Kathy Bates is a luminary in the world of acting, celebrated for her remarkable versatility, powerful performances, and enduring presence in film, television, and theater. With a career spanning over four decades, Bates has continually captivated audiences with her ability to inhabit diverse roles, making her one of the most respected and beloved actresses of her generation. Born on June 28, 1948, in Memphis, Tennessee, Bates discovered her passion for acting at a young age and pursued it fervently, eventually studying theater at Southern Methodist University.
Bates’ breakthrough came in 1990 with her unforgettable portrayal of Annie Wilkes in the psychological thriller “Misery,” a role that earned her an Academy Award for Best Actress. This performance showcased her extraordinary talent for bringing complex and intense characters to life, setting the stage for a prolific career. She has since delivered a series of critically acclaimed performances in films such as “Fried Green Tomatoes,” “Dolores Claiborne,” and “Titanic,” demonstrating her range from dramatic depth to compelling vulnerability.
In addition to her success on the Big Screen, Bates has made significant contributions to television. She has earned multiple Emmy Awards for her work in series like “American Horror Story” and “Six Feet Under,” where her nuanced performances have further cemented her status as a formidable and likable talent. Her foray into directing and producing has also garnered praise, reflecting her multifaceted artistry and dedication to the craft.
Beyond her professional achievements, Bates’ personal journey is marked by resilience and advocacy. She has openly shared her battles with health issues, including a bout with ovarian cancer and a double mastectomy due to breast cancer, inspiring many with her courage and determination. As a passionate advocate for cancer awareness and research, Bates has used her platform to raise significant awareness and support for those affected by the disease.
Kathy Bates’ long lasting career and personal strength have left an indelible mark on the entertainment industry and beyond. Her ability to evoke empathy and connect with audiences through her performances, coupled with her unwavering spirit, makes her a true icon whose legacy will continue to inspire for generations to come. But who is the real person behind the many diverse characters that audiences have come to love on screen and stage? The genuine essence that Bates truly represents is perhaps more captivating and endearing than any of the fictional personas that we have seen to date.
Being born in the South in 1948, would you say your childhood played a significant role in shaping who you are today?
Growing up was seminal for me. I came along very late in my parents’ lives—my father was born in 1900, and my mother was born in 1907. We lived in Memphis, and I lived a very sheltered life. Because my parents were older, that generational difference was difficult. I had two older sisters — Mary and Patricia — they are 9 and 15 years older than I am. I was a mistake. My mother said she kicked like a mule when she found out she was pregnant with me, she couldn’t get her new fur coat closed over her stomach. (Laughs) My eldest sister, Patricia, didn’t want to walk me in the baby carriage because she was afraid people would think that she had a child out of wedlock. My mother was embarrassed that she was 41 when she had me, because it meant that she was still having sex at that age. I grew up in a very old-fashioned family.
Was the difference in age between you and your sisters something that impacted your experiences growing up?
I didn’t notice that difference so much until I was graduating from high school. I heard kids in the hall talking about applying to Harvard and Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I really hadn’t thought about college because my father had always said to us girls, “I’ll give you two years in college, and we’ll see how you do.” It was still the time, in his mind, that women taught school, were secretaries, or got married. I decided to go to school; my mother told me to come back with an “MRS” degree. I didn’t know what that meant, but I figured out that she meant “Mrs.”
You attended Southern Methodist University. What influenced your decision to go there?
There was a meeting in the library hosted by a man from Southern Methodist University. I said, “Well, that sounds convenient.” I went to the library, I sat, I don’t recall what he said, but I thought, “Yeah, that sounds good.” I went back to my father, I thought that he was going to have a heart attack. The university was expensive. It was in Dallas, Texas. Very wealthy girls went there—very wealthy children from oil families. Bless his heart, my dad worked during his retirement years to put me through college. He and my mother both gave up their retirement to raise me.
Over the years I have struggled with that. I know they emotionally struggled with it, too. As I have gotten older, I have grown to understand it. It first hit me when I was in my forties and a friend of mine from Texas appeared on my doorstep with a Labrador puppy—who had canine parvovirus. He had smuggled him on to the plane. He thought he was doing something wonderful for me because my Yorkie had passed away. I had to go out of town for work and when I came back she was gigantic. I thought, “I can’t take care of this dog!” In some small way I realized in that moment… I understood what my mother must have been feeling: “I don’t want to be saddled with this, it’s not something I want.” She did things out of duty, out of obligation.
It seems like your mom had a profound influence on you.
