Institute for Robert Downey Jr Studies > Required Reading

The New Breed: Actors Coming of Age (Excerpt)

At 18, Robert Downey Jr found himself out on his own. Financial ties severed by his father, Robert was forced to fend for himself, but he wasn’t worried—he was a survivor. The only hunger he was unable to satisfy, however, was his intense appetite for drugs and alcohol. Drugs have always played a major role in Robert’s life, though recently he has begun to come to terms with his past and himself, deciding that his new outlook on life is better off without them. Acting allows him the possibility to get more in touch with his feelings every day. Through his work, Robert wishes to expose the duplicity of the world in which we live. The real world is not the one we always perceive, rather there is a deeper reality. It is this undisguised reality that Robert concerns himself with showing.

Why was it so tough?
A lot of it had to do with growing up in a family where everyone was doing drugs and trying to be creative—there was always a lot of pot and coke around. It wasn’t like my dad was such a drug addict. Drugs became an excuse for him to do his writing, or his writing became an excuse to do drugs. When my dad and I would do drugs together, it was like him trying to express his love for me in the only way he knew how.

How old were you when you first did drugs together?
Eight. To me, it always seemed like a staple in life. It was cool, but I never felt like any other fucking kid in my school.

So you moved around a lot?
Always. I say this jokingly, but it seems kinda right. Whenever I’d tell Dad I met someone or made a good friend, he’d say, “Pack your bags—we’re leaving.”

What happened when your parents got divorced?
Well, they had been together for 15 years and they were partners more than husband and wife. There was a great sense of humor and irony in their relationship. For whatever reasons, nothing is one-sided, things broke up and she was more shell-shocked than anyone else in the family. My sister went with my dad, for reasons only she knows. She was the one they had sent to private school and thought was going to do great things. I was this weird pothead kid who got off blowing away frogs with my BB gun. I went with my mom because she needed me.

So where did you and your mom move to?
We moved to 19 E 48th Street between Madison and 5th [in New York]. It was a five-floor walkup to this depressing fucking place with no windows ... well, there were windows but there were bars in them and there was always this grainy gray light coming through them. It always seemed like it was 6 PM. I can’t relate to real poverty, but we were cooking on a burner instead of an oven, and we were trying to create this sense of family or happiness in the skankiest of surroundings. I didn’t spend much time there. I was out with the boys, hanging out in Washington Square, going to The Rocky Horror Picture Show, doing whippits and intermittently stopping back in the house to steal most of Mom’s cash. I think just the fact I was there for her was kinda enough, in a way.

So when did you decide to become an actor?
I did this play about SMU called Fraternity, and it wasn’t so much that I decided to become an actor as it was that acting was something good for me to do, something I wanted to do. Most of the things in my life were pursued out of necessity, not out of desire. I had this extreme paranoia that led me to be good. I was so afraid of not having my shit together, I’d get to the theater an hour and a half before every show, stretch out on this mat and run over actions and transitions in my head. This paranoia gave me discipline. The other guys would come in and say, “Downey’s gone to Nirvana again.” What’s weird is that, at that time in my life, I was also just getting into spiritual stuff —like the human energy systems, auras and projections of consciousness. I felt like it wasn’t even me going out to get all of these books —it was my higher self saying, “Fuck, this kid’s in trouble. We’d better surround him with a lot of good thoughts.”

Were you in trouble because of substance abuse?
Yeah. It’s so much easier to spend every night out getting drunk with the boys and making a thousand phone calls in pursuit of drugs than to stop and say, “Okay, what am I going to do tomorrow when I wake up late, and it all just starts over again?” Substance abuse is just a real easy way to give yourself something to do every day. It’s something you know you always get the same result from, not trying something different like changing your life—you don’t know what the results are going to be then, success or failure. I’ve never failed to get high from smoking a joint. I’ve never failed to get depressed from doing coke. Even though there are usually negative outcomes, at least you know it’s going to be that same fucking negative every time, and it’s so comfortable. Now I’m into sobriety by default. I’ve beat a fucking dead horse for three years—quitting, slipping and quitting again. It’s enough. I kept it up until fairly recently, but now it’s time to move on. Less Than Zero was sort of a catharsis for me, except the difference between Julian and me is that Julian had a death wish—he just wanted to die. Maybe I’ve ridden that fucking line between life and death desperately, without a net, but if I had gotten into basing, I’d be dead now. I know my limitations, I know I’m excessive and I know I’m not going to kill myself.

