Her Again

1. The Chameleon's Genesis: From Conformity to Craft

“I worked harder on this characterization, really, than anyone that I think I’ve ever done since.”

Early transformations. Meryl Streep's journey began not with a grand artistic calling, but with a meticulous, almost obsessive, effort to fit in during her suburban New Jersey high school years. Despite her striking features—alabaster skin, high cheekbones, and a distinctive nose—she perceived herself as "ugly" and not "pretty enough to be a movie star." This insecurity fueled her early "acting" as she diligently cultivated the persona of the "perfect Seventeen magazine knockout," mimicking popular girls and boys' preferences, even practicing a "light and lithesome" giggle.

Beyond superficiality. This early experience in self-reinvention, though rooted in teenage conformity, inadvertently laid the groundwork for her future as a transformative actress. She learned to mimic behaviors with "faultless precision," a skill she would later apply to character work. Her discovery of acting at Vassar College, particularly in August Strindberg's Miss Julie, marked a pivotal shift from external performance to internal truth, allowing her to tap into a range of emotions she had previously suppressed.

Unlocking potential. At Vassar, away from the pressures of male validation, Meryl's "brain woke up," and she found freedom to be "goofy, vehement, aggressive, and slovenly and open and funny and tough." Her performance in Miss Julie, a psychologically complex role, astonished her peers and teachers, who wondered how she instinctively understood such a demanding character. This period solidified her realization that "transformation, not beauty, was her calling card," setting her on a path to explore the depths of human experience through performance.

2. Forging Talent in Yale's Crucible

“When I was in drama school, I was scared. It was the first time I realized this isn’t something that is fun, that it had a dark side.”

Boot camp intensity. Meryl's time at the Yale School of Drama (1972-1975), often dubbed its "golden age," was a grueling "boot camp" that pushed her to her limits. Despite her evident talent, she faced intense pressure, constant evaluation, and a faculty that seemed intent on "breaking your spirit." Her first year was particularly challenging, marked by a demanding acting teacher, Tom Haas, who put her on probation, claiming she wasn't "pushing herself hard enough" or that her talent "doesn't seem to have future potential."

Revolt against orthodoxy. Meryl resisted the Method acting orthodoxy prevalent at the time, which encouraged actors to mine personal pain for their characters. She found such tactics "manipulative" and believed misery was "irrelevant to artistry," preferring imagination and observation. This intellectual revolt, combined with her innate ability to "Streep it up"—to "take the stage. Own your character. Make us look at you"—often put her at odds with her instructors, who struggled to categorize her unique approach.

Triumph through adversity. Despite the internal and external turmoil, Meryl's talent shone through. Her performance as the grotesque, wheelchair-bound Constance Garnett in The Idiots Karamazov was a comedic tour-de-force that impressed Dean Robert Brustein, who called her "a real find." This role, where she was "totally disguised," became her coming-out at Yale, proving her versatility and solidifying her place as the school's secret weapon, even as her classmates resented her ubiquity in Yale Rep productions.

3. New York Stage: A Rapid Ascent and Theatrical Mastery

“I’ve been shot through with luck since I came to the city.”

Papp's patronage. Fresh out of Yale, Meryl's career in New York City took off with astonishing speed, largely thanks to Joseph Papp, the legendary founder of the New York Shakespeare Festival. Papp, who saw her as a "peer" and treated her with "total conviction," offered her back-to-back roles in Broadway and Shakespeare in the Park productions. This rapid immersion allowed her to hone her "repertory thing," seamlessly transitioning between diverse characters and theatrical styles.

Chameleonic brilliance. Meryl's ability to transform physically and vocally became her hallmark on the New York stage.

• In Trelawny of the "Wells", she instinctively adopted a "sultry Texas drawl" at Papp's suggestion, transforming her character from a "dainty" ingénue to a "savvy theater manager."
• Her performance as Flora in Tennessee Williams's 27 Wagons Full of Cotton was a "bravura feat of physical comedy," where she embodied a "buoyant, babbling dingbat" with prosthetic breasts and a "voice like a bubble bath."
• Immediately following, she appeared as the "steely, fast" secretary Patricia in Arthur Miller's A Memory of Two Mondays, astonishing audiences with her complete metamorphosis.

Unprecedented versatility. This period saw her play a range of roles that defied typecasting: a nun, a French princess, a Southern floozy, a Manhattan secretary, a Civil War belle, a clumsy Russian maid, and a Salvation Army crusader. Her rapid-fire, improvisatory acting style, honed at the Yale Cabaret, allowed her to "carousel through identities," proving her belief that she could be "everything and everybody." This early success earned her a Tony Award nomination and established her as a formidable presence in the New York theater scene.

