Her Turbulent Brilliance: The Artistic Fire of Debra Winger

Once upon a time, in a mythical land called Hollywood, during an era of polyester leisure suits, wide lapels, and halter tops, there was a young actress who exploded onto the silver screen with a fierce intelligence and fiery integrity. Her fresh, apple-cheeked beauty and uncompromising standards led her to star in some of the biggest films of that period, many of which are now considered classics. She worked with such passion, drive, and natural talent that, despite her young age, she completely bypassed the label of "starlet" and instead shot to the stratospheric brand of "serious actress". By 29, she was a major box office draw, a respected thespian, and had been nominated for two Leading Actress Academy Awards.

Throughout this startling ascent, stories, rumors, and gossip slowly began to show cracks in the plastic foundation of the fairy tale. She was blunt, outspoken, oftentimes tactless. She was called "difficult", openly and unapologetically clashing with some of the biggest names in the business (including Robert Redford, Richard Gere, Shirley MacLaine, Steve Martin, and director Taylor Hackford). She was also regarded as something of a party girl: drinking, drugging, and having several high-profile relationships and affairs (including one with then-governor of Nebraska Bob Kerrey). A 1983 "Life" magazine profile was bylined, "Why the star of 'An Officer and a Gentleman' is such an outrageous free spirit". Perhaps she was TOO free for the tastes of many.

The foundation started its hasty erosion when she began to become more famous for the roles she didn't play than the ones she did. She turned down (or quit) half a dozen films throughout the latter part of the 80s and into the early 90s; these films eventually became wildly successful blockbusters. The film work she did choose to do was often met with disinterest, perhaps because of her reputation, or perhaps because Hollywood has a short memory: a star's descent can be just as stealthy and absolute as its initial sparkling trajectory. Whatever the reason, her talent was still unshakable, ever-present, and impossible to ignore. In 1993, she received a third Oscar nomination for Best Actress.

After a few more forgettable films, the actress -- now, in Hollywood terms, a woman "of a certain age" -- did something no one saw coming.

She disappeared.

It was such a thorough and complete vanishing act that a documentary film was made in 2002, in which the filmmaker (actress Rosanna Arquette), went in search of her.

Her sudden absence from show business was baffling to many; after all, you don't just turn your back on stardom, no matter its position in the cosmos. How could this actress, so celebrated, admired, and, yes, even despised, just go away of her own accord? How could she give it all up to disappear into "civilian life" -- and a life in the country no less? How could she throw in the towel for the trowel? How could she sacrifice the plastic fairy tale foundation for the indestructible, embracing foundation of earth and stone? Who does she think she is? Did we ever know her? Who is she?

Her name is Debra Winger.

And, as it turns out, we didn't ever really know her. The 53-year-old mother, humanitarian, and actress has just released her memoirs, entitled "Undiscovered". But this is not your typical celebrity autobiography. There's no juicy gossip here and very little name-dropping. There is no conventional chronology of a life and career, no routine storytelling detailing the rise and fall of a celebrated performer. What there is is a collection of reflections: random thoughts, brilliant flashes of insight, recorded dreams, recalled memories, and poetry. Winger gives us less of the facade and more of the brave, complex motivations behind it. In doing this, she has created an entirely new form of memoir, one that is at once raw, witty, intelligent, and altogether inspiring. The result is a powerful and unique glimpse into the mind of a true artist.

"Undiscovered" resonated with me for so many reasons. Too many, in fact, for me to go into them all here. It's safe to say that much of the book sliced through many of my misconceptions and emotional boundaries and pierced me -- challenged me -- in the most personal of places: my own authenticity. "Authenticity is not a goal for the faint-hearted," Winger writes. "I have started on this journey, and I want to continue with grace." Unlikely as it may seem, "Undiscovered" is a lesson in grace...and, also unlikely as it might be, Debra Winger has become one of my teachers.

I've stated before how compelling, and sometimes uncomfortable, it is that certain books find us at the exact point in our lives when we need to hear what they have to say. On the heels of "Veronika Decides to Die", a book that met this criteria with aplomb, the gentle, knowing beauty of "Undiscovered" has slipped into my hands. It, too, has found me when I most needed its insights. It has found me when I needed to be found.

Some of you may know that in my late teens and early twenties, I attempted a foray into show business. I lived in L.A., auditioned for agents, managers, directors, and casting directors, and even found the odd job now and then. It didn't take me long, though, to realize that my passion for acting had a cut clean through the middle: my passionate love of the craft (which, even to this day, has not waned) was only rivaled by my passionate hatred for "the business". I took a great big heaving sigh of relief when Winger admits that, from the very beginning of her career all the way up to the present, "I love the work and don't much care for the business."

Winger's show biz experience, of course, was worlds different than my own. I obviously never came close to achieving the fame she did (oh, how I would LOVE to be nominated for Best Actress!). But the emotional undercurrent is the same. Look at it like this: show business is first and foremost a business, which means the top priority is making money, which means any initial contact or opportunities that may be presented are based on one thing and one thing only: looks. It is, at least in the beginning, not a matter of talent, not even in the smallest way. The powers-that-be are more interested in your physical appeal than any skill, integrity, or passion you might have. Pretty people = pretty money. I was once at a call-back audition where the director, who had praised and fawned over me the previous day, told me to go home because "he had problems with my looks". Gee, I'm sorry my nose is here and my eyes are there and my jeans don't hug my ass just so. Did you happen to notice that I can act?

