CARY FUKUNAGA

The first time I became aware of Cary Fukunaga was after I saw the “Levi’s America” commercial. It was beautiful, inspiring and nostalgic: Levi’s is an icon, so to see that spirit translated visually was exciting. Since then Fukunaga has only continued to expand and challenge boundaries. To date his credits include the Sundance Film Festival standout Sin Nombre, Jane Eyre and HBO’s True Detective, for which he deservedly took home the Emmy for best director. Needless to say we were excited when he sat down with us to discuss everything from his passion for the game of polo to his upcoming Beasts of No Nation, which sounds incredible.

AM: So where do you think you get your love of film from?

CF: I was raised oftentimes with the television or cinema as sort of a babysitter, if you will. My dad would drop my brother and I off at the cinema and we’d watch every single movie in the cinema before going home, and that’d be our afternoon. So I think I learned a lot about my moral tales and those kind of things from watching movies rather than from reading books, even though I did read a lot as well as a kid. But from a very young age I kind of used to fantasize about my own stories—always in a visual manner. Like, whether it be landscapes that I saw, or places around—I kind of imagined the stories taking place within them and wanted to organize my friends to make movies. But of course, you know, kids are flaky. It’s hard to get them to commit.

AM: What were the movies you were trying to make?

CF: I mean, there were so many. There wasn’t just one. I wrote my first feature screenplay when I was 14. It was like a long short film, it was like a 60-something-page screenplay.

I learned how to type while doing it too. It was about two brothers who fought in the Civil War. I was obsessed with the Civil War then.

When I was in high school I found a group of friends who used to make little comedy skits on video, and that was a lot of fun. That was what we did after school every day, we just made little videos. Then I wanted to take it a little further and make comprehensive stories and again ran into difficulty getting people to commit—so I kind of gave up making movies for a while. Just focused on school and other parts of life. Chasing girls and stuff. And then my senior year in college, I did a film project again just for the hell of it and made my first short film. Then I was hooked and decided I was going to try and make movies. That was it.

AM: What do you love about filmmaking? What’s the most enjoyable aspect of the filmmaking process for you?

CF: It’s hard to say now because I find so much of the filmmaking process actually not enjoyable.

AM: Is it because it became your work?

CF: I think it’s partially because it became my work but also because the projects are just so difficult. And sometimes the struggle feels like it’s not worth it. You spend years of your life disappearing from your friends and family to go make movies and you come back and everyone’s life has moved forward, and all you’ve done is make a new movie.

So it’s hard to say what the most enjoyable thing is anymore. I mean, I could make stuff up.

AM: No, you don’t have to do that.

CF: What would be or what should be fun or what I know under the surface is actually fun. But right now, after having done these two really exhausting projects, my feelings about cinema are very different.

AM: Are you taking a break right now?

CF: Yeah. Maybe after this month I get a break but maybe not. I don’t know. We’ll see.

AM: During the time you were having movies as a babysitter, is there any movie that had a really large impact on you?

CF: You know, very early on I was really interested in sort of more adult movies. I remember seeing Never Cry Wolf and The Last Emperor at a pretty young age. Bertolucci’s Last Emperor. I just really kind of liked being taken with the scale of stories and cinematography especially. And when I watched Empire of the Sun, I was nearly the same age as Christian Bale when that movie came out.

I was obsessed with the air force. I wanted to become a pilot, so I identified a lot with the characters. That was also the age when I really started paying attention to how the movies were made. Not critiquing but observing and the process and the shots and the construction of it all. And for a while it sort of ruined my experience of cinema, because it made me look at it with a critical mind instead of just being taken away.

But I can’t remember any one particular movie that, you know, struck me. Not necessarily one.

AM: Is there anything you do to prepare yourself before starting a project?

CF: I do a lot of research for the writing on the direction side of things, just to make sure that I know exactly what it is I’m trying to create. And once we get into pre-production, which is the planning part of the film, I spend a lot of time on location scouting.

There are people that come from different philosophies on this and people who think for a movie, it doesn’t matter what the location is if the characters in the story are strong, but for me the location always plays a very big part.

 

 

AM: What are some of your favorite places to shoot?

