This review originally appeared in the Carbondale Nightlife, Sept. 27-Oct.3, 2012, p. 18.
The difference between an autobiography and a memoir is pretty vague. But I think an autobiography should try to give the causes of the life. A memoir presents just the life as it was lived. Sissy Spacek did the latter. This decision was well-considered, and perhaps even calculated. Her new book won’t fly off the shelves. It also isn’t made for close study. When you are finished, you will know many facts about Sissy’s life and family, and how she felt or saw things along the way, but you won’t really know her in any profound sense. She did that on purpose. This book is a kind of career move for her, and a very sensible one. Actresses in their 60’s have to make a tough transition from mother to crone, and precious few succeed. Spacek’s recent scene-stealing performance as a demented granny in The Help was not physically believable. But it didn’t matter.
I don’t think Sissy Spacek has “fans” per se, as, say, Jessica Lange once had (someone the same age whose transition to crone has been pretty rocky). Judicious selection of parts and directors, not to mention a good bit of proximate luck, enabled Spacek to cultivate artistic respect instead of celebrity for its own sake. The fact that Sissy married David Lynch’s best friend, who also liked to hang out with Terrence Malick, gave her a serious advantage, although it may not have seemed so when all of those people were young, unknown, and broke. Is she a serious artist? I’ve never seen her in a film I didn’t respect. Sometimes she hits the bullseye as she did in The Help, or, my personal favorite, Crimes of the Heart. In a way, Spacek seems like a kind of blank slate onto which we can project whatever we need her to be. She seems like girls and women we all know (that’s part of her secret, she’s a girl-woman). She isn’t glamorous or brilliant or especially talented, but you noticed her in high school. You just never asked her out.
This memoir recounts Sissy’s childhood in Quitman, Texas, her struggle to become Joni Mitchell before Joni did it (and don’t they look alike?), her first stumbling efforts at acting, and her major successes after her debut in Malick’s classic, Badlands. The childhood anecdotes consume too much space, in my opinion. Sissy is more intent on recording her memories than on whether anyone would really care to read about them. But there are outstanding (and symbolic) moments that carry a reader through. For example, the time Sissy climbed a tree and refused to come down. When asked by her Atticus-Finch-of-a-father what she wanted, she said, “I want to sit in this tree…and I want to eat an orange.” She has pretty much lived her life that way, sitting in a tree in the Virginia Piedmont and leaving only to eat the occasional, hand-picked, juicy, seedless, blood orange of a Hollywood role. Must be nice, huh?
She reads her own audio memoir, and I have the same ambivalence about it that characterizes my entire feeling on this subject. Is she good at this? I listened to her performance on the audio version of To Kill A Mockingbird – which Spacek did at the personal request of Harper Lee – and I don’t know whether I liked it or not. I think I liked it. I couldn’t have done any better, but as with everything Sissy touches, I come away thinking more than feeling any catharsis. Maybe that’s the key? We don’t focus on anything special about her, but, rather, use her performances as occasions for partial identification. Looking at her agency headshots from early in her acting career, it would be pretty hard to imagine that she could land a single role. There’s nothing here. But Hollywood was changing in the late 60’s, needing neither the girl next door nor the seductive starlet. We wanted to start over in the Age of Aquarius. Sissy was in the right place at the right time and had a discerning eye. Her choice of life-partner in Jack Fisk proves that well enough. Consider this jewel from the book. “Although we had been together for months, it wasn’t until I met David that Jack really started making sense to me. Together they were like two alien Eagle Scouts on a mission from Planet Art. For them, filmmaking was an expressive form that synthesized all of the creative elements of painting and sculpture, light and music. It’s what they talked about, and all they wanted to do. I felt lucky to be included, and I found that I fit right in with them. This was the place I had been looking for. For the first time in my life, I felt a part of the conversation. I finally had my own seat at the table.” The bottom line is that Sissy is an artsy-fartsy baby boomer hippie, the Texas version, and she belongs with others at the high end of that type. And they belong with her.