Articles, Blog

My journey from Marine to actor | Adam Driver

I was a Marine with 1/1 Weapons Company, 81’s platoon, out in Camp Pendleton, California. Oorah! Audience: Oorah! (Laughter) I joined a few months after September 11, feeling like I think most people
in the country did at the time, filled with a sense
of patriotism and retribution and the desire to do something — that, coupled with that fact
that I wasn’t doing anything. I was 17, just graduated
from high school that past summer, living in the back room
of my parents’ house paying rent, in the small town I was raised in
in Northern Indiana, called Mishawaka. I can spell that later
for people who are interested — (Laughter) Mishawaka is many good things
but cultural hub of the world it is not, so my only exposure to theater and film was limited to the plays
I did in high school and Blockbuster Video,
may she rest in peace. (Laughter) I was serious enough about acting that I auditioned for Juilliard
when I was a senior in high school, didn’t get in, determined college wasn’t for me
and applied nowhere else, which was a genius move. I also did that Hail Mary
LA acting odyssey that I always heard stories about, of actors moving to LA
with, like, seven dollars and finding work and successful careers. I got as far as Amarillo, Texas,
before my car broke down. I spent all my money repairing it, finally made it to Santa Monica — not even LA — stayed for 48 hours wandering
the beach, basically, got in my car, drove home, thus ending my acting career, so — (Laughter) Seventeen, Mishawaka … parents’ house, paying rent,
selling vacuums … telemarketing, cutting grass at the local
4-H fairgrounds. This was my world
going into September, 2001. So after the 11th, and feeling an overwhelming sense of duty, and just being pissed off
in general — at myself, my parents, the government; not having confidence,
not having a respectable job, my shitty mini-fridge that I just
drove to California and back — I joined the Marine Corps and loved it.
I loved being a Marine. It’s one of the things I’m most proud
of having done in my life. Firing weapons was cool, driving and detonating
expensive things was great. But I found I loved
the Marine Corps the most for the thing I was looking
for the least when I joined, which was the people: these weird dudes —
a motley crew of characters from a cross section
of the United States — that on the surface I had
nothing in common with. And over time, all the political and personal bravado that led me to the military dissolved, and for me, the Marine Corps
became synonymous with my friends. And then, a few years into my service and months away from deploying to Iraq, I dislocated my sternum
in a mountain-biking accident, and had to be medically separated. Those never in the military
may find this hard to understand, but being told I wasn’t getting deployed
to Iraq or Afghanistan was very devastating for me. I have a very clear image of leaving
the base hospital on a stretcher and my entire platoon is waiting
outside to see if I was OK. And then, suddenly,
I was a civilian again. I knew I wanted to give
acting another shot, because — again, this is me — I thought all civilian problems
are small compared to the military. I mean, what can you really
bitch about now, you know? “It’s hot. Someone should turn
on the air conditioner.” “This coffee line is too long.” I was a Marine, I knew how to survive. I’d go to New York and become an actor. If things didn’t work out, I’d live in Central Park
and dumpster-dive behind Panera Bread. (Laughter) I re-auditioned for Juilliard
and this time I was lucky, I got in. But I was surprised
by how complex the transition was from military to civilian. And I was relatively healthy; I can’t
imagine going through that process on top of a mental or physical injury. But regardless, it was difficult. In part, because I was in acting school — I couldn’t justify going
to voice and speech class, throwing imaginary balls of energy
at the back of the room, doing acting exercises
where I gave birth to myself — (Laughter) while my friends were serving
without me overseas. But also, because I didn’t
know how to apply the things I learned in the military
to a civilian context. I mean that both practically
and emotionally. Practically, I had to get a job. And I was an Infantry Marine, where you’re shooting machine guns
and firing mortars. There’s not a lot of places you can
put those skills in the civilian world. (Laughter) Emotionally, I struggled to find meaning. In the military, everything has meaning. Everything you do
