In Golden Braid you played a priest hearing Chris Haywood's confession. Did you identify, in some way, with your Catholic past in choosing to do that cameo role?
As the years go on, I actually appreciate my background much more than I did in the past. But it was pretty grim. We came straight out of the Middle Ages.
What were some of the characteristics of growing up in Holland and of the Catholic background you describe as grim?
Well, when I was 17 or 18, I still didn't know anything about sex, never heard of it. We were so suppressed that even when I left home at 23, I had no idea about the world. My mother had put zippers on all my pockets. She thought I would get robbed when I went out of the house. I really came from the Middle Ages and I was a very unhappy, miserable, cold youth. In the last few years I realise that there is an incredible wealth in having had that background because I'm getting a lot of inspiration from it now.
I was an altar boy, choirboy and I studied to become a priest. I went away to study for six months. I did a lot in a way. That all somehow rubs off. But I don't regret it. I used to regret all that - and all the guilt nonsense. See, my mother was a very loving women and an incredibly giving person who never said one word wrong about another human being, and always taught us to seek right every day of her life. She had a terrible life but she always taught us to keep loving, no matter what. In German they say, grosse geist, a big spirit. You must always have a bigger spirit than the other so that nothing can really crush you. That was her fairly simple sort of philosophy, but I thought for many years that that was it, you must keep loving. The human race was very important to me.
These last few years I'm not so sure. I'm terribly disappointed in people. That includes me; I'm not any better, and really disappointed. I think people are not a good lot. I used to think, like Anne Frank, we must believe that people are basically good, and maybe that's still true, but I think they behave very badly - stomp upon the face of the earth as if they own it and have no idea about their own mortality. We don't die anymore - you know, death has disappeared. Somebody has cancer and there is a great legal breakthrough - and the person gets $450,000. How can you possibly compensate life and death with money? This is all very strange to me.
Do these more pessimistic reflections influence the stories you're choosing to tell on screen now?
No, what becomes increasingly clearer to me is that whatever you have done, whatever you have achieved, doesn't mean anything. You know, once you come to terms with your own ego and all that and you return to your own humble self - because film is a deluding thing - and you don't project yourself around, then you suddenly realise that it all means nothing. You have to start the good fight every time you make a film. The administration is virtually against you - you know, `Oh, Cox with another film, you know, so what? We've seen his films'. There's this incredible, almost-hatred when you arise from the ashes a little. You find a lot of rapport when you leave the country. But within the country it gets worse all the time and it's very difficult to start the next film. I might be sitting in an office here that's heavily mortgaged, but for my own freedom I've paid very dearly. There's very little room in Australia for films like mine.
You see yourself as a film artist. Audiences aren't always responsive to film artists. Do you they just want popular storytellers?
That's okay, there's room for all of us. If I can't make films with the full backing of my instinct, I can't perform, I can't do it. I've tried; I can't do it. Everything within me rejects any sort of compromise. I know it sounds a bit pretentious but I cannot treat it as anything but giving form and shape to something that I feel very strongly about.
Your portrait of Vincent and your growing up in Holland. Did that influence your perspective on Van Gogh? and did the film enable you to assess your Dutch background better?
I don't think it had much to do with my Dutch background. It was only when I started to read a lot and when I read Van Gogh's letters. Of course, there is something about the Dutch mist and the meadows and the willow trees that all made it a bit more nostalgic with the journey. But I found him such a compassionate, wonderful human being. That attracted me above all. I found him always honest, always real, always doing his utmost, and I related very much to his type of loneliness. It's the loneliness, the dreadful loneliness that I've known all my life. That was still much stronger for me when I tried to become a film-maker - you know, up to 30, 35, I was terribly alone. I was not equipped for the world at all, and, at that level, that is a very similar background to Vincent.
My parents weren't really Dutch. My father was half German and my mother was French-German-Polish?, and she never even spoke Dutch properly, so it wasn't really such a very strong Dutch background, but very European.
Are you pleased with Vincent?
Yes, but even within the short time it has been in existence... I mean, Vincent almost sent me to jail. We had terrible times making that film. And the very first time it was screened, everybody walked out... not everybody, but a lot. And after two years of hard work that's very shattering. It was a very difficult film to make, with little means, little money but, you know, with simple help from my friends. It was a gigantic effort at the time. Yes, I am pleased with that film. I think that it's nothing to do with me, that film. It's a homage to a great soul and also it's a film of the way Van Gogh speaks - I have only very humbly tried to put it together and give people a flavour of his soul. In the whole history of art there's no artist like him - where writing and painting travel so closely together.
