Yes, it released last week, but chances are – amid the Captain America and Bridget Jones fanfare – you missed this Antipodean gem that lures with wide-eyed protagonists and sucker-punches with genuine feels. Though it looks on paper like a cutesy animation, this stop-motion labour of love is not designed purely for half term nippers (it’s a 15 certificate in the UK). The memoir at its core (based on writer-director Adam Elliot’s own childhood) is from Grace (Sarah Snook), who recalls her seventies upbringing as a snail-mad Aussie kid when she was orphaned and fostered, torn away from her adored brother Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee). While Grace lives with louche swingers, Gilbert lives with creepy evangelists – will the duo ever be reunited?
Madman Entertainment
As Grace tells her story to Sylvia, a pet snail, she covers heartbreaking experiences while in care that take in alcoholism, sexual abuse, bullying and cripping loneliness. Sounds grim? It could be without Elliot’s light touch – finding humour, moments of loveliness and claymation boobs (yep, did we mention it’s a 15?) amid the darkness. ‘Childhood was life’s best season,’ says Grace, ‘it never lasts, but everyone deserves one.’
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A central light for Grace is her best friend, a quirky OAP called Pinky (voiced by Jackie Weaver) who smells of ginger and picks up the pieces that the self-absorbed foster parents don’t when they head off to a Swedish nudist colony. She’s a ray of sunshine – both in Grace’s life and in Weaver’s cheeky, delightful vocal work. Eric Bana also turns up in a small role that makes a mark. Tragi-comic but also profound, Memoir Of A Snail is bursting with character and meaning. The ugly-lovely clay creatures that people it may be experiencing unique hardship but the themes of self-acceptance and fortitude are universal. As is the idea that we are all like snails: carrying around our baggage beneath a shell of our own making, and unable to re-track on the route we have already travelled. Bleak but beautiful, it’s an ode to all the ways humans are messy and broken. There’s a reason Nick Cave cameos…
Madman Entertainment
Words by JANE CROWTHER Pictures courtesy of Madman Entertainment Memoir of a Snail is out now
It’s been 24 years since the world was introduced to the celluloid Miss Jones, an endearing hot mess (Renée Zellweger) who vacillated between two posh boys – one snooty (Colin Firth), one caddish (Hugh Grant) – as she negotiated adulting, big knickers and glasses of Chardonnay. And as is now standard for all beloved movies, Bridget has had some less successful sequels, a period of absence and now gets a real-time revisit. Like Ghostbusters, Top Gun: Maverick and Gladiator II, this legacy sequel reunites the original cast (despite Grant’s character being killed off in the previous film) and invites audiences to check in with their favourite characters at a later stage in their lives.
Universal Pictures/StudioCanal
As she noted in her first outing: It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces. Though Bridget happily married Mark Darcy, she’s now a single, widowed parent to two small children, four years into a crippling grief process having lost Mark (Firth touchingly appears as wish fulfilment). Her delightful Hampstead Heath house is all over the place, she’s still rubbish at cooking (burnt pasta instead of blue soup) and she pitches up at the practice of her gynecologist (Emma Thompson) with any type of ailment. But she’s muddling through with the help of friends including still-concupiscent Daniel Cleaver (‘I was dead for a bit,’ Grant shrugs) and the memories of Darcy. When concerned ‘smug marrieds’ suggest she get back into the dating game, Bridget stumbles across two possible loves: younger park ranger, the improbably-named Roxster (Leo Woodall), and ‘whistle-obsessed fascist’ teacher, Mr Wallaker (Chiwetel Ejiofor).
Like the Darcy/Cleaver love-triangle that percalates through previous movies, audiences are asked to choose for Bridget here: the doe-eyed boy who jumps into swimming pools to rescue dogs but may be emotionally immature? Or the attractively brusque teacher who understands her withdrawn son but is reserved himself? Throw in some callbacks (Bridget’s red pyjamas and her Netflix sign-in, a trip to Borough Market, Darcy’s Christmas jumper) and trademark humiliating moments (Bridget buying condoms, announcing how much sex she’s had to an audience, falling over) and it’s like no time has passed at all. But where this version of Bridget really works is leaning into unapologetic sentiment and exploring sorrow in a genuinely affecting way. Zellweger’s Bridget has always been a touchstone for women in terms of struggling to have it all, but now she’s not just juggling suitors, silly little skirts and sex. Her tussling with menopause, feelings of maternal failure and ageing hit differently, more profoundly. Combining that with Grant’s specific brand of sweet/spicy (still getting the biggest laughs with his sardonic disdain but also disarmingly vulnerable and supportive) and a tangible ache for the husband and father that is missing from the picture – and Mad About The Boy manages to equal the original film, with more emotional punch.
Universal Pictures/StudioCanal
Zellweger is still as reassuringly daffy and adorable as Bridget but layers in a relatable world weariness of a mourning woman just trying to get through a day, which works a charm in later scenes when she makes a decision about a man she might not have made in film one. Her suitors are less well-sketched – Roxster a contender for his looks in a wet t-shirt, Mr Wallaker merely by being age-appropriate – but Woodall and Ejiofor manage to breathe enough life into their roles. Meanwhile national treasures Thompson and Grant threaten to pocket the picture with brief scenes discussing lips and poetry readings respectively. Must put in diary. V. Good.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Pictures courtesy of Universal Pictures/StudioCanal Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy is in UK cinemas now
Photographs by GREG WILLIAMS Interview by GREG WILLIAMS& JANE CROWTHER
A shy ‘lone wolf’, Mikey Madison is taking awards season by storm. Greg Williams hangs out with her in LA during a pivotal moment in her career.
