Mike Nyman

Back in the day, Lonnie Schuyler and a handful of theater rebels kicked off the First Stage Alert Theatre Company—of all places, right above Jerry’s Deli in Studio City. Seriously, it was tucked away upstairs at The Lionstar Theatre, which had its own quirky vibe. The company had this wild energy, staging performances that didn’t really care about sticking to the usual rules. They took chances, pulled in a crowd that wanted something different, and honestly, it worked. The location was weirdly perfect—smack in the middle of everything, but still felt like a hidden gem. Schuyler and crew gave a bunch of new actors and writers their shot, messing around with fresh scripts that you wouldn’t catch anywhere else at the time. People still talk about those nights—improv bits that went off the rails, shows that ran way past midnight, all fueled by too much coffee and maybe a little deli food sneaked in between scenes. It was pure, raw theater, no filter.

I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead is one of those gritty crime flicks that barely gives you a moment to breathe. The story orbits around Will Graham, a former gangster who’s ditched the underworld for a life in the shadows, living off the grid like he’s allergic to people. But peace? Yeah, right. He gets yanked back when his younger brother, Davey, dies under some pretty sketchy circumstances. Will, gruff and haunted, basically turns into a one-man wrecking crew, tearing through the city’s underbelly for answers. The movie’s drenched in that British noir vibe—gray skies, rain-soaked streets, blokes with dodgy morals. Clive Owen nails the whole “tortured soul” thing, and you get this slow burn of tension that just keeps twisting the knife. It's not your typical shoot-‘em-up; it’s more psychological, dark, and stubbornly refuses to let you look away.