Mini’s First Time (2006): In this indie comedy-drama, my character is having an affair with his stepdaughter. I was forty-seven, and it never occurred to me to ask how old Nikki Reed was. When I found out, just as we finished, that she was seventeen, I flipped out on the producers, who had told me something different. In any case, Nikki is a wonderful actress who has become a steadfast advocate for animal rights, which I admire her for greatly.
The Departed (2006): Scorsese came calling again, and this time my character and dialogue had a bit more crackle. Marty won the Oscar (finally) for this film, and although I’ll never play a lead role in a movie directed by someone of his caliber, it was a thrill just to spend those couple of weeks in Boston with that cast. FYI: Bostonians don’t approve of your accent even if you grew up in Boston!!
The Good Shepherd (2006): It is not easy to have a director approach you with his notes after a take when that director is Robert De Niro. As I looked into his face and heard that unmistakable voice, I saw an onslaught of movie moments streaming in my mind. The movie itself, I think, suffered from Matt Damon’s signature warmth and humanity, which colored his character, the embodiment of American exceptionalism. The role required a screen persona of cascading whiteness who had performed a conscience-ectomy on himself, like William Hurt.
Prior to my divorce, I could name every film I had made and in what order. After 2000, that became impossible. One thing all of these disparate films have in common is that I remember only a few things about each of them. This is a natural consequence of getting older as that list grows longer. But my fight for custody of Ireland was like fighting cancer. It hung over every relationship, holiday, and job. All of my actions, every plan I made, every detail, was completely dictated by the chance of seeing my daughter. Often those plans were jettisoned at the last minute, in complete violation of the court’s order. I was separated from Kim in December of 2000. By the end of 2005, I was battered and numb. During this period, a whole host of other ancillary types of jobs started to pop up, work I took just so I could stay home in New York or LA. Voice-overs, sitcoms, guest starring with Jimmy Caan on his show Las Vegas, you name it. I didn’t want to ever miss a shot to see Ireland because I was in Prague or Sydney. I rearranged everything so I wouldn’t lose a single visit.
During my visits with her, Ireland and I would lie on the floor of her bedroom. We’d make a bed out of every blanket we could find and put pillows up against her dresser. We’d watch her favorite shows, The Fairly OddParents or The Powerpuff Girls. Not a lot was said during these viewings. My job was to simply keep the healthy snacks and watered-down juices coming. Before long, Kim would emerge in the doorway, glaring and tapping her watch to indicate that it was time for Ireland to be bathed and gotten ready for bed. I try to remember, when I’m with my young children now, how precious these moments are. After I was separated, there were times I would have traded anything to be back on the floor of Ireland’s bedroom watching Dexter’s Laboratory.
The love of a parent for a child is ineffable. When I think of all that I missed, of the chances to be a father to my first child and how much of that was stolen from me by some hateful, rapacious lawyers or cowardly judges, I’m overwhelmed by a great loss of faith. I wrote a book about my divorce called A Promise to Ourselves, which was the cri de coeur of a father who is alienated not only by his ex but also by the divorce-industrial complex, including the courts themselves. One of the more gratifying experiences of my life was to have fathers, and even some women who had suffered at the hands of that system, thank me for the book. It’s something I’m very proud of.
When things did not go my way, when one indignity after another piled up until I couldn’t take it another minute, bad things happened, for which I have no one to blame but myself. In 2007, at the height of that battle, I left a very angry voicemail message for my daughter that my ex-wife and her lawyers then released to the media. Like rubbernecking drivers making their way past a serious accident, news and entertainment programs played it over and over again. Commentators like Nancy Grace stated that the tape should affect the outcome of my custody case. Some years later, Entertainment Tonight saw fit to dedicate a segment to the “anniversary” of its release. And even though I had been led to believe, by virtue of my employment at the time on 30 Rock, that I was part of the “NBC Family,” Matt Lauer invited Harvey Levin, the intrepid reporter and erstwhile attorney, on to the Today show to discuss the release of the tape. The show only contacted me after Levin was done giving his views. I haven’t appeared on the Today show since.
If the goal of my ex and her lawyers was to damage or ruin my relationship with my daughter, then I certainly gave them the ammunition to do that with. My friends and family, the people closest to me who actually understood the situation, knew that the words on that tape were actually aimed at someone else. But as a therapist later told me, correctly, “If you hadn’t left the message, none of this would be happening.” In all honesty, my relationship with my daughter was permanently harmed by that episode. And in that sense, my ex-wife and her lawyers succeeded. I fully expected Ireland to move to Paris or London or somewhere else far away to attend school. Or head to India to do relief work the moment she was old enough to get far away from both of her parents who, as she would rightfully believe, had allowed bitter resentments and egos to overwhelm their love for their child.