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Glenn Close Wins the AARP Movies For Grownups Career Achievement Award

The actress, 77, thrills in her latest award — and riffs on growing up in a cult, her path to Hollywood stardom, and finding peace in nature and her family


Glenn Close On The ‘Sexy’ Role That Changed Her Career

Glenn Close peers through the windshield of her blue pickup and surveys a smoky Montana sky.

“We’ve got fires all around,” she says, as she navigates the road through the haze—past bucolic fields of wheat and quaint schoolhouses—her faithful Havanese dog, Sir Pippin, perched by her side on the armrest. Even for someone used to a dramatic scene, the actress is stirred by the visuals en route to her plot of land in tiny Belgrade, Montana, nestled between the Bridger Mountains and the winding East Gallatin River.

“It reminds me of a poem,” she continues, reciting lines from Yeats — something about gardens, chaos and survival.

Arriving at an isolated homestead with old barns, a weathered granary and a creek running through it, Close, 77, hops out, Pip closely following. Close is petite, but somehow rugged as a farmhand in her faded jeans, plain shirt and vintage-inspired sunglasses. Her cropped silver hair is brushed away from her patrician cheekbones and placid face — a canvas for a multitude of characters audiences have loved and loved to hate over the years.

The actress has been living in nearby Bozeman since 2019 and is now building a second house on this bit of rural paradise. Here, she’s surrounded by family (three of her four siblings and her daughter, Annie, live a stone’s throw away) and far from the madding crowds of Hollywood and Manhattan. “I need nature to survive,” she sighs, giving Pip a pet. “This is our sanctuary.”

It’s understandable why she’d gravitate to such a serene haven.

spinner image Glenn Close on the hood of her Ford Truck
Glenn Close photographed on the hood of her Ford Truck on September 19 on her property in Montana.
Photograph by Andy AndersonWardrobe stylist: Annie Starke; hair stylist: Curtis William Foreman; makeup artist: Melissa Oteri

The actress’ 50 years in film, television and stage are populated by chilling characters that have kept generations of audiences at the edge of their seats: jilted, rabbit-killing Alex Forrest in Fatal Attraction (“I won’t be ignored, Dan!”); villainous 18th-century French noblewoman Marquise Isabelle de Merteuil in Dangerous Liaisons; and, recently, the demon-possessed grandma in The Deliverance, to name a few.

But she’s also known for her strong, sturdy, salt-of-the-earth women—perhaps more like Close herself — who struggle against adversity or oppression: Jenny Fields, the feminist nurse in The World According to Garp; Midwestern mail-order bride Sarah Wheaton in Sarah, Plain and Tall; and the long-suffering and sacrificial sister, Férula Trueba, in The House of the Spirits. The list goes on.

They’re the kinds of performances that inspired Vanity Fair to dub Close “one of the great actresses of our time” and enabled her to accumulate, so far, eight Oscar nominations and a slew of Emmy, Golden Globe and SAG Awards.

“I honestly don’t think about awards that much,” she says, as she hauls a cooler from the back of her truck and swings it onto a wooden picnic table by the creek. She’s packed lunch for us—tuna and apple salad with cinnamon donuts. “I feel I’ve done a good job if my work is resonating with people.”

Having said that, she’s delighted about her Career Achievement Award, which she’ll accept at AARP’s upcoming Movies for Grownups Awards, because she, too, gets frustrated when she turns on the TV and can’t find something good to watch, something for grownups.

“It’s great to accept this award. My sister Jessie and I watched an old movie last night, and God, it was so wonderful. What was it called? Afterwards, we said, ‘Boy, they used to make really good movies.’ It was certainly a film for grownups.” (She texted the next day with the title: “My Cousin Vinny. We laughed a lot.”)

Hollywood — for that matter, Montana — is a million miles away from Close’s origin story. She was born and raised in Greenwich, Connecticut, the daughter of well-known surgeon William T. Close (who operated a hospital in Zaire, now the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and was a personal physician to the dictator Mobutu Sese Seko) and socialite/philanthropist Bettine Moore Close.

Close spent her first seven years roaming the New England countryside, playing pretend with her sister Tina. “We had Steiff hand puppets — they were kept in a little chest. We put on puppet shows and made things up all the time. We acted all day long. It just came naturally.”

Growing up, she had no problem finding good stuff to watch on TV—like various fairy tales and The Mickey Mouse Club. “I felt that I could do whatever any of those kids were doing on film,” she says.”

At 7, Close’s idyllic childhood was upended when her parents joined MRA (Moral Re-Armament) — a movement she now calls a religious cult—and the family moved to Switzerland and Africa before she returned to America as a teen to study at Rosemary Hall, an elite Connecticut boarding school. Still, until her early 20s, Close was immersed in the movement — a controlling experience she describes as emotionally harmful.

“It made me feel, and I think still feel, like I’m on the outside looking in,” she says reflectively.

Her passion for acting helped Close escape MRA’s hold. In 1970, she enrolled at the College of William & Mary in Virginia to study acting and anthropology.

“I never thought about acting in movies back then,” she says. Broadway beckoned first, but in 1980, when she was starring in the Broadway musical Barnum (for which she nabbed her first Tony nomination), she was spotted by the film director George Roy Hill. He cast Close in The World According to Garp (1981) in the role of Jenny Fields (mother of Robin Williams’ Garp) for her film debut.

