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The lobby of the Chateau Marmont, vaguely funereal even on a spring
afternoon, is eerily, unnervingly still. A handful of Industry types
are scattered around the room, stuffed into brocade chairs like
nesting pigeons. Every 30 seconds or so they glare sullenly at their
cell phones, willing the little bastards to ring. But even when some
pinky-sized Nokia does whine for attention, it doesn't put so much
as a dent in the all-encompassing silence - so oppressive a force it
practically stagnates the blood. If Jack Nicholson suddenly came
tromping down one of the hotel's Stygian hallways with an ax and a
leer, no one would be at all surprised.
The crazy-making quiet doesn't bother Tobey Maguire one bit. Sipping
over-priced herbal tea from a white china cup (he has a touch of a
sore throat), he surveys the room. He doesn't fidget, he doesn't
yawn, he doesn't fill the void with aimless chatter. His cell phone
stays tucked somewhere in the folds of his grey-hooded sweatshirt.
The 26-year-old actor actually seems happy to sink into a graceless
velveteen sofa, eat guacamole and half of an artichoke, and simply
be - Buddha-like and serene. "It's funny, but people just talk all
the time. And I sit back and watch," he says in a measured voice. He
seems sincerely baffled by the nattering masses, maybe a little
sorry for their unquiet minds. "I mean, I can talk too, but I don't
feel the need to create an experience."
And neither do most of his characters: young men who quietly endure
neurotic swingers (The Ice Storm), doe-eyed orphans (The Cider House
Rules), and unraveling academics (Wonder Boys) with an understated
grace. As Maguire plays them, these wallflowers invariably blossom
as the calm, cool centers around which a conversation, a room, even
a movie's worth of angst can revolve. And when he makes his debut as
Peter Parker-cum-Spider-Man this summer, he'll likely turn that
everyman prototype (the wallflower as superhero hiding an impossible
secret beneath his mask) on its ear.
Maguire, with his wide blue eyes and not-quite-handsome face,
doesn't seem like the obvious choice to play the world's most famous
webslinger. But most of us have forgotten that beneath the red
leotard Spidey, like Maguire, was just an ordinary guy with an
extraordinary skill. Maguire coaxes audiences into trusting him as
their eyes and ears. He's a protagonist just cynical enough to arch
an eyebrow when it all becomes too much, yet open enough to guide us
into the heart of the film with a minimum of pretense. With most
movie stars relying on hair flips and freaky facial tics to get
their point across, critics have slavered shamelessly over Maguire,
often blurring the line between the actor and the man. Pick up any
review and you'll read quivering prose about his quiet, seeking
wisdom, his egoless poise and his preternatural, "I'm sweet and
innocent and wise beyond my years, blah, blah, blah," Maguire says
with the slightest insinuation of a smile. There's no exasperation
in it, just a detached wonderment, the way you might react when your
best friend weepily vows she'd take a bullet for you after ten too
many Appletinis. Having spent half of his life in the Industry
(Maguire shot his first commercial at 13), he's wary of buying into
any media-manufactured hype, even when it's in his favor. "I do a
lot of wacky stuff, actually," he offers. "I just don't tell anyone
about it."
Considering he's sipping tea and picking over soggy artichoke leaves
as he says this, the idea of Maguire, say, sucking Jell-O shots off
a hooker's ass seems laughable. A yoka-practicing vegetarian who
doesn't drink or smoke, he worked out three-and-a-half hours a day
to fill in his Spider-Man Lycra. He talks about New-Agey-things -
like living in the present, personal responsibility, and showing
respect to the people around him - with obvious sincerity. At the
moment, he seems like one of the characters he plays...quiet,
self-effacing, and very grown-up.
And maybe he senses that, because with his next breath he
completely, intentionally blows it. "See that guy over there? He
looks kind of like Elijah Wood. It's in the eyes and around the
mouth," he whispers, innocently delighted with this observation.
"Shit, he's seen us, he knows we're talking about him. Fuck!" He
leans back in his seat, avoiding eye contact, and looking a hell of
a lot like the kid who got caught making fun of the teacher. Wise
old soul my ass.
It's easy to forget, but Maguire's just a guy in his twenties like
any other, with the same stupid screwups on his record. A few years
ago Maguire's onscreen subtlety was overshadowed by his membership
in Leonardo DiCaprio's so-called Pussy Posse, a gang of
not-quite-men with just enough money and power to be annoying. The
gang developed a rep for reputed behavior both childish (setting off
stink bombs, tossing grapes at the paparazzi) and thuggish
(allegedly harassing Showgirls star Elizabeth Berkeley and throwing
punches with her then-boyfriend Roger Wilson). "They were just being
young and having fun, and the tabloids got a hold of it," sighs
longtime friend and former roomie Sara Gilbert (Roseanne). Maguire
never talked much about his tabloid-worthy exploits, and he isn't
talking now. Given how the media lavished headlines on DiCaprio's
every post-Titanic hiccup, it's hard to imagine there could be
anything left to say.
