That’s the advantage to working with your brother, but what’s the real advantage to making a movie in your home town?
A lot of babysitters. No, the real answer is, everything’s familiar. That helps your performance, you hope. You know how people dress. You know what the accent’s like, you know what people’s attitudes are. You walk into a scene, you know if they’ve chosen the right location, is this the kind of bar I’d be drinking at, is this the right part of town? People can sense that authenticity.
Where did you crash?
Started out staying with mom. That was a little too . . . uh, close quarters. So we rented an apartment in Cambridge.
Close quarters because you had your wife and son with you, or was it being home with mom after so long?
Yeah. You come home from work, you just want to veg out. She wants you to sit down at the dinner table and tell her about your day — which I understand and like to do, but not after 16 hours of talking.
Speaking of your family: you’re a father now, and parenting — or the lack thereof — plays a major part in Gone Baby Gone. Did you take anything away from the experience?
I feel like I’m a pretty good parent. Never ever would I behave in the least way like the parents do in this movie, so I never thought, “Oh I see, you’re not supposed to leave them at home while you do crack at your neighbor’s house.”
Finally, I have to ask: I know a few Bostonians here in Los Angeles, and their #1 complaint about this town is the lack of Dunkin’ Donuts. You miss it as much as I do?
[Laughs hard.] I think three-quarters of my days in junior and senior year, I was late because I’d go to Dunkin’ Donuts before school and sit there for an hour. You can’t get better coffee than Dunkin’ Donuts, that’s for sure.
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