For decades, Sissy Spacek has been a formidable on-screen presence. The one-time homecoming queen from Quitman, Texas, began her metamorphosis into a promising young actor in 1972 as Poppy, the teen waif sold into sex slavery in Prime Cut. A year later Spacek resurfaced as Holly, the young girlfriend of a serial killer in Terrence Malick’s Badlands.

But it was her starring role in Carrie that put her on moviegoers’ radar. An Oscar-winning performance as Loretta Lynn in Coal Miner’s Daughter followed, and Spacek was firmly established as one of the most sought-after performers on the big screen.

In 1974, she married Badlands art director Jack Fisk, who later directed her in Raggedy Man and Violets Are Blue. Living on a horse farm in the foothills of Virginia’s Blue Ridge mountains, they’ve raised two daughters: Schuyler, an actress and singer, and Madison, a cinematographer.

This month, Spacek, 58, appears in two new movies. Lake City (November 21) is a drama about the reunion of a mother and son after years of estrangement. In Four Christmases (November 26), an ensemble comedy about a happy couple forced to visit all four of their divorced parents on Christmas, she stars with Robert Duvall, Reese Witherspoon, and Vince Vaughn. Arriving on the heels of each other, these films exemplify both the big studio movies filled with famous faces and the smaller, more intimate independent features Spacek has embraced throughout her career.

You have Four Christmases on the way. When was the last time you were in a comedy?
I can’t remember. I’ve been funny in some dramas, and Crimes of the Heart was funny. But it’s harder to find comedy, so my career has really been rooted in dramatic films.

Tell us about Lake City.

It’s a character-driven film about a mother and son who’ve been estranged from each other for years. The son gets in trouble and comes home and brings a lot of his problems with him. My character’s not real likable. I don’t think people ordinarily think of me for a role like that.

You haven’t shied away from roles that, to some extent, required you to be fearless and plunge in headfirst.
For me, it’s all about the director. If the director is someone I really trust, then I am fearless. I really care about the characters I play, and often I’m most excited by women who are such a stretch for me that after I’ve said yes, I think, “Oh my gosh, what have I done?” In The Straight Story, I was playing a mentally challenged stutterer. I only had a couple of weeks to prepare. About a week before shooting, I was on location and was giving myself headaches trying to get the stutter. I thought, “Whatever made me think I could do this?” But by the time I finished the film, everyone on the set was stuttering.

That was a David Lynch movie, but it’s not what you’d expect based on his earlier works.
But it was filmed very “David Lynch.” Knowing him as I do, he really is the boy next door, not what people oftentimes expect. He’s kind of like Jimmy Stewart on acid!

You’ve worked with legends like Altman, Costa-Gavras, Lynch, Malick, and and also with younger people, like Niki Caro, Todd Field, and now, with Lake City, Hunter Hill. Can you contrast working with veterans and newcomers — or does it depend on individual talent?
The first-time directors I’ve worked with usually have been writer-directors. That makes a huge difference. If you’re drawn to the script, and it’s written by the guy who’s gonna direct it, you have that real vision. It’s kind of a crapshoot. You have to feel you can go into battle with this person. You have to have a creative connection. Film is really a collaboration — that’s what’s so beautiful about it. Everybody brings something to it. There are wonderful directors who make wonderful films with whom you have no creative chemistry. So to me, it’s all about the people you’re working with.

Todd Field [In the Bedroom] is an example of writer-director.
He’s incredible. And the script was amazing. He was so into the character’s finite detail and the back story. He really gave himself over completely to the project. You never had to feel apologetic. If you called him in the middle of the night, it was okay.

Early on, when you played the parts that rocketed you into the public eye — all within the space of about four years — did you wonder what you’d do for an encore?
I felt that way after Carrie. Badlands got a lot of critical acclaim, but not that many people saw it. Now it’s shown to film students. So I was just focused on the work, doing my own thing. After Carrie came out, I felt like eyes were on me. It was “How did I do that? Do I even know what I did? What do I do now?” I became a little more self-conscious.

Jack drenched you in blood in Badlands, even more so in Carrie. You could say your relationship was born and blossomed in blood.
That’s right. We’ve really enjoyed working together because we’re both very passionate about what we do. He’s directed me twice and is probably the most creative person I’ve ever known. He started in fine arts as a painter and sculptor. I learned a great deal about filmmaking by working with someone who was involved in the production side of things. I realized early on that it wasn’t all about the acting and the actors. So much goes into it.

You’ve played your share of real women — Loretta Lynn, Zelda Fitzgerald, whistle-blower Marie Ragghianti, and others. Are there particular challenges in playing real people?
I love researching. It’s wonderful to play women who are still alive, because you have them to work with — study their voice, their walk — and spend time with. They can tell you real, intimate things about what they were thinking and feeling. Of course, you’re always very nervous about what they will think of what you’ve done.

You really bonded with Loretta Lynn.
She was the most challenging because people have an idea who she is. She’s in the public eye. The reason we were able to make it work was the way the script was structured. It started out when she was a girl, so I began with my hair kind of medium-brown. By the time it got to the Loretta we all know and love, people had accepted me as the young Loretta, which made it easier for them to accept me as the older one. But one day, my husband brought my little dog Heidi to the set. She saw me and started running to me. But I was in my Loretta mode when I called her name, and Heidi put on the brakes!

What’s special about acting in movies drawn from works of fiction — by writers like Truman Capote, Larry McMurtry and Russell Banks?
You have so much more material. You have the novel to go back to. So many questions are answered by going back. You can fill in the cracks and crevasses.

