We’ve cut the movie—we have the final cut. We’ve done the music. We’ve put together sound effects. We’re in the process of getting it all wrapped up. It’s going to be ready in about two weeks, and I know I’ll be able to sit back, look at this movie, and truly believe we did what we set out to do. If there’s something you overlook, you kick yourself in the ass for the rest of your life, but we’ve taken great care with this one. I feel it emotionally, I feel the humor, it looks right, feels right, the cast was right, I think everybody involved did their job, and I think it’s a really, really good movie. We dedicated the movie to Rick Dial, my old buddy who was in Sling Blade and The Apostle and was going to be in Jayne Mansfield’s Car, but passed away. Rick, God rest his soul, was a guy I grew up with. I put him in Sling Blade, and he actually ended up with an acting career, doing twelve or thirteen movies.
AGAIN, I’M NOT ONE OF THESE GUYS WHO SAYS THAT INDEPENDENT films are the only good films. I did a big blockbuster movie, Armageddon, and a lot of people say, “Armageddon, it was a big, splashy Michael Bay movie.” I have to tell you something—I tear up a little bit at the end of that movie every time. I think Jerry Bruckheimer is one of the best producers out here, he’s a guy who really cares about his movies, and I think they made a terrific movie out of Armageddon. I’m proud to have been in that movie. I think it was good, I think it was made with the right spirit and that it still holds up today. A lot of people love that movie. So I’m not trying to say that all big blockbuster movies are bad. There are as many shitty independent films as there are commercial movies. In my mind, the big commercial movies at one point were so good, there wasn’t that separation. And there are also what you might call art films—like the one about a one-legged grapefruit salesman who sleeps with his mother and lives in a closet—that bore the hell out of me and a lot of other people.
It’s like this time when I first came to L.A. and a girl who I wanted to get in with wanted me to go to this art show in West Hollywood. She and her brother were both artists. So I went with her and saw these squares of beige carpet that I guessed the paintings were going to be hung on—then I found out that the art show was a bunch of squares of beige carpet. All I could say was, “I don’t get it, I’m sorry.”
What Tom Epperson and I wrote will be on the screen the way we envisioned it from the script. They say you make three movies. The one you write, the one you shoot, and the one you edit. That’s true sometimes. I think in this case, the movie was shot and edited already within the script. Those are the ones that I feel comfortable making. That’s why I’m not a good guy to hire as a director if you’re looking for a person to do somebody else’s stuff, because I’m going to be the wrong guy. I’m the right guy to do my own shit. Woody Allen does it, and I respect the fact that he knows what he wants to do and he goes and does it. You’ll be happy with your shit sometimes, and sometimes you won’t, but I guarantee you’re the best guy for the job.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
High Definition in a Cracker Box
The titles changed, the credits changed, and the marquee is dark
The creature tore the Ritz down, now he owns the block
Twelve bucks’ll get you a ticket, for ten bucks you can park
And see high definition in a cracker box
—“Saturday Afternoon a Half Century On”
(Thornton/Andrew)
THE PRODUCERS WILL GET A DISTRIBUTOR HERE WHO I’M GUESSING will then try to get us to cut it from two hours and ten minutes to forty-seven minutes so they can get it into theaters for more showings. These distributors also think they know what they’re doing in terms of marketing, but it’s like this: let’s say you got Mel Tormé, and he makes a new record because somebody said, “Mel, these new songs, they’re fantastic. They’re like the old days, they’re amazing. So let’s put it out. But let’s put it in an album jacket where you’re wearing some big baggy shorts, flashing gang signs, and wearing a cap on sideways so we can sell it to the young people.” What happens is, the young people go buy it and they say, “What the fuck is this shit? What are these old-guy songs? I thought he was hip.” And then the people who like Mel Tormé see the album cover with his cap on sideways and go, “I’m not buying this Mel Tormé record, Jesus Christ, look at him, he looks like a gangbanger.” The next thing you know, nobody buys it.
So, believe me, when the producers get ready to go here and they start looking for the distributor, the distributor is going to say, “Well, it’s a little long,” and we’re going to say, “What difference does that make? Giant had a fucking intermission.”
