are out of place."
To be sure, there are aspects of Aniston that resist analysis. She says that Barbra Streisand is the person she'd most like to meet, but she's not a huge fan of Streisand's music or movies. As far as the hair thing goes, Aniston says she will never endorse a shampoo product. But wait, didn't she just shoot a L`oreal shampoo commercial? "That's for Europe," is all she'll say.
Just to provide an extra touch of absurdity to the evening, a teeny black Chihuahua named Fisherman Bob will keep running in and out of Aniston's living room. "Oh, he's great," you lie, because she clearly worships the quivering lapdog owned by her friend Andrea Bendewald, an actress. And then you try not to flinch when it repeatedly scrambles up on your shoulder, plants it's two front feet in your hair and paints your face with slobber. "Is he bothering you?" Aniston asks, her brow wrinkling with concern. "You are crazy Fisherman Bob!"
Margy: Are you aware that you have your own religion?
Jennifer: [Startled] I have my own religion? What's my religion called?
Margy: It's called the Holy Tabernacle of Aniston the Divine. Let me read you one of the basic precept's: "God is a woman, and her name is Jennifer."
Jennifer: I am not a god.
Margy: OK. But if you were, what kind of God would you be- compassionate or punishing?
Jennifer: Oh, a nice god! Who'd want to be a punishing god? That'd be awful. [Pause] I would love to sit down with all the people who are doing wrong in the world and go, "Hey. What's up with you? And what is your fucked up problem? Go smell the roses for crying out loud." [Skims the religious bylaws then reads one aloud] "Great hair is a spiritual gift." Hmm.
Margy: They mean that in a nice way, Jennifer.
Jennifer: I know. You just feel like they're talking more about your hair than your work.
Margy: Jennifer, you are definitely need to get over this.
Jennifer: [Apprehensively] Do I come across bitchy when I talk about it? I mean it's definitely flattering. [Pause] It's also surreal. It's like you start to become the haircut. Now I see all these negative things, like "Enough with her and her hair! I want her to just go away." I guess you can't let that stuff get you down or wonder why it's happening.
Margy: Earlier in the afternoon, you said, "I cried all day yesterday." What was wrong?
Jennifer: There was about a hundred things going on at once. I'd first come off four days of doing Friends and also doing reshoots for Picture Perfect from 6 p.m. until the crack of dawn. Today's the first day that I feel like a normal person. It must have been the overexhaustion because suddenly I just kind of went [sob-choked voice], "I can't do it. I'm just a tiny little woman." Then you go, "That felt good!" and you move on.
Margy: What's the first thing that pops into your head when you're in that emotional state?
Jennifer: I'm thinking, I just can't want the world to stop for, like, a day. So I can just kinda breathe and do nothing. But you know, I wanted my whole life to do this. And this is what it's about. I know there's lots of people who think, "Oh, you shouldn't talk. You have a great life. You're making money and you're doing movies." And its like, "Yeah. But you know what? I'm human, and shit happens."
Margy: I'll bet you adsorbed lots about the ups and downs of showbiz just by visiting your father on the set of his soap opera.
Jennifer: I didn't really remember much. When you grow up with it, it's just Daddy's job. It was all just people and pictures and flashes.
Margy: Let's hear about one of those flashes.
Jennifer: When my dad was on Love of Life, Christopher Reeve was playing his son. And I remember being with my mother and running into him on the street, and I kept going [Nagging], "Mom, c'mon! Let's go, let's go, let's go." And then, like, a week later we went and saw Superman and I was like [Swoony gasp], "Why did you let me run away?" And my mother was like, "Well, I tried·"
Margy: Were you running lines with the dashing but roguish Victor Kiriakis by the time you could read?
Jennifer: No, we were divorced. I didn't live with my dad. I spent weekends with him when I was growing up. And then it was cutdown to every other weekend. He had a house in New Jersey. I'd go out on Friday nights, then come back on Sunday nights. My memories as a child are about just going place to place and taking care of adults.
Margy: How does a kid make peace between two squabbling grown-ups?
Jennifer: I'd talk to both of them. Sometimes I'd get in the middle and get really pissed off. You don't understand it when you're little; it's just what you do. But as an adult you can see that they were human and there was a divorce and another woman and there was Mother's jealousy and anger toward Dad. And his anger toward Mom. And what happens is you just don't want any conflict. That's the main thing: Try and keep everything calm. I'd try to be a good girl so that I didn't get in trouble. As painful and frustrating as it is, I wouldn't have wanted to grow up and other way.
