Winona ryder dating musicians
But by then it was the turn of the '90s, Nirvana was tuning up somewhere out in Washington, and quirkyindiewhateverism was about to have a moment in the spotlight, a moment for which Winona—luminous and vulnerable and well-read and skeptical in fundamental ways about all this attention—is sort of the perfect movie star.Hip musicians named songs after her—countrified sad-boy ballads, sarcastic feedback mash notes.They talk past each other, like people do in Jim Jarmusch movies, and then Rowlands offers Ryder a part in a movie. "Are you saying you just wouldn't be in being a movie star? " She stops, frustrated—it's not coming out right. The movie is Gen X halfheartedly pleading its case to history; the only jokes that really land are the ones Stiller aims at MTV-sanctioned faux-alternative culture, because as the former star and co-creator of MTV's long enough to tell her, "All you have to be by the age of 23 is yourself." Ryder was about that age here, and had already checked herself into a psychiatric clinic, for anxiety and depression.("I got really wiped out, and I had a semi-breakdown.I wasn't sleeping, I didn't know who I was because of different roles," she says.) She whispers back, "I don't know who that is anymore," and for a minute it's not the character talking, it's Ryder, and a gulf opens up in the story and threatens to swallow her.Bonus: Around the fifty-nine-minute mark, in the diner scene, Winona totally invents that face Kristen Stewart makes at every awards show., directed by James Mangold, 1999.
She's a combination of a little death rocker and an '80s version of Edward Gorey's little girls.... we like her a lot., by Michael Mc Dowell and Warren Skaaren; she got that part, despite mistaking Tim Burton for a prop guy at her audition.
And it's interesting that we're talking about this right now, Ryder and I, because for an hour or so we've been sitting in a booth in the ground-floor restaurant of a hotel in Manhattan, one of those almost purgatorially anonymous luxury filing cabinets uptown by the park, and we've been having the Philip Roth conversation, metaphorically speaking. ) and bats a set of eyelashes as dark and lush as marabou dipped in squid ink, then moves on, and if it's a gambit it's working pretty well so far, honestly.—instead of waiting for Randy the Ram's heart to explode, we're waiting for Natalie Portman, as a ballerina driven to the edge by her boundary-defying mom (Barbara Hershey) and a preening evil-Balanchine type (Vincent Cassel), to go crazy or break a leg, and feminine signifiers like lipstick, ribbons, feathers, toe shoes, cake, tulle, blood, and orchids stand in for 'roids and staples, but the awful anticipation is the same.