Madeleine Stowe: Mad About the Girl

https://lebeauleblog.com/2019/08/20/madeleine-stowe-mad-about-the-girl/

In the early nineties, if you asked someone to name their favorite actress, you would probably get a lot of Julia Robertses and Meg Ryans. But if you asked one of the cool movie buffs, they might mention Madeleine Stowe. Stowe never seemed fully invested in the Hollywood movie star thing. She kept interrupting her career just as she was building momentum. This cover story from the October 1993 issue of Movieline magazine also raises the possibility that Stowe may have been a bit nuts.

“Who?” everyone keeps asking. “Madeleine Stowe,” I tell them. “You know, she was in The Last of the Mohicans.” The light dawns in their eyes. “Oh, the beautiful one with the dark hair? She was great.” Talk about understatements: Stowe is probably the most exquisite woman in the movies these days. She’s like a ’40s actress come to life in the ’90s. A woman with grace and style. A woman who, even when she’s the lead, lets you care about everyone else in the film. A woman who seems equally at home in the Wild West or in the wildest pool hall in the big city. A woman who could probably uncross her legs on-screen, and you’d still be staring at her face!

This is how great Madeleine Stowe is: In Stakeout, she made Richard Dreyfuss seem sexy. Really sexy. It was nothing short of a miracle.

This is how great Madeleine Stowe is: In the mess that was The Two Jakes, she possessed such an uncanny charm that even the most irate critics didn’t take shots at her.

This is how great Madeleine Stowe is: In The Last of the Mohicans, she held her own with Daniel Day-Lewis. Held her own? Hell, she nearly stole the film.

This is how great Madeleine Stowe is: She wants to do this interview while we’re hiking or horseback riding. But I want to do it by the pool at the Mondrian (I’ll buy lunch). So we compromise–she invites me to take a ride to her ranch outside Santa Barbara so she can check on the horses. And she’ll even do the driving. I love her already.

When I get to Stowe’s house, her husband meets me at the door. (You know him–he’s Brian Benben, the star of HBO’s “Dream On.”) “Come on in,” he says, so I do. The house looks like he and Madeleine just got there–boxes on the dining room table, sheets thrown over the couches, nothing on the walls. Before I can ask about this state of disarray, Madeleine is standing in front of us…with that long hair cascading down her back, no makeup, wearing a hat, a denim shirt, jeans and hiking boots, and looking drop-dead gorgeous. We shake hands, and then she sort of pushes me out the door, even though what I really want to do is look around in there. Brian walks us to the car, he and Madeleine get the two dogs settled in the back, and then he pulls her to him, puts one hand deep into her hair, massages her neck, and kisses her good-bye. I could watch this for hours.

“Did you just move in?” I ask as we start the drive.

Madeleine turns red. “Please don’t be appalled by our home,” she says. “It’s just the way we live.”

“What? I wasn’t appalled. I just meant that you don’t seem to have unpacked…”

“Well, that’s it exactly. We’ve lived there for years now, but we don’t really have things. And the ranch, we’ve had that for about a year and a half and, you’ll see, it still has the same awful carpet and three pieces of furniture that don’t even belong there. It’s just a wreck. There’s this Wild West poster that Brian insisted on putting there…it looks ridiculous on the wall, but I guess he just wanted something to hang up.”

“Is it because you’re both busy?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s that and more. I think I could be happy living in hotels for the rest of my life. It’s partially that I don’t like to invite people into my life. Should I talk about this?”

“Definitely,” I say, in that voice your psychiatrist uses when you have asked that question.

“It has something to do with from when I was a kid,” she continues. “My dad was sick from the time I was six, he had MS, and it was uncomfortable for me to bring other kids into the house because of what was going on. And now, if Brian wants to have things on the wall, he has to do it himself, because I won’t.”

“Hmmm,” I say, “it’s an odd way to live, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s a very strange way. I want to get more settled, though. I dream about it, about how the house would be, about how we’d have people over…”

“You’d freak out if you saw my house,” I say, thinking of the friends who come in and out, the moat of books around the bed, the collections of crap that line every available space.

“Oh,” she says, “your house would be perfect.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I can tell that you’re very grounded. And what I do is deliberately to keep people away. It’s a really horrible thing. I mean, it’s like I figure that one of these days, I’ll have time to sit back and enjoy it.