Margy: Is it fair to say that you feel wounded by this?
Jennifer: Very. It's hurtful. We don't want to be disliked. [Pause] You know, I love Liz Smith's column. I really do. When she wrote, "Who do those Friends think they are? Remember where you were two years ago," or something like that, I was like [Anguished tone], "Oh, my God. Liz Smith hates us!" And I don't know why, but that hurt me so much. It was like [Imploringly], "Liz! Liz!'
Margy: Weren't you the one who led the faction that lobbied for a speedy resolution for the salary negotiations?
Jennifer: [Slightly alarmed] Where did you here that? [Pause] Ah. Now I'm wondering if I want to talk about the whole thing. It's so sticky. The truth of the matter is that we all wanted it to work out the best way. And we knew that all of a sudden it became a media catastrophe. But you know what? This is how business works. Everybody negotiates. But someone ratted us out, and America got to see a whole aspect of our business that they didn't need to see. It sort of tainted our image.
Margy: Then set the record straight.
Jennifer: The main thing was we were never going to leave or go on strike. That would be such a "Fuck you." We just wanted to be paid equally because it seemed fair.
Margy: You were making plenty of money. How long did it take you to get used to having all that cash?
Jennifer: It didn't take that long, I'll tell ya. [Laughs] Ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted to spend money. Before my dad got the soap, we were broke. After that, there was all this financial shit with my parents and the divorce. So, once you get money, you're going to spend it. I was like, "I'm going to take my friends to dinner!" Check's on me!" [Fisherman Bob trots into the room with a gray sock in his mouth.] No! No! [the dog pivots rapidly and skitters down the hall with Aniston in pursuit. After several minutes, she returns with a sockless though unrepentant Fisherman Bob at her heels.]
Margy: Your lateness problem is of legend.
Jennifer: My lateness? Who wrote that I'm late? Five minutes late, maybe. I'm not late late. I'm shocked it's been written about.
Margy: All right, all right. I'll change the subject. So what's your worst vice?
Jennifer: I'm definitely late.
Margy: Jennifer!!
Jennifer: Well, we're all late sometimes. I'm a very fast driver, and I just think I can get places faster than I do.
Margy: Do you want to get married? Or does marriage give you pause because of your parents' divorce?
Jennifer: I don't have pause. I think marriage is a wonderful thing. I think if you're two independent people, financially and otherwise, and you want to celebrate your love, then you should do it.
Margy: You mentioned financial independence. How do you and Tate deal with the relative inequity of your earning power?
Jennifer: We don't have that. Honestly, we really don't. Also, Tate hasn't stopped working since Partners [Donovan's defunct TV series]. He's done two movies: Murder at 1600 and this movie he just finished with Sam Shepard and Diane Keaton called The Only Thrill. And he's the voice of Hercules in the Disney movie. I'm dating a god.
Margy: Yeah, but he's dating a woman with her own religious sect. Let me read a couple more of their beliefs: "Jennifer can do no wrong, ever." "No aspect of Jennifer is insignificant."
Jennifer: [Laughs] There you go. I'm going to post those on his bathroom mirror. [Laughs]
Margy: You've said that if you weren't an actress, you'd be a therapist. Why?
Jennifer: Because I like figuring out other peoples problems.
Margy: Let's play a game. You be my therapist.
Jennifer: All right. [Aniston's air of girlish malleability vanishes as she instantly locks into character. Seated across from you on the couch is a stiff-backed woman whose penetrating gaze makes you squirm.]
Margy: Um, OK. Here we go. I'm walking in, and I'm sitting down.
Jennifer: [In pleasant, professional tone] Hello, how are you doing?
Margy: Well, Dr. Aniston, I'm not sure.
Jennifer: Why are you here?
Margy: My hairdo. I feel like the attention people pay it overshadows what they think about my work. How should I feel about this?
Jennifer: Well, how do you fell about it? Do you feel like you've done good work?
Margy: Well, yes, I do.
Jennifer: And that is not enough for you? What people say about you really affects you that much? Why do you let it make you feel less worthy?
Margy: It just freaks me out, Dr. Aniston. All I ever read is just "hair, hair, hair."
Jennifer: And that's a bad thing?
Margy: I don't know, Dr. Aniston. What do you think?
Jennifer: Well, you have very nice hair. You have beautiful hair.
Margy: And?
Jennifer: And that's a compliment. I think.
By Margy Rochlin , US Magazine