Malcolm McDowell: The Hollywood Interview

Actor Malcolm McDowell.

O LUCKY MAL!
Our favorite droogie Malcolm McDowell does double duty in Robert Altman’s The Company and Tamar Hoff’s Red Roses and Petrol
By
Alex Simon

Editor’s Note: This article appeared in the December 2003 issue of Venice Magazine.

Malcolm McDowell is one of those fine actors for whom the definitive part that made his career was also a curse. As the sociopathic gang leader Alex in Stanley Kubrick’s 1971 classic A Clockwork Orange, McDowell’s performance was so spot-on, and became such an indelible part of pop culture (that continues to resonate today), this classically trained actor found himself largely typecast as villainous scum for much of his career.

He was born Malcolm Taylor in Leeds, England on June 13, 1943, the second of three children, and the only boy. Malcolm’s father Charles owned a pub in Liverpool, where Malcolm came of age during the height of Beatlemania. After finishing public school, Malcolm worked as a wine steward for his father, before embarking on a year-long odyssey as a coffee salesman all over England. This experience was later turned into one of Malcolm’s greatest films: Lindsay Anderson’s O Lucky Man! (1973).

Upon deciding that acting was his true calling, Malcolm changed his surname from Taylor (as there was already a Malcolm Taylor in actor’s equity) to McDowell, his mother’s maiden name. After toiling in regional theater, a few small television parts, and a part in Ken Loach’s debut film Poor Cow (1967) that wound up on the cutting room floor, he was discovered by Lindsay Anderson, a former journalist and documentary filmmaker whose feature debut This Sporting Life (1963), is considered one of the touchstones of British “kitchen sink” drama. Anderson cast Malcolm as Mick Travis, the leader of a group of rebellious English public schoolboys in the groundbreaking classic If...(1968). The Mick Travis character made up a trilogy of films in which McDowell starred and Anderson directed, including O Lucky Man!, for which Malcolm also created the Candide-like story of a young everyman whose adventures across England were a metaphor for contemporary British life, and Brittania Hospital (1982) a barbed and brilliant look at life in Thatcherite England during the 80s. The trilogy is widely regarded as one of the touchstones of British cinema, and was featured as part of a retrospective of McDowell’s work that was held at New York’s Lincoln Center in 2000.

A Clockwork Orange solidified Malcolm McDowell’s star status the world over and the film, a satirical portrait of a dystopian Britain in the future that is overrun by gangs of marauding teenagers, became a controversial sensation. Images of McDowell and his “droogies” (mates, fellow gang members) wreaking havoc soon became the stuff of pop culture legend, inhabiting t-shirts, posters, postcards and popular music.

Other memorable work during the 70s included Royal Flash (1975), Aces High (1976), Voyage of the Damned (1976), and Time After Time(1979). The 80s started on a dour note, with Malcolm in the title role of Caligula (1980), a film that was initially meant to be an epic look at the notorious Roman emperor, but wound up being an epic piece of pornography after producer Bob Guccione inserted an extra hour of hardcore porn footage shot years after the initial film had wrapped production. Good work did follow this, however, in Paul Schrader’s remake Cat People (1982), John Badham’s thriller Blue Thunder (1983), and in Get Crazy (1983) in which Malcolm’s side-splitting portrait of a Mick Jagger-like rock star is still the stuff of legend. The 90s saw Malcolm in diverse fare such as Morgan Freeman’s anti-apartheid tale Bopha!(1993), the sci-fi adventure Star Trek: Generations(1994) in which Malcolm earned the distinction of being the man who (finally) killed William Shatner’s venerable Captain Kirk, and Hugh Hudson’s delightful My Life So Far(1999).

Malcolm brought the 21st century in with a bang with his smashing turn in Gangster No. 1 (2000), and recently had two films at the AFI Film Festival in Hollywood: Tamar Simon Hoffs' excellent kitchen sink drama Red Roses and Petrol, in which Malcolm delivers a marvelous turn as a recently passed Irish patriarch whose wake turns into a family feud, and Robert Altman’s The Company, a cinema-verite look at Chicago’s Joffrey Ballet, with Malcolm scoring again as the company’s wily artistic director.