CF: I am not sure I have a favorite place. They’re all so different. I did like shooting in the UK. It was a lot of fun to shoot there. But I’ve shot everywhere. I’ve shot in Africa, I’ve shot in the Caribbean, I’ve shot in the Arctic, I’ve shot in Mexico and Central America and different parts of the United States. And they are all so different. I think part of the joy of shooting is the exploration. One of the things that I like most about location scouting is the people you meet. You go into people’s homes and their properties. And what happens is that you end up having these conversations with people that you would never have otherwise. It’s really refreshing and sometimes you meet just really fascinating people, but you also hear some pretty sad stories too. Maybe they have medical bills they are trying to pay or some other issue they’re dealing with and they’re going to lose their home. Sometimes you are forced to see just how desperate so much of the world is, it’s kind of frightening. But you also get to see some really interesting things and meet some really amazing people too.

AM: Sounds like a real adventure.

CF: Sometimes it feels that way. In Africa we were trailblazing. We’d pull up on the side of the road and I’d want to get to some edge of a cliff. We’d pull out our machetes and just start cutting trail through the jungle.

AM: Sounds fun.

CF: We have fun sometimes.

AM: Do you have any books or records or anything that puts you into the mode of inspiration?

CF: I don’t have a good mantra yet for my work. It’s almost like the most difficult thing, especially for me, in writing is getting to that zone. First couple weeks are painful if nothing’s happening and then eventually I get into a very focused place, you know, without the aid of pharmaceuticals. I’ve always tried coming from a very pure place. I’ve never let anything but my own discipline get me to the point of concentration. But I am open to the idea of some sort of meditation or mantra to get me to a creative space.

AM: Do you reference other films for a project? If so, what were they for True Detective?

CF: You know, I usually don’t reference films as much as I reference photographs. A photographer named Misrach was a big influence. Richard Misrach. He had this thing called the Petrochemical Highway, which was really fascinating to me and was a very big influence on what we did. My cinematographer Adam Arkapaw and I started talking about it. We spent some time trying to figure out the right look. A lot of the crime dramas go for the sort of cold, blue feel. That edgy sort of look, but that was not what we wanted to go with. We liked what the Coen brothers did in No Country for Old Men. But we also liked the sort of moody investigation [feel] David Fincher did with Zodiac. We kind of did a mixture of Zodiac and No Country for Old Men. But I think Misrach’s photographs are really interesting, sort of a mix between both those worlds. It has the movie-ness of Fincher as well as his mastery of imagery—I mean Fincher, there’s no one like Fincher in terms of mise en scène and movement of camera. I think he’s taken the ropes from Scorsese and gone further with it, you know. Torch I should say, not ropes. But you know, the Coen brothers are so idiosyncratic as well, and their work and everything is consistent throughout, even though it’s all so different. I’m sure [cinematographer] Roger Deakins plays a big part in that, but they’re the ones that board everything in; they create the sequences.

AM: Create the world …

CF: Those were definitely influences.

AM: How did True Detective come together?

CF: My manager brought it up to me. It was a project that he had with Nic Pizzolatto the writer. And then I came on board as director. Then we got the cast involved. It happened pretty quickly.

AM: Was this your first TV show?

CF: Yeah.

AM: Did you like it?

CF: Did I like it— what do you mean?

AM: You know, compared to films. I’m sure it’s very different.

CF: Yeah, it’s different. But it’s also not that different. The construction of it is exactly the same.

AM: Did you feel different after winning an Emmy?

CF: No. [laughs] That stuff doesn’t matter to me. The Emmy went quickly into a closet and that’s about it.

AM: [laughs] Oh. How do you spend your downtime?

CF: I don’t really have much downtime. I work a lot. I mean, when I’m on my weekends or something, with friends, New York City has a lot of distractions. I play polo, but that season’s over now.

AM: Is there anything you do to relax?

CF: I think polo is pretty calming for me. When you’re on the horse and you’re doing your thing you forget about your everyday work and you’re just—you’re focused on the game.

AM: Where do you play polo in New York?

CF: Upstate. Can you ride a horse?

AM: I have, here and there, but I don’t. It’s not that hard to ride a horse… right?

CF: You’re not walking around on a pony. You’re running hard. [laughs] You’re galloping across the field and you’re turning and going the other way.

AM: I really need to come see this. Do you have any exciting projects on the horizon?

CF: I’m working on two scripts right now that will hopefully be done around the new year—

AM: You’re working on them simultaneously?