Mikey Madison isn’t the first in her family to reach stardom or have her likeness loom over Sunset Boulevard on a giant billboard. Her grandmother’s cousin, CH Long, was the ‘Marlboro Man’ – a tough Texas cowboy who became the face of the cigarette brand and covered the August 1949 issue of Life magazine. Mikey owns a copy of the magazine and proudly shows me it when I arrive at her Los Angeles home one afternoon in November. The 25-year-old LA native is prepping for one of many stops on the awards circuit, the Elle Women In Hollywood awards – where she’ll be honoured for her searing role as an exotic dancer who won’t be ignored in Sean Baker’s Anora. CH Long and Mikey share more than DNA and a love of horses. As she has her hair and make-up done in her buzzy kitchen (her mum, sister and best friend are also prepping as guests at the event tonight), Mikey tells me about her cowboy relative. ‘He was debilitatingly shy, and didn’t like being photographed,’ she says of the Life magazine cover star. ‘But they were able to capture some interesting moments with him.’
The same is true of Mikey. After spending several days with her, I’m struck by just how different she is from the character she plays on screen. Ani, a Brighton Beach dancer and sex worker, is ballsy, loud; a big character who enjoys attention and will fight (and kick and scream) for it. Though Mikey has been working professionally as an actress since she was 16 (she was Max in five seasons of Better Things) and is able to fully inhabit psychotic killers (in Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood and 2022’s Scream) and a modern Cinderella (Anora), in person she’s quiet, shy, introspective, kind. The transformation of Mikey to Ani is striking; her performance so lived in, authentic and alive that the awards buzz started as soon as Anora premiered in Cannes last summer. Since then, the actor has been busy being feted, profiled, nominated – a supernova explosion. She invites me to spend some time with her at a point when her life is changing…
As Mikey and her family get ready for the Elle awards, she shows me around her house, which she’s curated in the four years she’s lived there to be her perfect personal space. Unused film-reel canisters from Anora sit on a sideboard in the lounge (‘Sean let me take them’), an Ani-style orange crocheted G-string covers her copy of Walt Whitman poetry on the coffee table that her handy dad hand crafted for her. (‘He also made the dining table, outdoor table and two of my side tables.’). Her impressive vinyl collection is meticulously alphabetised and her bookcase groans with volumes on artists such as Frank Lloyd Wright, Bob Dylan and Patti Smith. As she picks out Tiffany jewels to wear to the event, her rescue dog, a Chihuahua called Jam, runs around at her feet. Mikey loves animals and as she gets ready she talks of one day having a mini pony sanctuary – a place for unwanted miniature ponies to spend their days. Like her Marlboro Man relative, Mikey was a serious horsewoman before acting came calling – more of which later. For now, Mikey needs to get on her way to the Four Seasons and the Elle awards. Laughing, she lies down in the seat of the SUV so she doesn’t crease her delicate cream Ralph Lauren gown.
As we wind our way to Beverly Hills, Mikey tells me about the training she went through to physically be able to essay Ani in Anora, an accomplished pole dancer. ‘I still have my pole, but it’s in my closet because I was totally done, and the film was over. It’s so hard on your body,’ she says. ‘I did months of training, hours and hours a day. Hours of pole conditioning – you have to condition your inner thighs to grip onto the pole, because it’s very painful. We didn’t get to show what I was really able to do in the movie. [In training] I was walking on the ceiling. Would I be able to do it now? No, I would have to do more training. I haven’t done it in almost two years.’
I can’t just turn it on and off. I need to love what I do, and the characters that I play. And I know this about myself now. I’m trying to be very specific. I know that when the right project comes to me, I’ll know exactly what it is, and it’ll feel right to me
Writer/director Sean Baker wrote Anora with Mikey in mind after seeing her in Scream, making the offer to her agent immediately after walking out of the cinema. In preparation for the role, Mikey trained alongside exotic dancing expert Kennady Schneider and moved to New York to perfect her Brooklyn accent. In May 2024, Anora bowed at the Cannes Film Festival, wowing critics and netting the film the Palme d’Or. For Mikey, it was the first time she and Baker had shared their collaborative experience with the world. ‘It was very surreal. I’m not the kind of person who is able to process things immediately. I need to take time to understand exactly how I’m feeling and articulate it. I think it’s something that I’m still processing. And there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to get too excited for some reason, in case it goes away. But as an actress, it was a dream of mine to go to that festival, and to have our film be in that competition. It was very special.’
When we arrive at the Four Seasons, Mikey steps out of the car and into an atmosphere of celebration. After walking the red carpet she chats with Demi Moore, takes a picture with Saoirse Ronan, gossips with Julianne Moore. It seems to me that a sisterhood of actresses are welcoming her into the group. When we sit for the awards, Mikey’s mom beams with pride and rubs her back as a reel of her daughter’s work is played to the ballroom. Mikey blushes and looks down at her salad plate. At the table next to her, Tilda Swinton looks over encouragingly.
‘Every once in a while you see a performance that makes you sit up and pay attention and fall in love with an actor,’ extols Willem Dafoe onstage. He squints through the light at Mikey. ‘Such is Mikey’s performance in Anora – a beautiful, dramatic, comic performance that is funny, sly, sexy, athletic and touching…’ An actor who has worked with Baker before on The Florida Project, Dafoe is effusive in his praise, welcoming Mikey to the podium to applause. ‘I’ve always had the instinct to be an observer, always more someone on the outside looking in on life,’ she tells the room. ‘Playing Ani changed me, not just as an actress but as a person.’
