Jennifer Aniston The Well Rounded Interview

"That's right! I remember you!" Jennifer Aniston gushes to me as she sits her perky but approachable self down at a cram-packed interview table in the Beverly Hills Four Seasons. Her compliment comes in response to my casual comment that we last talked in New York, while she was plugging Picture Perfect and shooting The Object of My Affection, the pretty darn good film she is now promoting.

"Oh, come on," I say gently, not believing her for an instant. She's accompanied by her boyfriend, Tate Donovan, who silently sits about four feet behind her. He has bad skin and looks too thin.

"No I do!" Aniston insists. She's wearing almost the same outfit as the last time I talked to her: a too tight tan skirt that nicely accentuates her callipygian asset, a sleeveless blouse (last time white, this time green), no stockings, sandals with heels, lots of makeup but perfectly applied.

"That's nice of you to say," I say, keeping a mildly irritated tone out of my voice. She looks great. She makes eye contact. I want to like her.

"But I DO! I DO remember you!" she insists more vociferously this time. Then she makes a big mistake. "I recognize a lot of familiar faces today, like you and you…" she says, pointing at faces around the interview table.

Other writers disagree: "Uh, no," one says. "I didn't talk to you in New York," says another. "I'm a newbie," says an awed college girl. Strike three.

"Oh," says Jennifer Aniston, pursing her lips and looking a little chagrined. "But you!" she says, pointing to another writer. "You were in New York, right?"

Strike four. "No," says the writer. Then, obviously feeling bad, he adds "Sorry."

"Oh. Oh my," says Jennifer Aniston. There is silence. The table is uncomfortable. This is quickly turning into a debacle, so I decide to turn it around and talk about good stuff.

"Hey, let's get this going on a better foot," I say. "Honestly, I think this is the best movie yet by anybody out of 'Friends'..."

She looks very relieved. "Wow. That's wonderful. Thank you."

"…But do you think there's going to be that age-old resistance to TV stars trying to get into movies working against this picture, too?" I finish. In the world of delicately phrased inquiries, I have become a master at taking a question that starts out like an ass-kiss and turning it into a spank.

Aniston is totally prepared for the question. "I think that resistance is lessening. I really do. People are realizing that everybody is an actor and just trying to do what they do. I hope it is." There is a pause in which no one says anything, and she goes on. "If it wasn't for the show I wouldn't have the opportunity to do movies, you know. I couldn't get a reading to do a feature film. Before, I was petrified, too intimidated at the thought of auditioning for a movie. But 'Friends' has given all of us an unbelievable trump card."

This is a fairly honest answer, trying to be optimistic while at the same time giving insight to a young woman who doesn't sound nearly as confident in herself as she should be considering the circumstances. Somebody asks if it was an intentional touch to keep her hair so casual in the new film – a very un-Rachel 'do – and Aniston says "Absolutely."

"Do you think a backlash is inevitable no matter who you are, after fame hits?" I ask.

"That seems to be the course of events," Aniston responds smoothly. "I remember I was talking to Steven Spielberg, actually, having this exact conversation. I met him once when 'Friends' first came on, then about two years later, when the backlash was really kicking in, and he asked me 'How are you doing with all this?' and I told him that it was heartbreaking. You don't expect it. You're not prepared for it. All you know is you went to do a job…and…And he said, 'They do that to everybody. It's all part of it.' And that was the first time anybody had said that to me. It's just boredom. They need to stir up the people who buy 'People' magazine. The people who want to put you on the cover and then rip you inside. It's just the way it works. But you have to get used to it. It's a weird business. It'll break your heart if you let it."

A couple starry-eyed writers ask goo-goo type questions that she answers politely before I ask "How about your first movie, Picture Perfect? Are you satisfied with the way that turned out?"

Again, she's painfully frank. Cocking her head to the side and looking at me like we're connecting, she says "I don't know how I feel about how it turned out. It was hard. Of course, I'm told 'Never say that!' But there were things we hoped would be different than they actually were and I don't know if it was ready to go when we got started. I don't know if the script was ready. But there was a lot of…uh…pages were coming down right before you'd shoot a scene just to try and have it make sense…" She stops talking. I don't blame her.

"Was it good training?" somebody else queries.

"You know what?" she asks rhetorically, "I have to say that one had absolutely nothing to do with the other. That was a whole 'nother lesson from that. The business end of the industry. [The Object of My Affection] was a lot more creatively satisfying. You just barely felt like you were making a movie. It was an unbelievable experience working with [she lists everybody in the cast, then goes off on how great the crew, the director, etc., etc., were, before actually saying] the whole experience, that it came out so great, was just like a cherry on top.

