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In 2014’s Brian Wilson biopic,Love & Mercy, John Cusack was tasked to play the elder version of the enigmatic musical genius who led the Beach Boys and progenitor of California rock. This was following theSmilesessions, when Wilson — who died on Wednesday at age 82 — became more insular, both musically and personally. It was when he “went into his darker period, that part of his life was much less known,” Cusack tells Rolling Stone. To better inhabit the intricacies of who Wilson was, Wilson and his wife, Melinda Ledbetter, gave Cusack “extraordinary access into his life and past” prior to filming. He spent time at their house, and they would visit Wilson’s favorite diner together, a place the Beach Boys co-founder visited daily, and spend time in his music room. “If he’s near a piano, he’s usually strumming on it,” Cusack remembers.
He says there was a lot of synchronicity that took place during the film. He and Paul Dano, who portrayed the younger Wilson at the peak of his Beach Boys creativity, initially avoided talking to each other, and didn’t compare notes, “just to have two totally different takes. And that felt right,” he says. When they did meet toward the end of the shooting, he discovered that “we had the same entry point into him, which is we both went into the Smile sessions,” Cusack says. “I had some version of that going around me every waking hour that I wasn’t filming. That was sort of my language into him, some doorway into him. And I just thought it was interesting, after not talking at all, that Paul and I picked the same one.”
Wilson’s generosity of spirit and openness extended beyond the film and to the stage with Cusack. At the wrap party, Wilson wanted to perform and asked Cusack and Dano to join him, and he handed Cusack the lyrics to “Do It Again.” It wasn’t the last time he’d sing with Wilson. He attended several of his concerts over the years, and even joined him onstage to sing “Sloop John B” during the Pitchfork Music Festival in 2016. They remained in contact through the years, sending each other holiday cards. “He’s such a mythological figure,” says Cusack. “His heart was as big as you think it was.”
He added: “He was just extraordinary, otherworldly.”
He really did give me access into his life, he and Melinda, so I could learn and find out how it really was. They were very generous about it. They wanted the movie to get it right, number one. But I also think he approached the troubled aspects of his life in the same kind of open, raw, big-hearted way he approached everything, which was: Lay it all out there, tell the truth, let it out straight from the heart. He wanted all the darkness exposed because he thought it would help take away the stigma of mental illness from others, that it could help other people.
He was an extraordinary guy. I think he was a very complex guy, obviously. There’s a bit of a Cheshire cat in him … It comes in some people who have been that famous and who have that genius in them. There’s a difference between someone who thinks about music all the time and somebody who literally can’t get the tune out of their head, they can’t not hear music. Anyway, I think he sort of played into that a little bit, that Cheshire cat thing as a way to move through the world being known as a mythical, legendary genius. But he was actually very aware, and more aware than people think — sometimes when he’d be talking to you, there are some people who are like a cat, they glance over your head while talking to you. What are they seeing up there? Colors maybe, but I never asked. Brian would do that. I definitely felt he was touched (in a mystical clairvoyant way).
I can give you an example of how extraordinary he was. When we were doing the climactic scene where Brian breaks down in the same studio where he recorded those historic records (and where he broke down), when he was going through really the peak of his abuse in his relationship with that mad fake psychiatrist, Dr. Landy [who overtook Wilson’s life as a therapist and business adviser; his license was revoked and later Wilson had a restraining order against him], and Melinda was desperately trying to pull him out of the abyss — it was just awful. He was really being tortured at that time. It was his rock bottom, certainly in the film’s point of view, and I think from his point of view and Melinda’s as well.
On the day when we’re going to shoot the breakdown scene, I’m sitting on the floor listening to the Smile sessions. I’m trying to figure out, all right, how do you do this? How do you go that deep to even touch it? You know, Jesus Christ. This is the guy’s life and it’s kind of an impossible scene to do, to pre-plan. It has to happen — something has to happen to you. And so I’m listening to the Smile sessions, immersing myself in that doorway and waiting to roll and film it. My assistant taps me on the shoulder, and she says, “Brian’s here.” And I said, “Brian who?” And her eyes went wide, she said, “Wilson.” We were both in shock. He didn’t tell anyone he was coming. The director didn’t even know he was there. He just showed up five minutes before the breakdown scene. Now, that day, I chose to wear a Hawaiian shirt because Brian wore these kind of shirts back then. There’s a picture of me: I’m wearing kind of a red one; he comes with his hair slicked back (same as mine), wearing a different color Hawaiian shirt. He says, “Hey, how you doing, man. I just want to talk.” I looked around, and everyone was just staggered. He just showed up. We talked a bit, not about the scene — and I can’t remember much of the conversation — but I remember him looking above my head.
