Read an Excerpt: 'Cloris'

April 1, 2009 — -- Cloris Leachman captured the hearts of TV viewers during her turn as Phyllis on the "Mary Tyler Moore Show," a role that earned her two Emmys.

Since then, Leachman has not slowed down one bit. She has appeared in more than 50 films and more than 130 television shows.

Most recently, she played the most charming character of them all, herself, on "Dancing With the Stars."

Now, for the first timer, Leachman looks back on her wild life in a candid new book.

I said at the beginning that I wasn't going to write my book in chapters. That also meant I wouldn't always set things down in a chronological line—as evidenced by what I've written so far.

Actors have to submerge themselves in their roles, lose their own identity, and actually become the character they're playing. They must think, eat, drink, and go to the bathroom as the character does. That can bring confusion to life.

For instance, in the 1971 film The Last Picture Show, which is based on a novel of the same name by Larry McMurtry, I played Ruth Popper, a spare, lean woman who lives an emotionally barren life in Texas. She is married to the high school football coach who is always away and, it seems, probably gay. That is Ruth Popper's life on the outside. Inside of her is a full-fledged female who wistfully retains the hope that romance might yet come her way. There were no frills either in the production or in my performance. The film was shot in black and white, and I wore no make-up.

Being Ruth Popper as her dormant emotions are awakened by a boy in his late teens was a deeply human experience. It radiated through my life. In preparing for the filming and during it, I not only came to look, walk, and talk like that sensually undernourished woman, but to become her. The rewards, both personal and professional, were extravagant. I won the Oscar for that performance.

I didn't read or audition for the role. The producers called my agent and said they wanted me to play the part. Their "firm offer," as it's called in the business, included where and when I'd be working and what the compensation would be. My agent brought the offer and the script to me. I read the script and told him I'd like to do the part.

Peter Bogdanovich was the director, and the preproduction process began with a reading of the script at his house. On that first occasion, Bogdanovich said something surprising: he thought Ellen Burstyn and Eileen Brennan and I were interchangeable, we could all play each other's parts. He asked Ellen first which part she would like to play. He said he thought it should be Ruth Popper. Ellen said no. She didn't want that role, so it came back to me. In truth, I would have been happy with any of the three roles, though I did like the part of Ruth Popper best.

Soon the production was under way. As we moved through the weeks Ellen and I became very close. Jeff Bridges, who played the part of Duane, proved to be not only a terrific actor but a wonderful man. All us ladies in the cast loved him and were attracted to him. It was my impression that Timothy Bottoms, who played my teenage lover, didn't really want to be in the picture. He had just done the film Johnny Got His Gun, and that was the kind of role he wanted, not this one. He wasn't part of us; he would come in and do a scene and then be gone. Rumors were, I don't know if they were true, that he was smoking a lot of pot.

Polly Platt, Peter's then-wife, contributed greatly to the success of the picture. As the production designer, she was meticulous in the selection of wardrobe elements. From what she presented, I chose my coat, my hat, my bra, and my little white panties, and I feel strongly that these things were mine, Ruth Popper's. Polly's wardrobe helped me to know exactly who I was.

During the filming, Ellen, Eileen, and I became involved with the people we met in the restaurant in town called the Golden Rooster. We'd eat there almost every night and hear their real life stories. One day the owner of the restaurant began ranting that her lover had left her. She was married, and we thought she was upset because her husband had gone away, but that wasn't the case at all. It was her lover whom she was publicly moaning for. That sort of story was going on all around us in that little town. It was fascinating because we were actually portraying those people. Larry McMurtry had written his novel, The Last Picture Show, about the very people we were talking to.

Peter Bogdanovich was a different kind of director. I wasn't used to the way he directed. He'd come over and say some of my lines quietly in my ear. Good directors don't give actors line readings, but I realized as we went along Peter didn't mean to be giving me line readings. He wanted to suggest the quality of the scene. Bogdanovich was good. He knew what he was doing, and he knew what he wanted.

When we shot my major scene, the long one that, in my opinion, earned me the Oscar, Peter printed the first take. I wanted to shoot it again; I thought I could do at least the first part better. Peter said, "No, you're going to get the Academy Award for that scene." I thought, Yeah, sure. I didn't know I'd done it that well. Acting is so subjective. Sometimes you think you were splendid, and you get lukewarm reactions; sometimes you're almost rueful at what you did, and people tell you how brilliant you were. Anyway, I didn't think I'd done that scene as well as I could have.

I replayed the scene while I was in bed this morning, and I believe I did it better. Particularly, I did the early part better, where I say to Timothy, who's just arrived at my house, "I wouldn't have been in my bathrobe. I would have been dressed hours ago."

The night I won the Academy Award was one extended thrill. I couldn't have imagined that after accepting it, I wouldn't work for a full year. I don't know why that happened, whether it was because, as some have suggested, producers thought I'd be too expensive, or because I didn't have a manager at the time, or whether it was the "Oscar curse." A story comes to mind about the "Oscar curse." Many years ago, after winning the Best Actress Oscar for her performance as O-Lan in The Good Earth, after enjoying the applause and the standing ovation, Luise Rainer didn't work again for months. It was okay with me that I wasn't working. I would've been happy either way.

After The Last Picture Show, complexity came into my life. On the heels of that role I joined The Mary Tyler Moore Show to play Phyllis, a woman as far from Ruth Popper as you could meet in a round-the-world journey. For three years, I lived as Phyllis, the high-handed zany who saw the world as responsible for quickly meeting her needs and wishes. I'll come back to Phyllis in a minute. First, I want to give an illustration of how characters you play live inside you and appear when you think you're just out in the world, being you.

My next acting challenge was to be Frau Blucher in Mel Brooks's 1974 film Young Frankenstein. When Mel sent me the script, I don't think I read it all the way through. I don't like to read scripts, because it takes too much hard work. I'm left-handed, so I have a tendency to read things backward. From what I did read, it was obvious this was high comedy, even farce. I wanted to be funny, but I also wanted to have some reality, to be someone you wouldn't forget. I didn't know what I was going to do with the role till I got on the stage the first day.