We always try to find out the creative process and how people do operate. I don't know... but I do know that Vincent had a magnificent way of expressing what he felt. So most people, when they use language, express only conditioned thought but very little heart. Not Vincent, nor Nijinsky in his diary - they're both people that fascinate me very much because they both manage to express their hearts.
Another area of Europe that seems to have attracted you is Greece: Kostas and, especially, Island. What attracted you to those stories?
The first time I went to Greece I realised I had been homesick and I never knew where it was for. In Germany they have a word called fernweh, sickness for the distance. Once I had left Holland, there was no home for me. There was no home here; I was always drifting between places. When I got to Greece the first time and met these people... a Greek is a Greek and every day is the first and last day of their lives, as has been said, `Wherever I travel, Greece wounds me'. There's incredible belonging and I envy that very much. I love Greece for that.
Also everything has a lot to do with music. All creativity is based on music and the Greeks still have their own musical language. It might have been bastardised by the Turks and others, but out of Greece comes an extraordinary melody and on every street corner stands a man who can sing a hundred times better than Frank Sinatra and on every village street there are wonderful musicians who have had no schooling but play with the heart and soul. These people are ignored in the world. They don't speak English. But even Greek pop music is much more exciting and more schooled and more civilised than anything this Anglo-Saxon? civilisation can offer.
I loved all that very much. I got to know some very fine people there and even bought a house for a few thousand dollars which I lost consequently after 20 years. But they make me feel at home.
There is the contrast between the Greek Orthodox Church and whatever influence it has had and Catholic and Protestant traditions in Northern Europe.
Yes, I had an uncle who was a Benedictine monk. He died in 1994. And I have an aunt who's a nun. Every large family had to have members of religious orders. It's remarkable and I have much more sympathy now for the Catholic church than I had before. You really have to reject it at some stage, because it was all wrong, the way it was embedded in us. We were poor, poor sheep. That was just unbelievable.
One of the interesting things about Island is the placing of a Sri Lankan woman in that culture. What influenced that part of the plot?
I think the two countries I love most are India and Greece - Alexander the Great went right up to Nepal - and there are a lot of similarities in the character of the people. It's in the songs and the music as well. I spent a long time, maybe three years in India. After I had been here in Australia and grown up, I was 27, 28, and around that time I went to India, Nepal and Indonesia, but spent a lot of time in India and Bangladesh.
Isn't it strange that, as life goes on, you become automatically more religious. People say that. Organised religion I'm still very suspicious about, but I feel an extraordinary, overwhelming force that I cannot fight any more. It becomes part of my whole being now. So I've become a very religious person. It's very strange because I can hardly talk about this within my own environment. I have kind of really let go.
When Man of Flowers was released in the early 80s, it seemed very strong. You rely on music but you have also used visual art, paintings, and their religious motifs. An exploration of art and religion and sexuality?
Yes, and also a continuous exploration, the juxtaposition of traditional art and modern art, traditional love and modern love, traditional religion in a way, too. But, of course, it always puzzles me - anything modern I shy away from these days. It started with Man of Flowers. We tend to embrace any advancement automatically, any technical advancement, any new product, anything hideous we embrace straight away as if this is advancement. I prefer to progress in my head. I don't need any more. What have we actually achieved with science and reason has really brought us to the brink of extinction - science and reason. It's a very troublesome situation. I find I am almost sounding like my father, which I hate very much. But I'm hanging on very desperately to any type of tradition, and also trying to bring up our children in a world that does not in any way acknowledge that we have an inner and an outer world that must constantly be interacting.
There's the celebration of the outer world and nothing but, but there's no more celebration of the eye. We need to be surrounded by things that please the eye or intrigue the eye, because everywhere we look we see ugliness. Everything we build is ugly because greed and common sense have taken over. They cannot build anything any more which you can look at, sit and admire. I'm doing a tiny bit of renovation now. At night-time after being busy, I can sit for hours just looking at it, thinking, `This is marvellous. I did this'. I'm as clumsy as they come. But I'm very determined, so I get it done.
