Jeff Bridges: California Zen

I’ve always approached making art the same way: it’s a matter of getting out of your own way. Letting the thing pop through you. I’ve often had the experience while painting of just getting into the zone. When you’re doing anything creative, if you can get in the zone, you’re lucky. It happens through you, then you stop and you look at it, and you say, “Oh, wow, look what happened—I think I’ll just splurch”, and you make the clam, as we say in music—when you accidentally kick yourself out of the zone. That’s always been my approach in all things creative. The tricky part is getting yourself in the position to receive that gift that wants to come through you. Something I do is I’ll pray. I’ll say, “Take me.” And the God that I’m praying to is the one I can’t imagine—it’s just what is. It’s asking that entity, “What would you like me to do? Have your way.” It’s basically: “Thy will be done.” A ritual of giving it up. 

One of the great things about movies is that you make them with other people. You’re all working together. You get this synergistic thing happening. You gotta talk to people. Talk to the people you’re working with and see if you can get on the same track. You might have high expectations going in, but it can be transcendent when you let collaboration rip through you. 

I like to garden. I’m working on a garden that’s giving me a lot of pleasure. I’ve been getting into different species of aloes, and I’m getting a whole batch of sunflowers going this year. I enjoy ceramics. And hanging with the family. I’ve got three daughters, four grandkids, and they all live within five minutes of us. My grandchild, Leon, is three years old—he’s a remarkable drummer. That’s how I spend a lot of my time. 

I remember going to the premiere of Heaven’s Gate (1980). A lot of animosity had developed between Michael Cimino and the press—and all the suits, the financiers, the studio heads—because he had a lot of work to do and he didn’t want any distractions. He didn’t want anyone visiting the set, so they were out to get him. When the premiere happened in New York, he hadn’t finished editing it, but he threw it up on the screen regardless. Everyone’s in tuxes and fancy gear, and we’re watching this thing—and then at the end, that terrible popcorn sound, and the isolated applause that never builds into anything more. It had such negative press going in. The reviews—talk about failure. We passed a newsstand the next day and picked up a review. They said that if they shaved Cimino’s head they would find three sixes. We were broken-hearted. But in Mike’s lifetime, the film has come to be regarded as a masterpiece, and so pertinent today. I watched it again for the first time in 30 years, and I sat next to T Bone Burnett, a dear friend, and he leaned over and said, “Sounds like we’re watching the news, man.”

Failure is tough. I made a movie called The Amateurs (2005). Wonderful movie. Great cast. Terrific story. If Frank Capra made a porn movie—that’s kind of the essence of it. But it was financed by a crook, and it didn’t get a proper release as a result. That’s heartbreaking. I made Hal Ashby’s last movie, 8 Million Ways To Die (1986). He was a true master, but they didn’t respect him. They fired him before he could edit the film. 

But you know what? Shit happens, man. You gotta grieve your failures, then you gotta move on. Life is just strikes and gutters.

Not too long ago, I found myself at death’s door. I was in the hospital, and that’s the time where you pull out all your philosophies, you pull out all your spirituality, and you say, “C’mon, man, now’s the time, what you got?” And it’s the same old stuff. One thing that really pulled me through while I was in that condition was something my mother would say when she used to send me off to work as a teenager, and could tell I was anxious. She’d say, “Jeff. Remember—have fun, and don’t take it too seriously.” So I’m sitting in that hospital bed, and I did remember. This is it. Don’t take it too seriously. That word: TOO. That’s where the friction is. Just have fun, even when you’re knocking on death’s door.

I heard this somewhere: the secret to a successful marriage is not to get a divorce [laughs]. Being in love. It’s the corny, cartoon-like thing where your eyes pop out of your sockets. I was just cold-cocked when I met Susan. It was love at first sight. So that’s still bubbling up, that might have something to do with it. Surviving all the missteps you make in a marriage that give you an opportunity to increase your capacity to love each other. That’s the wonderful thing about marriage. We’ve been married 48 years now, and it seems to be getting better and better, and more intimate. That’s what we want, whether it’s with nature, with life, or with your partner. Marriage is a great playing field to practise what being a human being is all about. That’s the high in life, isn’t it? Intimacy?