Over 100 films later, Malcolm McDowell sat down with Venice recently to discuss his remarkable career as one of the cinema’s most revered actors, pop culture icons, and great survivors. Read on, my little droogies, read on…

Let’s start off by talking about Mr. Altman.
Bob and I have known each other for a long time and, for one reason or another, we’d never worked together before, although I did do a cameo in The Player, and that was fun. And a couple years ago they were doing a retrospective of my work at Lincoln Center and they were showing this gangster film I did called Gangster No. 1 and I looked down during the question and answer session, and there was Bob Altman! I was thrilled to see him and he said to me “Why don’t you come down to the office tomorrow. I’ve got a new cutting room and I want to show it to you.” So we went down and are sitting there in his office and he says “I’m doing a little dance picture. Do you dance?” I said ‘No, no I don’t.” He said “Well, you don’t have to.” (laughs) Not long after that I got a call from Bob and he says “Malcolm, the dance picture’s off. I’m gonna do this thing with Harvey (Weinstein) and Paul Newman at Miramax.” And I said ‘Oh, so you’d rather work with them than me, would you? Okay, Bob.’ (laughs) A few months later, I’d almost forgotten about it, and the phone rings. It’s Bob. “I can’t work with those people at Miramax. The dance picture’s on. Can you come to Chicago?” So yes, of course I could do it. There was no question. I had no idea what the part was, and it didn’t matter because I was going to be working with one of the greats. Bob’s such a maverick. There’s nobody else that could’ve made this film except for Bob Altman.

You could say that about any of his films.
And that is the mark of true originality and greatness, in my book. When I judge a performance, I say ‘Who else could have played this? No one.’ That is the true mark of greatness.


McDowell in Robert Altman's The Company (2003).

Tell us about life on an Altman set.
Bob loves actors, loves working with actors. But you don’t go up to him and say ‘What do you want me to do?’ You come in, and you do your stuff, and you let him choose from there. I came in at one point and said ‘Look, we need a scene with my character and the financial guys, because all this guy does is finance.’ Bob said “Okay, if it doesn’t work, we’ll just cut it.” It’s that kind of thing. You’re always thinking, always discussing. Some of the things he’ll shoot, some he won’t. But he always listens.

When I look at your filmography, I notice that you average about 3 films a year. You never stop working. Is there that deep-seeded fear that so many actors have, thinking that every job could be their last?
Certainly that’s a small part of it. I don’t think there’s an actor alive that doesn’t feel that way. But for me, I always figure that it’s better to be working than not. As a result, a lot of what I’ve done has been crap, but you just have to go into it all without expectations. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard “Oh my God, this film is gonna be so huge! You’re gonna be so rich from this! Oh my God!” And then no one ever sees the film. And you go “What happened?” You always learn something when you work, even in the substandard stuff. I’m pretty much of a survivor, so that’s how I like to live my life.

Let’s talk about your other film that screened at AFIfest: Red Roses and Petrol.
It’s a beautiful little piece and I’m very proud of it, because it was made for so little money. It was made for less than a Hollywood film costs to make for one day! It just shows you, if you get people to do something for love over anything else, the results can be wonderful. We all did it because we were in love with the script, which is based on a play by Joseph O’Connor, who’s Sinead’s brother actually. So the substance of the script was Joe’s, and then Tammy adapted it for the screen, opened it up.

I thought it was quite remarkable that an American writer/director could make such an authentic Irish drama.
Yeah, she did an amazing job. And the actors who play the kids were wonderful. Max Beesley, who plays my son, gives a truly wonderful performance. I think given the right director and part, he could go all the way. The whole cast was just stellar across the board. Then you’ve got wonderful Aubrey Morris coming in for one day…

Mr. Deltoid from A Clockwork Orange!
Mr. Deltoid! I leaned on him to do it. I got this message on my machine saying (perfect imitation) “Oh Malcolm, I’m so sorry, but when you said ‘no money,’ I didn’t think you meant ‘NO MONEY!’ (laughs) But he did it anyway.

Let’s talk about your background. You were born in Leeds, but raised in Liverpool, where your father owned a pub.
That’s right. I’m a child of The Beatles era.

Was it difficult for you to lose your northern accent?
No, because my parents sent me to a public school in the south, where it was beaten out of me! (laughs)

McDowell with Christine Noonan in Lindsay Anderson's groundbreaking film If...(1968), his film debut.