So we are bringing up our children in a world where the actual image of that world is so wrong. That troubles me greatly. Man of Flowers was very much about not only the search for beauty, but the inner search. It was very much about the inner search for beauty and a deep longing that travels with all of us. Anyone who has seen things and feels about the world longs, because the longing is not satisfied any longer. I find no satisfaction in anything that this world's had to offer. I hardly go out now. What is it I see? People standing in queues to get into a disco? They stand there waiting in the queues, and when they get to the door they might not even be allowed in, into a hell-hole. What sort of nonsense is this? It's an absolute hell-hole. I don't understand that. I don't understand this world anymore at all.
Man of Flowers was very religiously explicit as Norman Kaye went from house to church, played the organ and returned home. The religious motifs were clear. But what was the Orthodox background of the husband in My First Wife?
Well, he was Russian Orthodox. You need a variety of characters. I believe that when you look at people who have had no religious background at all, they are always lacking something, there is something missing. So if I want to give somebody a bit more substance, I give them a religion. That's the simple explanation. I do feel that this is true - look at most Jewish people. Because of their so-called religion, they always have another dimension to them.
My daughter goes to an Anglican school, St Michaels, although I would prefer it to be Catholic. Now, this is because I was brought up myself in the Catholic way. But if it were a Catholic school, I would keep a very close eye on the school. I would prefer that because I don't believe in this religion either. Anglican - what does it mean? At least the Catholic church had a bit more meaning.
Also I like to give people a multicultural, multinational, multi-whatever background. I think, despite everything, I find this country still very racist. There is a lot of hidden antagonism, hidden racism, because the Anglo-Saxon? soul is very cold, very calculating. It is one big enormous lie, actually, because within the Anglo-Saxon? world people are not really allowed to speak their hearts. So when they are racist, they do this quite brilliantly. I found this, too, as a so-called migrant with a big mouth. I found an enormous amount of opposition. If I had been Australian, it would have been a totally different story with me.
I have nothing against Australia but there is something within the psyche of this country that is not very healthy. Honestly, I'm not a very vindictive person. I don't really know what hatred is. I don't hate. I forgive very easily. I'm very loyal and very honest. I've never not paid my gas bill. I do all the right things on that level. But what actually is the reason for so many people being against me? I don't know? Why are they against me? I don't understand that.
But you have generally been well treated in the press?
That brings me to another thing, reviewing. It's quite extraordinary how they treated one of my favourite films, A Woman's Tale. In a way the film has very little to do with me. It's a homage to a very great and wonderful human being, Sheila Florance. It's very much a film about life, but using death. It's a very daring movie, because you're not allowed to make films like this, playing with a million dollars, making a film about an old woman. That's pretty tricky. All the sentiments are really against it. I didn't have insurance so everything I had was at stake, making this film.
I always knew it would work - I had great faith in Sheila and in what we were doing. I judge people by this film, you see. When people cannot understand or appreciate it or the process of making it, I judge them by that. From the film you can only become a more thinking and feeling human being. When I see A Woman's Tale basically being ignored here, that's disgusting, absolutely disgusting. The only bad crits I get are in Australia but the whole world raves about A Woman's Tale, the whole world. Why not be proud of it?
You included Salvation Army characters in Golden Braid. What drew you to them?
I knew somebody who had gone into the Salvation Army. Often when people are embracing a religion or an ideal, they become very blind to all other things, a blindness about belonging to any particular group. That's why I've never belonged to anything. I've never voted in my life, I don't belong anywhere. The Salvation Army character in Golden Braid is a dear person but very pathetic. I love these people very much, but at the same time they've got to look at themselves clearly, and they usually don't. They have found their right pathway but it's so minute; their thinking is so small. To make fun of them - and I don't do it maliciously - I think it's quite gentle ...
Paul Chubb is a good comedian. I suppose you can't help liking him. The film has many comic moments: the naivety of the Salvation Army man, Chris Haywood hurrying off to confession (with you as the priest).
I think you have to have a particular sense of humour, but I think Golden Braid is quite a funny film, but very few people get it.
A priest commentator hated it and considered it appallingly immoral. But it is a fascinating look at obsessions and longings. The same longings that you spoke of were present in Cactus and Lonely Hearts.
They're basically all the same stories. You always make the same film.
The Nun and the Bandit?