What were your goals when your first started out and how have they changed?
My goals at first were all material and external—a million dollars, my name above titles, everyone knowing who I am and all my friends saying, “I wish I was him.” I didn’t think I’d be any happier, but at least I’d have the guise of success. Now my goals are more internal—they still have to do with the business I’m in, but they are to make myself happy and whole. Acting really helps —it gives me a focus and lets me express stuff that maybe I can relay to other people.

Can you be more specific as to what you mean by internal goals?
I don’t really think we live in the “real” world. I keep having flashes of what I think reality is, which is the simultaneous nature of time and the energy behind all matter; we’re all from that reservoir. That’s why when I hear people say, “Downey has such screen presence,” I know all they’re seeing is the reality of the spirit behind the matter. I feel that what’s really home is not my body, my car or anything I can really touch, it’s the things with the inner senses. I think that’s where I—and everyone—has the most work to do. That’s why I like sleeping so much. I really know where I am when I’m sleeping. Even If I don’t remember it when I wake up, I’m home when I’m sleeping.

How do you feel about most of the scripts you are submitted?
It makes me so fucking angry. Where have we come if in the 1980s, hopefully the beginning of the Golden Age, all the scripts are about guns and dicks? It’s sort of entertainment, but nothing really happens. It’s so geared toward violence, self-indulgence and mindless comedy, without any intellectual backup.

What do you look for in a script?
It’s too easy for me to keep picking scripts that are very me and easy to do, so now I look for roles I wouldn’t think I could play right off the bat. I’m looking for something I know I’m going to have to trust myself and expand to do. It really comes down to, is this script going to teach me something new about myself?

So are you looking for roles in which you can work things out in your own life onscreen?
I think so, but Hollywood isn’t ready for the kind of films I really want to do. I want to do films about spirituality and what’s really going on in the undercurrent of this majestic reality everyone is trying to suffocate and not confront. I want to do films where people discover themselves in ways that would be great to shoot. I’m trying to get the rights to a book about this guy going to school in Berkeley who encounters a warrior [from another plane of reality]. The warrior had sought him out because he knew this guy was meant to write a book. The guy was a world class gymnast. He had everything, yet he had nothing. I want to do films that will move people without being preachy, that will offer one man’s means to an end that will give you peace.

What is the foundation of your spirituality?
It’s nothing I can articulate, and that’s why it makes sense to me. It’s nothing verbal that I could express as joy or bliss. Spirituality is different for everyone, yet there is a common thread that everyone is within everyone else—we’re all the same.

How do you approach and prepare for a role?
It’s different every time. For Less Than Zero, I thought about aspects of myself and some of my friends. I said, “Look, this role is an exaggerated version of you, and it’s also not you at all, so don’t think about it, just do it.” For 1969, I examined the social climate of the time by reading and talking to my dad. No matter how much you research a period piece, you’re going to have to make up your own fucking mind about it. Everyone’s experience is so varied, yet valid. You’re always playing different aspects of yourself anyway. Even if it takes place over ten years, it’s two fucking hours—no one can express more than a portion of themselves in a film anyway, and by themselves, I mean selves, plural. Right now I’m just experimenting with different things, but who knows what’s gonna work?