The next day, away from the lights and the flashbulbs of the event, Mikey shows me round her tranquil garden featuring a massive 100-year-old cactus; ‘This is why I bought the house,’ she says. We wander into her favourite place in the house, her so-called ‘movie room’ – a cosy den with a projector and shelves filled with books and treasures. One of her prized possessions is a huge, old dictionary that she found in an estate sale and now flicks through to note the meaning of random words. Her movie collection is eclectic and large. ‘I spent a lot of time cultivating my space to where it felt like just for me, and only me. I’ll journal and stuff in here, which helps me process things a little bit more.’ As the daughter of two psychologists, it’s perhaps natural that she would journal to help sort through her experiences; her recent roles and meteoric rise to awards frontrunner must have required some processing. ‘I actually feel that as an actor I process things so quickly. You have an immediate reaction to something. I find that when I’m acting, a switch is completely flipped to where I’m so reactive, and I feel things immediately. It’s so grand and big. I don’t have that in my personal life. Maybe I’m just holding it in, in my life as Mikaela,’ she explains. ‘As an actor you get to experience so much, so many emotions, the most heightened feelings that you can feel that aren’t with this safety net underneath you. You’re making a movie. But in the moment, it’s real, and it feels real. You have this deep intimacy with people, and connection. I think that’s what I love about making movies – the connection and the intimacy that you get to have. I want that in all aspects of my life. My job is an emotional job. To me, there’s not a separation between my work and my personal life. It’s all blended together. That’s how I want it to be, because I think that’s how it makes it as meaningful as possible to me. I’ve been thinking about it a lot because people ask me why I wanted to be an actress.’
I actually feel that as an actor I process things so quickly. You have an immediate reaction to something. I find that when I’m an actor, a switch is completely flipped to where I’m so reactive, and I feel things immediately. It’s so grand and big. I don’t have that in my personal life. Maybe I’m just holding it in, in my life as Mikaela
As she straightens the books on the shelves, she considers the question now. ‘I grew up so shy, debilitatingly shy. I love people. But I’ve always been so scared of them. I was scared of that connection, and would avoid eye contact, even though I wanted it so badly. I wanted that feeling, that intimacy. I would see films or actresses living these incredible, interesting, dangerous lives on screen, and I would think that those emotions, to me, personally feel dangerous to experience for whatever reason. But I want that. I want to feel those things. And I want to do it through the character.’
I ask if acting gave her a portal to be the person that her shyer self wanted her to be. As ballsy as Anora, as fiercely aggressive as a Manson follower. ‘I think it gave me a portal to feel all the things that I was too scared to allow myself to feel, to connect with people on a deep level, a volatile level. I think at times, throughout my life, I’ve been quite passive. But I’ve never been that with the characters I play. I often play very antagonistic characters with a lot of fight, and that is not me. But I love that part of making movies – the connection. But then it’s also so devastating when it’s over. Because you fall in love with this character you’re playing. You embody her. You completely uproot your life, and go to this location, and the people you work with, they become your family and your friends or your onscreen lovers – and then it’s just over, one day. That’s so hard for me, to just walk away from that. I’ve fallen in love with people making movies – I know that happens – and when it’s over, I’m like, “What the fuck. How can that be it?” But it’s not my life. It’s the character’s life, you know?’ She bursts into laughter. ‘I assume I’m not the only one who has that experience. I mean, I think it takes a certain person to be an actor, but also I know people who can just turn it on and off. How do they do that? I don’t know. I have worked with people who have more of a Stanislavski method style of acting. It’s interesting to watch that. It’s not the way I work. I think it’s just more intuitive for me. It’s very emotion-based.’
I knew who Freud was when I was probably about 11 or 12… I’ve always had an understanding or a curiosity about people, and what makes them them, and how people’s brains work, and why they do certain things. I think I’m lucky that I grew up the way I did, because I think it’s probably one of the reasons I ended up being an actor
Later that day, we return to Beverly Hills for Mikey to do press for Anora, this time for the Golden Globes virtual press conference. She does breathing exercises with her fellow cast members before she sits for questions and wonders what Jam is doing alone at home. After the conference, there are more interviews as Mikey is asked about every aspect of the role. During promotion and awards season this is a daily routine. ‘Are you doing more press than you ever have done in your life?’ I ask. She nods and laughs, pretending to curl up and sleep in the elevator as we hustle to the next appointment. Within all of this attention, Mikey remains resolutely herself and I’m interested to understand where this groundedness comes from. The next day, I join her for breakfast at home as she makes vegan chocolate chip silver dollar pancakes. Cooking this breakfast is a comfort for her – it’s the first thing she learned to cook and she used to make blueberry pancakes for her Dad growing up. While wearing a Halloween machete on her head, dripping fake blood, Mikey mixes the batter and considers the special place she’s in right now – an actor in demand and in the process of choosing another project. One she’s hoping to fall in love with as much as she did Anora. ‘There are characters in scripts I’ve read, or people have approached me, and I would like to try to continue on that path of working with them,’ she says of possible prospects. She hasn’t, she says, worked since filming Anora. Purposefully. ‘I saved all my money from this TV show I did when I was younger. So I’m OK, you know? For me, because it’s such an emotional job, I can’t just turn it on and off. I need to love what I do, and the characters that I play. And I know this about myself now. I’m trying to be very specific. I know that when the right project comes to me, I’ll know exactly what it is, and it’ll feel right to me. But right now, I don’t know.’ A believer in manifestation, she’s trying to evoke a new opportunity by waiting, being watchful. ‘I manifest people reaching out to me. I think it’s powerful for me to write things down, and then I unconsciously work towards those things. It’s weird, because sometimes I’ve been thinking of an old friend from elementary school, and they’ll reach out to me a day later, and it’s so bizarre. It can’t just be a coincidence.’