It's minimal filming. It is a very religious journey, an overtly religious thing. It's the very first time I read a book that I wanted to film, because I normally don't believe the film has much to do with the novel. I wasn't at the screening at the Melbourne Film Festival but I never want to screen a film at a festival again. That screening actually killed the release. It got bad reviews in a few places, so Roadshow wouldn't even release it. I think that as an Australian bush film, it is a very, very original film, a highly original piece. The forest, the beauty of the land, that's the altar, and the sacrifice is the innocence and youth. You have a sacrifice on an altar.
But it gave me enormous satisfaction because the finished film is very nicely tuned, minimal when you look at the way it's crafted. I think it's a very fine film. But that's not what the reviewers want, a bush film like this. That's not very Australian, is it?
The character of the nun was one of the most striking nuns on screen. She was well situated in the context of religious life of the 40s and 50s. She is made more convincing by the device of the lessening of her outer dialogue and the use of her voice-over commentary, especially the prayer.
It's strange. I was invited to sit on a jury in Turkey and I went into the Grand Mosque in Istanbul. Next to me suddenly somebody was praying from within - but there was still a voice coming out. And suddenly I went right back to my youth. We always did this. It was part of the whole religious culture: pray to this, pray to everything. But it was a person actually next to me, praying. Suddenly I thought, yes, of course, that's right, and I went back and straight away and changed the film.
It sounded authentic, just right, the words that you chose. The moral dilemma involving sexuality and vows was presented very interestingly. The Age reviewer expressed shock saying that it was not sound, theologically. The nun had made a vow of chastity so there was no way she could consider sex with the bandit as a self-sacrificing means for the release of her niece.
The review was insensitive to anything that has a bit of spirit. There was no generosity of heart or spirit. It's a very Catholic film, yes, absolutely. We had it running in Germany and the Catholics and the Catholic church totally accepted it. It's a modern Catholic film.
Actually, it's a very religious film. Because of that, it is not very commercial, is not very successful. I think it's a very good film. It had really marvellous write-ups in Germany. They really understood that it's a very spiritual film. The Nun and the Bandit is about the land. Exile is about the sea. It's also about society, how it always destroys the individual: that we're not the end product of that society, we're just there to be manipulated and used. It's about a man kicked out of society who really becomes himself. He shines, burns through all the rubbish of the mind and the body. He has to somehow survive physically as well, and he does it quite brilliantly. People even get jealous of him. They ban him and exile him.
Anyway, it has similar themes but it's a more accessible film, I think. Then again, what am I going to do with it? Why do we have a Film Financing Corporation here that's put $16,000,000 into our films and then does nothing about them - if you're a painter you can go to a gallery with your painting. I can't get release any more. Exile has been invited to festivals around the world but so what? I can't travel everywhere any more. As usual, I'm very much appreciated whenever I get off the plane anywhere else, and here I can't get release for this film. I premiered it at the Phillip Island Film Society weekend festival, quietly. I find it pretty grim that I have to go and promote my own film.
I've had rejections one after the other - so I must be mad to keep going. It's a great pity that I can't cash in on whatever - I can't do American films where I get a million dollars and then tell people to go to hell and use that money to make what I like - I couldn't do it. That's my Catholic soul, I think. I feel I've sinned.
I did an episode for a collection film for German television. It was easy to do and it was a bit silly - and they left me alone, but I still did not feel good about it. It's slightly erotic ... then when the film was finished, I said to everybody, `Well, we've been to the brothel. Now we enter the cathedral'. `Bloody Catholic', they said. But it's true. I didn't feel very right about it. So is it guilt? What is it?
I find it much more exciting, in a way, to read a book than to go to the movies. I find most films disgusting. Sometimes you hear about these films, like Die Hard 2. I forced myself to sit down and watch it on television because I couldn't possibly go into a cinema to see anything like that. What sort of world do I live in, when this is celebrated and this is the most popular film of a particular year? And these people get six, seven, eight million dollars for their hideous contribution to the human race. These people are at the forefront of what is happening within humanity - and the product was so disgusting, I just couldn't believe it. I was so hurt - not angry, hurt. How is this possible?
It's not straightforward storytelling because there's no story. Nothing that happens in it is believable, nothing can happen like this. Blowing somebody's head off has to be applauded? I just don't understand this at all. And most films are based upon these sorts of totally unbelievable stories that have no bearing on our own reality. I can't escape in a film because I find most of those films are too disgusting. I find this very strange.
