CELEBRATED HOLLYWOOD STAR AND MULTI-HYPHENATE GRIFFIN DUNNE COMES TO THE TRIPLEX CINEMA
FALL 2024
By Dr. Joshua Sherman
GRIFFIN DUNNE is Hollywood royalty, boasting a multi-faceted legacy as an acclaimed actor, director, and producer. He has made significant contributions to the film industry with cult classics like After Hours, directed by Martin Scorsese, and the iconic An American Werewolf in London, directed by John Landis. Dunne’s illustrious family includes his father, renowned writer Dominick Dunne; his aunt, legendary author Joan Didion; and his uncle, lauded writer and journalist John Dunne.
Griffin recently penned a powerful tell-all book, The Friday Afternoon Club, which reached #5 on The New York Times best seller list. On Saturday, September 21, The Triplex Cinema in Great Barrington will host a highly anticipated day of events featuring Dunne, offering fans, cinema buffs, and literary mavens an intimate experience to connect with him and learn more about his films, his new book, and the story behind it. The day kicks off at 4:30 p.m. with the screening of the documentary Joan Didion: The Center Will Not Hold, which Dunne directed. After the film, Dunne will have a talkback, where he will discuss the film and his book, as well as hold a book signing in the lobby, which is open to the public. The evening continues at 8 p.m. with An American Werewolf in London, with an introduction by Dunne, who starred in the American cult classic.
In the weeks leading up to this event, Griffin joined me via Zoom to discuss his storied career, the inspirations behind his new book, and the enduring impact of his family’s legacy on his life and work.
JS: Griffin, let’s talk about being the child of a celebrity. There’s obviously enormous irony in the fact that every child in America living a “normal life” watches the Oscars or some other awards show, sees the children of celebrities, and dreams of that luxe life. Meanwhile, many children of celebrities often dream of living a “normal” life. What was your experience?
GD: Well, first of all, my parents were not celebrities, but my father, in particular, sort of worshipped at the altar of celebrity. Being famous held a lot of importance for him. He tied his identity to the famous people who would come to his house, drink his booze, and have rip-roaring times. He threw great parties. My mother rather tired of it. When they were married and gave these parties, I was quite young, so I sadly did not appreciate the significance. Billy Wilder was telling hilarious jokes; stars like David Niven, John Huston, and other directors whose movies I would study years later were all there. At the time, they were raucous, heavy drinkers and partied really hard. I was aware of the importance of that social aspect to my father, but I found it rather embarrassing. It made me cringe at times and made me not want to live in Los Angeles and not have that kind of life. I thought I’d be a journalist, more like my aunt and uncle, who were famous by that time. But, when I eventually decided to become an actor, I was determined to leave Hollywood and move to New York. But as a child in Beverly Hills, where The Beverly Hillbillies was the number one show, and all of my friends’ parents were famous actors, studio heads, producers, or directors, I longed for a life in the Midwest. I had cousins in Colorado and Arizona who went to regular high schools, had football games, built bonfires, and lived co-ed lives. I was sent to all-boys schools from an early age, which were very restrictive and disciplined. I longed to go to a school with girls and have an upbringing like my cousins, who lived on a cattle ranch or crossed the border into Mexico to buy tequila and have a great time. I found Beverly Hills to be a ridiculous place to say I was from. That was my relationship to it.
JS: I listened to an interview you gave with NPR about the book recently, and you talked about being paraded as a child in your robe and being a “trophy,” for lack of a better term. Can you share one or two fun stories in which you actually enjoyed the benefits of being surrounded by celebrities as a child?