Is studying important for your growth as an actor?
I’d love to eventually study with a teacher named Sandra Sekat; from what I get about her, she teaches people about people. Most of the other teachers, I feel, are people who never made it in the industry themselves and are giving people steadfast rules of what they should do. To me, that’s bullshit, and they can suck my dick. I don’t think that’s valid. I don’t think someone should impose their beliefs on you, when in the back of their beliefs is their insecurity from not having been successful themselves—or at least successful in the commercial or public eye. Maybe it’s me being a snob, but I don’t think I have anything to learn from someone who hasn’t made it himself.

Would you do a nude scene?
Sure. You can expose yourself a lot more than taking your clothes off. What it would come down to is me saying, “I hope I don’t get a hard-on. It would be distracting to the crew and I’d be embarrassed because, shit, maybe it’s not as big as I want it to be.” My fears about acting are a lot more than showing my physical body, it’s about what I might learn about myself so that I’m really showing something.

When you take a part, do you consider what effect the film will have on your peers?
I do more lately. I’m not worrying about money so my struggle is about accomplishing my goals. I was in Georgia, and this lady came up to me shaking and said, “I saw you in Less Than Zero.” I felt like saying, “Why are you shaking? You’re every bit as special as I am,” but I was in a pissed-off mood and I didn’t want to be a prick, so I said my usual thanks a lot, and started to walk away. Then she said, “Two of my friends went into rehab after seeing you in that movie.” I got chills up and down my spine and thought, “Fuck, now I know why I do what I do.”

Is being an actor a struggle for you?
There’s moments of struggle within it, but I’m still searching for a steadfast way to satisfy myself and communicate myself 100%. It will take a catalyst, which is me or someone else, to make that happen. I’m still a fetus. I know so little, but I don’t want to keep reinforcing that belief, even though I know it to be true at this moment. Maybe it’s about the childish approach I take to what I do, which is the thing that will keep me honest.

What is the difference between you and your onscreen image?
My image is of a guy who’s always glib, never thinks about anything, has a good sense of humor, does crazy things and doesn’t think about the repercussions. Only Sarah [Jessica Parker], my family and a few good friends—people I really dig—see me. Maybe it unavoidable, but maybe it’s something I don’t want to share with everyone. There’s the Robert Downey who walks out the fucking door into a club or Tower Video, fucking around or trying to act like the happy, nice guy, and then there’s the side of me that sits home, reads and is quiet. It pisses me off when people say they know me better than the people who really know me. Everyone wants to feel like they’re in touch with someone, and it’s a great conversation piece, but me—the real me—is someone sacred only a very few people know.

What has been your biggest sacrifice for success?
Losing touch with the day-to-day reality of a modest existence. Los Angeles isn’t reality, and making a movie that’s being put together in Los Angeles is a double entendre of non reality. What could be sacrificed, but hasn’t been yet, is my selfhood and losing touch with Robert. I never get to spend any time alone anymore, and that’s got to change. I need time to recharge my batteries.

What is your biggest fear?
Mediocrity. I’m not really afraid of total failure, because I don’t think that will happen. I’m not afraid of success, because that beats the hell out of failure. It’s being in the middle that scares me. I’ve done some mediocre stuff and it really bothers me. Having to live with mediocrity is pretty scary.

If two other actors were up for the same part as you, all three of you were equal in terms of looks, talent, etc., why should a director choose you for the part over the other two actors?
I think I have less fear than any other actor I see working. I’ll try anything. Guys turned down reading the part of Julian because they said, “I don’t want to play no crack faggot.” I said, “I’ll suck cock for base money.” I have no fear. I’m also the most fun to hang out with. Fuck the work—the director’s going to have to deal with me for six weeks between takes. We’d rock whatever town we were shooting in.

How do you feel you fit into the context of the new breed?
The new breed is youth-oriented. A lot of veterans wouldn’t have made it if they had to start their careers today. It’s a whole new age of filmmaking and art forms. With the youth getting more control, we’re becoming a lot more aware of the world we’re living in. Right now I’ve started to work on Downey, then I’ll work my way up to L.A., the United States and maybe, eventually, the planet.