We had the big scandal with Romper Stomper. I made a comment - aren't I allowed to say I don't like this film? I was in Berlin and invited to come to the opening of a little new cinema - this is where I'd started - and the cross-point at the wall where people crossed from the East to the West and vice versa. I know that area. I know my mother had to part from her sister there and they never saw one another again. People went through the most amazing agony. Some were taken out and shot.
Now the wall has been taken down, we are getting somewhere. At the opening of that cinema, they said, `We have an Australian film', I can't remember the name, a German name, nothing to do with Romper Stomper. So I went, the film started. And it was Romper Stomper. I thought it was an appalling piece. And I got up in the cinema, I got so angry, and screamed and stormed out.
Of course, there was a journalist there who made a big scandal about it, came back here, and I had all the press running after me. I refused to comment any further. The only thing I said - and I will say it again - that it was very well done, but so was the Second World War. What is the point? Like Die Hard 2, it's a very well made film. So was the Second World War. Well directed - so was the Second World War. Well acted - so was the Second World War. What is the point?
I still have this belief that we are hopefully designed for bigger and better things than this. That's basically all I'm saying. This director grew up in a boring Melbourne suburb - what does he fucking well know about Nazis? Where I grew up, in the first five years of my life, everybody in the town where I lived was killed. 80 per cent of the population was murdered. You know, in the next five years after I was five, I walked through the rubble and the ruins of our city - and my memories are unbelievable. The screams and the agony - I had ten years of my life in the most unbelievable situation. So what is this person who comes from a boring little suburb where they've always had Vegemite on their toast and they're making a film with no fucking idea what really happens, what really goes through people's mind, what is suffering really about? And he has a film that's celebrated. Compare that film with A Woman's Tale on all levels, on any level, even technically, and in terms of passion and vision and love - just love. It's disgusting to me.
It makes me so angry, and not only that, this film really got to me because wherever this person goes now, he still attacks me.
We are travelling to somehow make other people's lives more bearable, especially within the arts. As they say, love is joy in another person and, within the arts, I think art is a mixture of vision and kindness, must be vision and kindness - kindness because it's close to children, close to God; and vision - it's from vision we find divine origin in every simple thing. It's the easiest the thing in the world to do something nasty. Isn't it much easier than doing something good and beautiful. But to create beauty is very hard, but the world is not without beauty.
If we can get it together, I'll make a film called Suicide of a Gentleman. I'm getting slowly ready - but I think I might have to leave Australia. I can't see much future from here. In one way it's because here I have so many financial problems, I've moved out of my house and going into a flat - this is all so ludicrous but it's my own fault. Then I'm making a film about Nijinsky. Did you ever read his diary? It's the most brilliant expose of a tortured soul ever. It was a wonderful thing. It changed my life when I read it at 19, 20. It really had an enormous impact. It has always travelled with me. I did an interview in New York and Nijinsky's daughter heard of it or saw it and wrote to me and now I have the whole Nijinsky family helping, which is really great, so it will happen with the help of the Russians, quite a large film.
Interview 19th May 1994
PAUL COX, SECOND INTERVIEW
Is Lust and Revenge a film you're happy with?
No, I'm not happy with any of the films.
I should rephrase that.
No, I should've gone much further. But by the time you film these things, then all lust and all revenge evaporates. There's no point in clinging to hatreds and dislikes. I don't want to continue a life with a heart full of hatred towards certain people. Now and then I blow up, but that's my temperament. Then it all goes back to a calm ocean. I don't want to live with all that.
Lust and Revenge is often very funny. The first few minutes with Pamela Rabe's performance, for instance. It's very short but very incisive and funny. And it stands up well even if the audience doesn't know anything about arts and politics in Australia.
Yes. I think it should have been much more popular in Australia, actually, because it is quite accurate about the whole operation here.
A film like The Dish people relate to.
I find it quite extraordinary. It's not a very well-made film. Nothing against it. At least I wish them well, these people, because they're harmless films, they're gentle, they have a degree of philosophy and wisdom, but I do not understand how this film can be so hugely successful here. I don't understand that. If you compare The Dish and, for instance, Lust and Revenge or even Innocence, then you would think Innocence and Lust and Revenge are much more competent pieces of filmmaking on all levels. But in this country they have such a small audience.
