When the pressure was too great, I got on a plane and went to Florida. I wanted to be out on the water, the horizon ringed by water, the sun on the water and a line taut with a big fish. My mind was reeling. I did not know what to do, or where I would go next.

Luckily for me, I had a father, and he was a piece of steel. I went to see him. I was in tears, a grown man crying real tears. I said, "Oh, Pop, you got to help me. Look what happened. Look how hard I have fallen. Look how much I lost. I have troubles, real troubles. I've made such a failure, Pop, such a terrible failure."

Here's what he said: "You've got troubles, kid? Real troubles? Well, I tell you what. Put your troubles in a sack. Bring them to the end of the road, where you will find a lady in a store filled with sacks. She will take your sack of troubles and, in return, let you leave with any sack you want."

In the end, I was saved by my friends, all the people I had known and worked with over the years. Barry Diller, Michael Eisner, Steve Ross, Bob Daly, who was the co-CEO of Warner Bros., Terry Semel, Sid Sheinberg, who was the chief operating officer of MCA, Lew Wasserman, the people who ran the studios, they all backed me up and supported me. It was not just that they offered me jobs and opportunities, which they did, but that they showed confidence in me, and were certain I would make it all the way back. I especially remember a conversation I had with Steve Ross, who was the CEO of Warner Communications. "What are you worrying about?" he said. "You are a talented guy. That talent did not go away. The company went away? So what! Companies always go away. They're a dime a dozen. It's talent that counts!"

I was soon back in business, working from a bungalow on the lot at Warner's, where I had signed a contract to make movies. I don't care if you get flattened a thousand times. As long as you get up that thousand-and-first time, you win. As Hemingway said, "You can never tell the quality of a bullfighter until that bullfighter has been gored."

Playing Myself

Once upon a time, I went to school to be an actor, another borough boy just home from the service. Through this window, you see me on a stage, trading punches with James Caan. Through that window, you see me running out of Capezio empty- handed, the vision of me in tights hot in my mind. I thought my career in front of the cameras had come to an end before it started, but I would eventually appear in several movies, acting work becoming a subgenre in my career. I have played myself in various films, some of my own (Vegas Vacation, Ocean's Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen), some made by friends (Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, Full Frontal). I learned to act only when I learned how to be myself, which is, of course, another kind of character. In short, I learned how to act-and I am not saying I'm a good actor, only that I'm comfortable in front of a camera-after I learned how to stop acting. When Martha Graham told me to walk across the floor, I was aware that I was a kid acting like he was crossing the floor. Now that I am an old man, I can simply cross the goddamn floor without thinking too much about it.

I appeared in my first film in 1991, at the insistence of Sydney Pollack, an old friend, who was directing The Firm, a legal thriller based on a novel by John Grisham. (Sydney was one of the great directors, the maker of, among others, Out of Africa, Tootsie, The Electric Horseman, and Absence of Malice.) He wanted me to play Sonny Capps, a mobbed up client of the firm who, in a key scene, spars with Tom Cruise and Gene Hackman. The part seemed like a perfect fit for Sydney himself, who had done terrific turns in several films, including Tootsie and Eyes Wide Shut.

I said, "Look, Sydney, you do it. You'd be great."

"You'd be greater," he said. "Jerry, you are Sonny Capps."

"Why don't you be me being Sonny Capps," I said. "You'd be better at me being Sonny that I'd be myself. You were my teacher at the Neighborhood School. You know I'm not an actor."

Sydney laughed. He was a great friend-he died two years ago, and not a day goes by when I do not think about him. He had one of the great infectious laughs. It started in his chest and rose through his body, filling his lungs and eyes, warming everyone around him. He said, "No, Jerry, this part is written for you."

I said, "No."

He said, "Yes."

After much discussion, I finally agreed to do it. He could be persistent.

The scene was being shot in the Caribbean. I started worrying about my performance on the flight down. I mean, what the hell do I know about acting? What's worse, I was to play the scene with Gene Hackman and Tom Cruise, two of the biggest stars in the world. How was I going to do this? I was tight. I was scared. Self-confidence and pride, those were the only things getting me through.

I went to the set in a new suit, with my hair done up and makeup on. Sydney looked over. "All right," he said. "You look good. Are you ready?"

"Hell yes, I'm ready."

He sat me in front of the cameras with Cruise and Hackman. It was a change, going in front of the cameras. It was unnerving. I felt like a soldier caught in the sights of his own army's guns. You get fame and notoriety in front of the camera, but lose everything else.

In my scene, which comes halfway through the film, I grow increasingly irritated as Hackman and Cruise, lawyers at the firm, try to sell me on a course of action. I finally snap at Cruise, who, in his response, demonstrates his mettle. We rehearsed it, then filmed it, then filmed it again and again and again. Sydney was a perfectionist. He did not want to quit until he got it just right. Sitting there, I could not help but think like a producer: How much footage have we gone through, how much money have we burned up? It was endless, and I was frustrated. These shots, one after another, all seemingly the same-it was like repeating the same word over and over. The whole thing turned into gibberish.

We finally stopped for lunch. I asked Sydney, "Well, how's it going?"

"We got a little more to do," he said.

"We can't," I told him. "I'm exhausted."

He said, "Look, Jerry, you are not a producer here. You're an actor. We go till we get it right."

I sat back down. I was tired, spent, at the end of me. Then, finally, after the who-knows-what take, Tom Cruise turned to me and said, "You know, you've got some nerve!"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, "you've got some nerve coming onto a set with real actors, using up our energy and wasting our time."

I turned and looked at him, goddamn piece of garbage, talking to me this way. I flushed red. I could actually feel the blood running into my face. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" I said. "Do you know what you're doing?"

Just then, Sydney yelled, "Cut-we got it."

I was sitting there dazed, at a loss.

Cruise started laughing. He grabbed my arm and said, "No, no, Jerry. It's not real. Sydney told me to do it for the scene. For the scene."

I looked around, then I started laughing, too. I said, " Sydney, my God, you bum!"

"It was just what I wanted," said Sydney. "Jerry being Jerry."