Working With De Niro: The Road That Started With a Letter to Myself
By Stephen Cyrus Sepher
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Before we begin, this is not a story about filmmaking. It is a story about trusting an instinct, following a signal only you can hear, and holding your ground when the world has not yet caught up. The kind of confidence artists rely on long before anyone else sees the value in what they are creating.
The Idea That Started in the Desert
There are moments in life when you stop negotiating with yourself. For me, that moment began during a self-growth retreat in the desert. The kind of weekend that strips you down and asks who you are when no one is watching. Quiet moments like these often spark a kind of inner certainty, even when nothing around you supports it.
I left with a single thought pulsing through my mind: four men rob a bank, hijack a bus, and disappear into the Nevada desert.
The story arrived fully formed. It was not logical or polite. It was raw and honest. I wrote it exactly as it came, without questioning it. Looking back, that choice carried more weight than I realized. Sometimes confidence is simply the decision to honor an idea before it proves itself.
Reactions, Resistance, and the Strength Not to Settle
When I shared the script with people in the entertainment world, their reactions were almost identical.
“You wrote this?”
“How did you write this?”
Their surprise said more about the industry than about me. People often want to keep you in the version of yourself they first encountered. When you step beyond that, it unsettles expectations. Your confidence is tested not only in private moments but also when others are forced to see you differently.
Then came the offers. People wanted to option the script and take it off my hands.
That was the first real crossroad. Confidence is not the absence of fear. It is refusing to hand over something too early simply because it is convenient. Hollywood runs on noise and momentum. A strong script, shaped with conviction, is the one thing that endures.
So I kept it. I kept believing in it. And I kept moving it forward.
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The Title Changes, the Waiting Years, and the Letter to Myself
The script shifted over time. Bus 757 became Bus 657. Later, during the U.S. release, it became Heist. Titles change. Trends move. The core belief behind the work remains steady.
What stayed with me most was a letter I had written years earlier. A private note where I declared that one day I would work with Robert De Niro. At the time, it felt unrealistic. I folded it away and forgot about it.
Years later, after the script traveled through the quiet channels of the industry, it landed on his desk. He read it. He wanted to do the film.
Only then did I remember the letter. It reminded me that sometimes we leave small markers for ourselves long before we become the person who can live them out.
Production Begins and the Shift From Writer to Performer
When De Niro came aboard, everything accelerated. Director Scott Mann joined. The cast expanded. Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Dave Bautista. Morris Chestnut. Kate Bosworth. Gina Carano. And me, stepping into a character I understood from the inside.
I did not write myself a vanity role. I wrote something I knew I could inhabit. Real confidence is not loud. It is precise. It is knowing what you can carry and preparing for that moment long before it arrives.
Our first major scene was a bar sequence where Jeffrey, Dave, and I plan the robbery. When the cameras rolled, there was a quiet tension. The writer was stepping in front of the camera. The crew watched, not unkindly but with curiosity. Could I hold the moment?
We finished the first take. Stillness. Then Brandon Cox, our cinematographer, walked over with members of his team. They congratulated me. They told me I belonged in the room.
Moments like that do not create confidence. They confirm the work that built it. Confidence forms in the years no one sees, then reveals itself in a single moment.
Dave Bautista and I connected deeply during the shoot. He carried himself with a level of professionalism that elevated everyone around him. Being around people like that challenges you to meet the moment rather than shrink from it.
The Private Moment with De Niro and What Comes Next
There was a quiet moment on set between De Niro and me. Personal, unexpected, and bigger than the film. I will share it in the book I am writing because it deserves its own atmosphere.
What I can share now is this.
The road to working with De Niro did not begin with access or strategy. It began with a decision, a script written honestly, a letter written in private, and the steadiness to continue when the path had no signs.
Everything that came after was the result of staying true to the work, refusing to settle, and trusting the instinct that began in the desert.
Confidence is rarely dramatic. It often begins as a quiet agreement you make with yourself and then choose, again and again, to honor.
The rest of this journey lives inside the private community. JOIN to keep reading the chapters I never share publicly.
This is part of The Conversation Podcast, a storytelling series exploring the human side of art, technology, and ambition.
