Me: Good.
Colin: Good, good.
Me: Fun movie.
Colin: Good.
Me: Tell everybody how much this movie completely kicks ass.
Colin: This movie completely … (He grabs both arms of the chair and moves around.) I can’t fucking say that; it sounds terrible, like promotion … (He reaches for a pack of cigarettes.) Did you enjoy it, did you?
Me: I did.
Colin: Oh, cool, man. That’s good. (He takes out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth.)
Me: It was rockin’.
Colin: Good, man, it should be, that is what it was built for, to entertain, loud. Loud and bright and colorful, guns and fire and explosions and shit.
Me: Was there anything fun that you remember? Anything weird? I heard there was a car chase on the bridge while you were shooting?
Colin: Oh, yeah, there was. We were on the bridge doing the last scene with the plane there and all that shit there in the limousine on the radios came through because the bridge had to be closed off, the Sixth Street bridge, so the guys that were at the top of the bridge were at the barricades and anybody that tried to get on the bridge, they were like, they can’t, we’re shooting a movie there, and the next thing this fucking car came wheeling around through the barricade, we didn’t see it because of the long bridge, but the guy’s walkie-talkie said somebody just broke through and there were eight cop cars behind him, there’s a chase going on, and the helicopter appeared and we waited, waited, we waited, and you see this sedan coming up around the corner on the bridge and there was a crew of about fourteen and they were fucking like “get back, get out of the way” because we didn’t know if the car would fit between the nose of the plane because the plane was sideways on the bridge, period, between the nose of the plane and the wall it would look like a small gap. It was going to be interesting, and behind the car there was a cop car’s fucking lights glaring, and the two dudes in the car were just fucking chilling straight through, they made it through with six inches on either side, cop cars followed him. They got them about an hour later. But that was good; that was a start before the camera even rolled. The night was all then hell after that.
Me: You got to work with Sam.
Colin: Yeah, it was great to work with Sam—that was primarily the reason why I wanted to do the film. You know, to get to play with him you know.
Me: You got to play with him, huh?
Colin: Yeah, I thought you would pick up on that. Being uncensored and crazy and all.
Me: Tell me about SWAT training. Sam said you were the best.
Colin: AHHH! Did he? How much do I owe him now? Couple nice things, fucking, shit. I wasn’t the best, but it was a fun five days of shooting rifles and shotguns, machine guns and handguns, and all sorts of fucking guns.
Me: Excellent! Now this is going to be the best part. I need a sentence to promote S.W.A.T., No Good TV–style?!
Colin: No.
Me: NO? Get out of here! Colin Farrell won’t swear for me.
Colin: Not for anyone.
Me: Can you do an ID?
Colin: Sure, what do you want?
Me: Say your name and you’re watching NGTV.
Colin: Hey, I’m Collin Farrell and you’re watching NGTV.
Me: (Whispering.) Perfect.
Colin: (Whispering.) Okay.
Me: (Whispering.) Now say fuck …
Colin: (Looks around with his eyes without moving his head.) Is the camera off? Turn that shit off. (Laughs.) FUCK YOU! Get the fuck out of here!
He said “fuck” a zillion times, but because I wasn’t present, all I could remember was that he didn’t say it the one time I asked him to. I learned a lot of things from this experience. I learned to try not to build things up on my end so much because when I do, and the time comes, I forget to be in the moment. Also, when you build something up that much, it can never live up to your expectations. I had built this up so much that somehow this interview was going to solve world hunger, when at the end of the day, it was just an interview. A good interview, but just an interview. But because I had made it into something that it was never going to be, I was already disappointed in the middle of the interview.
Lastly, the most important lesson of all was that one interview wasn’t more important than another. Sure, some interviews were better than others, but not more important. At the end of the day, I learned that the most vital thing in the interview room is me. I’m not saying that I’m better than anyone; I’m saying that for my company to be successful, it was critical that I be fully engaged in the interview. Because when I do my job well, we get good interviews. When I was present and part of the conversation, we were doing things nobody was doing. In an odd way, even though in my head after I had already given away all of my clothing and worldly belongings and bought a plane ticket home … I now was more confident in what I was doing than I had ever been before.