Still, with so much juicy material available, it's tempting to cast
Maguire as any one of a stable of recognizable Hollywood characters.
He could be the bad boy with an angel's face, maybe, or the old soul
who escaped the ghetto of child acting through sheer will. None of
that's wrong, exactly. But it's not enough. As meticulous as he is
in his performances, revealing only so much and letting our over
burdened psyches fill in the rest, he is just as circumspect in what
he reveals about himself to the media, his coworkers, his friends.
We catch a glimpse of one facet and think we've seen the full
brilliance of his soul. But there's a world below the surface more
than anyone could excavate even if he let them. "When I saw Cider
House, I thought, Awww, what a sweet boy, he's so innocent!" laughs
his Spider-Man costar Kirsten Dunst. "He's a wolf in sheep's
clothing, but you know what? I've seen other sides to him too. He
hasn't even begun to show all the things he can do, and it's going
to be interesting when people realize how much more shit he has
going on."
THE CHOIR BOY
With some Reader's Digest spin, Maguire's life plays like a Horatio
Alger story, hitting all the familiar beats in the
poor-boy-makes-good genre. His parents were barely more than kids
when he was born. Though Wendy and Vincent Maguire tied the knot
shortly after his arrival, he was still in diapers when they
divorced. He grew up never making himself too comfortable in any
situation. He lived with his mom, his dad, his grandma, an aunt and
countless combinations of the above, plus or minus boyfriends, the
new wife, the new kids. His mother was a marginally employed
secretary, his father a cook. They were both poor. There were food
stamps, welfare checks, embarrassment over his crappy clothes, his
dad's beater truck. He was a good student, but as adolescence
loomed, he started skipping school. He felt sick in the mornings,
queasy at the thought of having to face another set of new faces in
a bad pair of corduroys. He became a wise ass, talking back, acting
out. He was well on his way to becoming a certifiable little shit.
And then his mom, who had once dreamed of becoming an actress,
changed everything with a bribe. For $100 all he had to do was
choose drama over cooking class. It was the easiest money the 12
year-old ever made. Soon he was peddling burgers on TV, making guest
appearances on early-90's sitcoms like Blossom and Roseanne. Despite
his initial indifference, he developed a passion for acting, but it
was a complicated love affair. "At some point I became the main
support in my family," Maguire says matter-of-factly. "I have
friends who have their parents as a safety net, and that's different
to me."
He doesn't elaborate. This isn't a sore point per se, but he edges
away from any line of questioning that might nosedive into a pool of
self-pity. He knows most people his age aren't making four million
dollars a movie (his Spider-Man payday), that most twenty-somethings
couldn't afford his leftover guacamole. "I don't think about it that
much."
Maybe he doesn't think about it, but he acknowledges that on some
subterranean level those years color his approach to life. "I live
well below my means," he explains. "I eat wherever I want, I have a
really nice car, a nice home. But I don't blow money." Some of his
best friends, like DiCaprio, come from similar hard-luck
backgrounds. And, as much as he hates talking about his private life
with a tape recorder running, he understands that his ascent from
food-stamp brat to Spider-Man could be some other kid's $100 bribe.
"I don't want to be some poster boy for how you get rich or
something stupid like that, but I like the idea that someone can
read something and go, Wow, that kid believed in himself and did
well.' He mulls that over for a minute, as if it sounds a little too
"awww shucks" to his ears. Pedestals, no matter how innocuous, make
him nervous. "I wonder if that's my justification for doing it or if
I really feel that way." He thinks it over some more, then shrugs
and changes the subject.
THE WISE ASS
There are limitations to a truncated, feel good version of Maguire's
life story. It leaves out the hard work. It leaves out the flops
(remember his starring role in the 1992 sitcom Great Scott? Didn't
think so.) Mostly it saddles Maguire with an ill-fitting,
all-purpose halo. Nice try, but he's not dead yet. "He does do yoga
and tries to be spiritual, but don't be fooled," says Dunst. "He's
not some little yogi dude or anything."
Right out of the gate, he was a cocky sonofabitch. "Before I could
even get a job, I thought I was a hotshot," Maguire admits, slightly
chagrined. When writer-director Gary Ross asked him to audition for
Pleasantville, the young punk shot him down. "I refused to read for
him for four months because I felt he should give me the job."
Though he finally agreed to take a meeting, it wasn't necessarily to
make nice. "Here I was 20 years old, he had been nominated for two
Acadamy Awards, and I had a couple of pages worth of notes on his
script," he says. He laughs at himself, then hesitates. "I'm
ultimately not difficult at all. I just have ideas I want to
communicate."
Even so, his ego couldn't completely override and ingrained shyness.