I often think about how smart she was. It’s ironic, I’m playing my second lawyer, and she could have been a lawyer. She gave me my love of books—and her sister Lee… Lee worked in a bookstore, and she would send us publisher’s copies of children’s books. She wrapped them all individually so we would have many things to unwrap on Christmas Day. We would gather our books up, run to our bedrooms, and read, read, read.
My mother was really smart—she educated herself. She taught us manners. When I think about Molly Brown and Titanic, I remember my mother teaching me to start on the outside and work our way in [at a table setting]. She taught us that if you can buy only one thing, make it the best you can buy. She had three books by her bed—The Bible, Shakespeare, and Emily Post. She taught herself how to write thank you notes. When she passed away, we were with her, and I remember thinking, “Come into me.” I wanted her to experience my life; she had worked so hard. I never thanked her personally when I won the Oscar, and I always regret that. I thanked my family in general, but I didn’t thank her. My father was no longer alive.
You obviously have a great deal of respect for her. In the roles that you play, your characters are generally quite wise, warm, and maternal, but you have not started your own family. Was that intentional?
As my father used to say: “Travel light.” Our teenage years were very difficult years. I was sick for a long time with a kidney infection, I gained a lot of weight. I wanted to be a dancer and I had to give that up. I had great conflict with my parents during those years. The dining table was a battle ground and I wanted to run away from that. But I had to stay because they would help me with where I wanted to go. It was survival and I was a teenager. I remember thinking, no matter what happens in that house, I must get help to go where I want to go. I remember the day I left for college, and my mother came out and said, “Take me with you.”
I never looked back.
In some ways, my family life and career life took different paths. My career was an escape. I remember that my brotherin-law came to visit me in New York and said, “Come home. You don’t have to prove anything to anybody.” But I knew I had to stay; this is what I had to do.
When I got to go to Southern Methodist University, it was incredible. It was orientation day; the dean of the school was giving us a passionate speech—how we will begin to do what we loved the most. Suddenly I thought, “I love the theater and acting the most.” I feel most at home there. It was who I was. I was very conservative, but in the theater department, I was with people with beards, long, unkempt hair… hippies… and I was like, “What is this?” It was like Alice in Wonderland. I changed my major two or three times. My father was exasperated because he was paying all of this money and I wasn’t studying biology, chemistry, and the sciences. I didn’t relate to them at all. That was around 1967 or 1968.
When you made the move to New York City, did you go by yourself, or did you know others there?
The timing was incredible. I went there just as the theater department was shifting, it was changing from an elective to a proper conservatory. It was fortuitous. We studied Chekov, Shakespeare, Greek theater, period styles... I was able to meet friends that I’ve stayed in touch with. Several had an apartment in NYC that they were sharing with other classmates at 108th and Riverside Drive. I was so lucky to have friends who showed me the ropes.
How did you enter into the world of film?
Gale Forsythe — who was a milliner — with whom I went to school, knew John Guare — a brilliant playwright. He was working with Miloš Forman on Miloš first American film, Taking Off. They were strapped for cash, so, as a favor to John, Gail went down — she was a fabulous cook — and prepared dinner for them. My nickname in those days was Bobo. I played the guitar and sang; I had written a song about the loss of innocence. My mother gave me a guitar when I was twelve, and I taught myself how to play and sing. The film was about girls who ran away from home. He needed people and asked Gail if she knew any girls who do that, and she said, “Yes, Bobo does.” I went down, sang my song for them, and they featured my song in the film. Carly Simon had a song in it, too. It was an exciting time.
The entertainment industry is all about timing and who you meet. When you were doing Vanities (off-Broadway play), Warren Beatty was in the audience, and was so taken by your performance that he introduced you to his buddy Dustin Hoffman?
That’s right. He introduced me to Dustin, and I was lucky enough to audition for him. He was casting for a film called Straight Time (1978). I was out in Los Angeles living with my sister Mary who had moved out there a while before, and I got the part.
We were all at [Hoffman’s] house; there was a scene where we were supposed to talk through a screen door. I don’t know where he got the screen door, but he was holding this screen door in between us and we did the scene together, and he really liked some of the things that I did, and he cast me in the role right then and there. And I remember saying to him, “Can I call my mother?” I mean, you know, “Is this really happening?” I learned a lot from Dustin. I remember doing a table scene in that movie… everything was fine until the camera turned on me. I said, “I feel like an apartment building with all of the doors and windows closed.” He said, “Can you hear Owen setting up the shot?” Owen Roizman was one of the finest cinematographers ever. I said, “No.” He said, “Listen and see if you can hear him.” The minute I started to focus on Owen, I relaxed. He said, “That’s it.”
Along the way I’ve had people teach me and help me. I auditioned for Three’s Company. I knew the sitcom world wasn’t my forte. I hadn’t developed my craft enough. If we go back to SMU, the engine that drove my passion was Dr. Burnet Hobgood, head of the department. He sat the first-year students down and said, “Look, it’s gonna take you 15 years to do this. You have to learn your craft, intern, build up your clientele and your practice.”
I remember 15 years ago, being in New York, taking over for an actress in an Athol Fugard play, with only a week to learn the role, breaking down the script, doing an accent, and thinking, “I’m a working actor, I can do this.” Hobgood was right.
How did the role in Misery come to happen for you?
I was still very much involved in theater when I moved out to L.A. and I did a production of ‘Aunt Dan and Lemon,’ but Rob Reiner was dating Elizabeth McGovern, who was in the play, and he would come almost every night and bring her roses and he saw me playing this fanatic, and I think he had seen me in plays in New York, too. So, when it came time to cast ‘Misery,’ I think they were interested in Bette Midler and certain names, you know, to play this character. And then they decided maybe it was better to go with somebody who was really unknown. So I went in, and it was similar to being cast in ‘Straight Time,’ in that, you know, I came in to Rob’s office and sat down, read a scene or two with him, and then he cast me, and I said, “Can I call my mother?’’
Misery (1990) changed your life in many ways. James Caan once told me that you very much enjoyed rehearsing, preparation that was quite different from his style. You and [Reiner] would run lines a lot together.
Yeah, Jimmy was a free spirit, a little crazy in those days. I had a crush on Todd, the camera operator. I remember the first day we started working together, I was put off, I felt no connection with Jimmy at all. Rob said, “You’re having a relationship with someone . . . you miss each other, just passing each other. Annie has an idea of who he is, not the real person.” That helped a lot.
I had just come off of Night, Mother, and I was so primed. Yet, I felt so stiff. However, it seemed to work for the character. When I have met other actors and people — on the upper strata of what I do — I am paralyzed. I remember being at the last Oscars, I met Charlize Theron and could barely breathe. I was trying to tell her that she was wonderful in the film Bombshell. She disappeared into that role. I tried to tell her that, but it came out above a whisper; I was a fangirl. It goes back to what I learned in a script interpretation class with Jose Quintero — a brilliant theater director. He said, “The goal of the actor is for the line of dialogue to disappear, and a human being take its place.” That’s what she [Charlize Theron] did. That is the goal. Whenever actors, especially in film, have accomplished this, I am in awe.
As you went along in Misery, did the scenes with you and Jimmy develop more of that?
There was always a separation. When he passed away, I was leaving the memorial service, and I had just seen him at a couple of press things for anniversaries of Misery. His assistant was there at the exit as I was leaving, and he said, “Jimmy wanted to tell you that he always regretted that you guys didn’t get to know each other.” It meant a great deal to me because he was Sonny Corleone in The Godfather! He was in all of these great roles. There is a scene in Misery where Annie stands there, so depressed, saying, “I’m not the movie star type.” I saw that difference between Jimmy and me. I’m not the movie star type; I’ll never be the movie star type.
But you both had a lot of chemistry together on the screen.
It was really hard to find a guy who wanted to be in that vulnerable position, but Rob tried everybody. He tried Redford, he tried, you know… Beatty at one time was gonna do it. Finally, Jimmy said, “Yeah.” It was the worst thing you could ask Jimmy Caan to do because he hates not moving. He knows every sport in the world, and he hated being in bed.
You may not consider yourself a movie star “type”, but you are undeniably a household name. For example, I was in Oklahoma City, and had dinner with the general hotel manager of the hotel where I was staying at. I told her that I was going to be spending some time with you and she was so excited. She noted that in your recent projects, your feminine beauty really came out in those roles.
I really appreciate that. I have lost 100 pounds. It’s taken me a long time to do it, but I have done it slowly, and mindfully. I have never gotten surgery and never want to. What kickstarted the weight loss was my diagnosis of diabetes. My father and grandmother died from it, and my sister is dealing with it now. I was terrified. I found a method of paying attention when I eat: breathing. But I really appreciate her saying that. I was watching episodes of Matlock, and I like the way I look now. I had lost about 75 or 80 lbs. when I shot the pilot. I feel younger and happier.
When you saw the completed version of Misery and Annie breaks Paul Sheldon’s ankle, did you cringe like the rest of us?
No, because I knew how long it took me to get it right. There was no CGI back then. No one knew what the heck CGI was, they used monofilament with fake legs. It took forever to get it right; it was like golf. It was tiring and wearing. My performance horrified me, I thought it was not good acting at all.
I felt like I went out on a limb. It was my first role in a film, I had no idea how to make one or how it was going to come together. I was so naïve. I am still naïve. Rob said that I had the naivety that worked for her [Annie Wilkes]. I left there thinking, ‘I screwed it up.’ I’ve met other actors since then who’ve been nominated for Academy awards, and after seeing their performance for the first time feel like they’ve blown it.
Were you shocked when you were nominated for an Academy Award after the film?
I heard about the nomination while I was shooting the film The Road to Mecca by the great playwright and activist Athol Fugard in South Africa. I was walking across the stage, we were still shooting, and there was a wonderful costumer named Tony Scarano. He worked with George C. Scott for years. Tony said, “Get your Oscar dress ready.” I thought, “Wow!” I didn’t think much about it. But I got home the day before the Oscars, and my husband said, “I don’t think you’re going to win, it’s a very tough field.” [But] I said to him, “I’m going to win.” I had won the Golden Globe award, and I said, “I think I’m going to win.” Since then, I’ve been nominated three more times and you always think you’re going to win, but then you don’t. (Laughs) I forgot to thank my husband. I never manage to thank the people I should’ve thanked. I should’ve thanked Ryan Murphy when I won my Emmy for Delphine LaLaurie in Coven [American Horror Story] … Huge mistake, I’m terrible at it.
Did winning the award for your portrayal of Annie Wilkes in Misery lead to people recognizing you more often in public?
Yes, but mainly because of the ankle thing more than anything else. That will be my moniker of my career, there is no way to escape it. It was rare to win for horror. The next year, I had the honor of handing Anthony Hopkins his award for Hannibal Lecter.
Were you starstruck at your first Academy Awards show?
No, I wasn’t, oddly enough. I worked with Dustin, and I saw him there, he gave me a big hug, and said, “I voted for you.” Jodie Foster was sitting in front. We had just worked together on a Woody Allen production, Shadows and Fog. After a quick trip to the restroom, I had to wait to go back to my seat and I stood at the top of the ramp with Mrs. Costner, Kevin [Costner’s] mother. That’s when they were showing Dances With Wolves and we just stood there together. Jessica Tandy was there and then Dianne Wiest. We had all come from theater and we’d all won at different times, and I kid you not, at the end of the ceremony, we all stood, the three of us stood and held hands and jumped up and down in our evening gowns laughing and screaming like little girls at a birthday party. We were joyous that we were there. We were all working so hard, in the theater, and we’d made it big in Hollywood. The next day I had my first read through with Jessica for Fried Green Tomatoes.
This made me smile: your life now runs parallel to your character in Fried Green Tomatoes (1991).
Yeah, that’s insightful. Evelyn Couch. I loved her name: “Couch.” Then Jessica came along. I loved her.
You grew up in Memphis, Tennessee, and the movie, culturally, takes place in the South. Was that something that connected with you?
Yes, I felt my mother’s roots. She grew up in McCormick, a small town in South Carolina. We ate fried green tomatoes at home. We stayed at this bed and breakfast; the food was incredible. The pace; the slowness, humidity, the water. I remember being in Memphis, and it was that artesian well that my body remembered. The trees, the feel, the people… all of the peace. I felt very much at home. I didn’t feel I had to use that to prepare, I felt like I already knew who she [Evelyn] was.
Fried Green Tomatoes was a different movie for you as an actor. This film had two story lines; when you saw the project, all put together in the end, how did you feel about it?
I loved it. I was filled with joy. Mary Stuart and Mary Louise Parker, and — God rest her — Cicely Tyson. Jessica and I were furious when the film came out, they used us on the poster as the primary people, but we said, “This story is about them, not us!” I laughed, I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a response to a screening that I was in. It was magnificent. I was so proud. If I ever find it on television, I think, “Oh, I’ll just watch a bit.” (Laughs) “A lady always knows when it’s time to leave.” Mary Stuart was brilliant. I am so proud of that film.
I grew up reading Judy Blume books, so I was very excited to hear that they were bringing Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, to the Big Screen, and that you were going to be starring in it. Were you aware of the book or were you introduced to it because of the film?
I was introduced because of the film. My niece, who is many years younger than I am, grew up with them. She adored Judy Blume and was thrilled that I was gonna do it. When those books came out [it] was the Vietnam War, Watergate… I was starting out my career in New York, so that’s where my focus was. I wasn’t reading young adult books at that time, so I didn’t know her or her work. But she is such a lovely woman.
I loved working on that film. I have to mention Ann Roth, she was in Barbie. I got to work with her again, but I’ve worked with her in many films. I had the most wonderful experience being in her studio: you walk in and there’s this huge 3-way mirror: bras over here, shoes over there, you know, just a weird array of costumes. But they had wigs, which was great. You start to try things on. I said, “I don’t think these are gonna work.” She said, “Just leave them on!” Within a couple of days, there’s your character; you’ve disappeared, you’re no longer in front of the mirror, it’s the character. It’s a phenomenal thing that happens with her. She really helped me find my characters. When you’re a little kid, you say, “Let’s play dress up!” You find the walk in the shoes, and it’s a magnificent experience—we had the best time.
You’ve been very passionate about cancer research. In 2003, you received a diagnosis for ovarian cancer.
Yes, the ovarian was very difficult
I remember Lynn [Redgrave] had breast cancer at the time. I was supposed to do a movie, and it was really cutting it close. I wasn’t fully recovered, but I needed the payday. I remember Lynn had like stage 5 breast cancer, so she was on the downward slope, and I said, “I don’t know whether to do this.” She said, “You have to do this.” I asked, “Why?” She said, “Because your character doesn’t have cancer.” For those 10-12 hours a day I didn’t have cancer, but it was a difficult recovery. I was on the Board of Governors at the Academy, and I had to call them and say, “Look, I can’t, I had nine rounds of chemo.” It was just so difficult. I was originally going to have six rounds and my doctor — who is fantastic — said, “You’re doing so well, I really want you to have another three rounds.” I thought, ‘Oh dear God.’ I would go and get the chemo, and I would pray that they had this fabulous Russian nurse there—he was so handsome. I thought, ‘At least that’s going to make things better if he’s there.’
And then in 2012, another diagnosis but this time for breast cancer.
I’d been directing Six Feet Under, and cancer changed everything. I really fell off the horse. I was coming back from Paris the summer of 2012 and I was going to give a speech about being cancer free at Memorial Sloan Kettering. I hadn’t been feeling well in France—I was just tired all the time. I had a lot of stomach issues, and I thought, ‘It’s the ovarian coming back!’ I got an MRI or CT scan, and I got home, and the phone was ringing, and it was my doctor, and he said, “You have breast cancer.” I said, “Make it a double.” I knew it ran in my family and in my maternal line like a river. I said, “Just take them both.” I was dating a man at the time who had terrible lymphedema in his arm—that’s the only reason I knew anything about it, although my mother had it when she had breast cancer. I didn’t know what it was, I just knew that her arms swelled, and my arms started to swell terribly. I could only wear men’s shirts for a long time, plus, I was very heavy which didn’t help.
That is a lot of very difficult stuff in a short period of time.
Harry’s Law had just been canceled and I really thought that my career was over; I was full of rage. I had these terrible arms, and I had had this breakup with this man. I thought, “If I have to look down and see his arm every day, I’ll go mad.” I went to the best hospital in the world, and they had no idea who to send me to. They helped me with lymphedema and one of the surgeons went online and found Dr. Emily Iker — she is a specialist. She’s a doctor who deals with lymphedema and lymphatic diseases. Through her I met Bill Repicci, who is the CEO of Lymphatic Education and Research Network.
It’s estimated that 10 million people suffer from lymphatic disease — and that’s more than ALS, muscular dystrophy, Parkinson’s, AIDS, and MS combined. In four years of medical school, doctors — I confirmed this with doctors at Harvard — in four years of medical school, doctors spend 15 to 30 minutes on the entire lymphatic system. It’s not on any state licensing exams. People who are suffering this progressive disease go in for help and the doctors have no idea what it is and misdiagnose it. I just met a woman — she’s now in stage 3, she has it in her legs — I was able to get her to Emily. Hopefully she’ll find some relief
I told Repicci, “I don’t know anything about being a national spokesperson.” But through the last 10 years, I’ve been able to find a purpose to my life that I never ever dreamed of. That’s what my hope is, and I love to do it. I enjoy making speeches at all of these different research conferences, and to lobby in Washington, to help people. I’ve learned a great deal about it, and I feel a tremendous sense of satisfaction. At least my name did some good in the real world.
You’re in your mid 70s now and you’ve had over 130 amazing roles on stage, film and TV. You’ve been a director, you’re helping to fight cancer, and improve lives when people are sick. How do you want to be remembered, Kathy?
As an artist, I tried. Yes, I had talent, but I worked really hard to develop that talent over the years. It didn’t come easy to me. I always wanted to be the very best that I could be. I tried the best that I could to have a career that taught empathy; to empathize with characters that might not be attractive. I took what God gave me and tried to be the very best I could be at what I love to do, and I tried to be honest.
I’d be grateful just to be remembered.