Was it like the school in If…?
Similar. You didn’t want to be different from anybody else, because you’d get beaten up if you had a funny accent. When I went there, I had a thick northern accent. I actually have a tape of myself playing Aladdin at age 11, which is where I realized that acting was a possibility for me. I remember going onto the stage and seeing all the lights and everything in front of me, and this black void out beyond them. And I just felt at home. That never left me, actually, and I was in every school production. Not only did I enjoy it, but it was a way of getting off other work. Then I went back to Liverpool after that, and went to this lady called Mrs. Harold Ackley. And in fact, she had taught quite a lot of people, Rita Tushingham (A Taste of Honey (1961)) being the most famous. Mrs. Ackley told me I had a very nice voice, which I didn’t, and suggested that I go down to London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art (LAMDA) and audition, which I did. I was offered a job there in repertory theater by one of the judges who was looking for a young man to work in a theater on the Isle of Wight. And that was my first professional job. I was 20 years old.

At that point you’d already been a coffee salesman, right?
Yeah, and that’s what became O Lucky Man!, which was originally titled The Coffee Man. I remember saying to David Sherwin, who wrote it with me, ‘This is too mini. We’ve got to expand it. David, what’s it really about?’ He said “Luck, I suppose.” ‘Lucky Man! Oh my God!” So we rushed over to Lindsay’s and told him that we’d gotten the title for the film. And I whispered in his ear ‘Lucky Man.’ And he just sat there, thought about it, and went “O Lucky Man!” Yes!!! We were so thrilled. And that was so Lindsay, and so right. It made it epic.

What was it like growing up in the Liverpool of the Beatles?
Oh, wonderful! I saw them at the Cavern Club every Friday night. There was nothing else to do in Liverpool! I got to know Paul McCartney and George Harrison a bit. But, I never met ,Ringo Starr or John Lennon, which is really weird.

How did your family feel about your becoming an actor?
They were dubious. My father said “You’re going to be a what?!” Of course, what he didn’t tell me, was that his father was an actor!

Were you a middle class or working class kid?
In England, you have even more strata than that. I was lower middle class, slightly above working class, but not really middle class. My father worked very hard to send me to a really good school so I could get a good education. So I was very lucky, because he put out a lot of money for me, money that I’m sure he didn’t really have. But education is really the foundation of everything, isn’t it? So I’ll always be grateful to my father for that.

Did your parents live to see your success?
Yes, absolutely. I have a letter from my father, I think from sometime after If…had come out, that one of my cousins gave me that said “I think this thing of Malcolm’s may turn out all right.” (laughs) We were all amazed by what a huge hit it was. In fact, I remember If… being a much bigger hit than A Clockwork Orange, specifically in the UK because If…meant so much more there. It rocked the very foundation of the establishment: the public school, which is where they sent the sons of gentlemen to be trained to be captains of industry, and run the empire. So when we attacked the very foundation of this, it really rocked the place.

Let’s talk about the Mick Travis trilogy. Mick was a metaphor for a changing British society, and Lindsay Anderson was really a sociologist, going back to his first film, This Sporting Life (1963).
He was, absolutely that, and a poet, of course. His films are very poetic. He was very taken with John Ford, just loved him. I think he loved him as a man, too, although I heard him say “Oh that Irish, alcoholic egomaniac,” on occasion. But, you know, who isn’t that to an extent, who is great? Lindsay was just so unique. I’m doing a one man show on him next year at the Edinburgh Festival. It’s the tenth anniversary of his death.

Are you writing it?
I’m compiling it. It’s made up of his writings, in sequence, from the magazine Sight & Sound, which was a film journal he edited, and maybe some of his diaries and letters as well. Lindsay meant so much to me, and was really the most important person in my life, even more so than my father. He was certainly more influential. Although sometimes he’d turn on me, quite frightfully, and I’d just bite my lip and say ‘Okay, this is the price of friendship with this man.’ I was able to put up with it because he was one of the most incredible human beings I’ve ever known: complex, and brilliant to the point of it being scary. Very artistic and poetic, with a scathing wit. He hated fools, and yet, there was also a very vulnerable side to him. He was also a very beautiful man. To be in his presence, you knew you were in the presence of a major human being.

