O: Was there a hierarchy among child actors when you started out?
WW: Definitely. There’s this whole scene, this sort of JonBenet-esque scene that surrounds child actors, and I was never really a part of that. Apparently there used to be this hangout called Alfie’s Soda Shop, or something like that, where young movie stars were encouraged to go. I think teen magazines would hold contests where you could go there and hang out with the cast of Silver Spoons. I never was into that. It just felt weird to me, and I didn’t feel like I fit in. I spent a lot of my childhood not fitting in, in a lot of different ways.
O: Do you find that other former child stars have a sense of humor about themselves and their experiences?
WW: Usually. I think you have to. Either you have a sense of humor about it, or you’re in rehab. There’s not a lot of gray area. Some kids did a little acting when they were young, and then they went to college. For other kids, they worked like crazy when they were kids, and then they struggled and struggled, and now they’re all turning 30 and just starting to try to find something else to do with their life. The only real strong commonality is that we all went to the same places. We all knew the same people. If you see an actor in his 30s who did commercials during the 1980s, you can talk about this kid named Scooter Stevens. He’s in Better Off Dead. He plays the little brother who buys the rocket device. Well, Scooter’s mom—I don’t know how old she was, but she looked like she was in her 40s—she would go to these auditions in these incredibly low-cut, garish evening gowns. They were extremely loud, sparkly things, and she always wore these bouffant wigs. If you asked any kid from Los Angeles who went on commercial auditions for any period of time from 1979 to 1982, they’ll probably remember Scooter’s mom. They’ll probably remember Bobby and Billy Jacoby’s mom, who screamed obscenities at all the auditions. I remember them getting into an elevator with me when I was 9 or 10, and I remember her yelling at Bobby, “I can’t believe I have you for a son!” because he hadn’t done well at an audition. Those were all common experiences that we could all talk about and laugh about now.
O: How did you end up on Star Trek: The Next Generation?
WW: After Stand By Me, we were all sort of a big deal for a short period of time. They were casting for a new Star Trek, and there’s a writer named David Gerrold, who’s a well-known science-fiction writer who had written a number of episodes of the original Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry tapped him to help develop Star Trek: The Next Generation. Originally, Wesley Crusher was supposed to be Leslie Crusher, a girl. Let me tell you something: I certainly never got teased about that. So Gerrold sent a memo to Gene. I have a copy of it somewhere, because he saw me at a convention a while ago and said, “I think you might like to have this.” It says, “I think we might want to consider turning Leslie Crusher into a boy, and I think you should look at this young actor Wil Wheaton, from Stand By Me. He’s a great actor, and he’d be a great addition to your cast.” And Gene said, “Yeah!” There was another guy, Bob Justman, who was cheerleading for me, so I went in for an audition. It’s kind of intimidating meeting Gene Roddenberry—it was like meeting Arthur C. Clarke or somebody—but he was a great guy, and I ended up getting the job.
O: Did it enter your mind that the role might determine the course of your career?
WW: No, it never did, not even when I was working on the show. The whole time, I just figured, “This is great, I’m loving this, and when it’s over I’ll go do something else, and I’m going to be a successful actor for my whole life.” It never occurred to me that those things would change. It never occurred to me that there was even a chance of that happening.
O: When did you realize that a lot of people were going to see you as Wesley Crusher?
