Q: You didn’t work on your first feature film until you were 39. Why were you so late to the game?
A: Well, it wasn’t for want of trying. I’d even written something for the Bee Gees. My contact in their management company told me, "The boys are in disarray. We need to do a movie that will put everything back on track." You know, like A Hard Day’s Night. So I wrote a film called Castle Accident—I was very much enamored of medieval tales—and I met the Bee Gees. Then something happened financially and they decided not to do it. I was very disappointed, but before long I got into films—and those boys got what they needed from Saturday Night Fever, didn’t they?

Q: You had a successful career making commercials. How did you end up doing that famous 1984 Macintosh ad?
A: The agency came to me and said, "There’s this personal computer called Macintosh." And I said, "A computer in a household? You’ve gotta be kidding me." I mean, I can just about change a lightbulb. So I did the ad and I was tickled by the fact that there was not one reference to a computer or shot of the product. I don’t think Steve Jobs liked that one bit, having his big launch campaign not show the fucking product. But right off they sold like gangbusters. And Jobs was, from that moment on, impressed by the power of media, I think.

Q: You’re used to dealing with prima donnas, though. I mean, you handle Hollywood stars ...
A: Look, actors are all different. They’re not all volatile. Some are sweet, some are volatile, but what is fundamentally in there is something that has to be paid attention to, in that they are, I would say, needy. Maybe that’s what Hitchcock meant when he said, "Actors are children." But I don’t think stars are children at all. They’re usually the most intelligent, no question—all the stars I know are really, really bright. But yeah, every director devises their own methodology. By the time I got to do my first feature, in ’77, The Duellists, which was with a certain tough guy called Harvey Keitel ... He was what they call Actors Studio and all that—Method acting and that kind of thing. Method? I told him I have a method too. I had absolutely no idea what the fuck he was talking about, and I think he had no idea what the fuck I was talking about. What I’ve devised over the years is being honest with actors and if I don’t know, saying "I don’t know. Let’s talk about it. You tell me."

Q: Really? I’ve heard you say actors had better be ready and that the camera is your "weapon."
A: True. It is. By the time I got to the chest-bursting scene in Alien, I figured if they see the little bastard lying there on the table it’s going to look pretty pathetic, so I’m going to hold it back from them. I knew it would only work once, but I only wanted one take anyway. The ship doctor says, "This is serious," and jumps on the table, because he thinks he’s got food in his gullet. We’ve got the air lines filled with blood, and then suddenly the chest goes BAM! Wallop—the son of a bitch came out. And they all go, "Fuck!" They thought it had gone wrong, because there was blood spurting everywhere, but they just kept running with it, until one of them started to shriek with laughter, and then it was over.