Here’s the difference between now and then. We went to the movie theater on Sunday, and they had a double feature, and you got in for thirty cents. We couldn’t wait to get to the theater to see movies, and when we could, we would stay all day. Now they can’t wait to get out of the theaters. People watch part of a movie on their phone and get sick of it and go do something else. When, or if, they finally finish watching a movie, the first thing they do is get on the Internet and tell everyone how much they hated it. Unless it’s about a video game or an angst-ridden teenage vampire.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Let’s Go See Movies Again
If you really want to live
There’s something you should know
It’s a simple secret
Buried not that long ago
You may have to use your voice
And possibly your mind
It may not make sense at first
But leave your screens behind
There’s a different kind of integration
And different sights and sounds and touch
And even imagination
—“Look Up” (Thornton/Andrew)
I’M NOT GOING TO BE HEARTBROKEN IF JAYNE MANSFIELD’S CAR doesn’t become the movie of the year and win the Academy Award. There was a time when I thought about stuff like that, but I don’t think about it anymore. I trust that a certain section of the audience will go see it, but the problem is that people don’t want to go out to the movie theater anymore. What needs to happen is that we’ve got to get people who are sitting on their asses watching Attack of Spartacus or whatever the hell that show is off their asses and get them to go out to see movies again. People have gotten complacent. They’re sitting at home and watching TV because, “Oh, it’s twelve dollars now, and I got to buy popcorn,” but that’s the point of everything I’m saying.
I don’t believe in watching movies on a telephone, and I think people ought to get in their damn car and drive to the theater and pay twelve dollars. You pay twelve dollars to get coronary artery disease, so why don’t you pay twelve dollars to see a good movie? A pork chop in a restaurant is twenty-four dollars. Go buy a pork chop, cook it yourself, and then go pay twelve bucks to see a movie.
The magic in life is disappearing very quickly, and we’ve got to get it back. Part of getting it back is getting people who lived in the time when there actually was magical stuff to participate again, because if we don’t, it’ll completely disappear. So let’s go out to the theater. Guys my age get these gadgets, and they say, “Look, I just got this thing, it’s the size of a thimble, and I can watch a movie, listen to music, read a book, and it can jack you off! All I got to do is take this fucking thing, push a little button, and I don’t have to do anything ever again!”
I WATCH MOVIES FOR ENTERTAINMENT, TOO, AND LIKE ANYBODY ELSE, I don’t only like good stuff. I like horrible shit sometimes. I’ve seen horrible movies that made me cry like a baby. I’ve seen movies most people wouldn’t find funny that made me laugh because something in it struck a chord from my childhood.
I’ve talked a lot about things I hate, and I do hate a lot, but it’s not because of the thing itself—it’s because of the people who are making the thing. If somebody gives something their all and loves what they’re doing, God bless them. Do it. Follow your dream. Do what you love. But nowadays, there are so many people out there who thrive on hating th
ings just for the sake of hating. They think that hating something and talking bad about things make them seem more cool or hip. I can boil down my point of view to this: I’m against people who are against shit. I don’t care who you are, if you believe in what you’re doing, I’m all for you. But believe in whatever it is you believe in with all your heart and soul.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Billy the Dad
You showed me what an echo looks like dancin’ in the shade
And how the snails get dressed up when they go out on parade
You’ve painted me a rainbow on the inside of my eye
So I can see it anytime in the blueberry sky
—“Blueberry Sky” (Thornton/Andrew)
THIS JUNE, HARRY WILL BE EIGHTEEN AND WILLIE WILL BE NINETEEN, which boggles my mind. Willie: piercings, tattoos, long hair, hanging out with his friends playing video games and still going to the mall, like a California rock-and-roll kid. He plays bass in a band that plays I don’t know what type of music, and every time I tell somebody what Willie plays in front of him, he says, “No, Dad, don’t be an idiot, it’s not called that, it’s called (whatever else).”
Then my other son, who never talked to me much about what he did in school—he’s very quiet—just graduated from the Explorer Program for the L.A. County Sheriff’s Association and wants to join the Marines and then become a deputy sheriff. I think the only reason he wants to do it is so he can arrest his brother someday. I’m pretty convinced of that.
I never saw that coming with Harry. This shy, quiet kid who just had a little skateboard shop in his house, working on his skateboards and shooting basketball, and all of a sudden here he is, all buff with a drill instructor.
And then there’s little Bella, who belongs to me and Connie. In this house it’s me, Connie, Bella, and Willie. It’s funny having a seven-year-old daughter and an eighteen-year-old son living in the same house.