On the whole, your films are inexorably bound with the landscape.
Those are my roots — just plain ole ordinary people. When I first started, I resented all the country stereotypes. If you’ve lived in the South or in the country, you know there are a million different stories, a million different Southerners. They’re not just stereotypes.

Years ago, you played all those teenagers when you were in your early 20s. Over the past few years, I’ve noticed that —
I’m not playing teenagers anymore!

Well, yes, but what I was going to say was that you’ve been acting with young talents who are about the age you were when you were starting out. Can you draw any conclusions about this new generation of actors, having seen some of them close at hand?
When you’re working on a project, age is relative. I worked with Allison Pill, and she was one of the most professional, talented actors. You don’t think about age. You do your role, and they do theirs. It’s so exciting when the collaboration works. Off the set, they may talk about characters you’ve played who’ve inspired them. But most of the time, you’re talking about the work you’re doing. It’s really wonderful — and I think in theater as well, or in any of the creative arts — that you really are on an equal footing. That’s the way it should be. The connection is through your characters. There’s no discrimination in terms of age.

Let’s talk about that strand of social, political, medical, racial, emotional, and marital issues that informs the body of your work. Do the roles themselves attract you, or are you intrigued by films with something to say?
It’s both. You can come in having developed a character, but when you’re working with other people who are bringing all these unknowns to the table, it affects what you’re doing in a very positive way. It takes you to places you hadn’t imagined. I’m drawn to films and characters that illuminate the human conditions — the frailties, the strengths, the tragedies, the addictions, the issues. That’s what interests me — and how different people are affected differently by the same stimulus because of their history and who they are. I love people and watching people and how they react.

The wives and mothers you’ve played over the years have been dogged, desperate, strong-willed, defensive, and everything in between.
As I matured and had different life experiences, I was drawn to different kinds of roles, oftentimes things that reflected what was happening in my own life. Although when I did Coal Miner’s Daughter I had the most kids I ever had in a film and the closest relationship with brothers and sisters and young children. I had no children myself at the time.

Tell us about the mothers you played in North Country and In the Bedroom.
There’s always something about every role I do that I connect with, that I have an understanding of. But there’s usually also something about that character that I don’t understand. The characters I’m least attracted to are the ones I understand completely. That’s not a challenge. I love to think, “Can I do this, or can I not?” The mother in In the Bedroom was very different from me. I’m very warm. She was more controlling and also pushed to the brink. Because the script was so beautifully written, I could understand the rage she felt, although I had to work to be her. It was not my nature.

And the mother in North Country?
The hardest thing was that I thought I could get to Minnesota a week early for the two weeks’ work — small role, short shoot — to learn the accent. It was the most difficult thing this Southern girl ever did. I didn’t want to go down in flames for a two-week role because I couldn’t get the accent! It wasn’t a huge role, but it had to be authentic. Everything about that film had to be authentic. That was the real challenge — to not throw the film off.

So the Coen brothers never considered you for Fargo!
No, but they could now!

Can you cite one or two films of yours that had a major impact on you after the filming was over?
I think Missing really politicized me. That really made me better. It made me less naive. The Long Walk Home made me see a woman who did the right thing for all the wrong reasons. Those two films made me want to be a more responsible human being, a better citizen. We have an obligation as members of society to be well-informed and to stand up for what we believe. Whichever side of the coin you’re on, you should be well-informed. But I think I’ve grown from most every character I’ve played.

Going back to your roots, is it fair to say that your older brother’s death many years ago may have spurred you to move to New York to try acting in the first place?
I think it probably did. I think that’s what gave me the courage to not go the way that was expected, to veer from that path and follow my heart. We don’t know how long we’re going to be here, and you really have to live your life true to yourself. I think that really gave me great resolve — but mainly courage — to seek my fortune and follow my bliss.

With both your children involved in aspects of the film business, how do you encourage them and how do you shield them?
I feel like I’d be a real hypocrite if I didn’t allow them to follow their hearts. We’ve raised them here in Virginia to believe in themselves, trying to give them good values so that whatever they choose to do, they’ll be coming from a strong and loving place. They had a wonderful, typical country childhood. They were like all the other kids. And it was great for them. Because their dad is an artist and designer and director, they saw the work, but they were protected from the limelight. They didn’t experience all the celebrity stuff, but they did experience the work, and the work is what they’re attracted to and what they love. They see you can have a normal life and still work in the business.

How might you and Jack have reacted if Schuyler had been offered parts like Poppy, Holly, or Carrie?
I hope that we would let them make their own decisions. As my mother always said, “You have to get your licks in while they’re little.” At a certain age, your raising them is over. If you haven’t taught them things by the time they’re 15, forget it — maybe it’s even 12! I think we would have been fine with it. I know there are films Schuyler wouldn’t even go up for because they had nudity in them — and that was not us, that was her.

You’ve sung and written country songs, and I’m told you once performed for ten bucks at The Bitter End in New York City.
Actually, I sang in a different club for ten bucks a night. At The Bitter End, back in the late ’60s, I sang for free! And it was my honor — trust me!

Are you writing or recording these days?
I sing background vocals — harmony, sometimes — with Schuyler, who’s a really wonderful musician. I go along when she’s on tour. Other than that, I only sing in the shower.

What can you tell us about upcoming projects?
Nothing that I can talk about yet, but I’ve got a lot of stuff in the works. You know, this is an exciting age for me. I’m kind of entering my “wise woman” years — not that I’m always wise. The roles I’m interested in are just so different from the ones I’ve done. That’s the beauty of acting. It’s always changing. It never stays the same.

 

Michael J. Bandler writes about the performing arts, entertainment, literature, and education for a variety of publications.
Photo: ©Danny Moloshok/Reuters/Corbis