The set is stocked with Victorian extras and little children in Oliver kind of outfits, and the director says, “All right, Bud – just give it whatever you want.” And Hackett goes off on a rant. Unbelievably obscene.
When I was a little kid playing baseball, my manager called me Sleepy. And only a few people, who know me from way, way back, call me that still. I used to drift off and that’s why they made me the catcher, so I wouldn’t fall asleep. That gift I have still.
He’s going on and on and on, and finally he stops. It’s just total horror, and the camera’s still rolling. You can hear it, sort of a grinding noise. And the director says, “Anything else, Bud?”
The only way we’ll ever know what it’s like to be you is if you work your best at being you as often as you can, and keep reminding yourself: That’s where home is.
We’re born alone. We do need each other. It’s lonely to really effectively live your life, and anyone you can get help from or give help to; that’s part of your obligation.
And I say, ‘Hey, Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know.’ And he says, ‘Oh, uh, there won’t be any money. But when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness.’ So I got that goin’ for me, which is nice.
