Seeing John Malkovich
I followed him, surprising myself with my sense of daring and willingness to annoy.
During the summer of 1992, I saw the actor John Malkovich. In person. When I tell my students this story, they return blank stares to me. John who? It helps if I tell them he’s the actor who played the weirdest old guy in the movie, “Red.” That works sometimes. But he also played Lenny in “Of Mice and Men” alongside Gary Sinise; the presidential assassin in “In the Line of Fire” who was eventually hunted down by Clint Eastwood; and himself in “Being John Malkovich.” He’s been in loads of other more recent films, but these are the ones that to me exemplify his ability to capture idiosyncratic characters believably.
Notice that I say I saw John Malkovich. I did not approach him. I did not speak to him. I merely leered. My husband and I and another couple were having coffee at the Farmer’s Market on a cool, sparkling morning in Los Angeles. There were probably foodstuffs and produce to purchase somewhere in the market, but we were just there to hang out. As we sat there, I noticed a scruffy, shabbily-dressed man hastily walk by. I immediately recognized him.
“That was John Malkovich,” I quietly told my friends. They discreetly and slowly turned to confirm it, and yes, oh my gosh, that is him, they said. He continued walking into an open-air newspaper stand/bookstore next to the scattering of tables and chairs that we occupied. I followed, surprising myself with my sense of daring and willingness to annoy. He looked at some magazines or newspapers in the bookstore and gathered no attention.
Based on the characters he so effectively portrayed in films, I was a little scared of him. Sure, he had only been acting when he shot the two men point-blank in “In the Line of Fire,” but my only exposure to the actor at that point had been in seeing him play characters fit to be feared. Even in “Of Mice and Men,” Lenny is sweet and unknowing; however, he is also, in the end, a murderer.
In addition, it was clearly obvious Malkovich did not want to be bothered. His incognito dress seemed to indicate that: wrinkled beige linen tunic and loose-fitting painter’s pants, a doo rag, sunglasses. It seems he was also carrying a satchel or bag slung across his body like a shield to protect him from those pesky and annoying star-crazed fans. What would I say to him anyway? Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?
My fear kept me from asking for the obligatory photograph. I had left my camera at the table with my friends so going to get it after asking for a photo would, I speculated, turn the casual encounter into more of an event than Malkovich would tolerate. True, I could have retrieved the camera before asking for a photograph, but I didn’t consider that because, as an annoying, star-crazed fan, I wasn’t thinking clearly. Besides, he might have that plastic gun on him that he made by hand in his seedy apartment back when he was trying to murder the president.
So I just eyed him from about twelve feet away, pretending to scan the headlines on a carousel rack of newspapers at the store’s edge. It was enough. I had seen “the” John Malkovich, a big-time celebrity in the flesh. It was my own personal brush with someone else’s fame.
Now, whenever I see Malkovich in a movie, I think about our near encounter. Pretty famous guy. Well-respected. Should have asked for a photograph. He probably would have acquiesced and been an interesting person to have what would most likely have been a dull conversation of nervous small talk. Oh, well.
Usually now when I see him in a movie, I say to my husband, “Hey, there’s my friend, John Malkovich.” And then without lifting our eyes from the screen, we both smile, and continue watching the movie.