4. John Cazale: A Love Story Forged in Art and Tragedy

“He wasn’t like anybody I’d ever met. It was the specificity of him, and his sort of humanity and his curiosity about people, his compassion.”

An unlikely pair. Meryl's life took a profound turn when she met John Cazale, a revered character actor known for his roles as Fredo Corleone in The Godfather films. Their connection was immediate and intense, a bond forged in their shared passion for acting and their unique artistic sensibilities. Cazale, with his "spindly frame, honking nose, forehead as high as a boulder," was nothing like her previous "Prince Charming" boyfriends, yet their "offbeat" attraction was palpable to everyone around them.

Artistic synergy. Cazale's meticulous, "maddeningly slow" approach to character work deeply influenced Meryl, who admitted she was "more glib and ready to pick the first idea." He pushed her to explore "a lot of other possibilities," fostering a monomaniacal focus on the craft. Their on-stage chemistry in Measure for Measure, where he played Angelo to her Isabella, was "incredibly electric," a battle of wills that gave off palpable heat, even through her nun's habit.

Tragedy and devotion. Their love story was tragically cut short by Cazale's advanced lung cancer. Meryl became his devoted caregiver, putting her burgeoning career on hold to nurse him, a period she described as "more exhausting mentally physically emotionally than any work I’ve ever done." Despite the grim prognosis, she maintained a "tremendous hope," even convincing herself he would live. His death in March 1978, at age 42, left her "emotionally blitzed" and profoundly shaped her approach to life and art, leaving an indelible mark on her spirit.

5. Navigating Hollywood's Early Trepidations

“I’ve made a terrible mistake. No more movies.”

Initial reluctance. Despite her theatrical success, Meryl initially harbored significant reservations about a film career, particularly the "obsession with looks, with sex" she perceived in Hollywood. Her first film audition for King Kong was a humiliating experience, with producer Dino De Laurentiis calling her "che brutta" (so ugly) in Italian, which she understood. This reinforced her belief that she wasn't a "movie star" and that film was "junk."

Disappointing debuts. Her early film experiences, Julia and The Deadliest Season, did little to change her mind. In Julia, she found herself "ghastly" in a black wig, her part heavily cut, and observed Jane Fonda's "intimidating" focus on maintaining her stardom rather than solely on acting. The Deadliest Season, a TV movie, was a "low-grade uneasiness" despite her strong performance. These experiences led her to declare, "No more movies," solidifying her preference for the stage.

The Deer Hunter's complex legacy. Her decision to join The Deer Hunter was primarily driven by the opportunity to work with John Cazale, who was battling cancer. The film's production was fraught with challenges, including Cimino's demanding style, the brutal heat, and the constant anxiety over Cazale's health. Meryl found her character, Linda, to be "essentially a man's view of a woman"—passive and vulnerable, "far from my own instincts." Despite her misgivings and the film's later controversies, her performance earned her first Oscar nomination, marking an unexpected turn towards film stardom.

6. Rebuilding Amidst Grief: A New Chapter with Don Gummer

“I was worried at the time that it was a rebound thing.”

Immediate upheaval. John Cazale's death plunged Meryl into profound grief, compounded by the immediate practical challenge of losing their shared loft. Just three weeks after his passing, Cazale's former girlfriend, Patricia, asserted her claim to the Franklin Street apartment, leaving Meryl "distraught" and "homeless." This abrupt disruption forced Meryl to confront her loss while simultaneously navigating the harsh realities of her new circumstances.

A new foundation. In this vulnerable state, Meryl found unexpected solace and stability with Don Gummer, a sculptor and friend of her brother. Don offered her a place to stay in his loft while he traveled, providing a sanctuary where she could begin to heal. Their relationship developed through letters, as Meryl, surrounded by his art, became intrigued by his "deep-rooted feeling of trust" and his grounded nature, a stark contrast to the volatile world of acting.

Embracing life. Despite concerns from friends that her rapid romance was a "rebound thing," Meryl married Don Gummer just six months after Cazale's death. This seemingly impetuous decision was, in fact, a pragmatic and deeply personal choice to rebuild her life. She described herself as "greedy for work" and "greedy for life," channeling her grief into a renewed drive for stability and purpose. Their marriage, built on a foundation of mutual understanding and a shared appreciation for art, would prove to be one of Hollywood's most enduring.

7. Kramer vs. Kramer: A Battle for Character and Stardom

“I feel that the basis of feminism is something that has to do with liberating men and women from prescribed roles.”

