CANNES DISPATCH Photographs & interview by GREG WILLIAMS As told to JANE CROWTHER
Vincent Cassel admits that his first time visiting Cannes film festival was by hitchhiking. These days the celebrated French actor need not thumb for a lift and he returns to the Croisette with award-winning Asghar Farhadi’s Parallel Tales, premiering at Cannes’ Grand Théâtre Lumière on Thursday night. Farhadi’s exploration of voyeurism is playing in competition at this year’s festival and stars Cassel in a dual role alongside French icons Isabelle Huppert and Catherine Deneuve.
Huppert plays Sylvie, a novelist who starts spying on two men (Cassel and Pierre Niney) and a woman (Virginie Efira) living across the street, hoping for inspiration for her next book. Hiring an assistant (Adam Bessa) to help her sort her thoughts, Sylvie begins to blur reality and fiction as she writes alternative existences she sees through her telescope..
Loosely inspired by the sixth episode of Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Dekalog, Parallel Tales premiered in the famous Lumiere Theatre at the 79th Cannes Film Festival. Cassel told festival press that the dual role he played was ripe for playfulness and that he might have been tempted to act ‘less well’ as the fictional character; ‘but it’s not something I was able to do!’
Greg Williams photographed the actor at the famed Carlton Hotel before the film premiered to a five minute standing ovation.
Photographs & interview by GREG WILLIAMS As told to JANE CROWTHER Parallel Talespremiered at the 79th Cannes Film Festival
CANNES DISPATCH Photographs & interview by GREG WILLIAMS As told to JANE CROWTHER
‘The importance of the festival is not only to celebrate good films,’ says Stellan Skarsgård when Greg Williams meets him in his suite at the Majestic Hotel ahead of his Cannes Festival jury duties. ‘It’s mainly important because it puts the light on these films that don’t have any money for publicity. They don’t have money for billboards. And they get seen by a lot of people at festivals. They get noticed by awards; by festivals in general. I think that cinema needs to be preserved as cinema, in a cinema – so we don’t think that it’s the same experience to watch it on television. Because it’s not. It’s another art form. Cinema is supposing that you’re watching it all the time. That you’re concentrating on it. That you’re following the film in detail. And that means that you have a lot of things that are without words. That are unsaid, because it’s all on the screen. And those things are immensely valuable.’
Skarsgård would know. A veteran of the festival and an actor who has known the industry for years as well as watched his actor sons, Alexander and Bill, chart a course through it, the Swedish artist is thrilled to be spending ten days watching cinema under jury president Park Chan-wook. His own work has previously come under such scrutiny.
‘Breaking the Waves was my first Cannes Film Festival. I’d been to Berlin before. But it was overwhelming because it was also a great success for the film. It was insane. I was totally unprepared for it. Not as unprepared as [co-star] Emily Watson. She was very unprepared. It was her first film. I felt like I had to protect her,’ he laughs. ‘But, of course, it was beautiful. I came with several Lars von Trier films, and ended up with Melancholia. Every film was like reinvented cinema, and every film was something new; something people hadn’t seen before. It was always exciting to be here with a Lars von Trier film.’
Being a jury member is a special privilege, he says.And a very different experience from attending the festival as an actor.‘Nobody’s watching you for what you’ve done, and nobody’s demanding anything of you, except that you watch films. And that’s easy – compared to having the pressure of wanting to win, and having to win for the success of the film. But now, I’m just going to watch films. I’ve never seen a film at Cannes before, except for films that I’ve been in, because I’ve never had time….’
Photographs & interview by GREG WILLIAMS As told to JANE CROWTHER Stellan Skarsgård is a jury member of the 79th Cannes Film Festival
Paweł Pawlikowski’s latest film is beautifully calibrated and poignant – and proof that running times do not need to be bombastic to tell a profound story. In just 82 minutes, Fatherland explores big themes of art and legacy while also teasing out conversation points of parental overshadowing, national identity and the small things that break a dam of contained grief. Sumptuous monochrome and academy ratio, it’s a period piece with plenty to say about the 21st century, and a cinematic treat that demands big screen viewing – with the drama of screen curtains closing to accommodate its pleasingly old-school format.