I don’t think about myself in terms of being talented. I think that I can play a character in a deep, authentic way because I just know things about myself. If I commit to something, I’m able to tap into that particular person, and their life. The only thing I will say I’m talented at is cooking or baking. I like to feed other people, you know?
Is she manifesting a superhero movie? ‘I’ve never really acted with a green screen, and that, to me, is the biggest thing. Will I be able to connect with that? Because I like to connect with the environment. I want to feel where I am.’ She serves the pancakes and we sit down to eat. I suggest that she doesn’t appear to be motivated by money. ‘No. I just want to make enough money to have a ranch for my mini pony rescue,’ she laughs. ‘I don’t need a lot. I just want enough so that everybody feels good, and is happy. I don’t like excess. I never want a giant house. I like things like trinkets and little things, but it’s only because I’m a sentimental person. I like to fill my house with sentiment and things that make me feel a specific thing, or things from my travels. I didn’t grow up with excess. But then, when you have that sort of paycheque in front of you, that could change your life and your family’s life. How do you walk away from it, for the sake of creative integrity? I’ve never been in that position. But I can imagine that it would be difficult.’
Today, Mikey is trying on dresses for future events. She puts on a terracotta draped gown and tests it out by lounging on the couch. The Life magazine covered by her cowboy relative lies on the nearby table. She opens the magazine and reads one of C.H. Long’s quotes out from the feature ‘A Texan Holds Onto the Traditions of the West’ with photographs by Leonard McCombe. ‘I’ve had some horses,’ he says, ‘that I thought a lot more of than I do people.’ She smiles. Shyness is, she says, something of a family trait. ‘My mom is extremely shy. I asked my dad – I said, “Was I always shy?” And he said, “Yes. Even when you were a baby, you were shy.” Despite growing up in the dream-factory town, acting was not something she always aspired to. ‘I never thought that I might have a talent for it. It just felt like something that I really wanted to try. I had to try it. I don’t think about myself in terms of being talented. I think that I can play a character in a deep, authentic way because I just know things about myself. If I commit to something, I’m able to tap into that particular person, and their life. The only thing I will say I’m talented at is cooking or baking. I like to feed other people, you know?’
I’m interested to know where this sure sense of self comes from and so we hop in the car to head over the Hollywood hills to her parents’ house in the valley. This was the last home she lived in before she struck out for herself and started making an impression in cinema. She was 21 when she left. When we arrive at the house and let ourselves in we’re greeted by the family dog, Petal, a Chihuahua mix. ‘I love my silly, little Chihuahuas,’ Mikey says, lavishing love on the dog. ‘I’m getting another one, but it’s a big secret because nobody wants me to. They’re like, “You’re too busy to have another puppy.” But I can’t help it. I love them so much. I love their personality, and I love rescuing them.’
Both her parents are psychologists, with dad also pulling double duty as a psychiatrist. That and a busy house of five siblings (Mikey has a twin brother) is probably what has helped her stay level-headed in an industry that can chew up and spit out talent. ‘I knew who Freud was when I was probably about 11 or 12,’ Mikey admits. ‘I’ve always had an understanding or a curiosity about people, and what makes them them, and how people’s brains work, and why they do certain things. I think I’m lucky that I grew up the way I did, because I think it’s probably one of the reasons I ended up being an actor. I can’t judge my characters. I have to completely understand them. When I take on a character, I try not to think about it from a third-person point of view. So when I was trying to understand my character in Anora, it was really challenging to try to get to the core of her. I would write questions like someone else was asking her, “What kind of cigarettes do you smoke?” And I would answer.’
Mikey answered a lot of questions about Ani in Anora – she bought most of the character’s shoes, helped create the private dance she does (she gets a co-credit for choreography), chose the long, signature nails Ani favours, perfected the specific idiolect she speaks with. An audience member having watched the Brooklyn-accented Ani would be forgiven for being confused by Mikey’s real-life soft California cadence. ‘I’m such a California girl,’ she smiles. ‘I worked with a dialect coach, and she was great. I was like, “I just feel like it’s not specific enough.” Because I didn’t want to just sound like a classic New Yorker. I wanted it to have nuance. And so I went to Brighton Beach a month earlier than I needed to be for shooting, and I was listening to people. I was going to clubs, listening to girls. This one dancer/actress, Luna, who plays my character’s friend in the film, has this amazing voice. She had this really acute, modern way that a lot of young women speak that I love, and wanted to add into the film. I got to a place where I just felt like it lived inside of me, you could ask me to say anything, and it would just come out. I wouldn’t be reaching for certain sounds, because I think that’s the way, really, to kill a character.’ That embedding with sex workers in Brighton Beach clubs – she shadowed dancers, dressed like them – forged genuine friendships that led to Mikey hosting a screening of the film specifically for sex workers. ‘It’s one of the most important things in my life – female friendships, and my connection to other women. So it was easy for me to just connect to someone, woman to woman, even if you’re different, and you don’t understand your life. We were all just able to connect and I’ve made amazing friends.’
