LIMITING DECISIONS

When asked about the secret of his success and long career, actor Michael Caine answered: “I have a policy.  I never listen to anyone explain why they can’t do something.  I don’t want to be convinced by them.”

How often do you encounter people with such negativity that it influences you?  Have you ever been driving with someone who said, “We’ll never find a parking spot”?  Next time that happens, turn to them and ask, “How do you know?”  Sometimes people decide things that limit them without even thinking.  And in that limiting decision, they have created a negative energy that surrounds them—and you.

On a movie set, when someone shouts “it’ll never work” or “we don’t have enough time” just tell them to leave the room.  There’s no reason to be in that kind of environment.  I like to think, “there’s always a way to make anything work” and “there’s plenty of time.”  One just needs to be creative.  And it’s super difficult to be creative when you’re making a limiting decision about something.

I taught one of my consulting clients about how he could make a short film.  Months later, I learned that he had indeed made his short, and that the film was accepted to screen at the Cannes Film Festival.  Isn’t that wonderful!  I’m fairly certain he didn’t make any limiting decisions along the way.

If you’re a worry wart and are often creating difficult situations even more difficult, it might be hard to grasp this idea.  But, it would be really beneficial to never operate with any limiting decisions.  Try removing the following words from your daily dialogue: can’t, won’t, never, don’t.  It’s a really fun exercise.  My favorite was going a whole week without saying the word DON’T.  Instead of telling someone what you don’t want, you’ll find it is always easier to tell someone what you DO want.

The subconscious mind cannot process negatives.  Don’t picture a blue tree.

What did you picture?  A blue tree!  And even if you immediately changed the color of the tree, you pictured a blue tree even when I told you not to.  Don’t imagine a baby crying.  Don’t imagine a birthday cake.  Don’t imagine an orange rose.  More of the same.  Whoever decided the billboard should say “Don’t drink and drive” is an idiot.  It should read “Find a sober driver.”

Anyway, when it comes to communication—whether on a film set, within the binds of a screenplay, or in ordinary day-to-day life—think about what you’re saying.  Are you telling people what you WANT?  Or are you telling them what you don’t want?

DENNIS HOPPER’S HOUSE

Pulling up to his compound on a side-street in Venice Beach, California, not far from the beach, I was struck by the surreal corrugated metal façade.  If I hadn’t known he lived there, it would make sense that someone offbeat did.  And the white picket fence out front, planted firmly with tongue in cheek, was the perfect touch.

My dad, Clark, was with me.  We were ushered in the front door and navigated a seemingly endless row of classic cars, luxury cars and more cars.  At the end of the parking area we climbed a flight of stairs that was open to the second floor, with an enormous ceiling probably 20 feet high.  As we climbed it became brighter and brighter, and I took notice of the original Warhols, Basquiats, and other incredible pieces of modern art.  (Later I would learn that his collection was vast, valued at $10 million.)

My favorite lesson was finding out Dennis shot two bullet holes through an Andy Warhol portrait of Mao Zedong.  And, instead of Warhol freaking out about it, he called Hopper “a collaborator.”

At the top of the staircase I was surprised at how plain his house was.  Just one big space with dining area on one side and sitting area on the next, kitchen beyond, and a doorway to the bedrooms.  Hopper’s then wife Victoria was in the kitchen and greeted us as Hopper came in from the back wearing sweats and a hoodie.

I’d brought him a gift.  A coffee table book of photographs called BACKYARD VISIONARIES.  Dennis grew up in Kansas, down the street from my grandmother’s home in Dodge City.  He loved the book.

The first thing he told us was that he thought FIRECRACKER was one of the best scripts he’d ever read.  I presented him with my storyboards of every shot of the entire film.  He carefully read it, commenting how amazing this film would be.

He proposed coming to Kansas for five days to play the character FRANK, and then we settled back and spoke about life and other interests.  Dennis had been in negotiations with Lehman Brothers (the former global financial services firm) to produce 10 feature films for $10 million each.  Lehman would bankroll the venture for $100 million and Hopper would be in charge of the slate.  Hopper asked if we could use FIRECRACKER as the first of these projects.  I was over the moon.  “Of course we could,” I said.  And we shook hands.

(Eventually the Lehman deal fell through.  Lehman changed their offer to Hopper and said they only wanted to put up $50 million, telling Hopper he had to come up with the other $50 million.  He told them to forget it.)

At some point during the discussion Victoria turned on the television and we watched in horror as reports came in that the Concorde had crashed on take off in France.  My sister and I had flown the Concorde back from the Cannes Film festival when my film PEP SQUAD had premiered.  We talked about how incredibly small it was inside and how anyone over six feet tall couldn’t stand up straight walking down the aisle.

Dennis Hopper was a fascinating man and a super nice guy.  He was complimentary of my work and gave me some damn good advice.  It’s a shame we didn’t have the chance to work together before he became ill.  When I learned of his passing, I took a moment to remember the Backyard Visionary he was when he started out making art and movies, and I smiled.

Dennis Hopper's house

Dennis Hopper’s house