No. I think what I was referring to at that point was whether or not, in the current structure of how movies are made and sold, they have the kind of role that they used to have. There was a time when I think critics had a more significant and integral role in what was happening with movies. But the business has changed so much that you could argue that's not true anymore. When you can find somebody somewhere to call every film a masterpiece, then it's gotten out of hand.

Also, the number of serious critics who are allowed and/or encouraged to write at length and seriously about movies is diminished, which is sad. I didn't always agree with Pauline Kael, but I sure loved reading her stuff because she was incredibly bright and knew a lot about a lot of things, not just movies. There aren't many like that anymore.

Yet, by strict definition, critics are parasitic in the sense that they can't exist without the artist. The artist has to create something that is then commented on. It's great when a group of critics gets together and gives you an award like that. But the bottom line is, it doesn't make me any better at my job, which is all I think about when I get up in the morning. You have to give such awards their proper weight.

Do you think a lot of what critics and film journalists do now is just propaganda for the film industry?

You have to separate the serious ones from the ones who are not. The ones who are serious aren't anybody's stooge. It's just, with some exceptions, harder for them to express themselves the way they want. I know enough of them casually to know they're often under pressure to keep their writing at a certain level and not let it get too intricate or esoteric. They're encouraged, for the most part, to write at length about big films. They can't write a big piece on a foreign film or an art film that's not going to get a wide release. They can write something, but the "Charlie's Angels" review has to be big and front and center.

So there's a corporate dumbing down of what critics can and can't say?

A little bit. And they're not the only ones who are under that kind of pressure these days. [Laughs] Everybody on every side of the business is essentially dealing with that now.

Are you under that sort of pressure, too?

No, but I've been very lucky in that I've either gotten hold of commercial material that was distinctive or, in the case of "The Limey" and "Traffic," worked for independent companies.

Does it bother you when your smaller films, like "Schizopolis" or "Kafka," fail to find an audience?

I couldn't be very disappointed that "Kafka" failed to connect because I didn't think it was very successful creatively. When they're done, I move on. I can't control whether or not people want to see something. There have been a couple of small films I've done that I was happy with where it would have been nice if they'd found an audience. But I just keep working. I take the shotgun approach. I figure that if you keep your head down and your feet moving, eventually you'll luck into something people want to see.

The influence Richard Lester has had on you is apparent in "Schizopolis." How did the book with him come about?

It was part of my reawakening, if that's the proper term. I was trying to figure out how I had drifted so far off course. I was finishing "The Underneath," and I was unhappy with the process and the work I was doing. I wanted to get back to the way I felt when I first started making films. I remembered that one of the filmmakers I connected with most was Richard Lester -- the playfulness and gentle skepticism his films have. In the middle of going back and watching all his stuff again, I called Faber & Faber and they said yes to the book idea. Initially, it was going to be a straight Q and A. Then I decided to include a journal and the footnotes.

There's a lot of frustration in the journal during that period of 1996-97, a year or so after you had finished "Schizopolis." How does that relate to now? Are you happier with what you're doing?

I was frustrated then because I was searching for a place for me to be within this business. I didn't know where that place was or what it looked like. I didn't know if I should keep making movies like "Schizopolis" and finance them by writing scripts for other people. I really wasn't sure where I was headed. As the book comes to an end, I'm starting to figure that out. Since then I've just been lucky that things have been coming at me that I've wanted to pursue.

What was the resolution of that personal crisis? Was it just serendipity in being sent the script for "Out of Sight"?

It was partially serendipity, but the timing was right. I was beginning to realize that I had marginalized myself. And if I wanted a career of any length at all, I needed to do a better job of working on both sides of the coin. Though I think those lines are disappearing, it was as if half of the business was going to be off limits if I continued as I was. "Out of Sight" was the turning point.

When you're sent a script like "Out of Sight" or "Ocean's 11," and you have that confluence of a good piece of material that you think you know how to do well, that you can put actors in that you know will do a great job and that might get seen, you've got to jump at that. Those opportunities don't come along that often. It's a harder group of planets to line up than a "Schizopolis" or a "Limey," which I can do any time, anywhere, and which I'll continue to do. But you can't just let things like that slip by or you'll have a whole career of making "Schizopolis." Then you're screwed.

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