When I was sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen and twenty, when I was learning how to be who I’d eventually become, I think it was safe to say that I was an idiot. Like the time I destroyed my wheel hitting a curb on the way to see Primus, then rolled the car back in the jack. Then the show sucked.
In a past life, I was part of the French New Wave. I did it all: wrote for Cahiers du cinéma, worked out ideas with Truffaut on The 400 Blows and Godard on Breathless. I even introduced Jean-Pierre Melville to Japanese culture, which inspired him to make Le Samourai. I knew Brigitte Bardot and reveled in the arts of the jump cut and mise en scène. I’ve always wanted to be an auteur.
And in a past life, you were…?