is either steeped in tradition or has a practical purpose. You can’t smoke in the field because you don’t want
to give away your position. You don’t touch your face —
you have to maintain a personal level of health and hygiene. You face this way when “Colors” plays, out of respect for people
who went before you. Walk this way, talk this way
because of this. Your uniform is maintained to the inch. How diligently you followed
those rules spoke volumes about the kind of Marine you were. Your rank said something
about your history and the respect you had earned. In the civilian world there’s no rank. Here you’re just another body, and I felt like I constantly had
to prove my worth all over again. And the respect civilians were giving me
while I was in uniform didn’t exist when I was out of it. There didn’t seem to be a … a sense of community, whereas in the military,
I felt this sense of community. How often in the civilian world are you put in a life-or-death situation
with your closest friends and they constantly demonstrate
that they’re not going to abandon you? And meanwhile, at acting school … (Laughter) I was really, for the first time, discovering playwrights
and characters and plays that had nothing to do with the military, but were somehow describing
my military experience in a way that before
to me was indescribable. And I felt myself becoming less aggressive as I was able to put words
to feelings for the first time and realizing what
a valuable tool that was. And when I was reflecting
on my time in the military, I wasn’t first thinking
on the stereotypical drills and discipline and pain of it; but rather, the small,
intimate human moments, moments of great feeling: friends going AWOL
because they missed their families, friends getting divorced, grieving together, celebrating together, all within the backdrop of the military. I saw my friends battling
these circumstances, and I watched the anxiety
it produced in them and me, not being able to express
our feelings about it. The military and theater communities
are actually very similar. You have a group of people
trying to accomplish a mission greater than themselves;
it’s not about you. You have a role, you have to know
your role within that team. Every team has a leader or director; sometimes they’re smart,
sometimes they’re not. You’re forced to be intimate
with complete strangers in a short amount of time; the self-discipline, the self-maintenance. I thought, how great would it be
to create a space that combined these two seemingly
dissimilar communities, that brought entertainment
to a group of people that, considering their occupation, could handle something
a bit more thought-provoking than the typical mandatory-fun events that I remember being
“volun-told” to go to in the military — (Laughter) all well-intended but slightly
offensive events, like “Win a Date with a San Diego
Chargers Cheerleader,” where you answer a question
about pop culture, and if you get it right you win a date, which was a chaperoned walk
around the parade deck with this already married,
pregnant cheerleader — (Laughter) Nothing against cheerleaders,
I love cheerleaders. The point is more, how great would it
be to have theater presented through characters that were accessible
without being condescending. So we started this nonprofit
called Arts in the Armed Forces, where we tried to do that, tried to join these two seemingly
dissimilar communities. We pick a play or select monologues
from contemporary American plays that are diverse in age and race
like a military audience is, grab a group of incredible
theater-trained actors, arm them with incredible material, keep production value
as minimal as possible — no sets, no costumes,
no lights, just reading it — to throw all the emphasis on the language and to show that theater can
be created at any setting. It’s a powerful thing, getting in a room with complete strangers and reminding ourselves of our humanity, and that self-expression
is just as valuable a tool as a rifle on your shoulder. And for an organization like the military, that prides itself on having
acronyms for acronyms, you can get lost in the sauce when it comes to explaining
a collective experience. And I can think of no better community to arm with a new means of self-expression than those protecting our country. We’ve gone all over
the United States and the world, from Walter Reed in Bethesda, Maryland, to Camp Pendleton,
