A year ago today, I was out running errands for Diminuendo, the film we were finally beginning to finish after losing our post-production funding, when I got a text. Sent by Jacleen, Richard Hatch’s close friend who had been helping settle his affairs and arrange his care and his life as it neared its end, the text simply said “Come soon, if you can.”

I rushed over to the West Valley house where Richard was in hospice. Richard’s son Paul was there, alongside several students from Richard’s acting class, which was one of the most important things in the world to him. I doubt Richard was aware of us. He drifted quietly in a deep sleep, and no one needed to say that the end was near.

We sat his vigil, and talked quietly. They told me that a few days earlier, the class had a small party, rolling Richard outside in his chair to enjoy the beautiful yard, the gorgeous view, his students, and a little tequila. It sounded lovely. Perfect. Exactly what he would have wanted.

Richard’s breath grew slow, then shallow. I held one of his hands for that last ten minutes as he slipped oh-so-quietly away. I whispered a goodbye into his ear, touched Paul’s shoulder, hugged Jacleen, and left.

And it was okay.

Yes, I had to sit in my car for fifteen minutes because the tears made it impossible to drive, but I was also smiling. This death… this was okay.

I first met Richard through Walter Koenig, when we were making Cowboys & Engines. During that shoot, we bonded over his endless desire to explore the inner workings of every human he ever met (Richard would spend hours in freewheeling philosophical discussion with ANYONE), his fascination with my fucked up psyche and worldview, and my perverse desire to turn that around and shine the spotlight on HIS inner workings. During long bouts of verbal fencing and trying to avoid probing questions about ourselves, we formed a real friendship.

Over the years, lunches, dinners, bowling, and even a film happened together, but mostly, I think about the talking. I miss the talking; Richard’s boundless passion and infectious enthusiasm tempered my bleak cynicism and intractable bitterness.

We knew Richard was sick during filming of Diminuendo, but we all — Richard included — thought it was a stomach issue. There were days he just couldn’t eat, or would duck around a corner to throw up in a bush right after a take. He refused to not work, though, and because we were friends, I respected that. In his shoes, I would have done the same thing, and expected the same respect. “Don’t try to tell me when I can’t work,” he said. “I’LL tell you when I can’t work.”

Shortly after Christmas, he did. We had a few days of re-shoots scheduled for the end of January. Richard asked me to stop by for a visit, which turned out to be three hours of talking. Partially about his pancreatic cancer (which, by this point, we all suspected), and partly about his plans, but also just to talk. Like we always had.

Richard knew he couldn’t do the re-shoots. He saw the end coming. All he wanted was to not die in pain, not die in the hospital, and not die alone.

We also talked about the fact that he wasn’t telling people. Like refusing not to work, this, too, felt familiar. Richard was proud and strong, and he wanted people to know him as he chose to be known. He didn’t want pity or extraneous concern. He didn’t want what was left of his life to become one long conversation about chemotherapy.

So I kept my mouth shut. I told Sarah, who Richard loved, and when (with his Jewish Illness radar working full-tilt) Walter Koenig called me out of the blue to ask “What’s wrong with Richard,” I told him as well. I couldn’t lie to Walter.

I visited Richard one more time in January. He was thin, tired, but himself. We barely talked about the cancer, except to discuss his plan to hold a party for all of his friends to see everyone last time and say goodbye; to let them say goodbye. I thought that was a fantastic idea.

None of us knew how quickly the cancer was going to move. The next time I saw Richard, he was in the hospital. Walter wanted me to drive him over to visit, and I asked Richard if he would allow Walter to come. He said no, and I honored his decision. I visited once more in the hospital, and then he was out, and then he was gone.

And because he wasn’t in the hospital, he wasn’t in pain, and he wasn’t alone… it was okay.

In the weeks that followed, I talked to a lot of Richard’s closest friends, people who had known him YEARS longer than I, who had no idea he was even sick. Or had no idea how sick. Some first found out he was ill when they read that he had died, on Twitter.

I realized then how privileged I had been for Richard to allow me into his passing. I honestly think, if he hadn’t had to tell me, he might not have, but it didn’t matter; it was gift. I’d like to think it went both ways.

I did what I could to share that gift with Richard’s closer friends, telling them this story, explaining why Richard hadn’t wanted anyone to know, explaining that by the time he understood how few hours were left, the time to let them in had passed. As best I could, I tried to help them understand what I had been privy to; that Richard is gone, and he wouldn’t want this maudlin melodrama. He would want you to understand that it’s really, honestly… okay.

Richard Hatch was one of the finest men I have ever know. Beyond incredibly talented he was also gracious, kind, warm, charming, effusive, thoughtful… and he was my friend.

So say we all.


Well goddammit. I suppose I have to do this thing in the spirit its intended. How do I quantify 2017, now that we’ve all moved forward in our joint temporal experience of now…?

Pride. Love. Loss. Success. Achievement. Failure. Disappointment. Joy. Anger. Frustration.

I began 2017 with an entire catalog of expectations that proved to be as wrong as wrong can be. I have ended the year in exactly the same fashion. Along the way I got married, lost a good friend, lost a truly delightful mother-in-law, completed a film I’m extremely proud of, failed to sell that film (so far) due to truly ridiculous circumstance 100% beyond our control, and gained and lost all hope, faith and aspiration daily (or, some days, hourly).

