Jennifer Simard on Starring in 'Death Becomes Her' & Society's Beauty Standards
In late July 1992, when Death Becomes Her was released, a then-22-year-old Jennifer Simard bought a ticket at her local theater. But when it was mysteriously engulfed in flames before the screening, Simard was told to save her ticket stub and redeem it when restorations were made. It was worth the wait. Thirty-three years later, the two-time Tony Award-nominated actor and singer is starring in the cult classic's Broadway adaptation as Helen Sharp and opposite Megan Hilty's Madeline Ashton.
"I sort of love that this very dramatic thing happened with this particular movie and that I had that initial history with it," Simard told Jezebel on a recent phone call. "It just goes to show how much I wanted to see it because I really did save the ticket and waited."
If you've seen the movie, the show isn't different sans a few less special effects and one extra offensive fat suit (thanks to Simard's advocacy). And if you haven't, it follows a pair of frenemies who make a Faustian bargain for eternal beauty and youth only to find that immortality isn't all it's cracked up to be. Since it opened in November, it's has been lauded by critics as "dazzling," "comedy gold," and "to die for." And come spring, the exceptional Simard is expected to earn a third Tony nomination.
"I never in my wildest dreams thought I could be doing it on Broadway," Simard said.
Over the phone, Jezebel spoke with the star about the show's success and how the story continues to resonate with audiences. But notably, not how the head twists.
Jezebel: Before I saw the show, I have to admit that I was skeptical. I wasn't sure how this particular cult classic would translate to the stage, if only because the body horror seems a lot to pull off. This is no Sabrina Carpenter music video. That said, because it's so steeped in camp, you all pull it off in a way that's so funny it actually furthers the material. How does the head get twisted, so to speak?
Jennifer Simard: Obviously, I'm going to keep the secrets because then it's no fun. I can't talk about specifics, but I will say that finding our way to the path that you're seeing on stage took a lot of time and the skills of the best of the business. I happily defer to those who are the experts in their field. It's an exercise in collaboration and patience to find the best version we can. To your point, it's much easier to make special effects happen in film, so I'm very, very proud of this team for what they've managed to accomplish and the question marks they've put in the audience's heads. I think that's half the fun.
Obviously, so much of the bottom line is that the societal goal posts for women and femmes just keep moving. But does the material resonate deeper given you're a woman in show business?
I had a history in my teenage years of anorexia nervosa, so I very much have my own pain associated with meeting some sort of impossible beauty standard. I think because I had a great deal of pain early on in my life, my adult life has been pretty blessed with reclaiming what I want to do and not apologizing for it. If it makes me feel good, I do it. And if it doesn't, I don't. I can't tell you how many times I've heard regarding women, "Oh, she's really let herself go," or "Oh, she's had too much work done." It puts you in a lose-lose situation. It's up to us as individuals to say "I reject your terms, and I'm going to make my own rules." Do what makes you happy, and screw what everyone else thinks. I do not have any regrets in my adult life and I encourage therapy because it certainly has empowered me.
Speaking of empowering, I have to imagine the incredible wardrobe--by Wicked's costume designer, Paul Tazewell, no less--helps with that too. Which gown makes you feel as if you've drank the potion?
The red signature dress. Paul Tazewell deserves all the glory.
After I saw the show, my friend and I had two very different takes on the end even though we'd already seen the film. Hers was that these women didn't take care of their bodies--or, in The Substance terms, "respect the balance"--and ultimately, had to suffer the consequences. Mine was that though they'll never have wrinkles as evidence of a life that's been lived, all the cracks were a metaphor for how the body can still wear the passage of time and trauma. How do you interpret the end?
I love that you had a different opinion. One thing our show does in terms of the line it tries to ride is that just when it pulls at your heart, it gets you with a laugh. Christopher Sieber [Ernest Menville] has the line when we ask him why he didn't take the potion, "these wrinkles, they tell my story..." but you still see our stories being told. And the consequence of the choices we made is, now, we have to take care of one another.
One of the messages of the show is about "finding your person." There's this little opportunity to make the ending about Ernest finding his person. Instead, the show reminds the audience that these women have—more importantly—found theirs in each other.
I love that we get there and go, "No, no, no! You don't get the ending. We do." I think that's powerful.