Looking back on some of his less-kindly exchanges with you as a young man, how many of them do you now think were justified?
Oh, all of them, I’m sure. I just read an entry from one of his diaries where he said “Malcolm will come over and write for five minutes and then, what else is there to talk about?” (laughs) I was a kid, you know, and he was probably pissed at me, for something. I would always stand up to him, never back down. He said “You know, sometimes I would really like to talk to Malcolm about the part, but he won’t.” And it’s true. I was so sure, and I knew my instincts were absolutely pure. Lindsay would want to talk about the character’s psychology, and so on, and I’d say ‘I don’t wanna talk about it. I don’t care what he had for breakfast!’ “Oh for God’s sake, Malcolm!” (laughs) And that’s just how the work was done. It was never in an abusive way, though. It was an intense working relationship, particularly with O Lucky Man! Because that’s the one that I’m closest to of the trilogy, although If…was the cornerstone of my career. How lucky was I? Even Lindsay said “All I can tell you is your career is downhill from hereon in.”

That wasn’t true, of course.
No, but it is a really great film.

A sequence from O Lucky Man! (1973), featuring McDowell, music by Alan Price.

And the jumping from black & white to color, that wasn’t symbolic as many people theorized, but was simply because they began to run out of money during the shoot and black & white was cheaper to process, right?
It wasn’t symbolic, and it started off as a monetary concern. There wasn’t enough money to light the chapel, so he just decided to shoot it in black & white. I was next to him watching the dailies and, he was such a romantic, he said “Oh, I do love black & white! What are we shooting tomorrow, Valerie? We’re doing it in black & white!” Arbitrary. He was an anarchist. Brilliant. Such nerve, like Bob Altman. He goes in, doesn’t have a damn script, and just does it brilliantly. I saw Michelangelo Antonioni last week in Rome. He’s 91, paralyzed, and starring in his own film! So I go in to say hello to the maestro. I knew him 25 years ago. He’s there sitting in a wheelchair. I kiss his hand, ‘Maestro.’ The photographer comes up for a picture, and he says “Yo! Yo! Yo!” Everyone was like, “What?” It turned out, he wanted to be moved around so a beautiful sculpture is behind him! Even at 91, the ego is incredible! It’s kept him alive. They’re incredible, these guys.

It’s admirable that at this stage of your career, you’re willing to commit to doing small films that have integrity, rather than doing one blockbuster every three years.
It’s very important that we keep the independent film world alive, because this is where the most interesting work is done. However we can do it. We’re not going to get rich in this milieu, but we’ve got to do them, because they’re the most important works culturally that we have. The other stuff is fine, it’s great escapist entertainment. But the stuff that I’m interested in doing is mirroring what’s happening in our world as we live in it today.

Right, the great films transcend time. When I was watching If…the other day, I realized that it could be a contemporary film, the hairstyles and the clothes notwithstanding.
Yeah, and can you imagine that being your first film, that part? I didn’t even know what the part was when I was cast. ‘Is it an important role? What’s the role?’ “Yes, it is important, Malcolm,” slightly irritated with me, of course. ‘How important?!’ “Look! You’ll just have to wait and see! I’ll give you the script in good time.” (laughs)

The really chilling thing about If…, when you watch it today, are the parallels with Columbine.
Exactly. Isn’t that amazing? And very few people made that connection.

McDowell and Rachel Roberts in Lindsay Anderson's O Lucky Man! (1973).

Let’s talk about O Lucky Man! It’s got an amazing supporting cast: Ralph Richardson, Helen Mirren, Warren Clarke, who played Dim in A Clockwork Orange…Yeah, dear Warren. I got him in on that, too. I had seen Warren in a play called “Home” that Lindsay did with Ralph Richardson and John Gielgud that I saw at the Royal Court Theater. I said to Stanley ‘Get this guy Warren Clarke for Dim. He’s brilliant!’ Stanley didn’t like going to the theater, so he had the play put on tape. He said “I don’t think he’s got it. I watched the tape.” ‘Watched the tape?! Go see him, Stanley. He’s brilliant!’ I was furious with Stanley. So we auditioned 80 guys for the part. I read with 80 guys, and none of them were any good. So three or four months go by, and I’m Stanley’s office and his intercom comes on, his secretary says “Uh Stanley, Warren Clarke is here to see you.” And I went ‘Mm hm.’ Stanley says “Oh Malcolm, Warren Clarke is here. Would you like to say hello?” ‘Why don’t I, Stanley?’ (laughs) So we read together, and Stanley gave him the part right away. Now by this time, six months had gone by, and “Home” was picked up to go to Broadway. So Lindsay’s furious with me because he had to rehearse the two Knights with another actor! “That bloody Kubrick, he can’t make up his damn mind!”

