Carrie Fisher in 1999: "Star Wars Taught Me Everything"

December 29, 2016 - accent chair

Below is an mention of Carrie Fisher’s minute for Newsweek in May 1999. Fisher passed away on Tuesday, Dec 27, 2016. 

Picture this: I’m in Westwood Village, saying “The Matrix.” Keanu Reeves is looking unequivocally clean and Prada. I’m alone. My daughter, Billie, and we saw a TV ad where Keanu’s mouth starts mutating, and Billie suspicion it was interesting. But Billie’s too immature to see a Prada-mouth movie, so she couldn’t come. The aged “Star Wars” is some-more Billie’s speed. She’s still lustful of a selected soap that says on a back, Lather adult with Leia and you’ll feel like a princess yourself! She still likes a aged shampoo bottle, too–the one where we can unscrew my conduct and flow soap out of my neck. And she still takes a Princess Leia task folder to school, that breaks my heart. The folder got so ratty that we had to call George and ask him to go to his large Lucasfilm room and get me a newer selected task folder.

Related: Carrie Fisher: George Lucas “Stole My Identity” (2011) 

Anyhow, Billie’s visiting with her father, and I’m station alone during a benefaction stand, shopping my butterless corn. It’s raining outside. People are already watchful in line for “The Phantom Menace,” opening during a same museum in a month–a small menstrual cycle and full paper moon away. A dark-haired lady subsequent to me searches for Sno-caps, Sprite, Good Plenty. She gives me The Look: a one people get when they’re about to ask if I’m in “Phantom Menace.” She starts to ask, though we cut her off. “No,” we say, “I’m not. It’s a prequel”–uttered as if prequel were a lullaby. It seems to placate her. Meanwhile, a prequel people in a stormy line outward are removing sneezy. They need Nyquil.

In a theater, a assembly cheers a “Phantom” trailer. There are my aged friends and foes—R2-D2, Jabba a Hutt, C-3PO, a immorality Emperor. New movie, new softened aged score, new aged measure to settle with a dim side. Whoa: a new footage reminds we how aged a aged “Star Wars” is. It’s from prolonged ago, a uncover business far, distant away. Like Old Spice, it takes we back—it smells of lightspeed and soppy Ewoks. It reminds me, for one thing, that we had a vanquish on Mr. Ford before it became a trend. When we shot a initial movie, we was 19 and he was 34. we kept a biography chronicling my crush, as good as crushes past. Just a taste: “I’ve got to stop removing spooky with tellurian beings and tumble in adore with a chair. Chairs have all tellurian beings have to offer, and less, that is apparently what we need. Less romantic and egghead feedback, reduction warmth, reduction approval, reduction calm and reduction response. The reduction a merrier. Chairs it is. we contingency allow my heart with feelings for furniture.”

In a beginning, when “Star Wars” became a bona fide phenomenon, we used to expostulate by theaters to watch people watchful in line. It was so unreal. We review a fan mail ourselves. A mom wrote that her daughter was carrying medicine on her eyes. We got a letter, and all of us–Mark, Harrison and I–called a sanatorium right divided to contend how contemptible we were. We didn’t know how to be famous. We toured on a large junket, and in each city we went true from doing press to whatever entertainment park was available. we can still see Harrison unresolved upside down in a Ferris-wheel gorilla enclosure in Seattle, in his talk-show fit and tie. Harrison was unequivocally dignified. Needless to say, we captivated a lot of attention.

What do we remember from creation a movies? we remember that iron bikini we wore in “Episode VI”: what supermodels will eventually wear in a seventh ring of hell. we was fibbing subsequent to Jabba a Hutt, in a third film—the one we can’t remember a name of. (I keep wanting to call it “Rebel Without a Cause.”) The actor who played Boba Fett stood behind me while we was wearing a bikini, and he could see all a approach to Florida. My mom was always a lady subsequent door. we wasn’t utterly girl-next-door material; we was a girl-next-dogstar, a one in a titanium thong.

Before creation a “Star Wars” movies, we had acquired a floating British accent–from attending a Central School of Speech and Drama in London–along with an huge volume of mouth gloss. (I trust a dual were related.) we was during a surreal age, on a surreal set. It took dual hours to put my bad hair on. For some reason there wasn’t any slip in space, so we didn’t wear a bra, and when there were using scenes they firm my breasts with oldster tape. we used to say, “At a finish of a day we should have an auction with a crew–whoever wins gets to slice a oldster fasten off my breasts.” At one point, we done a Xerox of pronounced breasts, and my crony Charlie, who was a prolongation assistant, upheld copies out to a crew. Which reminds me of a explanation we ran opposite in a aged journals. “There are 3 degrees of being weird. They are: (1) Salvageably weird. (2) Weird. (3) Irrevocably weird.”

When we finished sharpened a initial film, George put it together in London. He had me come in, and he played me my theme–John Williams conducting a London Symphony. I’d never had a theme. George was concise in those days. There was a fun that an L.A. Times contributor had visited a “Star Wars” set and that after 3 days, he’d said, “Which one is a director?” When George was directing, he’d usually contend dual things: “faster” or “more intense.” Then he mislaid his voice during a shoot. Since he didn’t speak much, it was tough to tell. We wanted to get him a wooden residence with dual horns he could honk: one for “faster,” a other for “more intense.”

It was always tough to watch a finished product—they were like home movies. Very well-organized home cinema that happened to take place in space. Most of us were in each scene. Once, they didn’t use us all day; they kept us watchful in a space outfits and guns. Harrison went to a producer’s bureau during 5 o’clock and pronounced he wanted that day behind during a finish of his life. we always suspicion I’d like my day behind in a center of mine. Like now.

Here’s one some-more memory. we shouldn’t tell this story, though what a hell.

I was staying in Eric Idle’s city residence in St. John’s Wood—that’s nearby St. John’s Wort, usually some-more depressing—and Eric had only come home from filming “Life of Brian” in Tunisia. He brought this splash that he pronounced they gave a extras so they’d work longer. we called it Tunisian Table Cleaner. As a order I’m allergic to alcohol, and Harrison doesn’t unequivocally splash either. But that night, there was a temporary party. The Rolling Stones were there. They were recording dual blocks away. We stayed adult all night and drank a list cleaner and never went to sleep. When we arrived during a set a subsequent morning, we weren’t hung over–we were, like a extras in Tunisia, some-more than peaceful to work. That morning we shot a attainment during Cloud City, where we accommodate Billy Dee Williams. And it’s one of a unequivocally few times in a array both Harrison and we smile. To this day, Eric is unapproachable as a pappy of his impact on a trilogy.

“Star Wars” taught me everything: how to fire a gun. How to have my breasts taped. we had a time of my life–and a time of yours. Speaking of time, I’ve only gotten word that I’ve managed to get behind that day that Harrison demanded. I’m going to use it by station in line for “The Phantom Menace.” Pass a Nyquil.

source ⦿ http://www.newsweek.com/carrie-fisher-star-wars-essay-167072

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