Esquire quotes
David Duchovny isn't really a television star. He just
plays one on TV.
--Esquire Magazine, May 1999
I have told him that I need more time, more entrée, more....something. I need his
participation. The red light on my tape recorder glows against the gray afternoon; the little
sprockets turn. Duchovny shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat. His eyes
narrow, a low-watt burn.
"Whenever somebody says they need an angle for their story I always fear that they've got
an idea and they want me to fit into it or they want me to come up with an idea myself or
I'm supposed to be more revealing than I've been, and to me it just sounds like something I
don't want to do." The words come quickly, flowing past his Ultra Brite teeth without
pause or inflection-a nasal, droning, torrential monotone, his pillowy lips barely moving.
"If what you have is not enough that means to me I didn't say something I'll regret."
I look at him blankly, not sure exactly where to go from here. You can lead an actor to a
microphone, but you can't make him talk. "Tell you what: One question, then I'll go."
At that, he brightens considerably. He forms his thumb and index finger into the shape of a
handgun, aims it at the center of my face. "Shoot."
"Why agree to interviews if you don't want to do them?"
Duchovny scuffs his shoe in the gravel, looks off into the middle distance. He is six feet
tall, with an angular jaw, a knobby chin, and a Slavic nose that seems a half size to large
for his face, set a bit too close to his mouth. A spit curl lounges roguishly across the
broad, flat plain of his forehead. "I'm doing this one because...."
The sentence trails off. He sighs. Over the years, flip responses to journalists have cost
him.... Now Duchovny pulls his
hand out of his pocket, takes stock of his manicured nails. "I don't really know why I'm
doing this interview. I don't have a movie to sell. I guess that's suspect in a way."
"What it's suspect of is that this was somebody else's idea."
"It's always somebody else's idea."
It is my turn to sigh. "Well, thanks for your time. You get back to work. I'll think of
something to write"
"No, no no!" he interrupts, suddenly animated, raising his palm in the air like a traffic cop.
He flashes a self-depreciating smile, an expression similar, perhaps, to the one known to
his myriad fans on more than forty Web sites as the WPDF-the wounded-puppy-dog face.
"You don't have to go. I'm perfectly happy to do this. I just don't, I mean-I get just as
scared as you get when there's nothing to focus on, because I don't want to be more
entertaining than I want to be. Or having to be more entertaining or more interesting or
more charming than I'm actually capable of being."
Silence falls. His words resonate. We stand together for a full minute, watching the
comings and goings on the set.
"You know, I always feel... when somebody calls you a star, it's like
they're saying fag. You know what I hear when somebody says star? I hear pussy. I don't
know why. Maybe the best things about celebrity are the things like being able to get that
seat on the plane that you wouldn't normally get, but that's kind of like cheating. They're
not being that nice to you. You're getting good service, sure, but in the end they're
thinking: pussy. I know they are. They're thinking: He couldn't take it if we didn't bring
him those special chocolates. They're thinking: He couldn't take it if he had to sit in
coach."
"Do you feel any different now than you used to feel before you were famous?"
"No. I feel the same. That's why I think sometimes that these interviews don't go exactly
the way people are expecting. You've already been lionized. By talking about it, you're just
belaboring it. You're showing people that you're actually less than what they think you
are."
"What do people expect?"
"I think they probably think that I have no worries. People think celebrities don't have to
worry about human things like sickness and death and rent. It's like you've traveled to this
Land of Celebrity, this other country. They want you to tell about what you saw. But I can
never quite shake the idea that if my work was good enough, I would never have to say
anything. If my work was good enough, I would never have to do publicity. Just doing
this interview makes me feel insecure. Like I'm doing this because if I don't pimp my
personal life, the people out there in TV land won't watch me."
"So what message do you have for all the people out in TV land?" I ask, moving to wind
things up.
"What message do I have? I don't know. Just, well-grow up, you know? Everybody just
grow up."
The trailer has the words STAR WAGGONS emblazoned on the outside. It goes
wherever he goes. It is homey in the fashion of a motel suite, with neutral carpeting and
blond-wood cabinets holding all manner of electronics and remote controls. Against one
wall is a storyboard for a late-season X-Files episode he has written and will direct. Called
"The Unnatural," it is a period piece about an alien masquerading as a Negro League
baseball star. There is a La-Z-Boy recliner at the far end of the living area, a stuffed Blue's
Clues puppy on a shelf, an action figure of Agent Mulder on the sofa-Duchovny thinks it
resembles Noah Wyle of ER. Also, in evidence, half hidden behind some boxes, is a Lucite
statue: his American Comedy Award for Funniest Male Guest Appearance in a Television
Series.
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