WW: This interesting thing happened when I was 15 or 16. A bunch of us were invited to go on a Star Trek cruise. Everybody kind of snorts derisively when they hear about them, but I think Star Trek cruises are cool. I go on this thing, and all these original-series cast members start coming up. They’re all sort of walking toward the boat, and it was the first time I’d really seen all of them. I just know of them as these legendary figures, these kind of mythological figures who have been spoken about in hushed tones. I’d been on The Next Generation for about a year at this point, and it had been made very clear to me that Star Trek is a big deal. The enormity of the Star Trek universe was beginning to settle in for me, so I was beginning to understand exactly what it means to be part of it. I’d been to a couple of Star Trek conventions before that, so I knew what that experience was like, as well. We’re all kind of waiting to get on the boat. I’m excited, it’s about 9 in the morning, and here comes Scotty, drunk as shit, staggering across the dock. He looks terrible. Now, I know Jimmy Doohan, and I adore him. I think he’s a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful man. His son and my brother are very good friends. I’m not saying this to be derisive to him at all. But at the time, I see this guy who’s Scotty, and he doesn’t look good. Then comes Uhura: Nichelle Nichols comes over the dock the same way, just not looking good. I begin to think, “What?” And here comes Chekov: Once again, I know Walter Koenig, I adore Walter, and his kids are both very good friends of mine. But Walter comes across, and he looks pissed. He looks furious. Then comes Grace Lee Whitney, who was Yeoman Rand on the original Star Trek, and she’s holding her head up high, like she’s trying not to make eye contact with anybody. I’m 15, and I say to myself, “Oh my fucking God, it’s the ghost of Christmas yet to come.” I turn to whoever I’m with and say, “I have to get the hell off of Star Trek.” They say, “Why? Star Trek’s great.” And I say, “I don’t want to be 30 years old, walking to the Star Trek convention hoping that somebody will remember me for what I did as a teenager.” When I was 15, that made a lot of sense to me. I didn’t really talk about it with anyone. I didn’t sit down and say, “Let’s do some pros and cons here.” I just felt like, “Man, I can’t do this.” The agents I had at the time didn’t want me on Star Trek either. They weren’t really making any money from it, and it had gotten in the way of me doing some big movies.
O: Like what?
WW: A movie called Valmont. I was Milos Forman’s pick to go to France and be in the movie. Star Trek wouldn’t let me be gone for a week. Valmont was shot mostly over hiatus, but they told me the Trek episode we started with was all about Wesley Crusher. They couldn’t work around it, so I had to pass on the movie. Well, a couple of days before we’re supposed to begin, they change the schedule, shot the second episode first, and wrote me out of it. So I could have done the movie. I was very upset about that, and my agents really took advantage of it. I got what I call Iago-style advice from a lot of people. They were like, “You need to get off of Star Trek. Star Trek is bad.” And I was like, [adopts bratty adolescent voice] “Yeah, it’s terrible, I hate it. Star Trek sucks!” They took advantage of my youthful arrogance and my trust in them. That process had begun when I was standing on that dock looking at the original cast. Nobody ever said to me, “You can do Star Trek. You can ride Star Trek out for a long time. You can build up a nest egg and be part of this franchise, part of this merchandising blitz, all that shit. And then you can still do other stuff.” It never occurred to me that you could be part of a big TV or film franchise and still do other stuff, but I don’t know how many 15- or 16-year-olds think of that anyway. So I made a lot of effort, starting at that time, to get out of the show and do other things. Of course, as soon as I was free from it, I was 18 or 19, and I looked around and said, “Oh my God, I’m not doing anything right now! I can shave my head. I can pierce my face. I can get fat. I can do whatever I want.” Because my entire life, I had been living the life of an actor, where you have to look a certain way, and you have to maintain a certain appearance. Goddammit, man, once I was free from that, I went nuts. I turned down film roles and didn’t show up for auditions. I behaved very unprofessionally. What it all came down to was, you talked earlier about kids wanting to have a childhood… Well, I went and had one then.
O: Did you get something out of your system?
WW: Absolutely. At the time, I didn’t like myself. When I was 18 or 19, I was really arrogant. I was kind of brash and cocksure, and I didn’t listen to anyone. I was kind of a dick. If I had not left Star Trek and the entertainment industry, I probably would have continued down that road to being a huge dick. I would have alienated people who cared, and the only people who would have stuck around would have been those horrible people who follow around movie stars—who stick around until your star starts to fade, and then move on to the next one. The Kato Kaelins.
O: What did you do after that?