to Camp Arifjan in Kuwait, to USAG Bavaria, on- and off-Broadway theaters in New York. And for the performing artists we bring, it’s a window into a culture they otherwise would not
have had exposure to. And for the military, it’s the exact same. And in doing this for the past six years, I’m always reminded
that acting is many things. It’s a craft, it’s a political act,
it’s a business, it’s — whatever adjective
is most applicable to you. But it’s also a service. I didn’t get to finish mine, so whenever I get to be of service to this ultimate service industry,
the military, for me, again — there’s not many things better than that. Thank you. (Applause) We’re going to be doing a piece
from Marco Ramirez, called “I am not Batman.” An incredible actor
and good friend of mine, Jesse Perez, is going to be reading, and Matt Johnson,
who I just met a couple hours ago. They’re doing it together
for the first time, so we’ll see how it goes. Jesse Perez and Matt Johnson. (Applause) Jesse Perez: It’s the middle of the night and the sky is glowing
like mad, radioactive red. And if you squint,
you can maybe see the moon through a thick layer of cigarette smoke
and airplane exhaust that covers the whole city, like a mosquito net
that won’t let the angels in. (Drum beat) And if you look up high enough, you can see me standing
on the edge of an 87-story building. And up there, a place for gargoyles
and broken clock towers that have stayed still and dead
for maybe like 100 years, up there is me. (Beat) And I’m frickin’ Batman. (Beat) And I gots Batmobiles and batarangs and frickin’ bat caves, like, for real. And all it takes is a broom closet or a back room or a fire escape, and Danny’s hand-me-down jeans are gone. And my navy blue polo shirt, the one that looks kinda good on me
but has that hole on it near the butt from when it got snagged
on the chain-link fence behind Arturo’s but it isn’t even a big deal
because I tuck that part in and it’s, like, all good. That blue polo shirt — it’s gone, too! And I get like, like … transformational. (Beat) And nobody pulls out a belt
and whips Batman for talkin’ back. (Beat) Or for not talkin’ back. And nobody calls Batman simple or stupid or skinny. And nobody fires Batman’s brother
from the Eastern Taxi Company ’cause they was making cutbacks, neither. ‘Cause they got nothing but respect. And not like afraid-respect, just, like, respect-respect. (Laughter) ‘Cause nobody’s afraid of you. ‘Cause Batman doesn’t mean nobody no harm. (Beat) Ever.
(Double beat) ‘Cause all Batman really wants
to do is save people and maybe pay abuela’s bills one day and die happy. And maybe get, like, mad-famous for real. (Laughter) Oh — and kill the Joker. (Drum roll) Tonight, like most nights, I’m all alone. And I’m watchin’ and I’m waitin’ like a eagle or like a — no, yeah, like a eagle. (Laughter) And my cape is flapping in the wind
cause it’s frickin’ long and my pointy ears are on, and that mask that covers like half
my face is on, too, and I got, like, bulletproof stuff
all in my chest so no one can hurt me. And nobody — nobody! — is gonna come between Batman … and justice. (Drums)
(Laughter) From where I am, I can hear everything. (Silence) Somewhere in the city, there’s a old lady picking
Styrofoam leftovers up out of a trash can and she’s putting a piece
of sesame chicken someone spit out into her own mouth. And somewhere there’s a doctor
with a wack haircut in a black lab coat trying to find a cure for the diseases that are gonna make us
all extinct for real one day. And somewhere there’s a man, a man in a janitor’s uniform, stumbling home drunk and dizzy after spending half his paycheck
on 40-ounce bottles of twist-off beer, and the other half on a four-hour visit
to some lady’s house on a street where the lights
have all been shot out by people who’d rather do
what they do in this city in the dark. And half a block away from janitor man, there’s a group of good-for-nothings
who don’t know no better, waiting for janitor man
with rusted bicycle chains and imitation Louisville Sluggers, and if they don’t find a cent on him, which they won’t, they’ll just pound at him till the muscles
in their arms start burning, till there’s no more teeth to crack out. But they don’t count on me. They don’t count on no Dark Knight, with a stomach full of grocery-store
brand macaroni and cheese and cut-up Vienna sausages. (Laughter) ‘Cause they’d rather believe
I don’t exist. And from 87 stories up, I can hear
one of the good-for-nothings say, “Gimme the cash!” — real fast like that, just, “Gimme me the fuckin’ cash!” And I see janitor man mumble something