Then, if one is lucky enough to actually land a job, there are more physical demands to be met. You are required to fashion yourself in certain ways. For example, if you're playing a sexy role, then you'd better ooze sex 24/7 for the sake of the film. Objectification is huge. Who's going to go see a movie about a sexy superhero when the actor who plays him just wants to live in the mountains and be a hippie when he's not at work? You've been assigned a persona -- not just a character -- and you need to play it to the hilt. Sometimes, actors don't even have to try at this. They are naturally attractive and then, given the nature of the role, they are objectified into icons of sex. This was the case with Winger after "Urban Cowboy" was released. She was just an actress playing a role, but the world saw her as some sort of revolutionary new sex symbol. I'm sure the mechanical bull scene didn't hurt that outcome. But all Winger felt was, I'm an actor. I just want to do my job. I just want to tell the truth.

But there's not a lot of room for truth in Hollywood.

Add to this movie-mix all matter of legalities to tend to, executives to bow to, and egos to assuage. Winger, like me, is not a traditional method actor, though certain intensive approaches are in place. We are both more interested in diving head-first into a character until that character infiltrates every pore, every crevice both external and internal. We want to go the edge of that character's reality and totally lose ourselves in the process. This is good acting, this is truth. And as you try to best portray your character, you have others around you constantly telling you that your authenticity, your TRUTH, are wrong. To survive in this world, you need to either bow out, or develop a thick protective skin. I chose the former. Winger chose the latter.

And, as time went on, this protection translated itself into a reputation of being difficult. What in her own mind were precautionary measures taken to allow her to simply focus on the work, were, to others, aggression and hostility. And Winger does not disagree with this perception of her during that time. In "Undiscovered", she looks back and "cringes" when she thinks of how she treated people. By her own admission, she was raunchy and often rude. This was the version of herself she felt she had to put out there. To stay safe. To stay separated from the politics of the business. To stay wholly devoted to the one thing she loved above all others: acting. Though the results on the screen speak for the remarkable success of this second skin, the relationships she had with co-workers speak something much different.

I've heard it said (and I can neither vouch for nor advocate the efficacy of this statement, as Winger discusses it nowhere in her book) that during those early successes she was a cocaine addict, and during "Terms of Endearment" she was in the process of getting clean. This, coupled with her finely-honed defense mechanism, could be the reason for the friction between herself and co-star Shirley MacLaine. Their disagreements and battles while making the film have become part of Hollywood legend. But whatever happened between the two actresses (I, for the record, am a huge fan of MacLaine), it was transformed into magic once put on film. "Terms of Endearment" is a modern masterpiece, and both women are phenomenal in it. The two were pitted against one another at the Oscars that year, both nominated for Best Actress. MacLaine won, but on the way to the podium to accept the statuette, she stopped to embrace Winger and whispered, "Half of this belongs to you." Winger replied, without missing a beat, "And I'll take half of it." In her acceptance speech, MacLaine acknowledged Winger's "turbulent brilliance" and the expert thoroughness with which she executed the role. Click here to see the speech (and hey, Rock Hudson and Liza Minelli presenting: it doesn't get much gayer than that!).

Over the next twelve years, Winger made a variety of films, none of which were terribly successful. The exception was 1993's "Shadowlands", where she did some terrific work as American poet Joy Gresham; she was again Oscar-nominated. During this time, she devoted her energies to being a mother (Winger has two sons, one with Timothy Hutton, born in 1987, and another with current husband Arliss Howard, born in 1997). But after "Shadowlands", there were a few more movies, and then...the disappearance.

This retreat from all things Hollywood is what makes up the bulk of "Undiscovered". For the first time in her life, Winger has an opportunity to embrace the quiet, and she does it like she does everything else: with passion and artistic fire. Moving to the remote countryside in upstate New York, she begins a fearless introspection and reflects on her life and career, dissecting her own behavior and choices, examining the natural world with the wonder of a poet, and embracing a life of simplicity. Motherhood, gardening, writing. That's all she needs. This idea of simplicity, living with just the essentials in the wilds of the country, appeals greatly to me. I heard with inspiring identification and breathtaking clarity every single word she wrote. Through Winger's self-awareness, I am beginning to touch upon my own.

Like "Veronika Decides to Die", "Undiscovered" has done something quite huge, and a little scary, for me. It's forced me to ask questions, to look inward and inquire further, to examine my own choices, barriers, strengths, weaknesses, and direction. "The possibility exists," Winger writes, "for all of us, at any age, to imbue our days with a breath fully taken, the thought fully formed, and the emotion wholeheartedly felt. How often do we? We are full of undisclosed fear, unexpressed resentment, and a feeling that there will be a time in the future when we will get to it."

Thank you for helping me get to it, Ms. Winger. Through examples like yours, I hope to do it with grace.