This is 62: Screenwriter/Actor and more Tommy Swerdlow Responds to The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire
"I feel young and old at the same time. Like I've got the whole box of age crayons at my disposal and can color both inside and outside the lines."
From the time I was 10, I’ve been obsessed with what it means to grow older. I’m curious about what it means to others, of all ages, and so I invite them to take “The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire.” (*The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire is exclusive to Oldster Magazine. ©Sari Botton)
Here, screenwriter, director, actor, and novelist Tommy Swerdlow responds. -Sari Botton
PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏
Tommy Swerdlow is a screenwriter, director, novelist and actor. He wrote the movie Cool Runnings and co-wrote other family films including Little Giants, Snow Dogs, and more recently Dr. Seuss’ The Grinch, and Puss In Boots: The Last Wish, which was nominated for an animation Oscar. His film A Thousand Junkies, which he directed, co-wrote and co-stars in, premiered at the 2017 TriBeCa Film Festival (It can be watched for free on Amazon Prime and elsewhere). His work in television includes the series Brutally Normal (WB 2000) which he co-wrote and co-created. His acting credits include Real Genius, Hamburger Hill, Howard the Duck, Child’s Play and Spaceballs.
His first novel Straight Dope was published by Stark House Press in July of 2021. He writes a Substack called Feel The Rhythm , which is a mash-up of autobiography, chronicle, food writing, poetry and...
Tommy is from New York City. He moved to LA in 1983 and has lived there ever since.
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How old are you?
I am 62, last of the Baby Boomers; not sure what Baby Boomer means to those reading, but to me it means a firm cultural grounding in the 20th century and analog DNA.
Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?
I don’t associate myself with any specific number. I relate more to an essential “me-ness” that is unaffected by age and time. Then again, sometimes I’ll look at a recent picture and think to myself, who’s that old Jewish guy? Oddly, this does not happen when I look in the mirror (self-delusion is a wonderful thing).
You know what, let me amend all that. I do relate to age, but emotionally. When I’m scared or misunderstood, I become an unloved 8-year-old. If somebody criticizes me, I’m a rebellious teenager who doesn’t want to hear that shit. If I help someone with a difficult situation or write something meaningful, I am a wizened elder and high-priest of the soul. I can become blended with any of these parts/ages several times a day.
The thing I find interesting about age and aging is that the first ten years of life (even less) are so much more impactful than the next fifty, sixty or seventy. The first act sets the story. The second and third are what happens in response to the first.
I do relate to age, but emotionally. When I’m scared or misunderstood, I become an unloved 8-year-old. If somebody criticizes me, I’m a rebellious teenager who doesn’t want to hear that shit. If I help someone with a difficult situation or write something meaningful, I am a wizened elder and high-priest of the soul. I can become blended with any of these parts/ages several times a day.
Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?
I feel just right. And that is to say I feel young and old at the same time. Like I’ve got the whole box of age crayons at my disposal and can color both inside and outside the lines. I also feel great physically. I was an intravenous drug addict for the center cut years of my life, so I’m in much better shape now than I was at 35. I do a half-hour of Pilates every day, then swim right after in a lap pool I just built in my backyard like some redeemed junkie saint! I am also under the illusion that I am better looking than ever, so, I don’t mourn the loss of my hair, and wander the world imagining myself a beautiful, bald, salt and pepper bearded jazz rabbi.
As far as being in step with my peers, I try to be in step with everybody. I’ve had enough wins to not be desperate and enough losses to not be arrogant. This allows me to relate to a lot of folks.
What do you like about being your age?
I like being able to call everyone “kid” and get away with it. I like that so much of the story has happened and that it’s my story and I get to own it and tell it and let it inform whatever is left to come, and not just the joys, but the agonies. I like the empirical nature of my confidence, and that I’ve had the time to actually get good at a few things. I like being old, but not that old.
I also like where and when I come from. That I was raised on the front lines of the anti-war movement and in the hot molten core of second wave feminism. That I was heartbroken when Muhammad Ali lost to Joe Frazier and thrilled when he beat George Foreman. That I was allowed to run wild on the parentless streets of late 70s New York City. That there was only one screen in my childhood home, and that my world wasn’t the size of something I held in my hand.
