Tough Sh*t: Life Advice From a Fat, Lazy Slob Who Did Good by Kevin Smith

a block to my trailer, locked myself inside the bathroom, and put my fist through the wall three times.
    It sounds more impressive than it is, as trailer walls arepretty paper-thin. But it wasn’t the actual damage that was so out of character for me; it was the throwing of a punch—even at an innocent wall. This man managed to get me in as emotionally confounding and confused a space as my wife could in the midst of our worst arguments. But I could fuck Jen and blow off steam; I didn’t have that luxury with Bruce. The frustration Willis created that day turned me into Cuba Gooding Jr. in
Boyz n the Hood
—swinging at the air, trapped in the mouth of madness. And for the rest of the show, whenever someone used my trailer bathroom and emerged asking about the three giant holes decorating the walls, my assistant Meghan would say, “We’ve named those holes Die Hard One, Die Hard Two, and Die Hard Three.”
    I think it comes down to this: Bruce has been sitting behind directors for years, watching them make TV and film. You do that long enough, you know as much as everyone on set: You know how all the departments work, you’ve had experience shooting stuff that doesn’t make the cut, and chances are you’ve been around more movies than anyone else in the cast or on the crew. At that point, many actors simply make the transition to directing—Robert Redford, Kevin Costner, and Ben Affleck leap to mind.
    Bruce would be an amazing director, as he’s accumulated a shit-ton of moviemaking ability, simply by being in as many flicks as he has over his whole career. But instead, Bruce simply opts for telling people what to do on
their
sets. Sadly, he only tells you what a shitty job you’re doing, shaking his head like nobody understands cinema except
him
.
    If you’re going through hell, as the adage says, keep going—’til you get out of hell altogether. One of the things that helps you focus less on an undesirable present is theeternal promise of a hopeful future. So while I was earning condescending looks from Walter Bruce simply for doing the job I was hired to do, I was dreaming of
Hit Somebody
—the hockey movie I intend to be my last film.
    When I got to the
Dicks
set, I had my heart set on casting Bruce as a grizzled hockey vet who dies on the ice. In preparation for this, I bought a glass desktop hockey puck trophy case, which colorfully displayed all the pucks of every World Hockey Association team that ever hit the ice. It was meant to be bait.
    The idea was simple: I always cut the flicks I shoot during production and invite cast and crew to visit the editing room anytime they want to see their work put together the way it’ll look in the finished film. I’ve been doing this since
Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back
—and sharing it with the cast and crew, who always love seeing the flick take shape day by day. Always be a big includer, kids; exclude folks, and you’re excluding their possibly good ideas as well.
    So in my head, the scene would go like this: Bruce would eventually come to the editing room after my many invites. And while I’d screen his cut footage for him, he’d see that glass puck case sitting atop a speaker and ask, “What’s this?” And then I’d hit him with three periods full of hockey talk and
Hit Somebody
highlights—during which he’d learn all about the character I was writing for him. And he’d say, “Gimme a script as soon as it’s done.” And eventually, Bruce Willis would play that role in my flick and win the Academy Award doing so, or other plaudits I always felt he deserved but never saw him receive. I’d show the world how cool and talented the Pride of Penns Grove really was. AndBruce would love it because, finally, he wouldn’t have a gun in his hand as he ran around on the screen; he’d be skating, brandishing a hockey stick instead.
    That was before I put my fist through the nearly cardboard trailer walls. I returned to the editing room that night, took