"I wish we did have responsibility for the hair. I have been screwed up by the hair on many occasions"
About this Quote
Hair, in Julie Harris's telling, isn't vanity; it's logistics, control, and a little bit of sabotage. The line lands because it treats a supposedly trivial detail as a recurring occupational hazard, the kind of backstage problem audiences never factor into their applause. "I wish we did have responsibility" reads like a performer begging for the one lever of autonomy that's always slipping away: if the actor owns the hair, at least she can stop being ambushed by it.
The phrasing is slyly comic. "Responsibility" is the language of contracts and hierarchies, not style, and Harris uses it to expose how much of acting is negotiated power. You're onstage expected to be emotionally precise, physically choreographed, vocally consistent, yet a wigline, a badly timed pin, a curl that refuses the blocking can throw you into crisis. The bluntness of "screwed up" punctures any myth that theater is pure artistry; it's also adhesives, sweat, sightlines, and someone else's idea of your face.
Contextually, this is an actress from an era when women's images were heavily engineered by studios and stage shops. Hair becomes a proxy for the broader tension between performance and presentation: the actor sells authenticity while being costumed into an idea. Harris isn't just complaining. She's pointing at the weird bargain of show business: you're hired to be in control of yourself, then denied control over the most visible part of you. The laugh is the tell; it's frustration turned into a perfectly timed aside.
The phrasing is slyly comic. "Responsibility" is the language of contracts and hierarchies, not style, and Harris uses it to expose how much of acting is negotiated power. You're onstage expected to be emotionally precise, physically choreographed, vocally consistent, yet a wigline, a badly timed pin, a curl that refuses the blocking can throw you into crisis. The bluntness of "screwed up" punctures any myth that theater is pure artistry; it's also adhesives, sweat, sightlines, and someone else's idea of your face.
Contextually, this is an actress from an era when women's images were heavily engineered by studios and stage shops. Hair becomes a proxy for the broader tension between performance and presentation: the actor sells authenticity while being costumed into an idea. Harris isn't just complaining. She's pointing at the weird bargain of show business: you're hired to be in control of yourself, then denied control over the most visible part of you. The laugh is the tell; it's frustration turned into a perfectly timed aside.
Quote Details
| Topic | Witty One-Liners |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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