I was sitting on a horse before I could walk. My mom just put me in horseback riding class as an afterschool activity, and it became my whole life. I loved it. But when I was maybe 14, and we would do performances… it wasn’t fun anymore. There was a part of me that wanted something deeper – some deeper connection
Ani struggles with love in Baker’s film; what it really is, how to show it – especially in the much-debated final scene of the movie. On the ride over to the house, I had asked Mikey if she was in love herself. With trademark honesty, she answered: ‘No, I’m slightly heartbroken at the moment. In a fucked-up way, it’s kind of a good feeling, too, because at least you’re feeling something – something strong. I know that I love because I feel heartbroken. I know that I can love someone deeply. I would rather be heartbroken than to just feel fine or OK.’ She admitted to wanting ‘lots of kids, and a husband, and a white picket fence’. I can see the inspiration in her family home, full of photos and trinkets from the years of five children growing up there. Outside by the pool there’s a set of gymnastic rings, and Mikey playfully hangs from them.
Upstairs, she shows me her old bedroom, a space that’s important to her in her artistic journey. It’s unchanged from when she left home, complete with baby hats, a white metal bedstead and toddler pictures. It was here that she initially dreamt of being a professional dressage rider. ‘I was sitting on a horse before I could walk. My mom just put me in horseback riding class as an afterschool activity, and it became my whole life. I loved it. But when I was maybe 14, and we would do dressage performances… it wasn’t fun anymore. There was a part of me that wanted something deeper – some deeper connection. I don’t know if I ever thought it was an option, like, “Oh, I’ll have a career in horseback riding, or I’ll have a career as an actress.” I just knew I needed to try this. But I knew that if I tried it, I’d have to put all of myself into it, and I need to stop horseback riding.’
Taking acting classes led to her being cast at 16 as Max in FX’s Better Things, and to roles in small indie films. Around the same time, she developed an interest with the Manson family, fascinated by events that happened not far from her own house. When Quentin Tarantino was auditioning for Manson girls in his take on the story, Mikey felt she was born to play one of the roles. ‘I had no experience in film, but I love Tarantino. In the garage, I made some makeshift art studio and I decided to make a painting like I’m a Manson girl who went on an acid trip with Manson, and made this painting on the acid trip. I wrote this poem about weaving a blanket together. I cut off a big, old piece of my hair, and sewed it into the painting. I was very interested in vintage clothing. So all my clothes were from the ’60s and ’70s. So I wore this very bohemian ’60s dress. I was barefoot, and had a lot of jewellery. I went into the audition, and I read with Quentin, and I gave him this painting.’ She knew she had the role when Tarantino recalled her and the painting was on the wall of his office. She joined an ensemble cast including Brad Pitt, Leonardo DiCaprio, Margot Robbie, Austin Butler, Margaret Qualley and Lena Dunham, and filmed in the Hollywood Hills close to the real once-home of Sharon Tate. She made quite the impression as Susan Atkins, the wannabe murderer who memorably gets a tin of dog food in the face from Pitt and a torching from DiCaprio.
‘Being in a Tarantino film really opens doors for a lot of things,’ she notes as she hops up on Mum’s kitchen counter. ‘People watch it. Directors take you seriously.’ As we take a walk in the nearby hills along a track that Mikey has followed hundreds of times while growing up there, we return to the concept of such a private, shy person wanting to be incredibly vulnerable as an actor. ‘I was a big daydreamer as a kid, and I still am, but I would daydream about being different versions of myself; versions where I wasn’t shy, or I had lots of friends, or I did interesting, crazy things, and felt big emotions. I do think that me being an actor, I’m able to do those things. It gave me the feeling of not being shy. But then a part of me loves being alone. I’m very much just a lone wolf kind of person. It’s a contradiction.’
I don’t look at myself on social media. I don’t have any of that. I don’t Google anything. I don’t recognise it. So it’s always a bit of a shock to have that projected onto me. I have trouble saying it’s ‘uncomfortable’ because I would never want someone to think that I’m ungrateful. I understand the focus on the character. But me – why?
As we walk and the sun settles to golden hour, I ask her what a great day would be for her. She answers without hesitation, perhaps because in business of promotion and campaigning, personal days are rare. ‘Sleep in. Spend the day with my pets, my friends, my family. I’ll probably hang out with my brother. Go see a movie. Cooking, and eating good food. And being comfortable and cosy.’ Awards season is a marathon – how has she felt about it? A reserved person needing to go out and perform on stages, carpets and at events? ‘You know, I don’t do things to win awards. Obviously, it’s very flattering when it happens, and the conversation is nice. But I feel like it’s not a competition to make movies. It’s a celebration.
I understand that people are curious about what it feels like, and it excites people. And I recognise what a privilege it is to be in this position. But it is strange, and I feel that I have nothing to protect myself. I love talking to people about the film. It makes me happy, and I want people to see it. But it’s very vulnerable, to put yourself in that position. I’m excited to get back to the acting part of my job, you know?’
I was a big daydreamer as a kid, and I still am, but I would daydream about being different versions of myself; versions where I wasn’t shy, or I had lots of friends, or I did interesting, crazy things, and felt big emotions. I do think that me being an actor, I’m able to do those things
As dusk falls, we drive back over the hill to Hollywood. We swing by Sweet Greens salad restaurant for food (‘Very LA of us!’ she jokes) and over her vegan bowl Mikey returns to the idea of protecting herself. ‘I don’t look at myself on social media. I don’t have any of that. I don’t Google anything. I don’t recognise it. So it’s always a bit of a shock to have that projected onto me. I have trouble saying it’s “uncomfortable” because I would never want someone to think that I’m ungrateful. I understand the focus on the character. But me – why?’