“The hardest thing for me was where to put all my energy,” she says of the transition from theater to film. “I was used to creating spinning molecules from the stage to the back seats. And you have this bank of energy in your body which would blow out the camera if you had that on film.”

She figured it out. Her performance in Garp earned Close her first best supporting actress Oscar nod, and her career surged upward. Two of her next three films — The Big Chill (1983) and The Natural, a 1984 baseball drama costarring Robert Redford — brought two more Oscar nominations for best supporting actress.

In the middle of that heady Oscar boom, she took a risk and chose the serious, uncomfortable TV film Something About Amelia (1984), about family incest, as her next project.

“My agent said that would not be good for my movie career,” Close recalls. Not because of the storyline but because it was for television — something film actors weren’t doing at the time.

“Well, Judi Dench had been one of my great heroes,” she says, “and she’s done everything. She’s done comedy, she’s done television. So that to me is the way to do it. Just go with material you think is good.”

Three years later, Close’s terrifying turn in Fatal Attraction (1987) not only “scared the shit out of men” everywhere, as she puts it, but also brought her first best actress Oscar nomination. Over the next three decades she would go on to deliver startlingly good performances in film and on television in Damages, Albert Nobbs and Hillbilly Elegy. Three Emmys and four more Oscar nominations followed. She has still not won an Oscar. Again, she says it’s no big deal to her.

“I’d much rather be in the room again and again and again rather than win it once and never show up again,” she insists, “which has happened to quite a few people. The honor is to be with the people who are making the work that our audiences feel is worthy.”

Meanwhile her personal life has ebbed and flowed. She has been married three times and became a mother, at 41, to her daughter, Annie, in 1988. (Dad is film producer John Starke.)

“I weaned Annie at 7 weeks old when I went to film Dangerous Liaisons,” Close recalls. “She grew up on movie sets and onstage, in dressing rooms and theaters. She was always by people who loved her.”

Following her parents into the family business, Annie, 36, is an actress who hosts her own cooking show, The Mountain Kitchen, and costarred with Close in The Wife in 2017.

Close has revealed that she suffers from depression occasionally, and in 2010 — after her sister Jessie was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and her nephew with schizoaffective disorder — she cofounded a nonprofit, Bring Change to Mind, to help destigmatize mental illness.

“I do think people are more aware of the importance of mental health,” she says. “But we still don’t have the institutions to get people the help they need to get better and then stay well.”

While Close has gathered her family close in Montana, she also believes in giving people, including herself, space. After her marriages and several long-term partners, she’s currently single, and that’s just fine.

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Katharine Hepburn said something like, ‘Men and women should live next to each other and visit every now and then,’ ” she says with a laugh.

Throughout her career, Close has wanted to please audiences ... and sometimes startle them. The buzz in the news the day we chat is her latest role as a Satan-fighting grandma in the horror flick The Deliverance, and a nasty line she spits out while thrashing about, demonically possessed.

“It shocked everyone?” she asks of her character’s reference to a female body part. “I’m glad!”

But Close’s gaze is on the horizon. One of her upcoming film roles — Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard — is already one of her favorites, before production has even begun. She first played the tragic, once famous, now-fading actress on Broadway 30 years ago, won a Tony, and reprised it in 2016 and 2017.

“Norma Desmond is like Hamlet, as far as I’m concerned,” says Close. “She’s one of the greatest roles ever written for a woman.”

Unlike Desmond, though, Close has no intention of fading away.

“It’s ironic that now, at 77, I’m getting the best roles of my life,” she says. “I’m incredibly lucky to make a career out of something that I have so much love for. It’s a maddening profession. But I’m having the time of my life.”

Our picnic at an end, Close scans the clearing sky and the land and mountains before her. She points to three twisted apple trees dotted with red.

“I call them the Sisters,” she says. “They were planted by the first homesteaders here in the mid- to late 1800s. They still bear fruit, which is a miracle, because they’ve been ravaged by bears over the years and are practically hollow.”

Gardens, chaos and survival.

The actress tosses Pip half of her uneaten donut, excuses herself and disappears into a weather-beaten barn.

She’s got chores to do before sundown.

Glenn Close’s 5 Most Iconic Roles

  • The Big Chill (1983). On the heels of her Oscar-nominated debut in The World According to Garp, Close nabbed her second nod for anchoring a murderers’ row ensemble cast in this bittersweet boomer classic about a group of disillusioned, Motown-loving college friends reuniting for a funeral.
  • Fatal Attraction (1987). As the bunny-boiling other woman in this stylish and steamy smash hit, Close’s Alex Forrest seduces a married man (Michael Douglas) and becomes the subject of a thousand and one op-ed pieces about ’80s feminism and its discontents.
  • Dangerous Liaisons (1988). Close’s scorned and scheming French aristocrat Marquise de Merteuil orchestrates a roundelay of bed-hopping and bodice-ripping revenge with the help of a louche lothario (John Malkovich). A must-see.
  • 101 Dalmatians (1996). As the cackling Cruella de Vil, Close tap-dances on the fine line between comedy and camp as her villainous designer breeds spotted puppies for their fur coats. It’s easy to forget just how dark some Disney kids’ movies could be.
  • The Wife (2017). Close earned the seventh of her eight unrequited Oscar noms for this slow-simmering drama about the silent, overlooked spouse of a Nobel Prize–winning novelist (Jonathan Pryce) whose work she deserves more than a little credit for. A master class in quiet resentment. 
—Chris Nashawaty

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