Oh, I also learned that when men see what looks to be hot chocolate coming out of your ay carumbas, they will take the elevator all the way to the lobby even if they’re not going there.
15
A KICK IN THE CUNT
Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe.
—Albert Einstein
Never underestimate the value of a good kick in the cunt. It has the potential to be a defining moment in your life. There’s something quite liberating about its unexpected immersive agony. In fact, I would go so far as to say that should you ever find yourself in the crosshairs of a twat kick or a nut thump … don’t run, don’t hide … accede, and I promise you … you shall ascend.
Believe it or not, each one of these excruciating moments is, actually, an opportunity to take a shortcut and move forward on the metaphysical game board of life. Sort of like landing on the chance or community chest space on a Monopoly board … except with more immediate danger for your crotch! I know what you’re thinking … next I’ll be telling you to use labradorite crystals to awaken your magical powers and open your crown chakra. I get it. But the truth is that I’m not going to tell you not to do that because first of all, who couldn’t use the gift of serendipity and synchronicity in their life? And second, because this happens to NOT be an exercise in mysticism. It’s just a simple fact of life. Pain is power. Pain is knowledge. Pain is strength. Sometimes it comes at great cost and from the last person you expect, but the pain of a good kick in the cunt from a personal hero is the greatest teacher of all.
I have learned that life—living, working, loving, and fucking—is pretty much like the movie Fight Club. To stay in the game, you have to fight, you have to take the beating, and you can’t talk about it to anyone outside of the club. It’s okay though. There is a light at the end of the tunnel and it isn’t always a train. Trust me when I tell you that you are tougher than you think. You just have to want it. I’ve never heard it better stated than by one of my heroes who has gone on to become a friend, Sylvester Stallone, in the movie Rocky Balboa: “It ain’t about how hard you hit, it’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward.” The entertainment business is a bit of a topsy-turvy world. Down is up, up is down, and real world rules don’t apply. I learned that the hard way and early in the game.
”Motherfucker just comes out real good, and you don’t have to say it but people understand what it means … Mo’erfucker!”
—David Duchovny
I’m like most people. I’m a fan first. I get all caught up in those uber-talented men and women who create magical wondrous things that dazzle and entertain us for a living: actors, musicians, authors, and artists. The only difference between me and you is that I’ve gotten to meet a lot of these objects of our obsession, so much of the mystery is gone. I suppose the well-known notion that you should never meet your heroes is actually sound advice, because to be perfectly honest, some of these motherfuckers will rape you of your childhood memories and don’
t deserve a shart of your attention. On one occasion in particular, my heart was broken and my career sideswiped by someone that I had worshipped for years. But in the end, I learned a very valuable lesson.
My hero has fallen, and this is my story (tung tung—Law & Order–style).
Anticipation is 10 percent excitation, 10 percent expectation, and 80 percent perspiration. Have you ever built something up in your head so much that when it finally happens, there’s no way it can possibly live up to the hype? So when the moment arrives—and doves don’t burst out from behind your head and a rainbow doesn’t shine out of your ass—the disappointment is so soul crushing, you just want to quit life and move into a thatch hut on the island of Takuu?
Let me tell you about the first time a celebrity hero crashed and burned in my eyes. I was almost six years old, and I was in awe of this magician I had seen at my friend’s birthday party. He was so charming and captivating. I just knew he was performing REAL magic! He knew all of our names at the end of the party and told us we were the best group of boys and girls he had ever performed in front of. That sealed it. Right after that I wanted to be a magician. I wanted to travel around to parties and make boys and girls feel as happy as he had made me feel. He was a true blessing and I wanted to know more about him! After he was done performing, I saw him walk around the side of the house, and since I had tons of questions I wanted to ask him, I grabbed two juice boxes and followed right behind him.
Bad idea.
