On a Friday night in 1983, I was in a taxi in New York riding home from dinner with friends. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit the cab, and I was thrown toward the glass partition. I tried to duck, but my face hit the glass, and the impact fractured my cheekbone, my eye socket, my collarbone and several ribs.
As a director, try to be humble and not to overdo it, not overcoverage and over-covering the scene.
HumbleBe HumbleTryDirectorScene
It is thought that the changeover from hunter to farmer was a slow, gradual process.
ThoughtProcessSlowFarmerHunter
If I ever found a place where I belonged, that in itself would be an identity crisis to me.
IdentityMePlaceCrisisWhereEver
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