Shoulda fastened my seatbelt. It’s been a bumpy night.

I knew when I set out on my blog-a-day mission that there would be several that were private; journal entries that are for my eyes only. As it happens, there have been a LOT more than I expected. as 2017 came to a close, it became apparent that there were a lot of thoughts and opinions I’m simply Not Allowed to Voice. That’s a hard place for me, but I have responsibilities beyond my own public persona, so I’ve ranted in silence, and it’ll stay that way for now.

Going forward into 2018, I’m still having daily crises of self centered on talent, strength of will, ambition… I’m still frustrated that we haven’t closed a sale for Diminuendo… I’m still inexplicably surprised to discover that I continue to be, by a large measure, my own worst enemy…

For some of these problems, there are already plans, mechanisms and solutions in place. For others… well… I guess I keep my enemies close.

In a sense, there can be a real benefit to being a day player. Today through Wednesday, I’m shooting second camera on a Wicked feature.  Unlike other projects where I’m the writer or DP, I didn’t have any discussions with the director, I didn’t scout, I didn’t prep. When the shoot is over, I go home and (assuming what I shot doesn’t suck) never hear about it again.

With everything going on in my life, everything I’m involved in, I find this very attractive. I have a strong impulse lately to sharpen my focus on what’s really important personally and professionally, and not sweat the rest.

This is a huge change for me. Normally, I take everything way too seriously. The trick is judging correctly what is and isn’t important. That’s why I make lists.

LL makes lists as well. She has her list of reasons we won’t work, I have mine. She has her list of guys she distracts herself (some more serious than others), I have my hookers, (far fewer than normal, none of whom are serious at all). And all of it is simply the two of us dancing as fast as we can to avoid the issue of “us.”

Because it is an issue. And where it’s concerned, LL & I are… confused… she is terrified of investing in me because I’m a bitter, dissolute, emotionally fucked up disaster. And who could blame her?

For my part, I vacillate between continued belief that we’re incompatible in the long run, and absolute certainty that we’re perfect for each other.

So, yeah. It’s a mess.

To complicate matters, we’ve had a shake-up in the Cowboys & Engines casting, and LL is now my female lead. So no matter what happens, we’re stuck with each other for a while. I imagine she’ll fall madly in love with one of her boy toys just when I decide I really want to get her. Such is my life.

Poduction on C&E has been pushed back to late February. This lets us end the Kickstarter campaign in late January when James Deen will be in Park City doing press for The Canyons at Sundance. I feel a lot better about this than ending the campaign near Christmas.

Overall, I’m thrilled. It’s just more prep time, and I’ll take all of that I can get.

I’m learning that it’s a dangerous thing to have a blog people actually read. You begin editing your comments based on who might stop by to see what you’ve said about them. It’s inevitable. Of course, then you run the risk of posting something so bland and vague no one will want to read it… which, granted, eliminates the problem.

LL is a perfect example; she’s living with me temporarily until she can get a place with her friend Amanda. It’s been about six weeks now, and there’s a lot I’d like to say about her, but she reads my blog (hi!). By writing about her, I run the risk of revealing something she considers private, saying something unintentionally hurtful, or, worst of all, posting something that reads as if I’m trying to manipulate her in a passive-aggressive fashion knowing she’ll read it.

Oy. Lemme just say it’s been interesting. We get along great, and despite the fact that we spend a fair amount of time discussing why we could never work as a couple, it kinda feels like dating. Well, dating with a lot less sex (we’ve fooled around three times since she moved in, which is about %7 or what I would expect from a relationship). Except for the times when it makes me feel infinitely more alone (because when I pierce the illusion and analyze what we’re really doing, I am), it’s been nice. It felt all warm and fuzzy to come home from Moscow knowing I wasn’t sleeping alone.

Speaking of, I know I still haven’t posted my Moscow pix, but I’ve been working almost non-stop since I got back. I’ve done re-shoots for the horror film I’m not yet allowed to name (I’m calling it REDACTED, not to be confused with the shitty Brian DePalma movie of the same name), done callbacks for Cowboys & Engines (that will be it’s own blog post to announce the Kickstarter campaign going up), I’ve plotted two scripts for Axel, shot for x3sixty and worked as the DP on Paul Thomas’ reboot of Behind the Green Door for Vivid.

The latter was enough to keep me occupied all on its own. PT likes to “deconstruct,” as he calls it, which amounts to not deciding anything until we’re on set, and then almost certainly doing anything other than what’s on the page. Having been down that road on his New Sensations movie, I was actually the calmest person on the production, but there were moments when Shylar and/or K (who was doing production design) wanted to kill him. I think if John Cassavetes had directed porn, this is very much what it would have been like.

A few days ago, against my better judgement, I went to see Vega. I would like to say it was motivated by something more than a need for butt sex and the desire to beat the crap out of someone… but I would be lying. If we had any chemistry outside the bedroom (or bathroom in this case), it would be a different story. But we don’t.

Today (if United ever stops cancelling our flights) I’m off to San Francisco to finish up Green Door. I even managed to set up a really interesting date for Saturday night with a hot redhead (can’t say I go for a type…).

I’ve got two more days of x3sixty when I get back, then it’s all C&E all the time. Which is how it should be.

Today, I feel like a badly-cooked steak; hard, tasteless & unappetizing on the outside, cold and raw in the middle.”

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Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes. — Oscar Wilde