Bella wants to be a paleontologist, and whatever you call a butterfly-ologist. She raises caterpillars to butterflies, and they become chrysalises and fly around the yard, then come back and make more butterflies. We’re always buying milkweed plants for them. She knows so much about animals. She’s friends with Dr. Scott Sampson, the paleontologist who does Dinosaur Train. That’s my seven-year-old’s friend.
When we were making Jayne Mansfield’s Car, Duvall wanted to know what we were doing one day. He wanted me to go eat meat with him or whatever because he’s obsessed with meat. I said we were going to a botanical garden, where they have an endangered-frog thing where they’ll take us behind the scenes. So Duvall and Luciana, his wife, actually ended up going with us to this thing, along with my old buddy Barry Markowitz, my cinematographer. Bella takes them into this frog thing, and I guess they thought they were going to go into this little frog display and Bella was going to say, “Looky, Mommy, look at the frog!” She gave Duvall and Barry a lesson on amphibians that you can’t imagine. She won’t watch cartoons, except for Dinosaur Train, because it has real stuff in it too and it’s educational. She’ll only watch educational programming. She watches this series that Oprah Winfrey does, Life, and she watches Planet Earth. I’ve learned more about science through my seven-year-old in the last few years than I ever learned in my entire miserable career in school. This beautiful little seven-year-old is the center of my day, every day, because Willie is off with his pals doing stuff. The boys and Connie take center stage at night when Bella is asleep.
I’m proud of these kids. They’re amazing in their own very, very different ways. They really change your life, and you never stop worrying again, believe me, because you never know what road it might go down. I am trying my best as their dad, but I believe these kids are going to be okay because I’m also their friend. But not on Facebook.
I hope you’ll forgive me if I talk too much
But it’s been bottled up inside
You see a little part of me is out of touch
Since a pretty big part of me died
To tell you the truth, I’m kinda glad you’re here
Soaked to the bone or not
At the moment it seems to be pretty clear
We’re the only friends we got
—FROM “DEAD END DRIVE”
Acknowledgments
FIRST OF ALL I’D LIKE TO THANK MY FAMILY FOR ALL THEIR PATIENCE and support: my mother, Virginia; my brother John and his family Jennifer, James, and Ginny; the kids, Willie and Bella and Harry; the boys’ mom Pietra and a host of aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and cousins; my brother Jimmy; my dad and my grandparents, God rest their souls. To my love Connie and her family; Big and Little Walter, Aggie, Maya, Chris, Beatrice and Kragen, Carrie, Peter, and Chloe. Without my family I wouldn’t even be able to face breakfast.
Also special thanks to Kinky and all his pals who sat around and listened to me ramble: Daniel Taub, Ted Mann, John Mankiewicz, Twink Caplan, Larry “Ratso” Sloman, Louie Kemp, Mike Simmons, and Danny Hutton.
From William Morrow Books: Liate Stehlik, Lynn Grady, Shelby Meizlik, Tavia Kowalchuk, Shawn Nicholls, Joyce Wong, Mary Schuck, and Susan Amster.
From Vigliano and Associates: David Vigliano, Olga Vezeris, Matthew Carlini, and Anthony Mattero.
To Sage Ferrero for all her hard work and to Dylan for loaning her out. To Amélie Frank and all the Planeteers. You keep me stumbling along.
To my coworkers over the years in the movie world: Kristin Scott Irving, Bruce Heller, Oren Segal, Felicia Molinari, Lynne Eagan, Joani Yarbrough, Mr. P, Keith Sayer, Arnold Robinson, Paul Bloch, Geyer Kosinski, Jerry Myman, Bob Myman, Barry Markowitz, Doug Hall, Jim Hensz, Chis Halle, Susan Strubel, Annie Miller, Wendy Chuck, Karen Patch, Julie Weiss, Dwayne Grady, Clark Hunter, Paul Ledford, Harve Cook, Kenny Roth, Steve Search, Bob Salerno, Larry Meistrich, Dave Bushell, Brandon Rosser, Buddy Van Horn, and many others.
In the music world: My pal and cofounder of the Boxmasters J. D. Andrew, original member Mike Butler and current Boxmaster and longtime music partner Brad Davis, and their families.
All the road members of the solo tours and Boxmaster tours over the years: Mike Bruce, Teddy Andreadis, Danny Baker, Larry Byrd, Chuck Garric, Mike Shipp, Jody Maphis, Jon Rauhouse, Marty Rifkin, Roger “Tiny” Kohrs, Daryl Johnson, Matt Laug, Eric Singer, Damon Johnson, Eric Dover, Ryan Roxy, Gregg Stocki, Steve Arnold, Mike Finnigan, Mica Roberts, Randy Mitchell, Stephen Bruton, and others probably and all their families.