And for a while the combination of traits wasn't 100 percent
charming. Before the tabloids were running grainy pictures of
Maguire and Dunst's offscreen canoodling (Dunst takes the "just
friends" defense and Maguire politely refuses to answer), Maguire
simply shined her on, a move his costar now chalks up to an attack
of bashfulness. "I saw him at the SAG awards one year and told him I
liked him in Cider House," Dunst recalls with a giggle. "He wasn't
very nice to me. He was like, 'Whatever.'"
She's lucky he didn't level her with a zinger. Though he's rarely
had an opportunity to show it onscreen, Maguire's funny. Really
funny. "He has this mischievous side that lets out a lot of that
childish stuff we all have inside," says Gilbert. "Right now, I can
just picture him laughing devilishly." He hasn't always used his
powers for good. Back in the bad old, good old days, Maguire
established himself as the quiet guy who observed your flaws at the
back of the room, then tossed them back at you with a punchline
attached. "I can be a clever guy, but at the same time I used to be
funny at other people's expense," he remembers. "It would create a
pecking order in the room. I would take power with my wit."
His voice is low. Taking the piss out of your buddies is something
we've all done, but the way Maguire explains it, it doesn't sound so
funny anymore. "Those things don't matter ultimately," he explains.
"Whenever there's a power struggle and somebody wins, both parties
lose."
THE SEEKER
On paper that may sound like canned self-help patter. And maybe it
is, but in person, Maguire makes it sing. He's serious about being a
decent guy on a daily basis, not just when it's convenient for him
or when Entertainment Tonight's rolling tape. "The better I live my
life, the better choices I make, the better I'm going to feel about
myself," he says. "If I go shopping or work on a movie or help a
friend move or who knows what, I ask myself, Am I being present and
showing respect towards whomever I'm with? And don't think my level
of fame has to do with how responsible I should be in my life."
His quest for self improvement began on the set of 1995's Empire
Records. Partying had overshadowed acting, and his teenage
insecurities made him bitter, biting. He couldn't connect with
people. He had what he described as a "semi-breakdown." He quit the
film, stopped acting for six months, and got his shit together.
Ten years later, he's still working on it, fine-tuning and
adjusting. So far, he seems to be getting it right. On the first day
of rehearsal for Spider-Man, he brought Dunst a yellow flower,
signifying friendship. "He told me, 'If you hadn't done this movie,
we wouldn't have a movie.' He was a doll, so sweet." He's
unflinchingly loyal to his friends, many of whom have been around
for over a decade. He gives good advice. "He won't say something
unless he really means it," says Gilbert. "He's just thoughtful, and
grounded and very, very smart."
There are still some issues. "I'm 26, my self-esteem can't be that
great," he shrugs. "But I'm on my way. I figure it's better than it
was at 23, but not as good as it's supposed to be when I'm 30." He's
also trying to find that balance between a fast- moving train of a
career and the more important things. "I wouldn't compromise myself
or my relationships or do anything I wouldn't feel good about as a
human being to achieve success," he says. "But I am very ambitious.
And I'm still pretty hungry."
THE (SPIDER) MAN
Spider-Man should fill him up. It's guaranteed to be huge (a
Spider-Man sequel already in the works). And now the quiet observer
best known for critically lauded roles in films that barely made
their money back is facing fame, full impact. "I don't know, I guess
it happens when you're ready for it," he says, as if the transition
to big-screen superhero was no more stressful than changing banks.
"I'm not sure if he completely grasps what it will be like," says
Dunst. "Basically, he won't be able to live outside of his house for
a while. But I'm sure he'll handle it fine."
Fame might not be as tough for him to grapple with as the idea that
he may not have been a fan favorite to play Spidey. "A few people
have said that to me, but that wasn't my experience of it," he says,
and for the first time this afternoon, he seems unnerved. "I didn't
pay any attention to fansites before I got the job, but afterward
Avi Arad [Marvel Studios CEO] faxed me hundreds of pages of
responses, and it seemed to me 80 to 85 percent were positive, and
I'm being conservative." He pauses and says, "I'm trying not to have
an ego about it. But Ben Affleck got a 50 to 60 percent approval
rating on Daredevil, and I don't think anyone's asking this about
him."
Maguire wasn't familiar with the comic book, but read every issue of
the first four or five years to catch up. He got in shape (yoga,
gymnastics, martial arts, and weights), got into the suit ("The
shoes didn't have a lot of support and the lenses would fog up
sometimes," he says), and handed over his life to Sam Raimi ("It
ends up being two years with the training and the press," he
explains.) Now there's only press and the great unknown. He's in no
rush to line up his next project. He's holding out for quality, and
no wall-crawler in a leotard is going to change that. "I could not
work for three or four years and be okay with my lifestyle the way
it is now," he says.
So for today he's happy to sit back, observe the guy who looks like
Elijah Wood, and let the day come to him. He asks the waitress for
another cup, his tea has gotten cold - and that's fine. "There
really is no boredom," he says. "The experiences happen. They're
happening now. In total silence."
© Liane Bonin, Flaunt |
