John Brooks’ Reclusion Revealed? An Interview with Josh Waterman
By Tyler Plofker
John Brooks’ Reclusion Revealed? An Interview with Josh Waterman
By Alice Trout
Josh Waterman stared lazily at the recorder. He looked well-kempt—neat hair, clean clothes, freshly shaven—and wore a red-black flannel with blue jeans. Sitting across from him, in a bright café chosen weeks prior for its full-length glass windows, understanding staff, and easily accessible exits, I was relieved he wasn't visibly a lunatic.
Waterman first reached out to me through our contact page about a month prior, just a few days after John Brooks’ obituary went live. He claimed he knew why Brooks—the famed American director who spent the last fifteen years of his life in isolation—went into seclusion, claimed he knew, in perfect detail, what Brooks did while separated from the world. (He also detailed everything he thought I left out of the obituary. Mainly a few short films.)
Over the last fifteen years we’ve received hundreds of notes claiming special knowledge of Brooks' seclusion, all either blatant nonsense or discernible lies. But with Josh it struck me as immediately different. He signed his full name and listed actual falsifiable facts about himself and his history with Brooks. He even provided an IMDb page, which showed someone with his name as having been an assistant set decorator on Enter, the last movie in Brooks’ filmography.
I researched. Ran a background check. Emailed him back. Anything about his life, or about how he met Brooks, he was willing to answer, but he refused to give any detail on Brooks’ seclusion, demanding it be done over an in-person interview to be published on our site, which is what you’re now reading.
After meeting in person, I can confirm the man I talked to was definitely Josh Waterman. And Josh Waterman definitely worked with Brooks on Enter; the background check, photos from set, film credits, and discussions with staff and crew confirm this.
What I can’t confirm is the veracity of his story. I have no independent corroboration. None even theoretically exists—except for a potential statement from Brooks’ former security personnel, which we have yet to receive a response from, or the acquisition of Brooks’ suicide note, which Josh mentions during the interview, and which may or may not be real.
But I feel okay publishing this. I want you to know what I know. You can make your own determination as to its truthfulness.
Back in the café, I turned on the recorder and we began.
***
Alice Trout: Thanks for sitting down with me, Josh.
Josh Waterman: No, no, thank you. I really appreciate this.
AT: Alright, let’s jump right into it. What spurred you to contact me and request this interview?
JW: The passing of John Brooks. I read every eulogy. All of them. Whether in the Times or Post or local papers or anywhere else. And they all ended the same way. Ended in mystery. “Oh, we don’t know why he left, oh we will never know.” Now, of course, I’m not blaming the writers. I’m blaming myself. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself without correcting the record. Without telling how close he came. That’s why I asked for the interview. And I asked you, specifically, because you were the most thorough. You seemed to care, at least.
AT: Can you explain who you are and how you came to know Brooks?
JW: Sure. My name is Josh Waterman, and I was an assistant set director, working in film and television for a number of years.
Feel free to give your readers any additional background you want, but I think that’s all that’s relevant.
And with respect to how I came to know Brooks, we met during [the production of] Enter. Which, I mean, wasn’t an accident. The reason I vied for the job in the first place was to work with him. To see the genius up close. I’d been trying to get onto a Brooks set for years.
AT: Were you and John close on set?
JW: No. Not really. I mean he was extremely busy. I had about the same contact with him as you’d expect an assistant set decorator to have. So in that sense I guess you could say we were close—but it was like any relationship with a director.
That being said, near the end of production he asked if I could help out on a subsequent project, which of course I agreed to. And which is really what I came to talk about today.
AT: Why you?
JW: Brooks said he was impressed with my “talent and attention to detail.” Not that I think I performed any better than the rest of the crew. But, as far as I know, that was the reason.
AT: Did he explain what the project was?
JW: No. Not at first. He wouldn’t let me see a script or tell me anything about it. Said he’d explain everything later as long as I was committed. And I was.
But we finished shooting the movie, and a lot of time passed, you know like nine months, and I figured he just ditched the project or forgot he asked me. All my calls went to voicemail.
But the day after Enter hit theaters, he calls me. Says to meet him at a coffee shop on Melrose Ave [north LA]. Paula’s. By the time I got there he was already on his fourth coffee. And he didn’t waste any time getting into it, you know, explaining what he wanted to do.
AT: Which was?
JW: [pause] Can I gather myself for a second please?
AT: Of course.
[For your benefit, Josh took much longer than “a second” here. The full pause lasted one minute, thirty-seven seconds. Three sips of coffee. The thin wrinkles near his eyes became taut. He raised his index finger and…]
JW: Which was the most significant undertaking of his career. Not a movie or a play, not a performance piece, not a painting, not an exhibition. What Brooks wanted to create was a moment. Or, more precisely, recreate. He wanted to duplicate a moment exactly, in all its detail, for himself and only himself, as that’s the only way it could be done.