GD: One starstruck moment I remember was after seeing Dr. No and being so enamored with James Bond, I saw Sean Connery swimming in our pool. I noticed he had a bald spot on the back of his head, which was clearly covered by a toupée. I had never been in the deep end of the pool, but I figured this would be the time to show James Bond what I was made of. I jumped in the deep end and sank like a stone. It was a lunch party, and people were all around the pool, holding drinks and smoking cigarettes. I remember looking up from the bottom of the pool, like an upside-down Hockney painting, seeing people ignoring me flailing at the bottom. I felt a hand on my rump lift me up and put me on the side of the pool. Sean Connery said, “A wee bit early for the deep end, Sonny.” That’s a memory I have. When my dad was a television producer, he ran a company called Four Star, named after four actors. One of the advantages I had as a child of showbiz was wandering onto the sets of shows I worshiped. I walked on the PT boats at McHale’s Navy and onto the lagoon of Gilligan’s Island. I saw the backdrop of a sunset on the set of Gunsmoke, which I thought was the most beautiful sunset. I loved all that stuff. I was a curious kid, always wandering into places I wasn’t invited. The celebrities I admired were the ones I saw on TV shows, not the ones in our home. My parents’ friends were movie people, making the greatest movies in the ’30s, ’40s, and ’50s. By the mid-’60s, their better days were behind them.
JS: You stated your first dream was to be a journalist. Tell me more.
GD: I idolized my aunt and uncle’s writing and the writing of Tom Wolfe and Hunter S. Thompson, their contemporaries. I was an avid reader of Rolling Stone and envious of the career of a kid my age named Cameron Crowe. That was my impulse. I was talked into auditioning for a play in high school—yet another boys’ school—for The Zoo Story by Edward Albee. Once I did that play, there was no looking back. I became the go-to actor on campus. My next part was playing Iago in Othello in the 10th grade. I was on fire in rehearsals and knew I had found my calling. People, including the principal, would sit in the back and watch my auditions. However, I was kicked out the night before the show opened for smoking pot. It was in Colorado, the first state to legalize pot, but at that time it was illegal. I moved to New York at 18 to study acting, and my plan was to stay there, become a theater actor, and not do silly television shows. It didn’t work out that way. I struggled like many actors in their first years, doing odd jobs and flailing in auditions. I was dyslexic, so it was very difficult to do cold readings. Once I was out of school, I became a voracious reader. My close friends Amy Robinson and Mark Metcalf were also struggling actors. Amy turned us onto a book called Chilly Scenes of Winter by Ann Beattie. In our naïveté, we decided to produce this movie and put ourselves in it to get our acting careers going. Against all odds, with no production experience at all, we made a major motion picture for United Artists, directed by Joan Micklin Silver. I gave myself a small part in the movie, but it got the biggest laugh and caught the attention of casting directors. Next thing I knew, I was at The Public Theater, a mecca for actors in New York, working for Joseph Papp. So, I had a very roundabout way of getting to it. I ended up doing movies—producing, directing, and acting in them.
JS: Let’s talk about Carrie Fisher.
GD: Carrie … It’s one of those rare things that happen the moment you meet someone with a similar sense of humor. It was immediate and a friendship that wasn’t going to be anything other than that. Our bond was humor. We both thought we were the funniest people that ever lived. When I was writing the book, it was the only time I’ll probably ever laugh out loud while typing. I really conjured her. People who know her as well as I do have said how pleased they are with how I got her. Her voice, sense of humor, timing, kindness, and generosity were easy to capture. She was the most generous person, giving extravagant gifts you didn’t even ask for or need. She couldn’t help herself. She was always very funny about her mother, who treated me like a misbehaved son. Her mother would ask me about the guys sending Carrie flowers. Carrie got sent a lot of flowers, and the guys would go through me to get to her. Men, rock stars, and movie stars wanted her romantically, and she’d become friends with them, but she was discerning about her love life.
JS: Your father shared stories about you and other family members in his writings. As you wrote this memoir, with roles reversed, were there things you decided to withhold, or did you decide this was the time to share?
GD: Before I began the book, I needed my brother’s blessing. My brother, some 20 years ago, struggled with mental illness and was bipolar. But he wasn’t always that way. He’s quite brilliant, by far the smartest person in the family. If he didn’t have these struggles, he certainly had an intellect that matched John [Dunne] and Joan [Didion]. I remember he got very upset at dad, and dad said to him, “Write it down. Use that rage. Write about me. I don’t care what you say, but put it down. Just write it.” I didn’t have any rage toward my dad throughout the book, but I knew I would have his blessing if whatever I told was the truth, be it his bisexuality, or his flaws as a young father and husband, or failing in his marriage. I always knew his character arc. When he lost all his belongings, well, he didn’t lose them; he went broke and had to sell them in a yard sale. People who drank his booze would come over and haggle with him. He sold his beloved Mercedes, and his Ford broke down in Oregon. He lived there, went sober, and drove 15 miles on winding roads every day to AA meetings. He wrote pages of single-spaced letters to Alex, Dominique, and others, workshops of his finding his voice as a writer. He was digging deep, facing his failure, taking responsibility, and growing from it. He came back from Oregon a very different man, someone I was enormously proud of. We were very close.