Kubrick and Anderson were really like night and day in terms of their working styles, weren’t they?
Absolutely. One was a poet and a humanist. The other was a satirist. Stanley did not understand, or care, about the human condition. He liked human ridiculousness and frailty in terms of exploiting it, but he didn’t understand human beauty or the poetic.

So would it be fair to say then that Kubrick was interested less with observation than he was with dissection?
Yes, absolutely. I think he was. But brilliant, though. An equally brilliant intellect as that of Lindsay Anderson. But he just didn’t have Lindsay’s humanitarian side or his vulnerability. Lindsay’s vulnerability, I think, came from the fact that he was a homosexual who couldn’t show it, and always fell in love with heterosexuals because then he couldn’t do anything about it. This all came from the diaries, because when he was alive, I had no idea. We always felt he was sort of neutral, or asexual. I’d never known him to make a pass or be with anyone. But it turned out that he was in love with all of his actors.

McDowell's mentor, director Lindsay Anderson, on the set of If... (1968).

Was he in love with you?
I presume so. I was in three of his movies, and he only made six. But there was never any suggestion of physical contact, or any of that stuff. But if he’d been openly gay, and comfortable with who he was, he never would have made If…, O Lucky Man!, or any of these great films because there would have been none of the repression, none of that volcanic emotion that was in all of his work. I mean, what about in If…when (actor) Richard Warwick swings on that gymnastic bar? That’s one of the most erotic scenes I’ve ever seen!

Brittania Hospital plays much better now that it did in ’82 when it came out, particularly on this side of the pond.
It plays so well now, because you can have objectivity towards it. You can never look at something with clarity when you’re in the middle of it. But it was amazing that Lindsay took that medical research story from O Lucky Man!, and expanded it. And the reason he did it was that his mother had died in hospital, and it was such a horrific experience for him that he really wanted to have a go at the medical establishment. But the hospital was a metaphor for what England was at the time under Mrs. Thatcher. It was a social document of England in the 80s.

Is that why you moved to the States and continue to make it your home to this day?
Yes. I never really liked the English as a race, to be honest. I found them arrogant, not the northern English, but certainly where I was living in London. I loved the freedom in America. I loved the fact that nobody cared who your damn father was, where you were born. Of course here it’s really about how much money you’ve got, but that’s easier to deal with, somehow. So the first time I came to the States, I really felt at home, much more so than I did in my own country. In fact, I feel very foreign when I go back to the UK. When I was living here, I came to do Time After Time, met Mary Steenburgenfell in love, then when we split up seven or eight years later, there was no question of me leaving my children, so whether I liked it or not, I was going to stay here so I could be the father of my children. So the decision was taken out of my hands, so to speak, which I’m very happy about. So I never went back, and in fact, I was offered a lot of work in England that I turned down. I just figured, if we’re going to break, we’re going to break. That’s a period of my life that I’m done with now.

McDowell in his iconic role, Alex, in Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange (1971).

Let’s talk about A Clockwork Orange. One thing I know is that it was very hurtful to you when Stanley Kubrick just ended your friendship cold turkey once the film was wrapped.
Yes, it was. And now that Stanley’s passed, I feel a sense of regret that my pride didn’t allow me to pick up the phone and say ‘Stanley, I’d like to come over, have a cup of tea, and talk.’ Because of course, I loved him. You couldn’t really do that performance unless you were very close to Stanley and he with me. It was a very intense experience. It was a year of my life, and it was some ride. It was a tiny little movie, with no budget, and getting to work with this material with this wonderful language was just extraordinary.