But people are not that stupid. I'm quite pleased with the reaction to Innocence. It is quite huge for a film of mine. I have always maintained that people are starving for this sort of thing, especially more mature people. It's pathetic. They can't really go to the cinema any more because there's nothing much to see. You know, you cannot continuously be patronised by some nonsensical stuff. I see all these films that are popular in planes, and it's utterly pathetic. They come out in planes before they are actually being released, so I see them all as part of my duty, and they're just horror in the air, horror.
Innocence did very well.
They did a very good publicity campaign. People at Sharmill had faith and they believed. It had very good word of mouth, you know, they can't put it down. It somehow makes people feel guilty. A lot of people do feel this because they ring their grandparents and suddenly they show interest again in people that matter. So I think that's part of it.
And you put in a little quote from A Woman's Tale during that continuity of that theme.
Well, I always do, you know.
I've heard quite a number of people who have seen it - I hadn't seen it by that stage; I saw it the other day - but people were pleased. And I think the reviewers seem to be favourable.__
Not in Melbourne. Don't forget, Australia has a very small, narrow, mean heart - large country with a mean little heart - and especially the so-called academics, the people who know. They do fuck-all and they have no idea of the rest of the world. Well, in Melbourne they don't favour people like me, who finally, at this point in my life, just starting to see the mountain. In Australia these people are usually put out in the paddock by forty. It takes a long time to grow up, to start seeing the light, you know. But then before you actually can get your so-called shit together, in this country they put them out, especially people like me, because I've been outspoken and I fought the system. Within this little community here is a very mean spirit. In other countries, at least you would find some generosity of spirit. Not here.
I have to tell you, going to the reviews every Monday and Tuesday in London, I find those British reviewers far more mean-spirited than the reviewers here.
Yes, that might be true, but not towards a person like myself.
They're very mean to British films. Some of them will start their column: "What is the British disaster of this week?" That was the Sunday Telegraph. I was very surprised - I did read somewhere that - is it true that Adrian Martin said Innocence was appalling, was it?
Yes. Now, Innocence gets rewards everywhere, amazing awards. It even got the audience award in Las Vegas, the capital of bad taste. That really threw me. I thought, is this possible? So there's an audience starving to do something with all their accumulated guilt in Las Vegas, and celebrating Innocence, which depressed me, actually, very much, because I thought, what is going on? What have I done wrong? But to get here an idiot writing idiotic things, that is very annoying. I don't even live here any more. I have nothing to do with this town. But they still have to put you down. And what a fool. Read his film reviews. One of his ten favourite films of the year was Space Cowboys. For heaven's sake.
He always defends it on - that he loves genre films.
Genre? There's no genre here. What is genre?
That's what he says. And he doesn't like more classic-style filmmaking.
But he knows nothing about filmmaking. He should go and see some Russian films, understand what the cinema can do. But to call Innocence appalling - that is pretty appalling.
Yes. But other comments I've seen seem to be much more favourable.
Most people raved about the film. It's neither here nor there, doesn't interest me. If people say - it's something that has a very big heart, it's made under enormously difficult circumstances with the help of very dedicated, wonderful people. It somehow tries to treat the human condition in reasonable depth about us, about our future and about our spirit and about our God. And if a local idiot can say this is appalling, well, that is indeed appalling. And when this film goes around the world, it gets rave reviews everywhere. The same thing happened to me with A Woman's Tale. Not one bad review, but rave reviews right around the world, from every country except here, this mean little city.
With Innocence - I couldn't quite see on the screenplay - did you write it all?
I missed that credit. I was looking for it.
No, I didn't give myself a credit. It's bad enough to call it a film by ...
So it's the story and the issues of lost love and finding lost love.
Well, they're all important to me, in all the films. It doesn't matter whether I'm writing with somebody else, but they're all about the same things. We're all travelling with the same hopes. There's always the search for the God within and respect for beauty and what actually it means to be alive. I mean, I would like to ask George Bush, "What actually do you think it means to be alive? What actually is this nonsense about - what's the most important thing in your life." He says, "Oh, I believe in God." Well, fuck you, George Bush. You are an arsehole. Believe in God - that's his defence. That's what I can't stand about anybody that professes to be a great believer in a particular God, the way they condemn all the other Gods; and the way they start one war after the other because of the other Gods. That's the big evil in the world. And this man hangs three people a month - Hispanics and blacks,and he has reversed the gun laws in Texas, so they can again have concealed weapons. America must be fucking mad. How can they do this?
Interview: 13th January 2001
to be edited with further material.