What is difficult about being your age?
Not much. I pee a lot during the night. I mean get up and pee so much it qualifies as exercise. One slight problem is that my cultural references are that of a 90-year-old, so when I was working on the new Shrek movie and threw out an Al Jolson reference, they looked at me like I was nuts. This happens a lot, as I mostly listen to pre-1960 jazz, wear a fedora, and walk around in my own private 1945. But I was always like that, so maybe it hasn’t changed that much. Aside from that, I find being 62 to be the easiest time of my life.
What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?
I don’t find anything all that surprising about it. As far as what I expected, I’m not sure. Back in the day, people were old at 65 and looked it. I think the whole notion of aging has been completely revalued in the last fifty years. A lot about age is shorthand. We like statistics, scoreboard, context. Anything that can clarify, simplify and take the mystery out of things (all the best stuff is in the mystery). Age is a way to appraise each other. At its most reductive, it’s a way to find out how close we are to dying. You’re 28? You got a long way to go kid. You’re 78? Do you have your affairs in order?
I feel great physically. I was an intravenous drug addict for the center cut years of my life, so I’m in much better shape now than I was at 35. I do a half-hour of Pilates every day, then swim right after in a lap pool I just built in my backyard like some redeemed junkie saint! I am also under the illusion that I am better looking than ever, so, I don’t mourn the loss of my hair, and wander the world imagining myself a beautiful, bald, salt and pepper bearded jazz rabbi.
What has aging given you? Taken away from you?
It’s given me more chapters in the book. When I was 25, I had Of Mice and Men. Now, at 62 I’ve got East of Eden. If I make it to 95, I’ll have War and Peace. (Had to switch from Steinbeck to Tolstoy). Joseph Campbell called life “a slow initiation.” The longer I live, the more initiated I get.
As far as what it has taken, well, I used to be a very fast runner and I ain’t no more. But that aside, I find aging to be so much more positive than negative. I could see this changing as my body fails and, God forbid, my mind, but as of right now I dig the whole progression. Most of all, I laugh as much as I did when I was 17. So, going back to another question, maybe 17 is the age I most associate myself with.
How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?
I was a wild, original force when I was young and I still am. But I’m much kinder. Much, much kinder. Getting my ass kicked by drug addiction softened me in a very positive way. It’s good to fuck up on that kind of grand scale; if you survive it, it becomes a benediction.
Also, I like being an older cat who’s been through a lot of shit. People come to me when they’re in trouble and confused and need to talk about painful, personal things. I’ve been very open about my life in my work. Confession is my jam and because I’m a confessor, people feel comfortable coming to me to confess. It took a long time to become a safe place. To be part of the solution and not the problem.
What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?
(You got to go in for the kill, huh Sari? You couldn’t let it just be a nice little song and dance about my acceptance and pleasure with aging. You had to bring in the big bad world of ambition and comparison, and all the ways I fucked it up or at least think I did.) (Ed. note: Sorry, Tommy! -Sari)
I don’t look forward to milestones, in terms of age or anything else. I have a hard enough time wrangling my inner life without thinking about what I have or haven’t accomplished, and when I do, it hurts my heart. I’m just going to do my thing and add it all up at the end—or maybe I won’t even bother. No, I’ll probably bother.
I like that so much of the story has happened and that it’s my story and I get to own it and tell it and let it inform whatever is left to come, and not just the joys, but the agonies. I like the empirical nature of my confidence, and that I’ve had the time to actually get good at a few things. I like being old, but not that old.
Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?
My two best friends are both 80 years old. One is David Ritz, a ghost writer who has written over fifty “autobiographies” including ones for Ray Charles, Marvin Gaye, and Aretha Franklin. David’s busier right now than ever, writing away and just being his same, unique, engaged, curious, funky self. The other is my pal Peter, who wakes up at dawn and hikes for two hours in Griffith Park, and is equally vibrant and alive. We hang out, listen to jazz, eat good food I cook, talk about shit that matters to us, and laugh our asses off like we’re kids. I hope we keep doing it for years to come.
What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?
