Ava’s living area is made up of three primary spaces.
When I see ‘Sunshine,’ I see a film that part of me is kind of very proud of and another part of me is very sad about, so it’s a really complicated film for me. And I’ve never been really able to resolve all that in myself.
I don’t like dealing with money transactions in poor countries. I get confused between the feeling that I shouldn’t haggle with poverty and getting ripped off.
I do all this alone, everything I achieve, I achieve alone, because it’s my head I’m locked into, and I share this space with nobody but myself.
I wrote a whole novel before The Beach. Unpublishable. Junk. But, for some reason I stuck at novels and wrote a second. Still not sure why I didn’t give up. Stubborn, maybe.
Vietnam, me love you long time. All day, all night, me love you long time.
By the time the plane was airborne I’d forgotten England even existed.
Normally, small talk is enough for me to form an opinion of someone. I make quick judgments, often completely wrong, and then stick by them rigidly.
It slightly depends on your perspective, sort of how you look at these things, but when I sit down to write a script, I’m not planning to write a script; I’m planning to make a film, and so I only see the script as being just a step there.
I’ve never been to Comic-Con, but I’m certainly aware from this side of the Atlantic that it’s a very important part of film marketing now, even when the films are not directly linked to a comic.
Of course witnessing poverty was the first to be ticked off the list. Then I had to graduate to the more obscure stuff. Being in a riot was something I pursued with a truly obsessive zeal, along with being tear-gassed and hearing gunshots fired in anger.
I carry a lot of scars. I like the way that sounds. I carry a LOT of scars.
The first I heard of the beach was in Bangkok, on the Ko Sanh Road.
You learn about me, and I learn nothing about you. That’s not a foundation on which friendships are based.
You wake, you die.
Impulse. Response. Fluid. Imperfect. Patterned. Chaotic.
Maybe to have a memory you need time for reflection, however brief, just to let the memory find a place to settle.
Moshe was a tall Israeli with an ear-splitting laugh. He used it in the same way as a madman uses a gun, spraying it around with bewildering randomness. Hearing the laugh made me blink instinctively, like hearing a hammer pound on brick or metal. Our conversation was impeded by having to watch him through the strobe effect of my convulsing eyes.
I remembered a few things about waking. I remembered the sense of surprise as dream life and waking life swapped primacy, and the way in which the most tangible and deeply involving dreams could bleach entirely away.
Jed! I got stuck in some air pocket with more exits than... ” I couldn’t think of anything famous with a large number of exits “I nearly drowned!