in drunk language and turn pale, and from 87 stories up, I can hear his stomach trying
to hurl its way out his Dickies. So I swoop down, like, mad-fast and I’m like darkness, I’m like, “Swoosh!” And I throw a batarang
at the one naked lightbulb. (Cymbal) And they’re all like, “Whoa, muthafucker! Who just turned out the lights?” (Laughter) “What’s that over there?”
“What?” “Gimme me what you got, old man!” “Did anybody hear that?” “Hear what? There ain’t nothing.
No, really — there ain’t no bat!” But then … one out of the three good-for-nothings
gets it to the head — pow! And number two swings blindly
into the dark cape before him, but before his fist hits anything, I grab a trash can lid and — right in the gut! And number one comes
back with the jump kick, but I know judo karate, too,
so I’m like — (Drums) Twice! (Drums) (Laughter) (Drums) But before I can do any more damage, suddenly we all hear a “click-click.” And suddenly everything gets quiet. And the one good-for-nothing left standing grips a handgun and aims it straight up, like he’s holding Jesus hostage, like he’s threatening maybe
to blow a hole in the moon. And the good-for-nothing
who got it to the head, who tried to jump-kick me, and the other good-for-nothing
who got it in the gut, is both scrambling back away
from the dark figure before ’em. And the drunk man, the janitor man, is huddled in a corner,
praying to Saint Anthony ’cause that’s the only one
he could remember. (Double beat) And there’s me: eyes glowing white, cape blowing softly in the wind. (Beat) Bulletproof chest heaving, my heart beating right through it
in a Morse code for: “Fuck with me just once come on just try.” And the one good-for-nothing
left standing, the one with the handgun — yeah, he laughs. And he lowers his arm. And he points it at me and gives the moon a break. And he aims it right
between my pointy ears, like goal posts and he’s special teams. And janitor man is still
calling Saint Anthony, but he ain’t pickin’ up. And for a second, it seems like … maybe I’m gonna lose. Nah! (Drums) Shoot! Shoot! Fwa-ka-ka! “Don’t kill me, man!” Snap! Wrist crack! Neck! Slash! Skin meets acid:
“Ahhhhhhh!” And he’s on the floor and I’m standing over him and I got the gun in my hands now and I hate guns, I hate holding ’em
’cause I’m Batman. And, asterisk: Batman don’t like guns ’cause his parents
got iced by guns a long time ago. But for just a second, my eyes glow white, and I hold this thing for I could speak to the good-for-nothing in a language he maybe understands. Click-click! (Beat) And the good-for-nothings
become good-for-disappearing into whatever toxic waste, chemical
sludge shithole they crawled out of. And it’s just me and janitor man. And I pick him up, and I wipe sweat and cheap perfume
off his forehead. And he begs me not to hurt him and I grab him tight
by his janitor-man shirt collar, and I pull him to my face and he’s taller than me
but the cape helps, so he listens when I look him
straight in the eyes. And I say two words to him: “Go home.” And he does, checking behind his shoulder
every 10 feet. And I swoosh from building
to building on his way there ’cause I know where he lives. And I watch his hands tremble
as he pulls out his key chain and opens the door to his building. And I’m back in bed before he even walks in
through the front door. And I hear him turn on the faucet and pour himself a glass
of warm tap water. And he puts the glass back in the sink. And I hear his footsteps. And they get slower
as they get to my room. And he creaks my door open,
like, mad-slow. And he takes a step in, which he never does. (Beat) And he’s staring off into nowhere, his face, the color
of sidewalks in summer. And I act like I’m just waking up and I say, “Ah, what’s up, Pop?” And janitor man says nothing to me. But I see in the dark, I see his arms go limp and his head turns back, like, towards me. And he lifts it for I can see his face, for I could see his eyes. And his cheeks is drippin’,
but not with sweat. And he just stands there breathing, like he remembers my eyes glowing white, like he remembers my bulletproof chest, like he remembers he’s my pop. And for a long time I don’t say nothin’. And he turns around, hand on the doorknob. And he ain’t looking my way, but I hear him mumble two words to me: “I’m sorry.” And I lean over, and I open
my window just a crack. If you look up high enough, you could see me. And from where I am — (Cymbals) I could hear everything. (Applause) Thank you. (Applause)


