As she reveals in a new interview with Town & Country, life has been unfair to Kirsten Dunst. When I say “Kirsten Dunst,” I’m referring to the famous Spider-Man actor Kirsten Dunst, not some other Kirsten Dunst who might be in jail right now, or something. The famous Kirsten Dunst is exhausted.

“What people expect of an actor is totally ridiculous,” Dunst told the Town & Country interviewer over iced green teas in Culver City, Calif. “It’s unfair that an artist is expected to speak really well in public and have skin tough enough to withstand sometimes really hurtful criticism, but also, in order to do the job, be really sensitive and in touch with their feelings.”

Dunst just finished filming the second season of the television show Fargo. Did she like it? Hmmph.

TV is a lot harder than film. A lot harder. When I got the part, my friend Lizzy [Caplan], who is on Masters of Sex, said, “Be sure to get B12 shots to get you through the week.” I was like, “Really? That sounds very dramatic, Lizzy.” By the third week I was all over the B12. It was one of the best roles I’ve ever played—the writing is spectacular—but by the end I was tapped out.

Also: “Every two weeks you get a new [director], and they each have their own way of doing things. You get used to one person’s style, and then they switch it up on you...”

Also: “TV moves much faster than film. And [my character] Peggy talks so fast that every night I felt like I was cramming for an exam.”

And so: “I remember crying to my mom, ‘I don’t want to go back there! Don’t make me!’”

But she finished filming the season, so she can relax now. Right? Wrong. Per Town & Country, Dunst has to lose 10 pounds to star in Woodshock, “a film directed by her friends Kate and Laura Mulleavy, the sisters behind the fashion label Rodarte.” This means that she could not take her interviewer to her favorite Hollywood restaurant, Petit Trois, because she can’t eat. (“Beginning today, courtesy of the film’s producers, extremely skimpy meals and snacks are being delivered to her home.”)

So they went to an art gallery, to see a show by painter Mark Grotjahn:

Dunst is unfamiliar with his work and is smitten. “Wow,” she whispers. “These are beautiful. They remind me of peacock feathers.” ...

The density and layering of paint, I say, remind me of Lucian Freud. “He’s my favorite artist!” she says, a moment later correcting herself. “Oh, no, I just got confused. My favorite is... What’s his name?... Egon Schiele! I’m sorry—my brain is so tired.”

It’s so hard, everything is just so hard.

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