In other words, the profile seems to treat Heche as a child in a number of troubling ways, condescending to her rather viciously at some points, and treating her as if she's not remotely responsible for her actions at others. Witchel says Heche seemed focused and sane during the time the two women spent together, but she doesn't reckon with the swiftness of the reversals in Heche's life. And perhaps most strangely, though Witchel makes a sweeping judgement about Heche's acting, she doesn't actually discuss any of her roles in detail:
Maybe it’s because there’s an integral part of her — the abused part — that remains vigilant, a shadow of childhood anxiety that still hovers, a tireless antenna seeking approval. She has an uncanny ability to intuit who she needs to be in any situation — her persistent need to please, a phantom limb. As an actress, she uses this to feed her inner chameleon, and it informs her instincts in plumbing a character’s depths, her normally low-key energy erupting, either in lashings of passion or unanticipated fits of whimsy, both of which are just unhinged enough to be riveting.But there's no discussion of what supports this judgement. The long piece contains just 410 words on any of Heche's specific roles, 223 of which are Heche talking about how she conceived the parts, 139 of which are descriptions of characters, rather than how Heche plays them. Far more space is devoted to Heche getting her hair done, Heche getting her dress on, Heche getting her legs oiled, Heche's son getting nervous when her partner brings out a glass of champagne, etc. In the end, the piece feels like a highly uncritical story about Anne Heche and her public persona, and not at all a probing story about Anne Heche as an actress. The latter could have been a fascinating look at a complicated woman. The former is just creepy.