"In high school, I worked at The Video Room in Oakland, California. It had the largest selection of laser discs in the Bay Area. One guy owned all of them. I was smugly aware that most people were watching movies entirely wrong, and would tell them so. I’d explain aspect ratios and assure my friends they’ve never even really seen Jaws until they’d seen it at my house on the Pioneer, hooked up to my dad’s concert amplifier and massive stadium speakers, my own rig. I watched more movies during that time than I did in film school. The Manchurian Candidate was one of them, and it was just [on a] different level. I went in thinking it would be a masterfully directed political conspiracy thriller, which it was, but was also completely bananas. I couldn’t believe some of the choices made. That film gave me permission to get a little bit weird in my storytelling. Once you’ve seen an old lady execute a Korean POW while Frank Sinatra looks on in complacency, you know you can go to crazytown and the audience will stay with you. It’s not easy, but it’s possible."

"For the four years between 1971 and 1975 one could say that Robert Altman didn’t touch the ground. I am strangely less sensitive to his previous work, including M*A*S*H, and what followed (too baroque for my taste), but Thieves Like Us, California Split, The Long Goodbye and McCabe & Mrs. Miller are the great successes of a cinema free of all constraints and carried by the best of the spirit of their time. It is hard to believe today that these films were actually financed by a studio and were even popular successes. Nashville is the culmination of this rather miraculous cycle. And even its transcendence – being a sort of “total-film” – its timelessness grasps the American spirit in a way that few films have. One feels at times it veers toward caricature that is a little cynical – Geraldine Chaplin, a very young Jeff Goldblum – which gives a glimpse of what will follow it; but for the most part, the film is in a state of grace, at once funny, cruel, profound and always seeking human and social truths – with a scalpel."

"I love Roy Wood. Once again, we're talking about songs. He couldn't be constrained; he had to be different. He wouldn't just grow his hair and look like a troll, he'd dye it purple. He'd always take things one step too far. We worked with him, playing at Irving Plaza in New York, and we told him we'd had a hit with 'California Man'. "Well, I want to do my version." Hell, do our version! Roy was obtuse, while Jeff Lynne was more of a rocksteady kind of guy, which I think is why Jeff ended up being more successful, because they're both talented beyond belief. Two guys from Birmingham: "Let's work together!" The next day: "Maybe not such a great idea!" Because Roy would want to have 80 saxophonists, and they'd have to be girls. The difference between Roy and Jeff is that Jeff would want to have a band who could get out there every weekend. Roy's his own worst enemy: he's the most underappreciated of the pop geniuses, but not by me. But if he were any more successful he'd never talk to me."