  1. fuckyoutubelogin Author

    seriously, ACTORS ARE THE LEAST IMPORTANT PEOPLE ON EARTH, stop inviting these people to give a talk like they are some kind of god for other people to look up to. They are nothing but bunch of useless, overpaid, morally corrupt crazy bunch of sad people that somehow being put on pedestal by society.

  2. beatonthedonis47 Author

    Why do Americans deify a job that millions have done in history, and indeed ordinary people have been able to do since the dawn of time? (I'm talking about soldiery, not acting – although thinking about it…)

  3. Terry Bloss Author

    My dad Terry E Bloss the 2nd was best frieds with him through school and he is so proud of Adam for doing what he loves despise the criticism he got in high school and my dad wish he had the confidence and pride that Adam had to do what he love good luck Adam!

  4. JTN Outdoors Author

    Pretty awesome he seems pretty intelligent and interesting could of heard him talk more felt a little cheated with the slam poetry thing lol

  5. Pepe Domingo Author

    I love how he was able to have a career after the military that is unrelated to the military. Gives me hope that if I don’t like my years in AF/Navy then I can always move on.

  6. Anna Sommer Author

    I am always in awe of Adam Driver. He is so talented, articulate, and humble. His story is incredible and so interesting. He really deserves the recognition he’s getting.

  7. Christine Buckingham Author

    Wow, Adam Driver is a fantastic actor in many wonderful films. Now I have an even far greater respect and admiration for him after listening to his Ted talk.

  8. aylabear77 Author

    The brilliance of words and emotions and the beauty of being able to put them all together. That performance was astounding and the essence of truth.

    Thank you for sharing yourself.

  9. michaelcritic Author

    "The plays I did in High School" He went to school at Mishawaka High School, my dad had seen him before at the school when he was there but he never talked to him. I'm going there next year. Crazy to think I'll be in the former presence of an A-list actor.

  10. Laura Rader Author

    Adam Driver – engaging as always. See "Paterson", a gem. This performance piece with Jesse J.Perez and Matt Johnson was to me quite stunning. I closed my eyes and listened.Experienced what the best of radio days was. I opened my eyes towards the end and saw the sweat and tears. Thank you.

  11. A. Brantley Author

    you got lucky with one role. I doubt we will ever see you again boot. I though Hayden Christensen was bad but this guy is the worst SW actor i've seen.

  12. Dovahkiin069Nightfury Author

    The guy delivering the Batman poem is like a lowkey Joker narrating Batman's adventures and subtly mocking him. If you put into account his voice, the violet shirt and how he executed everything.

    Awesome poem though.

  13. carieyoung1 Author

    He’s from my town- my mother in law cuts his grandmas hair…Mishawaka IN- she owns the Shear Shack. Great job Adam to get out of a small town and make a name for yourself doing what you love

  14. Punky&Pudgy Author

    My boyfriend had a hard time transitioning too. He’s mentioned it how if I hadn’t helped him with basic daily chores and household things, he wouldn’t of made it or just gotten by. Everything overwhelmed him at one point and felt zero motivation to do anything.

    I noticed it as well, especially the valuing himself part. He sometimes had a feeling of being “lost” and doubted what he was doing atm with his life.

    He’s done so much better within the last year. He left the army in April of 2018 and so far I don’t want him sidetracked from his schooling and goals. The schedule and routine genuinely helps him and I love being with him, both good times and rough times. It’s not to toot my own horn but to share the experience of what many veterans go through. I hope others also find their calling and peace of mind.

  15. ricky gonzaga Author

    he is NOT a soldier TEDtalk. fix your description. He's a MARINE. NOT EVERYONE THAT SERVES IS A SOLDIER. When will people get that through their thick skin? i am offended. where's your manager?

  16. Kevin Brock Author

    The only thing better than discovering that Adam Driver was a member of the military is watching this beat-style performance poetry. Very Kerouac and Ginsberg of them. In point of fact, my main difference in respecting beatniks versus the Hippie's was that it took creativity and intelligence to be a respectable beatnik…..while a hippie could be ANYONE with emotional rage and a driving need to push a world view into someone else's face…..respectfully or otherwise. The Beatniks were a more somberly-emotive group which didn't need to change anyone's mind to get across how they felt about the Middle and Upper Classes. Even if most Beatnik's and Hippies share the fate of becoming what they used to rage about in the modern era.

  17. Andrew Claflin Author

    Brilliant. My son is now Navy Nuke and proud,as I am,of our service people. thank you Adam. You have bridged a gap and have lifted up the weird dudes and cross section through your efforts. Thank you.


Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *