The Friday Afternoon Club: A Family Memoir

“How could I have been surprised that he would defy an order to retreat to save a wounded comrade? His reporting had brought him death threats and blackmail attempts. He was an Irish terrier in a Turnbull & Asser shirt, who struck fear in the hearts of those who had it coming.”

Griffin describes how he found out much later in life about his father’s medal of honor during military service. Nick sometimes came off as frivolous, especially because of his love for parties and socializing and his intense desire for attention and adulation. However, moments like this showcased his deep, underlying strength. He exhibited this same strength when he rallied by Lenny’s side following Dominique’s death and when he spoke up in court about the unjust outcome of the trial.

“‘Why do you treat him like that?’ I asked. ‘Who?’ ‘Alex. It’s as if you don’t even like him.’ My father blushed a shade of shame, looking into the mirror of the medicine cabinet for a time before answering. ‘It’s because he reminds me of me.’”

Griffin confronted Nick about his harsh treatment of Alex. This incident highlights the complex feelings that Nick grappled with for much of his life about his own sensitivity and closeted sexuality. Alex reminded him of himself because of Alex’s sensitivity, a trait that Nick, too, exhibited as a child and that earned his father’s wrath. The incident also showcases Griffin’s deep love for and loyalty toward the people in his life: He stood up to his father on behalf of his younger brother.

“The change to a different school never improved my grades, but in the harsh Dickensian environment, I changed—learning how to cheat, steal, and lie under pressure with the steady pulse of a serial killer. I was like the kid who goes to prison on a minor charge and comes out more criminal than when he arrived.”

Griffin was sent to boarding school because of his poor academic performance, which was partly and mistakenly believed to be a result of his parents’ divorce. While the harsh atmosphere at the school did nothing for Griffin’s grades, it did teach him how to thrive in such an environment while bending the rules. Griffin uses an analogy, comparing himself to a child ironically made “more criminal” by a stint in prison, to highlight the limitations of punishment as a means of correcting behavior.

“If you grow up around novelists, someday you will be collateral damage for a good story. My aunt Joan had an aphorism that I was to learn the hard way: ‘A writer is always selling somebody out.’”

Griffin reflects on one of the lessons he learned while growing up surrounded by writers. This is an instance of irony, as in penning this memoir, he recounts numerous anecdotes and observations about these same writers he grew up with, including his aunt Joan Didion.

“Now that I knew my father’s secret, I kept it from him as he did from me, and joined my parents in their subterfuge.”

Griffin learned about Nick’s sexuality after he became Lenny’s drinking partner and confidant as a teenager. Rather than judging his father for his infidelities, however, Griffin chose to keep his secret, and his relationship with his father remained unchanged. This was a characteristic display of not only Griffin’s fierce loyalty toward his loved ones but also his ability to hold two different or opposing realities in tandem within his worldview. He remained equally empathetic toward both his parents and their respective experiences, never once taking sides.

“She joined an acting class and started a tradition called the Friday Afternoon Club, or FAC. At the end of every Friday, her friends from class, and of course Lisa, Melinda, and Charlie, would gather in the backyard to drink and party well into the night. George Clooney and Miguel Ferrer, also just breaking into acting, and Tim Hutton, having just won an Oscar for Ordinary People, were among the FAC members in good standing. Dominique would wheel Mom out to join the fun until the young people grew too rowdy for her taste, and then return her to bed as everyone wished her good night and thanked her for the wine she’d kicked in for.”

The Friday Afternoon Club was a weekly party tradition started by Dominique, and it inspired the title of the book. This tradition is an important symbol, encapsulating all the central ideas, themes, and experiences that Griffin covers in this family memoir: the thrill of acting and the wild, party lifestyle of this time; the sense of community and solidarity consistently exhibited by the Dunne family toward each other; and how central Dominique was to each of their lives. Her death was a tragedy that changed their lives in monumental ways.

“To no one’s surprise, Lucky Charms chose the white boy in the big parka who hadn’t allegedly killed anyone that day. In a way, New York really ‘began for me’ that night, when I realized the color of my skin put me at the front of the line whether I deserved it or not.”

Griffin notes the moment when New York “began” for him: when he was arrested for shoplifting and subsequently realized that he would not face harsh consequences merely because of the color of his skin. Griffin’s self-awareness and reflective ability in moments like these lend credibility to his objectivity as a narrator of a family memoir.

“His apology impressed me, and I joined the group with no ill will. I had been groped by men since my earliest teens, and though I realize a younger generation has felt lifelong trauma from similar abuse, I had no such reaction, and accepted my abashment as the price for being young and attractive. I pass no judgment on that generation or my own.”

Griffin remembers a time when he was groped by men at a dinner party, the offenders including famed writers Truman Capote and Tennessee Williams; however, Griffin was quick to accept the latter’s apology and forgive him for the slight. His reflections here emphasize what he perceives as a generational difference, though he does not attempt to explain this difference. Instead, with characteristic equanimity, he suggests that either reaction is equally valid.

“I laughed out loud, alone in the dark, imagining that Dominique was sitting next to me, both of us rolling in the aisles at the sheer ridiculousness of us playing these parts. When I stopped laughing, I got out of my seat and left the theater before I started to bawl.”

Some years after Dominique’s death, Griffin watched a movie that the two of them turned down since they were offered the roles of incestuous siblings. His initial response of amusement was quickly followed by one of grief, showcasing how deeply he still missed his sister years after her passing and what an impact her death had on the family.

“It was my first starring role, and I should have been excited, but all I could think of was how horrified my mother would be to see me like this. I worried how the trauma of watching one of her children die such a horrible death would affect her health, and that I would be responsible for her imagining such unthinkable loss filled me with despair.”

The penultimate scene of An American Werewolf in London, in which Dunne’s character transforms against his will into a werewolf before being shot to death by police, is legendary for its protracted gruesomeness. Rather than feeling excited to be advancing in his chosen career, Dunne thought of how his mother would react to his character’s suffering. This is an instance of ironic foreshadowing, as Lenny having to watch the death of a fictional character that her son played on screen paled in comparison to the actual traumatic experience she later underwent with her daughter’s murder.

“My mother once told me that people who are both Irish and Mexican are called ‘happy drunk, sad drunk.’ The meaning isn’t limited to the effects of alcohol, but to the disparity of temperament between the two heritages. Mom is half Mexican, and Dominique and I inherited her easygoing nature that rarely wallows in depression. We were also quite cheerful after a drink or four.”

Griffin reflects on the differing temperaments within his family, which he attributes to traits that each of them inherited from their respective parents. Nick and Alex both struggled with their mental health, and Nick especially dealt with addiction to alcohol and drugs. While Griffin indulged in the use of both, at no point in the memoir does he describe developing dependence on these substances. However, he remained hyper-aware of and sensitive to the tendencies that ran in his family, manifesting in his deep and continued concern for his brother’s mental health.

“The truth was that I knew the attention that came with stardom would stir a self-awareness I was ill-equipped to handle, so committing to the next level of success paralyzed me with fear. My personal character was still undercooked, and my ego wasn’t strong enough to handle the scrutiny of fame, yet I was just wise enough to know that if I rushed headlong toward it, I’d soon burst into flames and end up a has-been in rehab.”

Despite finding some early success, Griffin made follow-up decisions that steered him away from stardom. He believes that he subconsciously knew he was not ready for fame at this point. In reflecting on this, he also reflects on the arc of his character within the memoir. At this stage, his character development was incomplete. Griffin’s fame influenced his self-esteem, evidence of The Impact of Fame on Relationships. Griffin’s relationship with fame would change over the years, especially after Dominique’s death.

“That Sweeney would one day commit an act of violence that would traumatize my family for the rest of our lives did not occur to me, but my uneasiness when we met was a ‘gift’ I declined to accept. What I listened to was my sister’s boyfriend address me with exaggerated respect, but what he was really saying to me that evening was he was just like the Sheik, a character capable of violence and obsessively in love with a girl he did not believe he could keep.”

Griffin had misgivings about John Sweeney from the moment he met him but did not voice these to Dominique. He remembers a specific instance that ought to have served as a warning: Sweeney’s strong connection to a character in one of Griffin’s films who was violently obsessed with a girl he supposedly loved. Griffin inserts instances like these throughout the narrative to foreshadow the tragedy that eventually befell the family.

“‘I regret meeting you under these circumstances,’ Barshop said, his manner softening for the first time. ‘To be perfectly honest, I was surprised you asked to meet. Not many families do that. The trial process isn’t really about the victim’s family: it’s about getting justice for the victim.’”

Steven Barshop, the prosecutor, met with the Dunnes at their request. What he said to them—about the trial getting justice for the victim rather than the victim’s family—is something that Griffin explores in The Pursuit of Justice. The enactment of vengeance, or even punitive justice, to some extent, are measures that attempt to soothe the victim’s family, especially in a case like Dominique’s; it affects no real change.

“One of the upsides of living with grief was that unlike auditions prior to my sister’s death, the anxieties about whether I was liked or not now seemed ridiculous in comparison. I simply didn’t give a shit either way.”

Griffin did well at the audition for Johnny Dangerously and nailed the part effortlessly. His reflection here showcases his changing relationship with fame, especially with the need to be perceived and recognized in a certain way that underlies the desire for fame. Dominique’s death put some of these in perspective for Griffin, and in a twisted way, it actually made him a better performer and positioned him better for fame.

“‘This was not a crime,’ he told the jury. ‘This was a tragedy,’ a lie he’d been hammering home since the start of the trial. By now I had learned the hard way that in the judicial system, perjury is a crime, but when a lawyer lies for his client, it’s perfectly legal.”

Griffin details how Mike Adelson, the defense attorney, passionately and repeatedly presented Sweeney and Dominique’s relationship as a tragic love story to the jury. While it is presented as absurd to the readers, the reality is that the jury found Sweeney not guilty of second-degree murder; he was convicted of voluntary manslaughter instead. The content and tone of Adelson’s arguments and the effect they had on the jury expose another hole in the judicial system, specifically how the strength of an argument can sometimes take precedence over the veracity of an argument.

“I’d missed it. I never got to see my father stand up for what was right in the face of utter defeat. But then again, I never got to see him go behind enemy lines to save a wounded soldier, so I wasn’t entirely surprised.”

Griffin was on set when the verdict was returned, and he missed Nick calling out Judge Katz’s failure to dispense justice in open court. Griffin’s comparison of this moment to Nick’s bravery in battle is a reminder of the underlying strength of character that Nick embodied.

“THERE IS LITTLE RESEARCH for how often extended families turn on each other in the event of the sudden death of a relation, but if there were, my parents and the Didion-Dunnes would have been a case study.”

Griffin reflects on how Dominique’s death drove a wedge between John and Joan, on the one hand, and the rest of the Dunnes, on the other. Griffin sheds light on messy family dynamics throughout the memoir, from John and Joan’s decision to leave the country when the trial started to the cruel orchid prank that Alex played on John and Joan, which Griffin condoned with his silence. The families did eventually reconcile, illustrating The Power of Forgiveness.

“I must admit that when the article was published, I wasn’t thrilled. It felt like an invasion of our family’s memory of a terrible time, and I thought his sharing our sorrow with the world distasteful. I was both happy for him and troubled that our tragedy made him a celebrity.”

Griffin reflects on his discomfort with his father’s decision to write about Dominique’s death and the trial, especially because the article brought Nick so much fame and publicity. Once again, Griffin displays the ability to hold opposing ideas and feelings side-by-side with characteristic detachment: He observes his discomfort with this situation alongside his happiness for his father’s success at last.

“All those hours of being worshipped had left me feeling wired and empty. The evening had undoubtedly been a triumph, but it was spent with total strangers.”

Griffin reflects on the experience of attending the Cannes Film Festival and receiving widespread appreciation for his work. Despite the accolades, he was still left feeling unfulfilled because of the lack of friends and loved ones by his side. Later that evening, Griffin called Lenny, and the two spoke about missing Dominique. Instances like these showcase the impact that her death had on Griffin, completely refocusing his priorities and shifting his relationship with fame.

“Lugging around all that hate had become debilitating, and to my surprise, over time, it kind of burned out on its own. My body wanted to self-heal before I did and detected my hate as a cancer that would eventually kill me unless my own cells rebelled against it.”

Griffin reflects on how he finally let go of hate toward Sweeney, deciding to stop tracking his life and movements. Griffin’s ability to do so is rooted in who he is as a person: When given the opportunity, Griffin continually gravitated toward forgiveness and resolution in every relationship in his life; while this was an impossibility with Sweeney as the murderer of his sister, Griffin still chose not to let the man occupy his thoughts and energy.

“In 1989, I was number one on the call sheet for a movie so terrible, it would be years before I’d get my name up there again. While the film was a near-fatal blow to my career, it indirectly led to the single greatest decision in my life.”

Griffin’s string of bad decisions continued for a while after the success of After Hours; however, one such terrible decision led him to meet his eventual wife and mother of his child. Griffin’s ability to label this “the single greatest decision” of his life, despite it having stemmed from a situation that almost tanked his career, showcases his growth as a person. Griffin frames the movie as less important for its impact on his career than for its unexpected impact on his personal life—demonstrating that his priorities have shifted.

“Carey not only was beautiful on the outside, but inside possessed a DNA I found wildly attractive. She was raised in Colorado by a family in which not one member was a drunk, killed themselves, had mental illness, or got murdered. So far, the only tragedy in Carey’s life was when her great-aunt had died in her sleep at the age of ninety-three. If we were to raise a child, those were the kinds of genes I wanted, to counterbalance some of my own.”

A large part of Griffin’s attraction to Carey Lowell was the wholesome family background she came from. This showcases how Griffin continually grappled with the impact of mental illness in his own family. Especially after having seen Nick and Alex’s experiences over the years, he remained acutely aware of this genetic tendency within his family.