To the road and studio crews over the years: Jim Mitchell, Dirty Don, Micro, Bobby O.D., Dan Druff, Raz, Raymond Hardy, Terry Wieland, Tom Mayhue, McBob, Hoover, Jamo, Sack, Steve Winstead, bus drivers Chuck & Shaggy.
What follows is a list of friends, coworkers, influences (some I’ve known, some I haven’t) in music, movies, and just life. Basically people who just plain old don’t suck. I will leave people out because I’m not that bright and I’m in a rush. Also, this is for the people I’m thanking so stuff the comments about how long it is and put the fucking book down. I wouldn’t have shit if I didn’t have the people in these acknowledgments. They’re the people that make up the journey:
Coby Leed, Katja Biesanz, Dan Di Vito, Esperanza and family and Jessica and family, the Zappas, Tommy & Jeanne Shaw, J. P. Shellnutt, Ritchie Montgomery, Brent Briscoe, Greg Littman and family, Forrest Witt, Jesse Dabson, Ric Krause, Tom Challis, Joe Coppolletta, Don Blakely, Barnaby Hazen, Phil Walden, Alan Walden, JY, James Haven, Marcheline Bertrand, Holly Goline, Jim and Helene Ladd, Mark and Brian, Ernest Borgnine, Bo Hopkins, Roger Harrison, Fred Roos, Jim Jacks, Jim Varney, Ben Myron, Emily Schweber, Thomas Jane, Jeff Bridges, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band guys, Diana Walker, Rod, Klaus, Nancy, Peter, Scott and everyone at the Sunset Marquis, Faryal Russell, Donnie Fritts, Terry and Anita Pace, The Muscle Shoals Gang, Jerry Lee Lewis, Jim Dandy, Rickie Lee, and Black Oak Arkansas, Levon Helm, Slash, Alice Cooper, Dewey Bunnell, Gerry Beckley, Michael Nesmith, Mickey Dolenz, Peter Tork, Davy Jones, The Allman Brothers, Bob Teitel, George Tillman, Natalie Canerday, Mary Cross, Sarah T
ackett, Barry Battles, Griffin Hood, Chuck Leavell, Billy Gibbons, Dusty Hill, Frank Beard, Pablo Gamboa and the whole ZZ Top world, Scott Weiss, Rick and all the Dial family, all my Malvern H.S. pals, Rick Calhoun, The Yardleys, Tom Epperson and Stefanie Ames, the Carter-Cash Family, the Scruggs Family, Prophet Omega, Horton Foote, Doug Jackson, Marty Stuart, Connie Smith, Porter Wagoner, Kris Kristofferson and family, Willie Nelson and family, Waylon Jennings, Shooter Jennings, Jessi Colter, Matt Sorum, Sharon Corbitt, Joe Ely, Ray Benson, Billy Joe Shaver, Nick Shipp, Kenny Hall, Harry Dean Stanton, Lee Sklar, Warren and Steph Haynes, Warren Zevon, Jorge Calderon, Graham Nash, Joe Walsh, Steve Lukather, Leah Haynes, Jed Leiber, Jeff Barry, John Kay, Keith Allison, Jimmy Johnson, David Spero, Brook Simons, Dave Warden, Owen Wilson, Luke Wilson, Woody Harrelson, Frank Wuliger, Dan Shurwin, Paul Revere, John Prine, Brad Wilson, Steven Vail, John Widlock, Rob Carliner, Frank Bacchus, Jennifer and the Teatro Gang, Mark Howard, Joe McCracken, Brian Blade, Brady Blade, Joe Murdock, James Pierce, Burl White, Danny Turner, Brian Wingo, Rex, Tim Ross, the guys in Cottonwood, Brown, Hoochie, Eric, Steve and Mark, Vic Chesnutt, Mickey Jones, Tom Waits, Colonel Bruce Hampton, Michael Buffalo Smith, The Big G, Will and Sandrine Lee, David Adelson, David Wild. Geoff Emerick, Alan Parsons, Jewel, Howard Kaylan, The Ventures, The Petocz’s, Robbie Clyne, Rickey Medlocke and all the Skynyrd guys, Manuel, Phil Donahue, Marlo Thomas, Tony Thomas and St. Judes. My pals from Henderson State University.
The Billy Bob Tapes Page 22