CF: I have about 12 projects in development. I have a lot of projects at different stages of development, some will be ready in the next year or so and some of them won’t be ready for years. But I wouldn’t be doing any of them if I wasn’t excited by them. It’s more just a question of which becomes real first. And to be completely honest, until I finish this little monster, Beasts of No Nation, it’s difficult to even guess.

AM: Beasts of No Nation?

CF: It’s the film I’m just finishing. It takes place in Africa. That should’ve been the first question you asked.

AM: Am I failing at the interview? [laughs]

CF: I assumed you knew about it. It’ll be done sometime in the new year and then hopefully I’ll take it to festivals later on, but it was a very difficult movie to make.

AM: How long have you been working on this project? CF: Eight years.

AM: How would you describe this project to someone who doesn’t know about it?

CF: Ugh, I hate those questions. [laughs]

AM: [laughs] Well, now that we’ve talked about it and opened the door, readers are going to want to know what it is.

CF: Well, it’s a Nigerian novel, written by a Nigerian about 10 years ago. It’s about a boy from a good family who was swept into a war—a civil war is taking place in his country. And it’s his philosophical and moral journey through becoming a killer—and then out. I don’t want to call it a child soldier story because it’s not an issue movie at all; it’s not about the issue of child soldiers by any means. It’s just about a boy. It’s a coming of age story, but in a very obviously extreme way.

AM: Do the projects that you’re working on influence you in your personal life? Your mood, how you feel every day?

CF: Yeah, I don’t think you’re doing your job unless it does do that.

 

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HANS ZIMMER

This interview took six months to do. It was done in two different countries, over two different time zones, scheduled and rescheduled numerous times through various assistants. It had to be worked around tour  dates, Grammy rehearsals and Oscar press. It’s without a shadow of a doubt that I can declare Hans Zimmer the Hardest Working Man in Show Business. And I should know, because I’m his daughter.

If you’ve been to the movies at all in the past 20 years you’ll have heard a Zimmer score—they’re hard to miss. After doing some light Googling I’ve found that my father has worked on close to 200 movies since the mid ’80s—everything from The Lion King to The Dark Knight. Action, drama, romance, comedy, animated, good, bad, big, small, he’s done them all. And I’m fairly certain he’ll keep doing them all until he drops dead at the keyboard.

He is not your average father—or your average composer. And he’s definitely not your conventional human being. His work, his music, is what gets him out of bed and down the stairs every morning and keeps him in a studio until the early hours of the following morning. What he does is who he is, and I’m immensely proud of him.

My dad is my favorite person to have a long chat with about life and work and everything in between. The following conversation is just one of our many… except this time it’s on the record.

ZOE ZIMMER: OK, this thing is recording now, so let’s both try to keep the swearing and bad jokes to a minimum, yeah?

HANS ZIMMER: That’s asking a lot…

ZZ: No shit. OK, but really, let’s talk about some stuff. Let’s start easy: Where do you consider home?

HZ:Nowhere.

ZZ: Jesus, really? I guess that wasn’t starting easy after all.

HZ: Yeah, seriously. It’s something that really bothers me. I don’t know… I think language is partly home.

ZZ: Does it bother you that none of your kids speak German?

HZ: No, but it bothers me that none of my kids have the same accent as me. Anyway, I think if I had to go and declare a place “home,” it would be England, but I don’t think the English would ever see me as one of their own. Home… I don’t know, I’m a traveler, I suppose. I’m a gypsy in a funny sort of way. It’s wherever the project is, y’know? It’s wherever there are musicians I want to play with. Look, at the end of the day, I’m an entertainer, the way musicians always have been, and we just go from place to place wherever people want to hear our music.

ZZ: Well, for a long time you were definitely based in L.A.

HZ: Well, “based” is different from “home.” I suppose my studio is home. I mean, my room is more a home than a studio.

ZZ: That studio’s kind of been  everyone’s home at one time or another. I know it has been for me. I mean, I basically grew up in the back of a recording studio.

HZ: Right, exactly and you didn’t turn out so bad! The thing about the studio is that it’s an interesting place full of interesting people, and that should always make you feel at home. It’s full of possibilities, and there’s a creative dynamic that goes on there. There’s kind of a weird sense of community, but it’s not a community in the normal sense of the word. I mean, everyone’s ego is pretty big.