Though I liked her new movie a great deal -- a romantic comedy about a single mom who convinces her gay male friend to move in and help raise the child -- I did think it copped out at the end, so I ask "Then you're satisfied with the end product? The movie has this beautiful melancholia, then sort of ends with this happy sitcomish finish…"

"Well it depends on your interpretation," Aniston says thoughtfully. "What do you think the film is about?"

"I think it's about how most people want what they can't have," I suggest.

"Uh-huh," she agrees.

"But by the end of the film, most people have what they want." I list a few examples. "It gets very commercial by the end."

"Well, there was a different ending," she says.

Three people at the table say simultaneously, "Really?!?"

Not noticing our surprise, Aniston continues, "But they have these things called test audiences…"

We're all surprised because somebody is lying. I leap into the breach. "That's odd," I say. "When we interviewed [director] Nicholas Hytner, he said there were no other filmed endings.

It's immediately apparently that Aniston is the one lying. She stammers out, lamely, "Uh … well, it was pretty much the same ending. It…It was just told … uh … a little differently. It's not important actually. The characters ended up in a different area of the city, that's all."

Hmmm. Sensing her discomfort, a few folks ask softball questions that she answers gamely. The last question touches on the types of roles she is attracted to. So I follow up with "Have you noticed that both your major films roles have something big in common? Both characters want a man that she can't have."

"I like to see real life," she answers nonchalantly.

"Is that real life?" I ask, figuring that here's an opportunity for genuine insight into this actress.

We're looking at each other. I'm trying to look interested, not challenging. She begins to stammer again. "It's boring to just sort of…of…I don't know why I love that…wanting something and not being able to have it…I don't know why I picked…why I picked…."

I've talked to her before. I know her background and history. I keep pushing. "Do you think the estranged relationship you've had with your father might have something to do with it?"

She flinches. "I don't know why I love these … these roles." Aniston touches her hand to her face. "Maybe it is something I'm trying to work out in my own life."

The rest of the table has gotten very quiet. I'm leaning forward in my chair, toward her. It's like it's just us talking. I find this woman very interesting and very easy to talk to and I'm surprised at what a good actress she's become but I'm not really sure if she has what it takes to be a movie star and I want to know what she thinks about that and there's no time like the present so here goes. "Look," I say, "Do you think your popularity on TV might be working against you on the big screen? I've really thought your performances in both movies were good, but on TV you just seem so approachable. Even in the movies, you play down to earth people. Do you think that people just want movie stars that are glamorous and untouchable? Could that be working against you?"

Disaster. Aniston arches her back in the chair and casts me a wounded look. "Uhhhh…I don't know if anything's working against me yet," she says. Then she adds, her voice breaking, "Are you working against me?"

I backpedal furiously, glancing at Tate Donovan, who looks at me with nothing short of hatred. "No! I don't want to make it sound like a negative thing! But everybody's looking for the person who's going to open a film with a $25 million weekend…"

Aniston cuts me off. "But that shouldn't be the main concern! If it was, I'd be doing Scream 3! It isn't always so important to have a big hit! I want to have a career that lasts for a while!"

"I agree," I agree. "But when we talked last year, you stated how the ultimate goal is to get from TV to film. You want to be an independent force, a star on your own. But in order for you to do that, you need to open a film. Now, I'm not trying to cast any aspersions of doubt on your talent. But your image is that you appear very accessible. Movie stars do not make it by appearing accessible." Then, still trying to throw Aniston a curveball, I instead inadvertently make it a beanball right at her pretty head. "I mean, are you concerned that you don't have what it takes to be a movie star?"

It is now obvious that she and I connected emotionally during the course of this interview, because I have genuinely hurt her feelings. We've still got eye contact, and I am beyond dismayed to see that hers are welling up with tears – genuine tears for chrissakes! -- and her lower lip is trembling. "Are you…are you saying I don't have what it takes?" she asks, her voice breaking.

"No! Please, no!" I sputter, hating myself and turning ass-kisser mode into overdrive. "I'm just saying that even though you're such a beautiful woman, one of the things that makes you so appealing is that you seem so approachable. I mean, you're a 'Friend,' we invite you into our home every week. Movie stars are different. What I'm asking is if you fear you'll have to sacrifice what I feel is your greatest asset in order to take a chance on becoming a movie star." Everyone at the table is looking at me with thinly veiled contempt. I don't blame them. "Look, I've offended you and I'm sorry. Let's move on to somebody else," I finish. Literally.

Coolly, her eyes now far away, Aniston says, "No, you haven't offended me. You definitely haven't. I understand the question you're trying to say now. But I don't see where I need to become unapproachable. I hope not. I don't want to."

But she's much less receptive now and it's all my fault. I don't ask another question for the rest of the session. No one seems to mind.

The next day, things go even worse with Neve Campbell. If that's possible.

T.W. Siebert