Her humble nature is further evident in the ease with which she touches up her make-up in the restaurant mirror and changes into eveningwear in the public restrooms. We drive down La Brea as the billboards are lit up, see her feet-high face on the Anora poster towering over the street. She’s big news in every way. ‘It’s not really me, though, is it? It’s a version of me,’ she says. ‘I think I dissociate from that. I think I have to, and I think it’s a defence mechanism. It’s protection. I’m a trusting person. I generally believe people when they say things. But recently, a lot of people have been reaching out to me, like friends I haven’t spoken to in a long time. But I don’t think of myself as famous. I’ve never felt that, and I still don’t feel that now, because I can’t grasp what that feeling is. Is that a feeling, or is it just how people perceive you?’
I can tell when somebody is genuinely looking out for me, and I feel it. I feel it with a lot of actresses that I’ve met recently… I’ll see them, and we’ll lock eyes, and they’ll immediately kind of swoop in, grab my hand, and walk me up the steps. I can feel that they’re being protective. It’s comforting, and it’s nice, it feels safe, and they see me
We drive on to the Chateau Marmont and she curls up on a bench by the pool that has seen so many icons swim in it. I remind her of the company she was in at the Elle awards; standing on stage with actors such as Tilda Swinton, Julianne Moore, Saoirse Ronan, Zoë Saldaña, Selena Gomez and Karla Sofía Gascón. She has officially arrived. ‘I mean, it’s a nice feeling. I’m intuitive. My job is about meeting people, and deciphering emotion. I can tell when somebody is genuinely looking out for me, and I feel it. I feel it with a lot of actresses that I’ve met recently… I’ll see them, and we’ll lock eyes, and they’ll immediately kind of swoop in, grab my hand, and walk me up the steps. I can feel that they’re being protective. It’s comforting, and it’s nice, it feels safe, and they see me.’ Mikey Madison, despite that shyness she shares with the Marlboro Man, is ready to be seen.
Anora is in cinemas now Mikey wears Bottega Veneta, Chloé, Lanvin, Louis Vuitton, Ralph Lauren and Tiffany jewels
Hanging out and talking with Mikey Madison over a couple of days as she cooked breakfast pancakes, attended events and revisited her childhood home was a unique experience – and a perfect example of what Hollywood Authentic represents. Fiercely talented yet shy and incredibly honest, Mikey shared the artist at the core of her work without artifice. And it was a fascinating moment for me; I was watching a star being born. This issue is all about capturing rising raw talent. Monica Barbaro, who I last photographed at the Golden Globes during Top Gun: Maverick’s awards run, is now a formidable awards contender as Joan Baez in A Complete Unknown. Leo Woodall, who shot into our consciousness with The White Lotus, is now Bridget Jones’ possible new romantic interest. Malachi Kirby, a BAFTA winner with Mangrove, is now headlining a new binge-watch obsession. They say that luck is just a case of preparation meets opportunity. But it’s also about integrity and feeling sure that when opportunity knocks, you never miss.
Luca Guadagnino’s heady depiction of ’50s Mexico City in Queer is as seductive as the love affair at the heart of the tale. Hollywood Authentic celebrates a metropolis with a rich cinematic history and a spicy selection of attractions.
The last time we saw Daniel Craig on screen in Mexico City, he was striding across the rooftops along its main avenue. And death was lurking on the street below – in the form of gaudily coloured floats and giant cigar-chomping skeletons; a ‘Day of the Dead’ parade in full flow.
Death was on Craig’s mind as well, through the crosshairs of his rifle. As James Bond in Spectre, Craig sought men to kill. Fast forward a decade, and he is seeking men for thrills – in Luca Guadagnino’s opulent, delirious adaptation of William S Burroughs’ Queer, playing a thinly veiled cinematic version of the American writer and poet.
Part of the ‘Beat Generation’ of anarchic wordsmiths who helped to redefine the limits of literature in the mid-20th century, Burroughs wrote about his post-war ex-pat experiences in Mexico City, in a novella also titled Queer. Its pages were so crammed with content that would have been deemed shocking at the time that it went unpublished until 1985. This was a chaotic period in the writer’s life. Burroughs had fled the United States in 1949, in the wake of a drugs raid on his New Orleans home that had raised the prospect of jail time. Addicted to heroin, he tried to carve out a new life in Mexico City; bar-hopping, picking up lovers and ultimately, in September 1951, killing his wife, Joan Vollmer, during a riotous night at a friend’s apartment. He was, he said, attempting a ‘William Tell stunt’ of shooting a glass (rather than an apple) placed on top of her head – only to miss the target and hit his spouse. Whether this was (as he claimed) drunken high-jinks gone tragically wrong, or a pre-meditated act (he was convicted of manslaughter in absentia), remains a matter of debate. Burroughs made a run for it again before the case could come to trial, ultimately wandering the Ecuadorian Amazon (an ‘adventure-quest’ that the movie covers) in search of the psychedelic drug yagé (ayahuasca).
Guadagnino has been obsessed with the novel since reading it in his youth. In his vicarious hands, Burroughs’ tale of ‘William Lee’, a drink-addled romantic, comes vibrantly to grubby-gorgeous life, as Craig’s crumpled-linen barfly pursues a young naval veteran, Eugene Allerton (a barely disguised avatar of Burroughs’ lover Adelbert Marker), played by Drew Starkey. A viewer will no doubt want to head straight to the airport and Mexico City after the end titles, thirsty for mezcal, sultry temperatures, the Baroque architecture and the sound of mariachi bands. But Guadagnino’s sleight of hand is so subtle that you scarcely notice one particularly important fact: that everything was filmed either on Italian soundstages (at the iconic Cinecittà Studios in Rome), or in Ecuador, where the capital Quito offered a splendidly convincing impression of its Mexican counterpart.