ZZ: Really big.

HZ: And everyone’s a little bit odd…

ZZ: Really odd. But really great.

HZ: And I think the only thing that we all really have in common is not so much even the music, it’s really just that none of us would be able to get a job anywhere else.

ZZ: Right, you’re really all just a big band of outcasts who got lucky.

HZ: Precisely.

ZZ: And there are a lot of outcasts right now—I mean, the studio is just getting bigger and bigger. It might be your home, but it’s also the size of a small village. Do you think it’s just going to keep growing? Do you want it to keep growing?

HZ: No, I think we have enough buildings now, don’t you?

ZZ: I think if there were anymore buildings you would have to start handing out Segways or small ponies for people to get around.

HZ: Definitely small ponies. But you know, I like people moving in and out of there. I like the atmosphere changing and people progressing. What I love is when people get their own careers together, and then they leave and they do their own versions of it, y’know?Like Harry [Gregson-Williams, Shrek] and John [Powell, How to Train Your Dragon] and people like that. And I like new people coming in; I think it’s interesting. I think it’s interesting that I created this little magnet that draws people in from all over the world, and sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s always interesting.

ZZ: Does it piss you off when people question the way the studio works? In terms of having people write for you—you know, when it’s made out to be Hans Zimmer’s Musical Sweatshop?

HZ: Well,they can’t have it both ways. Because on the one hand I get knocked for “sounding the same,” which of course doesn’t actually make any sense—look at the films I did with Ridley [Scott], and that’s just one filmmaker: Thelma & Louise doesn’t sound anything like Gladiator, which doesn’t sound anything like Black Hawk Down, which doesn’t sound anything like Hannibal, which doesn’t sound anything like Black Rain, which doesn’t sound anything like Matchstick Men

ZZ: I really liked Matchstick Men.

HZ: So did I, but I think we were the only ones. So anyway, on the one hand there’s obviously a very strong imprint in the architecture of the studio, and on the other hand… I mean, you already know all of this. I write these pieces and they’re very complete, everything’s done on them—the orchestration, everything. But like everybody, I need assistants. I’m the architect, but I need a couple of bricklayers, y’know? Do you think Michelangelo painted every square inch of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? Probably not—it would have killed him if he had to do it all by himself!

ZZ: Fair enough. So do you think people who make those assumptions are just uninformed about the system? Because assisting and writing additional music is basically how you get your foot in the door, right?

HZ: Well, yes and no. It didn’t really used to be like that. When I got to Hollywood it was slightly different. The studios had orchestrators and arrangers on staff, and they never really got credit for anything. They were just “Backroom Boys.” So now I really do fight for credits for people, even really small credits. It’s important to me that people get to participate, and that they get credit and that they are visible, so I really do fight fort hem. They might not be the architects, but it’s still their time that they give me, that they give to these projects.

ZZ: Interstellar was all you though, wasn’t it?

HZ: All me. Interstellar nobody got to write a single note on other than me. And although a lot of musicians played on it, one of the things we tried to preserve was the singularity of my touch and my vision, and literally me playing every note. I mean, on all of these scores I have at one time or another played every single note. But unfortunately the story of me just sitting there by myself and writing is far less exciting and scandalous than the idea of assistants and ghostwriters.

ZZ: Talking about all this always makes me wish I played an instrument. I thought that the other day when I saw Whiplash. I mean, you really hogged all the musical talent in the family. Do you ever wish any of us, your kids, were more musical?

HZ: No. I love that you are all musical imbeciles.

ZZ: Whoa whoa whoa. Hey now…

HZ: No, what I mean is, I think it’s really hard tofollowinthe footsteps of anybody. And I think it’s really important that you go and make your own path. What I say to all of you is “follow your dream,” but at the same time I’m saying “don’t be stupid.” There are all these people who think following a dream means that you have to be some big star or something. All I’m saying is if you want to become a great plumber, or a great chef, or a great whatever, then do it. Just be a great you, and don’t take no for an answer.

ZZ: I know. You’ve always said that. You’ve always been very supportive of whatever I’ve wanted to do. And yeah, of course it can be daunting being related to someone who’s not only successful, but so successful in such a creative industry. Growing up with that made me feel like it wasn’t about finding a job, it was about finding a passion.

