MR:Totally, and I used to have a very negative attitude about Los Angeles. I actually wrote a poem about it... maybe I’ll send it over. It’s me coming to peace with the gift of Los Angeles, as well as my feelings of resentment and anger towards it. My feelings of loss. I lost my brother in Los Angeles. There’s a part of Los Angeles that can be really hard on people. It’s not a gentle place, and more sensitive people get eaten up and spat out there. Sometimes it’s... hard. It’s been a great teacher to me, Los Angeles. In all of its multi-faceted, power- centric ways, there are also cultural and economic touchpoints everywhere you look – the influx of different kinds of people from all over America, to the influx of different races, to the disparity between poverty and wealth. JW: I was working at the production company Hart-Sharp Entertainment, just as their film, and your breakout film, You Can Count on Me (2000) came out.There’s something about the film, its mix of modesty, tenderness and quiet melancholy, that has never left me. Having done so many films since, on a much bigger scale, seen by many more people, do you still look back at You Can Count on Me with a fondness or nostalgia even?
MR: I’m still searching to top it. In its freshness, its naïveté, its sincerity, its humility... its courage and its artistry. I see that film and think that maybe I haven’t really got back to that in all the work I’ve done. And I’m proud of the work I’ve done, you know, there’s some OK work in all that! But if I watch that film, even though it’s been a long time, I think ‘Oh, wow.You did some great work there.’ I think it was vulnerable and honest, and there’s nothing slick or easy about it – it’s completely guileless in a way.The experience was funny, because it was Kenneth [Lonergan]’s first film, and it was really my first film where I felt free and like I was getting to do what I wished I could do. Kenny knew how to create that space where an actor can be the best they can possibly be, with the best words and the most amount of time and freedom and love. I have come very close to that experience in many other places but I don’t know if it’ll ever be like your first, you know.And that was my first, and I was lucky to have that as my first.
JW: Thats really nice to hear. I’m glad that after sixteen years, it’s stayed with you as it has for the people who know and love it.
MR: It’s a sweet movie, and really a movie about love.
JW: Shortly after, in 2001, you vividly dreamt that you had a brain tumour and after having a scan, it turned out that you did.To what extent did such a serious medical diagnosis, treatment, and later recovery, alter your perspective on acting and work in general?
MR: In effect, I lost my career in that moment, or rather, I was convinced that I had, because the left side of my face was paralysed. I had a baby at home, we were newlyweds – we were just starting our lives. There were the beautiful, wonderful experiences of This Is OurYouth and You Can Count On Me and I was just starting a movie with Robert Redford and James Gandolfini. All my dreams were there. It was the perfect life, the perfect everything. In a matter of two weeks, it was gone. My face was paralysed, I was dropped from the movie I was going to be shooting afterwards, co-starring with Mel Gibson. I didn’t know how to move forward and didn’t have anywhere to move back to; I didn’t have people I could fall back on, no exit strategy, nothing! At that moment it was astounding how fragile my little kingdom on earth was. It was, in many ways, pretty much gone as far as I was concerned.There was some hope that my face was going to come back, but it was only getting worse. I saw it all gone to shit. So when you spend your life trying to do something, and you finally get to do it and you quit your bartending job, and people seem to agree for the most part that you know what you’re doing and you’ve got something to offer, well when it’s gone, all you want to do is have it back. In that moment, the heart of darkness, when hope is gone, all that’s there is despair, you start to daydream and fantasise about what you wish you had. So that made me appreciate my work, my good fortune and my life, in a way that some other people might not.
It also made me pissed at God.Why me? Why are you doing this? Whatever relationship I had to a higher power at that time was completely trashed, it was all trashed.I’m surprised my wife and I stayed together, it was only by her grace and decency and compassion, because I was a monster. I was all jacked up on steroids, I was paranoid, I was angry – it was not a good moment.Then, it started to heal – my face miraculously started to come back. The prognosis was that if you had a paralysis as long as I had, the chances of it coming back were hurt every day – ever diminishing,ever more minuscule. It was something like a 10 per cent chance of my face coming back. I couldn’t even close my eye, or even begin to close my eye.When it started to come back, I could just make a tiny twitch, which to me and my wife at that moment, was an absolute profound miracle. In that time I thought,‘If I ever get to work again, it’ll be amazing, I’ll be so happy and grateful.’ I still have my days where I’m like, this sucks, maybe I could do something else. But, I’m like everyone else – I’m not walking around in a beautiful pink cloud of gratitude all the time, but I did have that experience of losing it all, then somehow getting it back. It made me love my work more.