When I turned the corner, I came face-to-face with an unholy trinity usually reserved for the attendees of a multiday music festival. I found Justin Credible (that was his magician name) with his pants around his ankles, squatting on the side of the house, smoking a cigarette, and taking a dump. My hero was shitting on my friend’s lawn in the middle of the day. He was definitely not getting a juice box! It was a tough lesson to learn but one that actually helped me a lot in the future. In fact, strangely enough, it would serve as the perfect precursor to lessons that I would learn time and time again in my future adventures in Hollywood. Nobody is who you build them up to be in your head.
Nobody.
It’s impossible for that to happen because in your head they don’t have flaws. In your head, they’re not craving a cigarette so badly that they have to smoke one while dropping a deuce outside in the open at noon on a Sunday. I suppose if it was some form of scatavism, I could understand. But you would never imagine your heroes being human because then they couldn’t be your heroes anymore, could they?
After that unfortunate Justin Credible incident, I didn’t get sucked into the whole hero thing again until I was flipping through the channels one night. It was then that I stumbled upon a beautiful man with a captivating smile and an impish sense of humor. The show was Moonlighting and the man was Bruce Willis. Holy shitolee!! This guy was a home-fucking-run! I loved everything about him. His boyish charm drew me in so quickly I couldn’t believe it. And then … the Seagram’s wine cooler commercials. He can sing, too? I was smitten. Yes, for those of you too young to remember, Bruce Willis used to skip around, dance, and sing about wine coolers on the idiot box.
Growing up, if you had asked me, “Carrie, who is the perfect man?” I would have said Bruce Willis. The Die Hard star was my man crush Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, yesterday, holiday, every day. Basically, every word in the English language that ends in day. He seemed like a guy you could pop open a beer with and have a chill yet intelligent conversation about his blues album, The Return of Bruno. The wry humor, the smile, and yup, that full head of luscious brown hair all tickled my fancy. And the way he danced around on the porch, singing into his wine cooler bottle where a secret microphone had apparently been hidden … Wowsers!
“Seagram’s, golden wine coolers
Seagram’s, golden wine coolers … “
Fuck you if that doesn’t get your panties dropping. Have you watched reruns of the show religiously? Have you studied his commercials obsessively? No? Then come back to me when you know what the fuck you’re talking about! This guy was the TFP! (Total Fucking Package!)
Do you want to know why I thought he was the TFP? Because I liked everything he did. Everything! Let’s just say, if I were forced at gunpoint by a German terrorist in a high-rise tower in LA to summarize my obsession with Bruce, and John McClane was not available to save me, I could do that in two simple words: Hudson Hawk.
I will give everyone a second to stop laughing before I keep going. Known to almost all as one of the worst movies in the history of cinema—“unspeakably awful,” according to Rolling Stone magazine—Hudson Hawk, to me, was a comedic masterpiece, and perhaps the most underrated film of the twentieth century. It has everything you want in an action film: comedy, singing, and slow, thought-provoking drama. I could have watched Bruce’s standard-singing burglar every single day. I think I did for at least one year of my life. Not my problem that it was ahead of its time!
So imagine my delight when I found out that I was going to be interviewing Bruce “fucking” Willis for his movie Tears of the Sun. I nearly fell off my chair! And you can bet your ass I was going to be ready. Inside and out. Not that kind of inside—that sounds dirty. Almost immediately, I started fantasizing, like Walter Mitty, about all the brilliant questions I’d ask. I was going to dazzle him with my layered knowledge of his film and TV work. Then I’d surprise him by going old-school and cleverly bringing two wine coolers as our refreshments of choice. I’d then wow him with quotes from Moonlighting that even he wouldn’t remember. I was just so excited to meet the funniest, coolest, and most charming guy on the planet. I imagined I’d open by bringing up Hudson Hawk, he’d throw his head back, clasp his hands together, laugh heartily, and exclaim, “That’s your favorite movie? You’re a fuckin’ whack job! I love it!”
Together, we’d sing the movie’s signature song, “Side by Side,” in perfect harmony. After we were done taping, Bruce would lean forward, grab my knee, and whisper, “You really get me like nobody else ever has. Wanna hang out after the junket’s over and talk more about how awesome I am?” There was nothing that was going to ruin the greatest day of my life and the first day of my lifelong relationship with the “Captain Awesome” Mr. Walter Bruce Willis!