HZ: I know, but I try to be a shining example to you—to all of my kids—that the impossible is possible. Having a passion for something is a tricky thing. There are many ways of going about that passion—you can make it your job or you can make it your hobby, and both are equally valid. You got one life, it ain’t that long, so you may as well…

ZZ: Make it count? Have a good time? Don’t fuck it up?

HZ: Yeah, but more than a good time. Get real pleasure out of it, not just fun. Feel it all, have conflict, have difficulties, suffer for it a little bit, y’know?

ZZ: God, that’s so German of you.

HZ: Yes! But you need it. When your mum and I were first together the electricity used to  always get turned off because I wouldn’t pay the bill, and it’s really hard to be an electronic musician with no electricity! But yeah, I know a lot of really talented musicians who will never really make it, because people realized they were talented early on so there wasn’t enough opposition. And you need that, you need friction, you need struggle. Life needs to scare you sometimes; you have to respect it and be in awe of it. So yeah, be a little scared, let it freak you out. I don’t know, maybe you shouldn’t be listening to my advice.

ZZ: No, I always like your advice. Even if I don’t always listen to it. In fact, one of my favorite bits of advice from you was: “Remember, nothing’s less attractive to a man than a weeping woman.”

HZ: [Laughs.] It’s true! It’s true! That’s some great fatherly advice! I try to be useful, y’know? We have good chats, right?When we’re together, I try to give everything there is, I try to come up with ideas…

ZZ: You are useful. I always say that I’d rather have you be the father you are now, rather than the father you weren’t when I was growing up, y’know? You were terrible at playing Barbies, but if I’m having trouble with work? Breakup with a boyfriend? Need to know where to buy the best macaroons? You’re the first person I call.

HZ: Oh, man. The Barbies…

ZZ: I know, you still have Barbie PTSD. Sorry. Let’s talk about something less traumatic. Do you get bored? I sometimes worry you get bored of writing for (insert name of generic comic book movie sequel/prequel).

HZ: Bored? No, not bored. You know, all those big movies still bring me something, they still bring a challenge. Whether it’s Spider-Man or Superman or whatever, I strive to do something different everytime. And I get to work with new people, new musicians who have a fresh take on it all, even if it is a sequel. And I try to do new things too, like the shows last year. [Zimmer played two live shows in London at the Eventim Apollo in October 2014.] That was new, it was exciting, and terrifying—I mean, you know how petrified I get about going on stage.

ZZ: Yeah, but only a few of us know. You always pull it off. And you always have a great time in the end, right? If you don’t then you fake it really well. You looked like you were having the time of your life at the Grammys with Pharrell…

HZ: I do have a good time, despite the fear. After the first show in London, which was terrifying, I thought maybe the stage fright would get better on the next night. I thought maybe I would learn something, but of course it wasn’t better. And I realized that it’s not about it “getting better,” that’s just how I’m built, y’know? I get freaked out. So just do it. Do it despite everything else, because if I don’t do it I think it would be something I would regret.

ZZ: So what do you wanna do now?

HZ: I sometimes wish I could just watch an awful lot of television in bed and not engage in the next battle, y’know? But I can’t, you know I can’t. I think part of what happens is—I don’t think there’s any middle ground. I think you’re either very successful or you’re not successful at all. I think if you’re in that middle ground then the magnetic pull is always to the bottom. I think being a guitarist playing songs in a subway station and doing a hundred-million-dollar movie are equally great. But the slithering around in the middle is not so great. And the middle ground is really where the sharks swim. They don’t swim at the top or the bottom—all the uninspiring people you don’t want to hang out with are in the middle ground.

ZZ: Do you remember telling me what the Four Stages of a Career were? “1. Who is Hans Zimmer? 2. Get me Hans Zimmer. 3. Get me someone who sounds like Hans Zimmer. 4. Who is Hans Zimmer?”

HZ: [Laughs—a lot.] Right!

ZZ: Do you worry about what stage you’re in?

HZ: Nah, not really. I’m not done, y’know? I still have more to say.

ZZ: Well, yeah, you’re not really the type to retire and move to Florida.

HZ: No way. Musicians don’t think about retirement. My hero is [the late British comic magician] Tommy Cooper, for all sorts of reasons. For his humor, for his crazy fez, for his courage for going out on the stage and failing. His jokes going wrong, his magic tricks going wrong, and mainly for having a laugh at himself. Even his death, people weren’t sure it was real for a while. And he died doing what he loved, he died in the place that he loved… standing on a stage.