I’ve had a lot of repair parts added to my ticker, so, I take the medicine they give me.
One slight problem is that my cultural references are that of a 90-year-old, so when I was working on the new Shrek movie and threw out an Al Jolson reference, they looked at me like I was nuts. This happens a lot, as I mostly listen to pre-1960 jazz, wear a fedora, and walk around in my own private 1945. But I was always like that, so maybe it hasn’t changed that much.
What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?
I’m not a Refusenik, so, I don’t know.
The trailer for A Thousand Junkies, a film Tommy Swerdlow co-wrote, directed, and starred in:
What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?
The most intense experience of my life was getting endocarditis at age 44, after eighteen years of heroin addiction. I had to have open heart surgery, which wiped my ass out, and then nine days later I got a bleeding ulcer and bled out for thirty-six hours until they could finally stop it. My duodenum was punctured during this and I had to have an emergency life-saving surgery. I was in Cedars Sinai 66 days, and unable to have both food and water for three weeks. I had destroyed my life, my career, my body and was convinced it was the worst thing that could have ever happened—but it turned out to be the best. I became the site of an alchemical event. The lead of both my inner and outer life eventually turning to gold.
What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?
What a sick, twisted, and very real question. (Ed. note: Again, sorry, Tommy! -Sari) Regret is my misery go-to. When I really want to be nasty to myself, I go into my regret bag. Sometimes I wake up in grief, believing I have completely misunderstood the life project, but that may be more existential angst than regret.
The funny/sad thing about my regrets is that they are always ego based and career oriented. What I should have done instead of what I did. It’s an odd kind of self-torture that allows me to imagine the glories—what might have been, even though I’m mostly fine with what was and is.
I do wish I had understood the power of consistency at a younger age, and that it isn’t about starting but finishing. Unfortunately, those are wisdoms I have had to learn over time and am still learning. And of course, being strung out for your son’s childhood is less than ideal, but after a lot of work by both of us and forgiveness on his part, we seem to have made our way.
What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?
I bristle a little at this one because it supposes I know what I want or what is best for me, or that I have go out and do a bunch of important shit, when I don’t. I have found that things I look for are rarely as interesting as things that arrive unexpectedly. A good example is the 1908 craftsman home I live in, which I bought at the beginning of Covid. I had no desire for a house, and wasn’t actively looking for one, but it’s been one of the major boons of my life; a wonderful stage set for the final third, and a psychic balm for the nomad inside. That being said, I would like to direct another movie or two and write at least one more novel. But the big bucket in my life was the one I almost kicked at 44, not the one that has a list inside it.
Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?
No, and if there was, I wouldn’t have listened.
What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?
My body? I got to make plans for my body? My wonderful, battered body. There’s not enough to deal with!? I don’t know what I want to do with my body. (Ed. note: Again, sorry, sorry, sorry, Tommy! -Sari)
I was a wild, original force when I was young and I still am. But I’m much kinder. Much, much kinder. Getting my ass kicked by drug addiction softened me in a very positive way. It’s good to fuck up on that kind of grand scale; if you survive it, it becomes a benediction…Of course, being strung out for your son’s childhood is less than ideal, but after a lot of work by both of us and forgiveness on his part, we seem to have made our way.
And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?
As for my soul, I have no expectations, but a lot of confidence that whatever the gig is, I’ll find a way.
What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?
I’m heavily anti-birthday, and I’m not even sure why. I think it’s because, though I crave attention, I’m really uncomfortable asking for it, and like a dope, that’s what I think making a big fuss about your birthday is. You know what? I’m over it. This year I’m gonna have a big fucking bash! (Ed. note: Me, too Tommy! I’m turning 60 in October so I’m preparing now to go effing nuts! -Sari)
What great and original responses! This one really hit me hard.
"The thing I find interesting about age and aging is that the first ten years of life (even less) are so much more impactful than the next fifty, sixty or seventy. The first act sets the story. The second and third are what happens in response to the first."
Such a simple obvious truth but I'd never thought of it that way and it explains so much...
“ I have found that things I look for are rarely as interesting as things that arrive unexpectedly.” Yes. I love the way this interview veers from funny (peeing as exercise) to profound and back again.