As my friend Bob George used to say, “You’re getting close.” He’d say it about my personal life and he’d say it on set. He always knew what the missing pieces were and wasn’t afraid to tell me.
I met Bob, who died last week at 51 in a tragic bike accident in Silver Lake, through a friend. It was immediately apparent that we were exact opposites. I felt instantly balanced, just being in the room with him. He was an effortless, kind and gentle soul. An affable, hilarious guy who loved to laugh. I called him the very next day to go for drinks, and it was clear to us both that we liked each other to the point that we wanted to keep each other forever.
He was still a production accountant in 2013 when he expressed an interest in producing, and I thought to myself — I need this guy on my team. When our film “Newness” came around, it was a no-brainer and I asked Bob to join as my producing partner. He was into thrillers and most of all, he loved “Michael Clayton,” a film that is both restrained and stylish, just like him. He was very curious about my stuff too, and was up to the challenge of fitting a $5 million dollar idea into a $1.1 million budget. His value was instantly revealed, as he didn’t hesitate to reach out to his friends at his favorite haunts, like Bar Covell on Sunset, to help us out.
Bobby wasn’t your typical Hollywood producer. His genuine warmth and ease brought people in. When he smiled, he could make mountains move, and so people wanted to help and wanted to participate. He listened and looked you right in the eye in a way that you felt like the only person in the room. I’m convinced that this warmth, the way Bobby connected with people, is the main reason the film got made.
Over the next 12 months, we drove an insane pace. With the help of his infectious energy and enthusiasm we finished “Newness,” went to Sundance three months later, and by April, we were shooting “Zoe” in Montreal — which after shooting three films there, was Bob’s town.
At the end of each day, he’d come to my apartment for a beer to unpack the day, and laugh about the absurdity of making movies — and just how lucky we were to be doing it. As our spiritual guru, he always pointed out that part of being a filmmaker was about living your life to the fullest, so that it could be reflected in your work. And that we did. He’d take me to speakeasies and artsy strip clubs to “observe the hoomans” as he put it. He loved the real stuff, the weird quirks of humanity like a person rocking on their toes or smiling through a lie. He’d point out the details of every interaction, trying to convince me to put those things into the film.
Like Michael Clayton, Bobby was cool and reserved. Even in his humor. But what I remember most is how much he loved to laugh. On set, he’d prank me, to ensure that I wasn’t taking myself too seriously, tell me an actor who didn’t get the part had arrived by mistake and I had to deal with it. Stone face. Cool as a cucumber — until the laughter. He was a perfect audience, watching life like he watched films — from the inside, but observing.
As we set out to make our next film, “Endings, Beginnings,” just a week before shooting, we lost our lead actress. Bob immediately walked into my office where I was freaking the fuck out and calmly reminded me that this was not a problem, but in fact was an opportunity to see the role in a different light. He insisted that we’d be at El Condor in a few months laughing about it, and sure enough, we found our perfect Daphne in Shailene Woodley just hours later. This is the ease that Bob brings to all who know him. There is no need to panic. The universe is truly in charge.
He was my cheerleader, but not a “yes man.” He’d be the first to say if something bumped him, but it wouldn’t hurt when he critiqued an idea; quite the opposite — it felt like a gentle hug. That’s the producer and brother I’d always dreamt of. In the pre-Bob days, I was unbalanced and the work suffered. I wasn’t present, I’d worry about a million things at once and my decisions.Bob insisted I meditate, twice a day for 30 minutes, to turn off so that I could come back and effectively only be involved in one thing at a time.
During the pandemic, like many, I got very down. I lost faith in the work. I couldn’t find my way to write or create, but Bob wasn’t going to let that happen, and in true sage form, he bluntly told me that we were just getting started, that there was so much more to do, and that “26-year-old French girls” needed a good cry! At my lowest, in 2021, he presented me with an idea — “What if you slightly reinvent yourself and work on more broad ideas and move into your comedic sensibilities?” He said, “It’s not selling out if it’s honest.” I sat with it for a while, and it sunk in. I woke up, and took the challenge seriously.
When I think of Bob, all I feel is happiness in my chest, the image of him smiling and laughing at Sundance, Toronto or Tribeca. But then I’m reminded of all the things we didn’t get to make together and all the streets in all the cities we didn’t get to walk down. He was right, we were just getting started.
The three films we made together are so special to me, but they were polarizing. Somewhere deep in my heart I wanted to make something that was universally loved. That’s tough to say, because I’ve always felt that the whole point of being an indie filmmaker is to say, “Fuck it, who cares.” But I care. Perhaps for Bob, because he cared about my vision, even more than his own desires. Perhaps I just wanted to return the favor. Perhaps it’s much more, and he was right, truth is truth, no matter how it’s told.
As of Tuesday this past week, Bob’s new idea was becoming a reality. Before he left for the gym on his bike, he was halfway through reading our new film. He’d begun writing notes before he left. Even though incomplete, they tell me the clarity I was looking for during this whole journey with him — that it’s OK to take chances, that he loved the levity I was trying, and that given my discomfort in this new space, I’d grown.
Bob was a great note giver because he was always thinking of the audience, and how it might come across. He was always watching the film and relating to it off the page. He made me realize that the more people you can reach the more people you can touch. So that’s what I’m gonna try and do for you, Bobby, try to carry the zen like approach to process and growth and storytelling in a bigger way. In your way and damn it feels good to be in your gear.
Devastatingly, Bob didn’t make it home from the gym that day. Now, when I look up at his half-written notes in my office, I will everyday be reminded that there’s always an empty page about to be written. The process of making this for him now will be a full reflection of Bob and who he was. A searcher of the deepest kind. A man with endless curiosity and devotion to the truth, to be present and live the way Bob lived.
Can’t wait for you to read the second half buddy…am I getting close Bob? Love, Drakey
Drake Doremus is the director of “Like Crazy,” “Endings, Beginnings” and “Zoe.”Bob George died Oct. 17 at age 51.
