I’m spending time with My Sensei this month. I can’t say where, but for now, he’s forgotten all about the Quibbits family visit; I intend on keeping it that way for as long as possible. Rooster and Monica are flying out in a couple of weeks, but they don’t have his phone number, or his email. My Sensei still has an AOL account, which I’ve been told is something of a “flex” in the Hollywood community. “I rarely use it, though,” he says, “it’s really just a pre-fronta thing for lawyers, agents, whatever. Everyone just sends me what I need in the mail, anyway. I don’t need Gmail. That’s a fad. That’s a trend. That’s a moment that won’t last.” I don’t dare mention that Gmail was started in the summer of 2004; to be fair, that was one of his great years, with the release of Kill Bill Vol. 2, Miramax’s re-release of Zhang Yimou’s Hero, and of course the appearance as a guest judge on the third season of American Idol.
“I just… I didn’t hear the magic.” He was merciless. Then again, he says, why should he be? “Nobody gave me a leg up. They gave me advice, most of which was wrong. But as much as my success might’ve looked “overnight” to some, it was really the culmination of a decade-plus bumming around the outskirts of the industry, and I still consider it squandered time. That’s one of the reasons why I don’t work just to work. I wanna live a life. I didn’t grow up with much. I didn’t have a dad. My mom loved me but she wasn’t going out of her way to support my writing career. She was dismissive of it. That’s why I never bought her anything.”
This I’ve heard about. My Sensei has never given his mother a single gift despite being a millionaire many times over. “She’s doing fine,” he says, “and it’s not true that I gave her nothing. There was some IRS stuff I helped her out with, maybe a down payment, I don’t remember, but it was nothing flashy, it was boring everyday shit that was easy to fix. But that’s it. That’s all I’m giving. She ain’t getting no car. Mommy ain’t getting no Elvis Cadillac from moi.” Fair enough, and though I haven’t met her, she sounds like a nice woman; she certainly raised her son right. “Connie,” I think it is. Lovely name.
“Did you hear about my new movie?” Oh, all of a sudden he’s making his last movie. What happened to the play? I’ve already booked my room at Claridge’s and they don’t accept refunds. “No, I’m not directing it. I’m not even writing it. I have this guy… Paul… something Paul… he’s doing Django/Zorro. I don’t know if Jamie can do it, but Antonio Banderas is gonna be Zorro. It’s set up at Sony, so I’ll be able to pick the director.” I ask why him why he’s suddenly enthusiastic about sequels to his own movies, albeit written and/or directed by other people. “Because if they fuck up, it’s not my fault. It doesn’t diminish my work. You know, no one ever says ‘Oh, yeah, American Psycho was good, but did you see the sequel?’ No one is ragging on Speed because of the speedboat sequel with Colleen Camp. Basic Instinct is a good movie, people still like it, even though they made a lousy direct-to-DVD sequel like 15 years later or something.
“And if the movie’s actually good, and it’s actually a hit, then everybody wins. I love seeing people succeed. I love the filmmaking community. But making a movie is really hard. I’m too old to go out drinking with the crew every night. I can do it occasionally, maybe even more than occasionally, but I can’t do it like I did it in the 1990s and the 2000s—even the 2010s were pretty crazy. I had a great time. I intend on continuing to have a good time for the rest of my life. I don’t care if Django/Zorro is a risk—I’ve made my mark. The nine movies I’ve written and directed are all arguably classics. At least half of them are classics—you’d have to argue against the point, which I can’t imagine would be easy. I made movies that ended eras and ushered in new ones. I don’t have anything left to prove. I did it. And that really pisses some people off. They can’t stand that I have this energy, this enthusiasm, this belief in myself. I don’t care if they think I’m conceited or pompous—those are just bywords for ‘confidence.’ I believe in myself, which unfortunately is all-too-rare among people. I wish more people were strong enough to do what they want to do with their lives. But, as you know, most people take the path of least resistance. I’m sure you’ve seen this over the centuries.”
Over the centuries?
“You think I haven’t been listening? You think I’ve been tuning you out? Benny—you’re a treasure. Not a relic, a treasure. I’ve been keeping you around for a reason. There aren’t many people left that I can learn from, or that I can trust. With you, I feel totally comfortable and regularly stimulated—and I can’t emphasize enough how rare that is. So thank you. I’m glad you’re here with me. By the way, have you talked to your cousin? Is he coming over soon?”
Just when I thought I had him all to myself…
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