A contentious collaboration. Meryl's role as Joanna Kramer marked her true cinematic breakthrough, but the filming was fraught with tension, particularly with costar Dustin Hoffman. Hoffman, deeply immersed in Method acting and undergoing his own divorce, used personal attacks and emotional manipulation—including taunting Meryl about John Cazale's death—to provoke her on set. Meryl, however, refused to "buckle," seeing it as a test of her professionalism and a challenge to her belief that "misery was irrelevant to artistry."

Redefining Joanna. Meryl fiercely advocated for Joanna's character, whom she initially found to be "an ogre, a princess, an an ass" in the script. She insisted on rewrites, arguing that Joanna's reasons for leaving and returning needed to be more nuanced and sympathetic, reflecting the real struggles of women "finding themselves." Her self-penned courtroom monologue, particularly the line "I'm his mother," transformed Joanna from a villain into a vulnerable, complex woman, adding depth and ambiguity to the film's portrayal of divorce.

Critical and commercial triumph. Kramer vs. Kramer became a cultural phenomenon, resonating with a generation grappling with changing family dynamics. It was the highest-grossing film of 1979 and swept the Academy Awards, winning Best Picture, Director, Actor, and Adapted Screenplay. Meryl's win for Best Supporting Actress solidified her status as a major film star, despite her initial reluctance towards Hollywood. Her acceptance speech, where she declared, "Here comes a feminist," underscored her belief that the film, and her performance, challenged prescribed gender roles.

8. The Paradox of Stardom: Craft vs. Celebrity

“It’s absurd that that episode in history can be reduced to people screaming out of car windows at an actress.”

Unwanted attention. As her star rose, Meryl found herself increasingly uncomfortable with the "excessive hype" and intrusive nature of celebrity. After Holocaust aired, she was recognized everywhere, even in casual settings, leading to moments of "surreal" discomfort. She found it "bizarre" that she was expected to share her private moments with the public, lamenting that her life was becoming 80% peripheral activities like interviews, rather than her craft.

Ambivalence towards fame. Meryl consistently prioritized the integrity of her work over the trappings of stardom. She expressed a desire to remain a "middling successful actor" who could focus solely on the pleasure of acting, rather than becoming a "personality." Her agent, Sam Cohn, shared this philosophy, carefully selecting projects based on "quality first," even if it meant forgoing blockbuster salaries.

The "overrated" critique. Despite her rapid ascent and critical acclaim, Meryl faced early accusations of being "technical" or "overrated," a critique famously articulated by Pauline Kael. This perception, coupled with her own self-effacing humor, became a running gag. Yet, her commitment to disappearing into characters, mastering accents, and exploring complex emotional landscapes demonstrated a profound dedication to her art that transcended superficial judgments, ultimately cementing her reputation as one of the greatest actresses of her generation.

9. Feminism and the Actress: Redefining Women On-Screen

“Women . . . are better at acting than men. Why? Because we have to be. If successfully convincing someone bigger than you are of something he doesn’t want to know is a survival skill, this is how women have survived through the millennia.”

Acting as survival. Meryl Streep's understanding of acting was deeply intertwined with her evolving feminist consciousness. She viewed women's historical need to "pretend" and adapt to male-dominated societies as a fundamental "survival skill," making them inherently better actors. This perspective informed her approach to characters, allowing her to imbue seemingly passive roles with hidden depths and complexities.

Challenging archetypes. From her early career, Meryl actively resisted being typecast as a "pretty blonde" or a simple ingénue. She sought roles that allowed her to explore the "wrinkles of consciousness" and challenge conventional portrayals of women.

• She transformed the "slatternly" Flora in 27 Wagons Full of Cotton into a "goofy kind of humanity."
• She reinterpreted Kate in The Taming of the Shrew not as a victim of subjugation but as a woman finding an "alliance" and "selflessness" in love, a counterintuitive feminist principle.
• Most notably, she fought to portray Joanna Kramer not as a "deluded narcissist" but as a vulnerable woman grappling with legitimate longings for self-actualization.

A voice for change. As her career progressed, Meryl became more outspoken about her feminist beliefs, advocating for the Equal Rights Amendment and critiquing Hollywood's gender biases. She noted the irony that men often preferred her "pliant checkout girl" character, Linda from The Deer Hunter, over more complex, powerful women like Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada. Her career became a testament to her conviction that acting, like feminism, required "radical acts of imagination" to liberate both men and women from "prescribed roles."

Last updated: August 16, 2025