When the big day came, all signs pointed to doves and rainbows. I drove to the Ritz-Carlton in Pasadena on a gorgeous day with sunny blue skies. I made a special mix of standards for the ride and was singing and smiling from ear to ear. At the hotel, as I waited my turn to meet Bruce, I had butterflies in my stomach, but they weren’t the throw-up-and-have-diarrhea-simultaneously kind; they were the excited-and-I-think-I-might-pass-out kind.
As I prepared to head into Bruce’s shooting suite, I overheard someone in the hallway say the action film, a somewhat serious true story about a Navy SEAL’s rescue mission in civil war–torn Nigeria, had been filmed in Hawaii. As I’ve mentioned before, just because a movie is somber doesn’t mean the junket has to be. In fact, the actors, who lived in a dark place making the movie, sometimes look forward to lightening up during the press tour.
I called an audible at the last second. Hudson Hawk was out, and a very witty new opener related to Hawaii was in. Now, I’ve taken a million multiple-choice tests like every other Adderall-addicted student in America. Of course I’ve heard the adage, “Always go with your first choice.”
I did not go with my first choice.
When I walked into the room, there Bruce was, in all his Brucie-ness. Tall, hairless, and handsome. He was everything I’d imagined, hoped, and dreamed. He was talking to a publicist, so I didn’t get to do the customary handshake or have any pre-taping chitchat. I sat down in the chair across from him.
The room was a little cold and still, but I shook it off. Our chairs were unusually and awkwardly low, but I looked past that, too. When I glanced at his face for the first time, I thought I’d see the adorable smirk of David Addison from Moonlighting, but the vibe was more, say, Grumpy Cat. I s
hook it off.
I heard the cameraman say, “Speed,” my cue to start.
OMG here we go!
“How are you?” I beamed.
Bruce smiled.
Okay, good start!
“All right, let’s talk about this movie. It was shot in Hawaii—that’s cool!”
“Yes, it was,” he replied.
Perfect! My joke’s setup is complete—now go in for the win!
“So did you get lei’d a lot?” I asked with a wink and a gun expression.
Bruce did not blink.
Bruce did not take his eyes off of me.
Bruce did not move.
Within two seconds, I knew I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. My face flushed like it was on fire.
Bruce did not say a word for what felt like a full seventeen years. We kept staring at each other.
A lone cameraman giggled to fill the void.
Then Bruce got up, his eyes still burning a hole right through me, turned, and walked out.
Oh, fuck. What did I just do????
Another excruciating three minutes passed. Where is he? Is he coming back? The embarrassment and humiliation was unbearable. He didn’t actually think I really asked him if he got laid l-a-i-d, did he? Everyone knows that joke, right? My DAD told me that joke! Everyone loves a dad joke! Maybe he has to pee? Indian food for lunch? Take a call? Please, God. The room didn’t move. The crew didn’t move. I turned around, pleading with my eyes for someone to save me and put the oxygen back into the room.
I got nothing but dead air.
A publicist came in with a look on her face that fell somewhere between concern and shame.
“So, yeah, Carrie … this is over; you can come outside.”
She did not smile. My heart sank to my toes.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!!
I was having my first-ever panic attack.
She escorted me out of the room by my elbow, like one of those crazy delusional people everyone pities on an American Idol audition.
“I’m really sorry but you’re not going to be finishing that interview, and you won’t be getting those tapes,” she said sweetly to me in the hallway. All I could feel was the rippling, crippling, and crushing implosion of my mind, body, and soul that could only come from the death of a dream delivered by the hand of someone I held dearest. My lifelong hero, the coolest guy in every room, and the man that could do no wrong, had just reduced me to a puddle of humiliation, self-doubt, and paranoia in less than twenty seconds and without saying a single word to me. I waited like a scolded five-year-old for her to excuse me from the rest of this junket and every other junket until the end of time. But she didn’t. “Would you like to do the other rooms?” she asked.
Everybody Curses, I Swear! Page 30