This, itself, is quite the feat, because Mexico City is hard to impersonate. It ranks as the biggest city in North America (and the sixth biggest on the planet); a melting pot of 22 million people. And it is fascinating when caught on camera. Even if Guadagnino’s lens is dealing in misdirection, plenty of other directors have cast the city as a star attraction. Its credit list over the last three decades has been impressive. And diverse – sometimes showing the city as an affluent jewel; at others, scratching at base layers of dirt and crime.
Y tu mamá también (2001) – Alfonso Cuarón’s coming-of-age masterpiece – pitches the city as an enclave of monied insouciance; a place that bored teenagers Julio (Gael García Bernal) and Tenoch (Diego Luna) cannot wait to leave, on an impromptu road trip to the Oaxaca coast with an alluring older woman. Cuarón repeated this trick in Roma (2018), his Oscar-winning dissection of family life in the well-to-do titular neighbourhood. But here, the world beyond the driveway is darker. Set in 1971, the plot draws on ‘El Halconazo’, that year’s brutal massacre of student demonstrators by paramilitary group Los Halcones.
This bleaker seam was mined by Tony Scott in his 2004 thriller Man On Fire – sending Denzel Washington into Mexico City as an ex-CIA bodyguard tasked with the protection of a rich man’s daughter (scenes were filmed in the city’s Estudios Churubusco, as well as surrounding districts). And Baz Luhrmann opted for an on-edge Mexico City in his 1996 tour-de-force Romeo + Juliet, using it as one of the real-life settings for his fictional Verona Beach. The Capulet mansion where the lovers (Leonardo DiCaprio, Claire Danes) meet is the Chapultepec Castle, the former royal palace that, as of 1939, has been Mexico’s National Museum of History, perched on a hilltop that was sacred to the Aztecs.
The shadows are perhaps lengthiest in 2000’s Amores perros – the first chapter of the ‘Trilogy of Death’ directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu. Here, three seemingly distinct tales – of a barrio teen (Bernal), a model (Goya Toledo) and a hitman (Emilio Echevarría) – converge around a car crash. While several scenes were filmed in high-end neighbourhoods such as La Condesa and Lomas de Chapultepec, Iñárritu’s commitment to authenticity saw the tape roll in some of the city’s more deprived districts.
Such movies are a demonstration that, in a metropolis the size of Mexico City, there will always be light and shade; want colliding with wealth. But they are also evidence of the city’s strong directorial bloodline. Both born in its midst in the early 1960s, Cuarón and Iñárritu are just the latest visionaries to have emerged from the city’s fertile cultural soil. There have been many other ‘chilangos’ behind the camera – feted filmmakers Luis Estrada, Carlos Enrique Taboada and Juan Bustillo Oro, to name just three.
For all the occasional uncomfortable truths told by Cuarón and Iñárritu, Mexico City offers an upbeat (and safe) experience for visitors keen to embrace its charms – and a more immersive version of Mexico than that found on the beaches of Cabo or Cancun. Particularly amid the important sights of the Centro Historico – and in the more salubrious districts, where tourists are most likely to put down their luggage.
At root, the city is still Tenochtitlan, the pulse of the Aztec Empire, which was conquered by the Spanish crown in the first half of the 16th century. The main square, Zócalo, was also the centrepiece of the indigenous city, and its function remains unchanged. Its echoes are noisy, its past never invisible or inaudible. The National Palace, on its east side, is the seat of the Mexican government, but much of its masonry is a recycling of the palace of Moctezuma II, the Aztec emperor whose reign (1502-1520) coincided with the arrival of the conquistadors. Similarly, the Metropolitan Cathedral – a Gothic pile, constructed in stages between 1573 and 1813, which stands on the north flank of the plaza – is also hiding a ‘secret’; it occupies some of the footprint of the Templo Mayor. This was one of the holiest sites in Tenochtitlan, devoted to Tlaloc (the Aztec god of agriculture and rain) and Huitzilopochtli (the god of war). You can still see its foundations next to the church.
There are more recent wonders, too. The Palacio de Bellas Artes – close to the leafy expanse of Alameda Central park – is an art museum as striking as the treasures inside it; a giddy mixture of Art Deco and Art Nouveau, crafted between 1904 and 1934. Its focus falls upon the same century; star exhibits include murals by Jorge González Camarena and Diego Rivera. The latter’s much more celebrated wife – Frida Kahlo – is also present.
Retail therapy can be sought in a range of tempting places – the department stores on the broad street of 20 de Noviembre in the Centro Historico; the haute-couture boutiques that decorate the Avenida Presidente Masaryk, where it sweeps through gilded Polanco.
Tastebuds can also be tantalised. While it is endlessly possible to lean on local staples – tortillas, tamales et al – 2024 brought the publication of a first Michelin Guide to Mexico, and with it, an even brighter spotlight on two of the capital’s most acclaimed restaurants. Pujol (pujol.com.mx), in Polanco, is the brainchild of Enrique Olvera – offering a modern slant on traditional Mexican dishes, all delicate tacos and palpable finesse. It is one of just two restaurants in the guide to have been handed two stars; the other is its Polanco neighbour Quintonil (quintonil.com), where chef-couple Alejandra Flores and Jorge Vallejo have also reinvented the national cuisine, with nine-course tasting feasts and fabulous mezcals.