ZZ: Don’t get any ideas…

HZ: That’s just it—I’m going to be here until the ideas run out.

ZZ: Glad to hear it, Daddy. Now let’s go get some dinner.

 

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IMOGEN POOTS

First, a disclosure. Personally, I am massively fond of Ms. Imogen Poots. There is good reason for that. Without her help, and her courage, at a very specific and delicate time, the film I’ve been trying to make for the past decade called Frank & Lola would have fallen apart, almost certainly for good. So I know firsthand what this 26-year-old with an unnervingly old soul is capable of—as an actress, as a human, as an artist—and trust me, it’s rare, and worth your attention. Take Grace Kelly, mix in a little Annie Hall, add some pixie dust and a bit of British je ne sais quoi and Immie (as she is known to everyone who’s ever met her) materializes. Also, she’s a blonde. Hitchcock would have loved her.

Born and raised to a pair of journalist parents in London’s Chiswick district, Poots has lived under the industry spotlight ever since her first speaking role, at just 17, with a fearless, precocious performance opposite Robert Carlyle in 28 Weeks Later, Juan Carlos Fresnadillo’s impressive follow-up to Danny Boyle’s visionary digital-video horror epic 28 Days Later. Young, beautiful, talented actresses are a very rare commodity in Hollywood, and Immie, who scored a British Independent Film Award nomination for her work, checked all the boxes. She signed with a major agency while still in her teens and was soon booking at least three films a year. Along the way, the fashion world fell in love with her, which led to modeling work (she’s currently the face of Miu Miu) and regular appearances at shows and CFDA balls. At 22 years old she made the obligatory move to L.A. and more work followed, a balanced mix of studio gigs (2014’s Need for Speed) and prestigious indies (film god Terrence Malick’s upcoming Knight of Cups). But something still didn’t feel right. A change of location was in order.

At the end of 2013, Poots went with her gut and moved from Los Angeles to New York. That’s when everything began to fall into place. “Moving here just felt like the right thing to do,” she says over yet another dinner at the West Village outpost of Frankies Spuntino, the famed Brooklyn eatery. (The restaurant’s co-founder, Frank Falcinelli, served as the inspiration for my movie’s hero, a chef from Queens who’s since moved to Las Vegas, which is where he meets the elusive Lola, played by Poots.) “I first came here at 19, and I just fell in love. When I walk down Broadway, and I pass those stands with the roasted nuts—that smell is just so comforting, even though I’ve never bought them, ever,” says Poots, who now calls the East Village home. “In New York, you’re surrounded by a group of people who put the creative element first. This industry can be a really thrilling place to be, but there’s also another side to it that I don’t love. I don’t feel that side when I’m here, where actors, writers, directors walk into a room and then just get together and do it. I’ve never felt happier or more at home anywhere.”

By the time I met Immie at the Bowery Hotel early last summer to discuss my eight-years-in-the-making film, she had already made the dive headfirst into the creative inspiration New York provided her and firmly taken the reins as architect of her own career. I told my financier at the time that I wanted her to play the lead role in my film. He was so impressed by my pitch that he insisted that she was the only actress for the part, but that we had to go into production before the end of the year or all bets were off. There were a couple of problems with that ultimatum: Immie had already booked back-to-back jobs for the fall—Anna Axster’s A Country Called Home and Jeremy Saulnier’s Green Room—which meant there was only a three-week window in December that would work, and she’d have to drop out of another, bigger project she had committed to months earlier.

Immie made her choice, and a few months later we were in production. Despite arriving on set only a week after wrapping Green Room (which she started just a few days after wrapping A Country Called Home), she showed up in Vegas as ready as I could have ever hoped her to be and was, needless to say, an absolute dream to direct. Now it’s on me to finish the film in a way that does her extraordinary performance justice. No pressure.

“It was really incredible to work on three films consecutively that I was crazy about,” says Poots, who kicked off the year as the lead in Cameron Crowe’s much-buzzed-about pilot Roadies. “In hindsight, you recognize how much that you got done. It’s a reminder again that there are people out there who really love movies, and who have really weathered the storm of having been fit into a box and then got through it. This is a funny old job. You meet some extraordinary folk along the way.”

 

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