It was very Shakespearian.
Well, it was Richard III That’s what I had in my mind, was Olivier in “Richard III.” I would put on the Beethoven and crank it up and that’s where I came up with that look that Alex would get. Stanley would be behind the camera, laughing “Yes! We found it!” So whenever it played, boom! There it would go. But what I learned from Stanley was very different from what I learned from Lindsay. With Lindsay, you would do your thing, make it beautifully real, although not realistic. With Stanley, it had to be magical. You went to do a sequence, and it would have to be perfect, and he’d wait for days on end for it to happen. It was incredibly intense. We shot the end of the film, in the hospital, up front, with the whole metamorphosis back to where Alex began, I wasn’t even aware I’d done it until I saw the film and went ‘Oh my God! That’s amazing!’ That’s the effect Stanley had on you. The next day, we had to go in and do the rape and the beating up of the author, so we were just completely wiped out. We were on that set for five days, basically. I wanted to rest, I was so out of it, just emotionally spent, doing this scene over and over. The fifth day, he comes up and goes “Can you dance?” I went ‘Can I dance?!” Altman asked me the same question. What is it with these guys?! (laughs) Of course then I said, ‘Sure I can!’ and I got up, and started to sing Singin' in the Rain while I danced. There it was. And that was Stanley.

I read that you’re a huge James Cagney fan, which was amazing to me, because the other person you embodied in A Clockwork Orange was the young Cagney, circa The Public Enemy (1931).
Wow, that certainly wasn’t conscious on my part, but that’s a wonderful compliment, thank you. I suppose because I’m such a huge fan, I see myself a bit in him, I guess. The minute I saw him as a kid, I just went ‘Wow!’ To me there is no finer actor that ever lived, than James Cagney. You look at his stuff now, you could put him in any contemporary film. The same with Bogie and Spencer Tracy, although I think Cagney was still better, and I’ll tell you why: Spence was great at certain things, as was Bogie, but there was only one Cagney. No one else could do what he did: he had the edge, he had the energy, he had that intensity that was mind-boggling to me. I tried to capture that in Gangster No. 1, which was my real ode to Cagney.

Well, the ending of that film was White Heat(1949).
Exactly. Why do you think I did it? (laughs) It was a total homage, saying ‘Thank you Mr. Cagney. You’re the governor. I’m here to bow at the temple of Cagney!’

McDowell as the eponymous character in the notorious Caligula (1980).

What happened with Caligula? How were the producers able to get this amazing cast (McDowell, Helen Mirren, John Gielgud, Peter O'Toole) for what turned out to be an epic hardcore porn flick?
What attracted us all to it was a script by Gore Vidal. What happened was, when Bob Guccione, the Penthouse magazine founder who produced the film, shot all this hardcore footage two years after the film had been completed and then spliced it in. I mean, it was absurd, because the footage didn’t even match much of the time. There would be a shot of me smiling, looking at what as supposed to be my horse or something, and then suddenly they’d cut to two lesbians making out! It was just awful! Vidal had his name removed from the film, but of course none of the cast could do that, because there we were, up on the screen. But on the positive side, I got to work with Peter O’Toole, John Gielgud, and Helen Mirren again. But needless to say, we were all pretty appalled by the final product.

You got to work with Morgan Freeman, one of our favorite people, as a director on Bopha!
I adore Morgan. He has such a regal bearing and is such an intelligent, compassionate person, which comes through in his work. That was a very tough shoot in the sense that the subject matter was so disturbing. So it was a very sobering time. We shot it in Zimbabwe, which was quite an experience also, being in Africa. It’s a remarkable place.

Was being directed by an actor a different experience than just working with a straight director?
Well yes, in a way. Morgan is certainly one of our finest actors, and has an innate understanding of the process. But at the same time, and this isn’t to take away from the marvelous job that he did on that film, I don’t know that he really enjoyed being a director, and I don’t think he’s directed anything since, which is a shame. I’d love to work with him again, either as actor or director.

McDowell as author H.G. Wells in Time After Time (1979).

It was so nice to see you playing a gentle soul in Time After Time, when you played H.G. Wells. In many ways, I always had the feeling that Clockwork was both a blessing and an albatross for you, much like Psycho (1960) was for Anthony Perkins: you were both typecast for years after playing these villainous characters that became such a part of the cultural zeitgeist.
I do think that’s true to a large extent. Certainly I enjoy playing a variety of characters and for a while, I really resented being so strongly identified with Alex and A Clockwork Orange, but now I consider it to be one of the highlights of my career and life. As I said, I love to work, and over the years, I think I’ve proven that I can play a variety of roles equally well, not just villains.

You’re now in your 40th year in show business. You have five films out this year, and another five in 2004. Plus, you’re going to be a dad for the third time in January! Life is good for our favorite droogie, yes?
Life couldn’t be better!