He told me, and I remember this verbatim, he told me, “Josh, it disgusts me. Each moment is so unlike the last. So irreconcilably different. Even now. There’s too much to keep straight. People coming and going, the sunlight in my eyes, the movement of the waitress and the cooks, the table plant waving in the fan’s breeze, the scent of coffee swelling and falling and twisting with people and dogs and every fucking thing, the sound of machines and voices, cars on the street, the pressure of my thighs on the seat and my feet on the ground, the taste of this pastry in my mouth... it’s never the same. Moment after moment, each is completely and totally different. And I cannot bring one back.”
So that was the project; to bring one back. He asked me to join him at his home [in Hollywood Hills] and help him recreate a moment. We began that day.
AT: How long did he expect it to take?
JW: He didn’t say.
AT: But you went anyway.
JW: Yes.
AT: And you didn’t have any family to worry about either.
JW: Nope. Grew up in foster care, bounced around, didn’t get along with the last family. No wife.
AT: Was Brooks open about the isolation?
JW: We didn’t get too far into the details. Listen, I was stoked. Completely stoked. This was John Brooks asking me to work on the most important project of his career. John Brooks. I wasn’t really asking questions.
AT: Alright. So what happened after you arrived?
JW: Well, he began. Immediately. In order to have the easiest, most replicable starting point possible, he wanted to create the moment he’d then work to recreate.
He spent the first eight months there sitting in a grey room. And when I say the room was grey, I mean it was entirely grey—the walls, the door, the doorknob, the floor, the stool. He sat there eight hours a day, every day. No one else was allowed in.
He ate his meals in the dining room, to keep the smell away. The remains had to be double bagged and discarded by the security team immediately.
I wasn’t o–
AT: Can you, sorry, can you expand on what the security team’s role was?
JW: Yeah, so, besides the food discarding, they were basically, as you would expect, there to make sure no one broke into the property. Luckily no one ever seriously tried to. But yeah, they watched the cameras, got rid of Brooks’ meals, made sure to order food each week and pick it up from the gate. That’s pretty much it. All the surveillance screen stuff was in their room, which, while Brooks was sitting, they were not allowed to leave. Even in their room, they weren’t permitted to speak, play music, or make any sound at all really. I don’t think they ever totally got it, but Brooks was paying them a lot.
AT: And you? What was your role here? And where did you stay?
JW: My bedroom was on the second floor, west wing of the home. So, for reference here, Brooks’ Grey Room was on the first floor, east wing, and security’s room was first floor, west wing. Now, like the security team, I wasn’t allowed to leave or make any noise during the sitting, but I had a bunch of films I could watch with headphones on. And a ton of books. I didn’t get bored.
And so, at this time, I didn’t really have a “role.” Except to wait until Brooks picked a starting point.
Brooks, by the way, I don’t think I mentioned this, always went straight to bed after sitting. So I didn’t see him.
After ab–
AT: And you didn’t think to leave? This all sounds terrifying honestly.
JW: [pause] Sorry, but did you listen to anything I just said? Brooks already explained what he was trying to do. No one had done this. No, I didn’t think about leaving. I couldn’t just leave. This was uncharted territory for art. Uncharted territory for human experience.
AT: [For risk of torpedoing the interview, I let the condescension in Josh’s response slide. But listening to it back now, it still kind of pisses me off.]
Okay. Still sounds terrifying [laughter], but okay.
You said Brooks spent the first eight months sitting in the “Grey Room,” what happened after that?
JW: Well, he landed on the moment. We had a celebratory dinner that night, just me and him, during which he told me everything I’ve just explained to you. Then he spelled out, in meticulous detail, the intricacies, the difficulties, the issues, the nuances. We chatted for hours, so I’ll only repeat some of it here, but take, for example, the experience of sight. Brooks asked me, “Josh, do you realize how much your sight changes, even as you hold it still? Each second, constant changes. Your pupil of course moves left and right, up and down, so your vision moves the same, but what’s worse, what’s worse is your eyelids are constantly churning, constantly adjusting position, and the eyelashes! And the fucking blink!”
Each sense was a similar story; incredibly complicated, incredibly vast in what it forced him to consider. Even sound was an issue for him. Without any external noise (like I said, he allowed nothing in the room, he allowed nothing anywhere near the room), the thumping of his heart, the pulsing in his ears, the gurgle in his belly, became like a symphony...