JS: What do you think your father would say about the state of journalism today?
GD: He was very non-judgmental about journalists. In a way, if he had a flaw, what was once his addiction to alcohol became his addiction to promotion. He’d go anywhere selling a book, traveling all around. He loved talking to journalists. Sometimes, it made me uncomfortable when he’d talk about a personal tragedy from 10 years earlier. But he’d say, “Look, they’re journalists. I’m a journalist. That’s their job to ask a question.” Other journalists loved him and were in awe of him, because he started so late in life, but had a reservoir of sources from New York in the ’50s, early Hollywood, the ’70s. He knew everyone and the staff of the people he was writing about, getting great stories out of them. He was remarkably non-judgmental, looking at them as peers, no matter how low they were in the food chain.
JS: You mentioned that your father sometimes wrote things that got him in trouble. Are there any things in your book that you think might get you in trouble?
GD: No, no. When you write a family memoir, I don’t know one person who hasn’t upset someone in the family in some way. That has not been the case for me. As my brother said, “You can say whatever you want about me. Just write from a place of love.” So, I always knew that was my direction. That didn’t mean I had to sugarcoat everything or constantly say how wonderful they were. I just had to describe their character and live with their characters. I felt their company all the way through it. Finishing the book was bittersweet. I missed their presence, living with them for a year and a half, two years. I’ve heard from so many people since the book came out, from my past and my parents’ friends who knew him for so many years, saying, “You just got him. He’d be so proud of you, and John and Joan would be so proud of you.” I didn’t write anything I regret. I knew where I was writing from, and it carried me through from page one on.
JS: We’re excited that you’ll be joining us at The Triplex in Great Barrington, which is not far from your home in Dutchess County. Tell me about your connection to the region.
GD: I came here 22 years ago. One of my closest friends is a wonderful writer and novelist, Scott Spencer. I came to see him for a weekend because Upstate Films, of which I’m on the board now, screened the very first feature I ever directed, called Addicted to Love. I came up, having never heard of this area, and thought, “Where the hell am I? I’ve got to get a house here.” Scott called me while I was in a meeting in my office and said, “I found your house, but you’ve got to get on a train right now.” I cut short the meeting, came up, and saw this extraordinary place that was incredibly reasonable. I sat in an Adirondack chair, overlooked the pond and fields beyond, and said, “Scott, I can see living here the rest of my life. I can see my daughter and grandchildren living here. I don’t even need to see the inside of the house. I want it.” I treasure it up here.
JS: It’s great to hear that you’re proud of the book with no regrets. You mentioned building a positive relationship with your father after he sold everything, went to Oregon, got sober, and wrote letters. I must admit, I knew you before I knew your dad, because I knew you as a young actor. Today, seeing you, you actually resemble him a lot, which I didn’t appreciate when you were younger. When you look in the mirror, do you see a lot of your dad, and how does that make you feel on a daily basis?
GD: Up until I was in my mid-30s, I looked like my mother. I had olive skin. My mother was half-Mexican. That’s who I always thought I looked like. But, as I got older and more verbal, I noticed my hand gestures, my laugh, and my physical gestures were like his. My hands look just like his. I’ll catch myself laughing and think, “God damn…that’s his laugh.” It’s nature in progress. I’m far more like my father now, with many of his mannerisms, laugh, and physical gestures that I grew into as I got older.
JS: Is that weird, funny, warming, or all of the above, depending on the moment?
GD: Well, I wouldn’t mind having the looks and mannerisms of Warren Beatty, but that’s just not the way the cookie crumbled.
COMING SOON In addition to Griffin Dunne at The Triplex on Saturday, September 21, don’t miss Susan Seidelman, director of Desperately Seeking Susan (1985), in a Q&A after a screening of the film on Friday, September 20, at 7 p.m. She will talk about the film and her newly released book, Desperately Seeking Something.