After that we went back on set and just rolled the cameras, and I knew something was about to happen. You can’t really explain that rationally. How do you explain that he was just so in-tuned he decided he would drop in at that moment and that was the only time he came on set. He waltzed in, sprinkled fucking magic dust on us and we rolled the camera.
He never gave any input on how to portray him at all. He would just look at you (and look over your head sometimes) and talk to you. And he would just try to absorb you, your energy. But he never said anything specific or suggested I do anything, he’d just tell you what it felt and sounded like. What the vibe was.
When we finished the film, he took a music pad, wrote up lyrics to “Love and Mercy” and gave it to me. Melinda said, “Well, he’d never done that before.” I cherish it.
If you think about where he was in his darkest hours to where I met him, with his kids running around, and he was with Melinda, and he had a loving home and community, and he was not only talking about his past, but was so open about it, not only talking about Smile, the Smile sessions, which he couldn’t even talk about for years — then to go perform it, to be so open about his mental health struggles because he wanted to help people by really showing it, to take the stigma away — it’s a remarkable journey. Was he scarred from his trips into the abyss? Sure. But, to me, it was a triumph of endurance and spirit and grace, that he had made it all the way through. It was lovely to see him find that stability and peace and happiness.
There’s a paradox about him — I’ve said he was like a raw, open beating heart with two legs with an ear that heard the angels, right? So in so many ways the most sensitive of beings. But he was also a tough motherfucker to survive it all. He was a survivor, man. There was a toughness under there, but he never lost his genuinely gentle, warm, open heart.
One insight I always remembered, no matter what was happening, his ear was still there. When he talked about his father beating him, he talked about what it felt like, but he said, “This is what it sounded like. It sounded like this.” I can imagine what it felt like. But he also wanted me to know exactly what it sounded like. I always thought that was an incredible insight into him.
When the film was nearing completion, Melinda called and said, “Hey, we’re going to see the movie.” And I gulped and said, “Call me, tell me what’s going on.” She said, “I will of course.” And later that evening she was texting me their reaction. She said when he saw the Landy scene (he’d been on set for), he said it was very upsetting. Too upsetting. He had to take a break. I said, “Oh no, I hope it was upsetting in a right way I guess.” And she said, “He was in awe of the artistry of the scene but couldn’t deal with his emotions, it brought back too much. But you know him, he always bounces back, he’s going to recover. And don’t worry, that means you did a great job.” So they took a break and then finished the film. There was a lot to take in, but they really liked it. She said Brian was thrilled with how I portrayed him. Later we got on the phone and talked at length about it.
It was their life and their experience and they were so generous with me. I wanted them to feel like we had done them right, you know, I’d done him right. It was important to me they knew we gave it our all.
It was an honor to try to represent a version of him onscreen. And it was a world I knew I could fully immerse myself in. And total immersion was the only way to do it. It was a world with a kind of endless depth to it. It was a soulful, intense experience, and done with a lot of love and respect by everyone involved — so very special. And it was also special to do while he was still with us, and knowing in the end he felt good about it.
The part of his life I was playing was so interior and private and hidden from the public. I felt like all I could do is a version of him. One piece of art can’t ever tell the whole story. A picture of a tree looks different every time you move around it, above it, below it. But if you can make it feel in sync, in tune with him, feel like him, maybe you can capture some of his spirit.
I was so inspired by his genius. He’s a big deal. He is. What he was able to give the world was seismic; he broke it all open for everybody else. It gives me chills whenever I think about what he did.
It was an honor to immerse myself in his world — and try to do him right. It felt meaningful, because I knew it was a story that we had to get right for the legacy of the music and the impact it had on the culture and the world.
But at the end of the day I felt there was an audience of two — for me — that I really cared about, and that was Brian and Melinda.
RIP Brian.