AT: And so wh–
JW: And his mind! [Josh slammed his hand on the table] He spent a ton of time just deciding what to think. Deciding what thought would be the easiest to replicate. He told me, “At first I thought none, I would keep my mind free from thought, a blank space. But this was a disaster. Because if you really pay attention, you’ll always notice random thoughts popping in and out—worries, memories, and so on. So not thinking didn’t work. Then I decided, and this might sound stupid, but I decided to think one word over and over again. Dog. That’s what I chose. Dog dog dog dog dog dog dog dog dog. This was much better, but still not great—as remembering the exact point in the word the moment landed on would be too complicated. So I settled on ‘Oh’—there were still inflections to worry about, but it was the easiest method I could think of. Oh oh oh oh oh.”
Again, our conversation went on for hours, but I think you get the idea.
AT: And the moment?
JW: That I can’t explain. Because Brooks couldn’t. Because it would be impossible. I asked him what it was, if he could describe it, and he said, “I can’t explain that. How could I possibly explain that? I mean I could give you an outline, and hope you understand some of it, but it’s not real. I could tell you I saw a few specks on the bottom left corner of the wall, at the far end of my peripheral vision, that I saw the texture of the wall more deeply in the middle-right of my vision than the middle-left, that in the pressure of my bottom on the stool I sensed a bit of pain, not too much, but a bit, more on the left than the right, I could tell you I smelled a light odor from within my own nose, a musky odor, very slight, mixed with dust. I can tell you all of this, but it would mean nothing. It could never be detailed enough. To describe it in words would require more pages than have ever been produced. And even if this universe-stretching volume was produced, it would ultimately be useless. A complete waste of time. Because it can’t be explained in words. How could I possibly explain what I experienced, what I actually experienced in words. Maybe these words could give you an idea, a gist, but nothing more than that. They wouldn’t even mean the same thing to you as they do me.”
Of course he was right.
And that was all there was to the dinner. The next morning, I returned to my room and Brooks began again, sitting in the Grey Room and trying to arrive back at the moment.
AT: And, again, what was your role?
JW: Brooks said he needed someone to bounce ideas off of. To help make adjustments to the room, to keep it the same over time. But he never ended up actually reaching out.
AT: As in he didn’t ask for your advice or didn’t talk to you at all?
JW: At all.
AT: Hold on. So you’re telling me you spent another fourteen years in your room with no word from Brooks?
JW: Well, in the early years Brooks still had some contact with the security team, while they disposed of his meals, so he’d mention things to them, which they’d mention to me. Things he was working on. Issues he was having. But it’s not like he was directing these comments to me.
And after a few years he cut off direct contact with the security team too. They were no longer allowed to enter the dining room until after he had left. So I didn’t hear anything after that.
AT: And you still didn’t leave. For fourteen years?
JW: No. I would have stayed till the end no matter what.
AT: Fourteen years.
JW: Yes.
AT: Alright… but what did you do? Surely you must have run out of films and books?
JW: Yeah, but there were rewatches and rereads and we had cable and the Dodgers. I became a pretty big Dodgers fan. It was a lot like the first eight months. Only difference was, for a time, I decided to try it too. To recreate a moment.
Just as Brooks did, I picked one and tried to bring it back, to notice it again. But I only sat for about an hour a day. Mostly because, while it will sound like hubris, and I felt it to be hubris at the time, I feared the small, nanoscopic, impossible chance I would finish before Brooks. And without his blessing to have even attempted it, this would have been a betrayal I couldn’t live with. I was there to help him break this ground, he invited me into his home for this purpose...
I only ended up sitting for a few years before the fear of succeeding stopped me completely.
AT: And then it was back to the Dodgers.
JW: Yeah, yeah. But I stayed prepared. I wasn’t slacking off. Constantly I thought through changes I could make to the room, potential problems I could solve. The request never came, but I was ready.
AT: And you left after his passing?
JW: Yeah... I read his suicide note, you know. The police took it when they arrived, but not before I had a chance to read through. It wa–
AT: Who called the police?
JW: The security team. Anyway, th–
AT: When? How long did they wait to call?
JW: An appropriate amount of time. Listen, the police are doing their investigation. I can’t speak on it.
AT: Okay. Did you talk with the police?
JW: Again, that’s between the police and myself. I can’t speak on it.
AT: Okay. That’s fine, go on.
JW: So, what I was saying was... the note was written to me. But it wasn’t a suicide note really. I don’t know why he took his own life, so don’t ask me that. The note was an explanation of why the re-creation wasn’t going to work. Arthritis. Once the pain came into play, it was over for him. He knew he’d never get back to starting position. Even if he was somehow able to mask the pain perfectly with medication, the medication itself would affect how he felt. So it became impossible. But someone younger, with a more steady experience, a “non-decaying” experience as he wrote it, would have a better chance.