Mubi
It opens with a phone call between siblings; depressed Klaus (August Diehl) and pragmatic Erika (Sandra Hüller), the adult children of celebrated German writer and egghead, Thomas Mann. Erika wants Klaus to attend a trip their father is about to embark on, Klaus is unsure. The rest of the film tracks the trip in question as Mann (Hanns Zischler) returns to his homeland in 1949 to receive two awards for his work, after fleeing the nation for America during WWII. Erika is his helpmeet; driver, translator, secretary, publicist, stylist. As the duo travel between destroyed Frankfurt and the Weimar communist sector, family tragedy reshapes their experience and their relationship.
Though this ostensibly is a story of a male genius (Mann is a Nobel prizewinner and intellectual), the real focus is Erika, a formidably accomplished woman whose calm calculation snaps during a sharp conversation with a Nazi actor during a party and when drunk former soldiers carouse outside her window. Though she is fluent in multiple languages, a writer and a former actor, her most powerful act comes in gently taking the hand of an old man struggling to process his feelings or forgive himself for narcissism. Though the whole cast is excellent, Hüller is exemplary. The way she holds a cigarette informs an audience, just as the micro twist of her mouth betrays the feelings she doesn’t give voice to. And the recreation of a destroyed post-war Germany is like dreamlike time-travel. Every shot is gorgeous, but a couple of sequences of the Manns driving through bombed, shattered streets and along East German lanes feel like historical gems liberated from long lost archives.
Mubi
While Mann talks loftily of art and what society should look like, the parallels between a fledgling East German tightening control via autocracy and a Trump-era America are easily found. Recognisable too are the concepts of being on the right side of history and the way that art can illuminate and soothe. Whether a Bach fan or not, the moment one of his pieces plays in a devastated building, is a haunting, healing moment of hope. It transports, just as Pawlikowski’s movie does.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Images courtesy of MUBI Fatherland premiered at the 79th Cannes Film Festival
I Saw The TV Glow creator, Jane Schoenbrun, returns with another zeitgeisty future-cult exploring fandom and the blur between art and life – bowing at Cannes in a gush of blood and fried chicken dipping sauce. Taking place in a world where eighties slasher franchise Camp Miasma exists (a seven-picture series that is realised nostalgically and brilliantly in a bang-on credit sequence), Sundance darling, Kris (Hacks’ Hannah Einbinder) is asked to bring her woke smarts to rebooting the artistically zeroed but still monetisable brand. Or as the constantly reanimated series is described by her, ‘zombie IP’.
Ryan Plummer/Plan B Entertainment
A director with ideas about the intersection of queerness and cultural monstrosity in horror – this one has a murderer who rises from the lake at the teen camp wearing a vent hood to terrorise nubile, scantily clad girls with a spear – Kris arranges to meet with the original final girl of the franchise, Billy (Gillian Anderson). A Norma Desmond-esque recluse who lives at the location used in the first film, Billy has a Southern accent that drips like molasses from her scarlet lips and a penchant for fried chicken. Swishing around her trapped-in-time house in sexy peignoirs or Hitchcock Blonde hats, she is alluring to Kris, a queer ‘pip squeak’ who is disassociated from her own desire in bed. Kris is seduced by the idea that Billy reached the most exquisite orgasm of her life while viewing herself as both killer and victim during filming. In accessing the male gaze of the lake-dwelling murderer, known as ‘Little Death’ (he evokes post-coital ‘petit mort’, geddit?), Billy has stepped into her power and a liminal space where art/reality fuse. Do the movies create Little Death or does he create the movies? And just how much fake blood can spew from beheaded and impaled bodies?
Schoenbrun has recently transitioned and while their psychosexual dark comedy horror sharply analyses the idea of gender dysmorphia via horror tropes, it also dismantles the libidinal and misogynistic aspects of slasher films by inviting audiences to consider why we are so often asked to root for female victims while also given the POV of their male predators. But those are only two aspects of a film loaded with concepts to consider on multiple views. The impact of porn (also a VHS boom industry) on female eroticism, the exploration of consent and the numerous sly nods to cinematic iconography are also offered for the unpacking.
But even if you don’t want to parse it, Camp Miasma, offers a fun time at the flicks. Both Einbinder and Anderson are delicious to watch – Einbinder comedic while leaning into the terror, Anderson Southern gothic vamping without ever mocking. There’s banging needle drops from Counting Crows, REM and Donna Lewis, decapitated heads sighing ‘bummer’ with their last breath and pleasing visual effects that provide a tangible sense of the video cassette age. Twin Peaks DNA ripples through the bloodlust, a sense of watching something smart – the sort of jewel-box movie that probably will play at midnight screenings in the future and inspire fan theories. The meaning of ‘miasma’ is of an unpleasant or unhealthy smell or vapour, and while Schoenbrun’s reflexive romp dwells in death and franchises past their sell-by date, it’s certainly no stinker itself.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Images courtesy of Plan B Entertainment Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma premiered at the 79th Cannes Film Festival
Closeness and Beanpole filmmaker Kantemir Balagov debuts his first English language movie at Cannes this year and, unfortunately, the third time is not the charm. Set in New Jersey, it tracks a blue collar Circassian family running a failing diner where delens (regional cheese and potato pies) are talked about incessantly and the minutiae of working class life is considered enough of a narrative hook. Azik (Barry Keoghan) is a whimsical chef who claims to make his excellent conserve out butterflies. ‘I can make anything,’ he boasts to his gambling, wrestling crew who swig vodka and rough house through the restaurant after hours. Only, he can’t. A widowed dad to a 16 year-old wrestling champ, Tamir (Talga Akdogan) – who behaves more like the parent in the relationship – Azik can’t make a living or much of himself. He’d like to work at a mate’s new flashy restaurant but fails to recommend himself, his idea of a gift to his son is a visit to a local sex worker, and his male pride is constantly pricked by Marat (Harry Melling), a shifty livewire whose mood seems always in flux. Azik’s heavily pregnant sister, Zayla (Riley Keough) despairs at the lack of purpose as she furiously mops the floors and phones an absent husband.
Why Not Productions
Masculinity is prided within this group – the ability to provide for family, pin a man to the floor, seduce women in bars. Marat struggles with all of them, baiting Azik with macho posturing that has fatal consequences. There’s also a pink pelican that wanders around the family’s plant-strewn house clapping its beak together and watching the cast with doleful eyes. The bird is incredibly engaging where the characters are not. The film closes with a celebrity cameo that feels unmoored and unearned.
Why Not Productions
As a study of the Circassian community and toxic machismo, Butterfly Jam never digs deep enough into either. Delens and a professional funeral mourner played for comedy aside, there’s little to learn about the culture or diaspora of this group. While the posturing and slighting of male ego is Scorsese-lite and culminates, violently, in something of a cheap shot (narratively and visually). Pink is everywhere – in Tamir’s clothes and wrestling suit, the pelican, the broken candyfloss machine Maret buys, the jam that Azik serves – but within such an unfocused story it adds little meaning. It’s a shame that such a talented filmmaker and his buzzy cast do not have more to say. Like the job that Azik fails to get, it feels like a missed opportunity.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Images courtesy of Why Not Productions Butterfly Jam premiered at the 79th Cannes Film Festival
Photographs & interview by GREG WILLIAMS As told to JANE CROWTHER
Actor and musician Damian Lewis tells Greg Williams about his latest role in WWII film Pressure and his passion for artistry on the stage, screen and pitch as he attends a key Como 1907 game at their lakeside stadium in Como.
When I meet Damian Lewis on a beautiful sunny day in May at the lakeside Villa D’Este, it’s gearing up to be a scorcher. ‘Already hot for a ginge,’ Damian grins, lounging on the balcony in Brioni, ‘but I’m muscling through. I’ve got my Factor 50 on. And I’m about to go and watch some footy.’ The actor and musician is in Lake Como to watch Como FC, a crucial Serie A game between Napoli and the local team, in the hopes of qualifying. ‘Not dissimilar to my team, Liverpool, who are loitering in fourth position, and hustling for a Champions League place as well.’ Damian has long been a football fan (‘Liverpool when I’m in the UK. When I’m Italy, Como 1907 is my team’) and played the sport seriously as a teen to schoolboy trials level as a striker wide right, or wide left. His path didn’t take him further (‘I had the body of a 17-year-old poet, with not much poetry to show for it,’ he jokes) in the sport, his interest turning to acting instead.
These days he still plays charity matches (he regales me with a self-deprecating tale of having Brian Robson telling him to keep his legs together at such a match before being nutmegged by Zidane at Old Trafford, to his great public embarrassment), but can see a correlation between the beautiful game and acting. ‘There’s something about the geometry and the preoccupation with an objective,’ he says. ‘On a football pitch, it’s very similar to being on stage – a sense of where you are dynamically in relation to your fellow players or your fellow cast members, whilst moving towards, a shared objective goal – narrative – and the story, and knowing how you’re driving that together on stage. It’s total, total focus, away from the outside world; away from anything else that you’ve been thinking about for the rest of the day. Just the patterns on the stage, or on the pitch.’
Great footballers are artists he considers. ‘There are footballers who are artists, because when you see them move – the grace and precision… Zizou is like long grass in the breeze. But what is the definition of great art? It’s something expressed personally that speaks universally. Great artists sometimes labour for a lifetime to create the thing. Or sometimes it’s in a moment of pure animal instinct that’s so pure and beautiful.’ The thought puts him in mind of another entertaining anecdote (Damian has many). I’ve always loved this story about Paul McCartney going to see Julian Lennon because he’s got recently divorced parents. And he gets stuck in a traffic jam, and he’s just sitting there. And in the space of half an hour, he’s knocked out Hey Jude. That’s lightning in a bottle, isn’t it?’
Photo: Bob Ford
Lightening, and all manner of weather, is something that preoccupies Damian’s latest role, playing Field Marshal Montgomery – ‘Monty’ – in the true story of the meteorologist called in to help make one of the most crucial decisions of WWII: when to deploy troops to the Normandy beaches for D-Day. As Eisenhower (played by Brendan Fraser) tries to make a decision, weatherman Captain Stagg (Andrew Scott) tries to deliver an answer on best timing. Monty, a vet of two world wars, is light comic relief in Damian’s hands, with his outraged outbursts over delaying because of a spot of rain. We walk down to the shady edge of the lake, Negroni in hand, as Damian describes the man he plays.
I ended up in two fabulous projects telling the story – one behind enemy lines at night, and then Monty on the other side, with Eisenhower and a weatherman trying to figure out how to get our lads safely on to the beaches
‘Monty was a complicated character. A big ego. Stubborn. One of our great war heroes, of course, but he couldn’t really say his ‘R’s. Obviously I didn’t want to make a caricature out of him but I said I’d like to do it with the weak ‘R’, and the pedantry, and the ego, and the stubbornness. So hopefully we’ve got that, whilst, at the same time, showing that his side of the argument was valid. It’s the largest invasion force in history trying to cross the channel to liberate Europe. And he’s just asking how we keep this plan secret if we delay. Monty is hopping up and down like a sort of terrier in the background.’ Damian obviously came to attention for many as Captain Winters in Spielberg’s watershed TV show Band of Brothers and enjoyed the throughline from that to this. ‘What I loved about doing Pressure was that as Monty was planning the liberation of Europe with the Navy and the Air Force, in Band of Brothers, the 101st parachute regiment, Easy Company, who Captain Winters was commanding officer of, were landing behind enemy lines that night. There’s one crucial episode of Band of Brothers – episode two, which is now used as a training tool at West Point Military Academy in America – where Dick Winters takes a small group of men against a much bigger force, and takes out the FH-88 Howitzers, which are shelling the beaches as our boys are coming up the beaches. I ended up in two fabulous projects telling the story – one behind enemy lines at night, and then Monty on the other side, with Eisenhower and a weatherman trying to figure out how to get our lads safely on to the beaches.’ There’s another connection between the stories. ‘Lovely Andrew Scott was in a scene with me, in episode two of Band of Brothers, which a lot of people don’t know. He had one scene playing a young, scared soldier, and he hooks up with Winters, and it’s just those two walking through the woods. It’s a nice circle of life, I think.’
Damian came to Band of Brothers from theatre – he was part of the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford – having attended drama school at Guildhall School of Music & Drama alongside Daniel Craig and Ewan McGregor (both in years ahead of him). He recalls being inspired by their success. ‘I always remember Ewan saying, ‘I want to be a movie star’ and everyone chuckling, going, ‘Yeah. Alright, Ewan.’ And then he just immediately became a movie star.’ All I wanted to do was theatre. I was completely obsessed with being the next, you know, Branagh, Olivier. I didn’t really think about making movies until I saw my peers; people around me, who I liked, who are pals – making films. I thought that was for other people. I just realised there was a bigger canvas out there.’
The legend goes that his big break came after Spielberg and Tom Hanks saw him in a production of Hamlet on Broadway. ‘It’s sort of been misreported that they saw me in that, and put me in Band of Brothers. Actually, neither of them remembered really seeing me,’ he laughs. ‘Me getting Band of Brothers was totally a needle-in-the-haystack casting. I’d gone through all the endless auditions and interviews in a damp basement in Soho in London, over a period of four or five months. And then suddenly the producer of the show got up one day, out of his chair, and said, ‘Damian, how would you like to fly to LA, and meet Steven and Tom?’ I went, ‘Sure. Let me just check I haven’t got lunch with my granny’. I went and met Tom, did some readings. I had a friend in town. We went out and got loaded. We were out late. And then I got a call at like 8 in the morning from Meg Liberman, the casting director, saying, ‘Damian, Steven would like to see you at 11 o’clock’. I had 73 cups of coffee and three showers. When I arrived there was an unbelievably good-looking actor sitting outside. I look at him, and I think, ‘You are the spitting image of Dick Winters’. I just literally thought, ‘Well, that’s been a fun ride.’ He goes in and when he comes out, he really generously says, ‘Good luck, man’. And he walks away. I go in, and Steven and Tom do the interview. They literally say in the room ‘OK, we’re going to start bootcamp in April. Go get in shape’… I love that story because it is my young actor Hollywood story. It’s that break. It’s that moment. I’m fully aware that not everyone gets that moment. It was very ‘two different worlds’. I loved being at Stratford-upon-Avon, playing Shakespeare, putting on my tights. But actually, this might be something I could do.’
Acting is an interpretive skill. The guy who put the words on the page – that’s the source. Everyone else after that point is an interpreter. I love the psychic journey of an actor. I love the sublimation of self to become someone else. I love going down the rabbit hole, and transforming… walking into a different person; walking through a different world; being in a parallel reality
I ask if he thought he’d return to theatre after the show. ‘I always wanted to go back and do theatre, but I think what happened, without me knowing it, is that Band of Brothers was one of the shows that was right at the vanguard of this golden era of TV. The Sopranos was out. The Wire. Band of Brothers came out. Suddenly, everyone was talking about TV in a slightly different way. And film people were coming into TV. And then Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Homeland, which I was in. I went off down a route that I hadn’t imagined for myself, because so much interesting work, and so many interesting people, were in it.’
With Negronis drunk it’s time to head to the match. We jump in a boat to get to the lakeside stadium. As we drink in the views Damian tells me about his music, having recently released his latest single, Sweet Chaos. ‘I’ve always played music. But I’m doing it more formally, I guess. When I was in my 20s, I used to motorbike around Europe with my guitar and a tent, and I used to play in the streets and busk. And then acting took over. There are often pathways in life. You come to forks in the road. I was married to Helen McCrory. We very much identified as an acting couple. I loved that life.’ He didn’t turn his attention to music until he met music manager and agent, Steve Abbott who suggested making a record together, Mission Creep. His latest album, also called Sweet Chaos, is out in June. ‘It’s definitely a passion, a way to creatively express yourself,’ he says of songwriting. ‘It’s not a vanity project. It has to pay for itself. If it doesn’t work, and people aren’t getting paid, and not enough people are liking or listening to the music or showing up to gigs or buying records or a bloody tote bag – then it doesn’t add up. And I won’t be doing it any longer. But I love writing songs. I love getting to the studio and recording them. I’m obviously much better known for my acting and that will probably never change. But I hope people find the music, and take it on its own terms. Changing lanes in this country can be tricky. It takes a bit of time for people to get used to that kind of thing. You don’t persuade everyone. I’m sure I won’t. But I love doing it.’
As we bob along he considers what music gives him that acting doesn’t. ‘Acting is an interpretive skill. The guy who put the words on the page – that’s the source. Everyone else after that point is an interpreter. I love the psychic journey of an actor. I love the sublimation of self to become someone else. I love going down the rabbit hole, and transforming… walking into a different person; walking through a different world; being in a parallel reality. Imaginatively, creatively, psychically – it’s quite a long journey to travel. It’s quite a long way to come back as well, if you really are an actor that believes in immersing themselves. And I try to be that kind of actor. Doing music has given me a different sort of agency and authorship that I love. I write the songs. I then go and record them with amazing musicians, and then I go on tour, and then I perform them. So every stage of the way, it’s mine. I really enjoy that process. It’s quite exposing, but I find acting quite exposing, too. I think any good art, where anyone is committed to it – is exposing. It’s a place of vulnerability.
We arrive at the stadium for the Como/Napoli game and walk towards the 12,000-seater venue. When we get inside and head to the pitch, he immediately starts inquiring about the grass and anticipating the atmosphere when the place is full of fans. I rustle up a football to give him a bit of pre-game keepy-uppy which he tackles enthusiastically. He’s buzzing with pre-kick off excitement as we head up to the bar of the Art Deco stadium where Damian chats to local fans about the match and his home team of Liverpool. He smiles broadly, in his element. He’s ready to see some of Como 1907’s artistry on the pitch…
Photographs & interview by GREG WILLIAMS As told to JANE CROWTHER Pressure is in cinemas on 29 May
Steven Soderbergh’s latest twisty thriller features no guns or spies like the entertaining Black Bag, but double-crossing, motive reversal and tart conversation set within the art world are present and correct to delicious effect. The tale may essentially be a two-hander set in a London townhouse with only canvases and paint daubs as the collateral at stake, but there’s plenty of blindsiding and fun to be had.
Claudette Barius/NEON
The ‘Christophers’ of the title are a series of heralded works by enfant terrible painter Julian Sklar (Sir Ian McKellen), a misanthropic grinch who was once a philandering sixties art bad boy whose works and lifestyle were as rock ‘n’ roll as any of his artistic music contemporaries. His pieces have fetched huge sums at auction and now he is artistically blocked; unwilling to complete the set, unable to paint anything new. Instead he grumpily sits in his studio (clearly modelled on Lucian Freud’s) raging against the world – particularly his two adult children (James Cordon and Jessica Gunning) who he accuses of moneygrabbing.
He’s not wrong. The Sklar siblings are keen on getting the Christophers series finished to net them cash (especially as Dad’s health is failing), and they don’t mind how. In the opening of the film, the duo engage art restorer, Lori (Michaela Coel), to act as Julian’s new assistant with the aim of finding the canvases and using her latent forgery skills to finish them. She’s a quiet, watchful woman who went to the same prestigious art school as Julian, yet is working in a food truck rather than pursuing her passion.
Claudette Barius/NEON
When Julian and Lori meet the sparks fly. Used to harranging, bullying and shocking any audience (whether that’s fans paying money for Cameo videos or wannabe painters on his eighties TV art show), he is wrongfooted by Lori’s stoicism, how unimpressed or undaunted she is by him. Lori’s still waters run deep, and as the duo learn more about each other, allegiances change, revenge is served and the art world is lampooned.
Claudette Barius/NEON
McKellen tears into Julian with gusto – ranting about cancel culture, his terrible children, the horror of mediocrity with glee. He’s a monster and initially sucks all the air from the screen, leaving the usually incendiary Coel with little to do but remain passive. But it ultimately works to provide sweet satisfaction when her power arrives. While McKellen hisses zingers, Cordon and Henning are gloriously craven and avaricious as a pair of talentless freeloaders wanting an easy payout.
Claudette Barius/NEON
Ed Solomon’s screenplay questions art (what is true genius? Who should decide it?), the morality of reality TV shows (Julian’s condescension to contestants is the worst kind of cruelty for entertainment) and misogyny (why are men allowed to behave badly and women are not?). His twists and turns are not only fun, they reveal what we as an audience may be guilty of in assumption and profiling. And though we know McKellen is a generational talent, his sketching here of a bitter, performative man hiding self-doubt and fear is something of a masterstroke.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Images courtesy of NEON The Christophersis in UK cinemas 15 May
It was wonderful to work with Colman Domingo this issue, and chart his career path from New York to LA, from theatre to film. His journey has been a steady burn, the labours of a hard-working actor who has found success later in life and ensured his longevity. I’m very drawn to his story, I’m a similar age and I’ve also worked consistently and it’s only been in the last decade that things have stepped up to what he describes as his ‘harvest stage’. I was inspired to hear his acceptance of change – the changes to him and the changes to New York City where we finished our interview during the week of his SNL debut. Colman’s story also resonates with me as we visited two theatres that were integral to his path. I feel comfortable in those spaces as both my parents worked in the theatre and I grew up playing there. The idea of kismet also plays into Colman’s life – another thing I feel linked to. While in LA, we visited a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf that was the place that kicked off his involvement in Rustin, the film that changed everything for him, and was also the location for his first billboard in Los Angeles (also for Rustin). I love the idea of chance changing the entire course of a life.
Photograph by Bob Ford
As part of my bi-coastal cover story, I spent time with Colman over Oscar weekend in LA and although he was going to parties as a celebrated artist his humility shone out and I feel that that’s often a marker of people who have found success later – because they’ve known tougher times. But being humble and authentic was also present in my shoots with younger artists. Spike Fearn is so connected to his hometown of Coalville in the UK and wanted to create work there. It was incredibly refreshing to meet an actor who didn’t just want to move to LA and was keen to work in his own way. Also marching to the beat of his own drum – quite literally – was Lewis Pullman. The son of a beloved actor who’s grown up in Hollywood, Lewis is reverential of his lineage and pragmatic about his career. I like that he felt he would take a lifetime to figure out acting – just because he had a famous dad, he didn’t have all the answers.
And shooting Ellie Bamber in Lucian Freud’s former studio was an amazing privilege, not only because I’m such a fan of Freud’s work but also because Ellie was ‘at peace’ with whatever anyone thinks. That stuck with me because it’s a place all creatives hope to get to in life – and all four of my subjects this issue seem to have found that sweet spot. That’s inspiring and humbling for me. And I hope for you…