WW: I went to live in Kansas for a while. I figured that was about as far from Hollywood as I could possibly get, both geographically and culturally. Being out there, I got a chance to be completely removed from everything I’d been around my entire life. I could look at myself and see who I was and compare that to who I wanted to be. I worked for a computer company and helped develop a product called the Video Toaster 4000. It was sort of the product that began the desktop video-editing thing. It was really fun for me. I’ve always loved technology and computers, and I’ve always loved sitting down in front of a terminal for hours and making something neat happen. It was exciting to me to sit down with those things and make what I thought was a decentralizing tool.
O: There’s an idea in popular culture that if someone is in a big movie or on a hit TV show, they’re set for life.
WW: Well, I still run into that. People think that because I was on TV, I’ve got millions of dollars and a huge house and several cars and servants. And I don’t. I live a very modest lifestyle. I’m definitely not an acting trust-fund baby. I was in a car accident a few years ago, and as soon as we got out of the cars, the woman in the other car looked at me, and I could tell immediately that she recognized me as this kid from Star Trek. She suddenly developed all these pains, and I totally called shenanigans on her. I was like, “Lady, you’re not hurt and I’m not rich, so don’t even bother.”
O: Were you surprised by the hostility people directed at your character on Star Trek?
WW: Yes. I really was. At the time, I took it all personally, and felt it was all directed completely at me. I felt defensive, I felt hurt, I felt embarrassed. I didn’t understand why they were like that. A lot of people wouldn’t like this fictional character on a television show, so they assumed that the person who played that character was a horrible shmuck, as well. I ran up against that like crazy, and I still do. I got an e-mail yesterday from someone who said, “I have to apologize to you. I had no idea you were a real person.” I get that all the time. “I had no idea that you had these feelings, that you cared about things, that things made you sad or that you struggled.” I get that all the time: “I had no idea you were just like me.”
O: Why do you think people reacted so strongly?
WW: There are a lot of reasons. The strongest—these are all ideas that people been presented to me over the years—was this one guy who said, “I wanted to be suave like Riker. I wanted to be neat like Data. I wanted to be commanding and respected like Picard. But I was a weenie. I was a weenie kid, I was too smart for my own good, and I was surrounded by adults who didn’t respect me. I was Wesley. I wanted to be these other guys, but I was Wesley. So when I saw Wesley, it reminded me that I wasn’t who I wanted to be. I hated Wesley because of that. I hated him because I saw myself in him.” I’ve heard that a lot. I’ve also heard from people, “I hated Wesley because all the girls that I liked had a crush on him.” I heard that a lot. And I’m like, “Yeah, baby, sweet. Whoo-hoo, give it up for daddy.” And then there are also these people who are upset that this young kid seemed to be as smart as the adults around him. I think it’s a combination of those things. Personally, I was really disappointed in the way they wrote him. Some of the writers wrote great stories for him, and some of the writers really grabbed on to this idea that Wesley was this super-smart kid, and they used that as their deus ex machina. Wesley became a plot device and not a character. What was going on with me—Wil Wheaton the person—at the time was exactly what should have been going on with Wesley Crusher the character. Wesley was smart enough to hold his own with his peers. He was a good Starfleet officer who could do all this stuff. I feel like such a fucking dork saying that. But I was a good enough actor to hold my own with some very good actors. I was comfortable, and I had these skills, and all that stuff. What I didn’t have was the maturity and the grace to deal with them as equals. We could work together, but we couldn’t hang out. It should have been the same way for Wesley. We should have seen how the kids his own age had a hard time relating to him and vice versa, just because there was a disconnect between his intellectual brain and his emotional brain. All that stuff was going on with me, and I wished they’d taken advantage of it. That was the big disappointment for me.
O: Wilwheaton.net has a strong following. What do you think draws people to it?
WW: People go there for a couple of reasons. I think some people go because they want to laugh at the washed-up child star. Every person who has gone there to do that has ended up e-mailing me, saying, “You know what? I went there to laugh at the washed-up child star, and I’m sorry that I ever thought like that. It’s very clear that you’re not like that.” Some people go because they’ve heard about it. It’s one of those things that you’re kind of peripherally aware of online, particularly for people who are big Star Trek fans. I’ve been really lucky. I get a lot of people now who read it because they like what I write. The web site has changed my whole focus in life. I’m not trying to be an actor anymore. I’ll still do it. I go on auditions from time to time. I don’t put the focus on it that I used to, because I have discovered an indescribable joy in writing about all sorts of things: writing about my childhood, writing about my family, writing satire, writing political things about stuff I’m outraged about. It’s like writing a letter to the editor, only I know it’s going to get published. I absolutely love it. It’s gratifying that there’s an audience for that, that people want to come and see it. I have a little message board on the site, as well, and it has something like 5,000 members. We started it in May. It’s all these really neat people, and some of them are fanboys, but the fanboys tend to hang out for two days and then leave, because that’s not what the community is about. It’s just this little virtual area on the Internet where people get together and talk about politics and families, and tell jokes, and kind of lean on each other for support. These are people who are totally separated by distance and economics and all sorts of different things, but they all share a common passion. They share a common set of ideals. It’s been a wonderful, unexpected side effect.
O: You write about some personal stuff on your web site. Does it make you uncomfortable that people can read your innermost thoughts?
WW: Not really. I’ve been thinking about that a lot these last two days, because people have been telling me they admire my courage for talking about my family and that sort of thing. I don’t feel like it’s courageous to talk about that. I feel like it’s courageous to stand up in the face of popular opinion and criticize the president, whether it’s Bush or Gore or Clinton—or, God help us, Ross Perot. I think that’s a courageous act. Speaking honestly and from the heart about something that’s important doesn’t strike me as a brave, daring thing. When I write about my childhood, or being a step-parent, I’ve found that it kind of connects with people of all ages and cultures. I must be writing about things we all go through, because the responses I get are all people saying, “God, I went through the same thing. I remember that.” Or “You writing about your aunt reminded me of my grandfather.” I think that’s great. I’m grateful that I have an opportunity to touch people’s lives and make people think and get in touch with who they are and where they’ve been. I’m very lucky that I’m able to do that.
O: The Internet Movie Database says that you dropped some science on “Dope, The Big Lie,” from the Chunky A album. How did you hook up with Chunky A, and what has he been up to since then?
WW: As far as I know, Chunky A retired to Jamaica. Sadly, he went into a diabetic coma, and he actually lives on a cargo plane that never lands for more than 25 minutes to refuel. He’s really a man without a country, which is unfortunate. Of course, Chunky A’s good friend Arsenio Hall hooked me up with that whole situation. At the time, Paramount was doing The Arsenio Hall Show, and Star Trek was owned by Paramount, so they had me do promotional things with Arsenio Hall, and they put me on the Chunky A album. It’s funny, because while I’ve never used drugs—it’s not my thing—I’ve always been opposed to the war on drugs and the drug laws. They’re terrible, and they don’t work. I’ve always favored treatment and decriminalization over the way our country does things now. It’s funny to me that I’m on this album where I’m like, “Drugs are bad, yo!” I don’t remember what I said.
O: You don’t have the lyrics to “Dope, The Big Lie” memorized?
WW: No, no, I don’t. I wrote them on my hand with a Sharpie and they all kind of ran together. Everybody thinks I’m scatting, when I’m really just trying to read them off my hand.
O: What is Chunky A like?
WW: He’s a very private person. He’s really not what you’d expect. You go over and see him and expect him to be kind of larger than life, literally, and he’s not. Remember the guy Hambone, who lived in his house, and he hadn’t been outside in a long time because he couldn’t move out of his bed because he was so large? He was sort of like the Slurm-mother monster from Futurama. Chunky A was headed in that direction. We all had an intervention where we tried to help him out. But unless you’re willing to help yourself, those around you can only do so much. He was large of heart and large of waist, and he was always willing to finish whatever was on your plate.