He included tons of advice and thoughts. Hundreds of pages’ worth. On the possible utility of Lasik, on the possible utility of fasting, on sitting vs. standing, on the intricacies of the brain and the senses, on experience in general. It ended with a request that I leverage his notes and continue the project.
AT: Do you plan to?
JW: Yes, of course. Which is why, if it’s alright, I’ve prepared a statement I’d like to read to your audience.
AT: Sure, go ahead.
[Josh pulled a folded piece of paper out from his front pocket.]
JW: Please don’t edit this in any way. It’s really of paramount importance that you don’t edit it. It must be transcribed to your readers exactly as I say it.
AT: We can’t and won’t publish any doxxing, threats of violence, etc. But, if there’s none of that, go ahead.
JW: Of course, of course, no there’s nothing like that.
AT: Then it should be fine. I won’t edit or censor your words otherwise. In this statement or anything else you’ve said.
JW: Great. Can I gather myself for a second?
AT: Of course.
[Again, for your benefit, Josh took much longer than a second here. The full pause lasted four minutes, eight seconds. He went over his piece of paper, mouthing it to himself. Took a sip of coffee. Stared past me and at the cafe’s entrance. Sipped his coffee. Took another pass through the paper. And…]
JW: Okay, I’m ready. May I begin?
AT: Go ahead.
JW: Great, thanks. [Josh cleared his throat.] Thank you Ms. Trout for the platform, and thank you dear readers for your attention. I hope I’ve given you an appropriate sense of the difficulty and significance of the task John Brooks died for. It will require a herculean effort, from all of us, to make his vision reality. The odds of any individual actor succeeding alone are infinitesimal. That much is clear from Brooks’ attempt and notes. The only chance we have is to increase the experimental group exponentially. I am calling on you to help. After setting down this interview, please walk into your favorite room at home. Stand or sit in your favorite spot, the spot where you spend the most time, the spot where you will spend the most time, if this is outdoors then so be it, if it is at a park or a bar or a restaurant or a mountainside then so be it, just pick your spot. Be there. Watch. Listen. Breathe. Feel. Experience. And choose. Choose a moment in time. Remember it. And for the rest of your days, whenever you are in that spot, be vigilant. Keep note of what you are experiencing. Keep alert for that moment. That moment which will be, in all respects, in all the intertwining details of experience, exactly the same as the one you chose. Do your part and we will succeed. Eventually, we must.
And then we will be like gods. We will have reached a form of being the Buddha could not even have dreamed of. We will have lived between time.
Thank you for your attention. And I wish you luck.
***
Upon finishing his statement, Josh stood up and slugged down the rest of his coffee. His eyes were relaxed and easy.
He thanked me profusely for my time.
“When will it be up?”
“Should be a week or two. I’ll shoot you a text when it goes live.”
We shook hands, and I walked him to the subway. We chatted about the Dodgers on the way. Josh stepped down into the entrance, and I waved goodbye.
As for his story, again, I can confirm none of it.[1] Perhaps a former member of Brooks’ security team will eventually respond for comment.[2] Perhaps the police will eventually return the suicide note to Josh or the family, if it exists.[3] But until then, the story’s veracity will remain an open question. If any additional details come to light, an addendum will be added to this piece accordingly.
You now know everything I do.
And, if you know something I don’t, if you can bring additional information to bear, please do not hesitate to reach out through our contact page, or, if preferred, submit a letter to the editor. We would be happy to hear from you.
[1] In Josh’s favor, I cannot find a single person from his past that recalled seeing, speaking with, or having any contact at all with him over the last fifteen years. His working career ended with Enter. His last apartment, before hypothetically moving to Brooks’ home, was a month-to-month arrangement fully furnished by the owner, and Josh only stayed there for a few months before disappearing. The month that Josh broke contact with the owner coincides exactly with the reclusion of John Brooks. But this only tells us Josh lived as a recluse over the last fifteen years, not whether he was a guest in Brooks’ home, and, if he was, whether his story of what happened there is true, in part or in whole.
[2] I asked Josh after the interview if he could serve as a liaison between myself and the security team, or at least ask them to respond to my requests. He declined, stating he didn’t want to violate their privacy.
[3] We reached out to the police department to try and confirm whether they have the note Josh mentioned. Or whether Josh was in the home when they arrived. They refused to disclose this information. Perhaps the answers to these questions will eventually be public record.
Tyler Plofker is a writer living in NYC. In his free time, you can find him eating sugary breakfast cereals, laying out in the sun or walking through the streets of New York City in search of this or that. He tweets @TylerPlofker.