Sleep can also be stylish and elegant. Perhaps at Condesa DF (condesadf.com), in the lovely neighbourhood of the same name – a design hotel, slotted into a neoclassical 1928 apartment building, whose rooms have been shaped by Mexican architect Javier Sanchez and Iranian-French interior designer India Mahdavi. Elsewhere, the St Regis Mexico City is a well known silhouette on the skyline (marriott.com) and boasts a perfect location. Its in-house spa deals in widescreen views of the cityscape, while its pool floats above the hubbub on the 15th floor; its King Cole Bar – one of the city’s best options for cocktails if you want to recreate Queer’s tippling – is a softly lit refuge from the commotion of Paseo de la Reforma outside.
If that busy boulevard (Paseo de la Reforma is an equivalent of Paris’ Champs-Élysées) looks familiar, it should. This was the very street catapulted to global attention by that spectacular Spectre opening sequence. Even if, again, sleight of hand was at play. Like Guadagnino’s CDMX (local slang for Mexico City), the ‘Dia de los Muertos’ carnival displayed with such verve was actually an intoxicating invention for cinema. No such event existed in reality. But it has since – by popular demand – been slotted into the city’s calendar, for visitors wanting to taste the reality of what they saw onscreen. In Mexico City, real life and cinema are so tightly entwined that one frequently influences the other.
Oscar winner Jamie Lee Curtis tells Hollywood Authentic about her hands-free life, her baby impression and the magic that surrounds her.
How important is a little bit of nonsense now and then to you? I think I’ve lost my sense of nonsense. As I get closer to the end of my life, the seriousness of all that encompasses every human being’s and living creature’s daily existence and their fight to survive always seems to take precedence. I’d love a little nonsense.
What, if anything, makes you believe in magic? I look at my life daily and see the magic that surrounds me. From the work I get to do and the people I get to do it with, to the people who call me ‘mother’, ‘wife’, ‘sister’, ‘friend’, and the look between me and my little rescue dog, magic is everywhere.
What was your last act of true cowardice? I’m pretty brave.
What single thing do you miss most when you’re away from home? My children are grown and have their own lives and my husband is very self-sufficient, but my little dog, Runi, and I have a very close bond and I really miss him.
Do you have any odd habits or rituals? I’m a fairly routinised person. I have systems. I’m well organised. I’m habitual in both good and bad ways.
What is your party trick? I can make the sound of a newborn baby that can make breastfeeding women lactate!
What is your mantra? Teams Make Dreams.
What is your favourite smell? I have worn Oscar de la Renta’s signature perfume since I was 19 years old. My friends always hug me and tell me that I smell like me.
What do you always carry with you? My bandolier is the game changer that removed the need for me to carry a purse. Second would be my Bottega lanyard that carries my keys. I am a hands-free gal.
What is your guilty pleasure? I am fond of chocolate-covered pretzels.
Who is the silliest person you know? My husband is the funniest person I have ever met.
What would be your least favourite way to die? Asleep or drowning.
What’s your idea of heaven? My life is my heaven.
Award-winning actress Jamie Lee Curtis made her film debut as Laurie Strode in Halloween and has revisited the role throughout her career while also impressing in movies such as Trading Places, A Fish Called Wanda, True Lies, Freaky Friday, Knives Out and last year’s Everything Everywhere All At Once – which won her an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress. The daughter of Janet Leigh and Tony Curtis, the Californian native has always embraced her standing as a ‘scream queen’ and has written a number of children’s books and a graphic novel. She can currently be seen in The Last Showgirl and has completed filming on Freakier Friday.
Photograph by GREG WILLIAMS The Last Showgirl is out now, Freakier Friday is out 8 August
*Arguably one of the most memorable (and quotable) scenes in 1971’s Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory is when Mr Salt mumbles, ‘It’s a lot of nonsense,’ to which Wonka replies, in a sing-song voice, ‘A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.’
Hollywood Authentic’s restaurant correspondent Abbie Cornish tastes hyper-seasonal elegance in the heart of Hollywood.
Nestled between Hollywood and Larchmont Village, Kali is a neighbourhood restaurant that redefines Californian cuisine through a refined yet accessible lens. Created by lifelong friends Chef Kevin Meehan and Drew Langley, it offers an approachable take on fine dining, emphasising ingredient integrity, technical prowess and exceptional service. A casual yet refined experience in an environment that is both relaxed and distinguished.
Kali’s contemporary Californian charm is evident the moment you step inside. The restaurant’s interior is fresh and inviting, featuring wooden accents and cushioned seating with soft white tones. Blue-and-white paintings provide a subtle touch of artistry, making the space simple yet cosy. This unpretentious setting perfectly complements the restaurant’s mission: to deliver cuisine that is organic, sustainable, rooted in quality ingredients, elevated by an understated elegance. The open kitchen serves as a central feature, giving diners a glimpse into the craft behind each dish.
Chef Kevin Meehan’s culinary expertise is evident throughout Kali. With a career that includes time at the Patina Restaurant Group, Meehan has cultivated a unique style blending technical prowess with creativity. He met Langley in 2001 while both were working at L’Orangerie, and their partnership has only grown stronger since. Before opening Kali, Langley served as the wine director at Providence, bringing a wealth of experience to their collaboration and ensuring Kali’s success.
Kali’s hospitality is exceptional. The staff bring a perfect blend of warmth and professionalism, guiding guests through the evening with ease. From recommending ideal wine pairings to providing insights into the seasonal menu, their dedication to Kali’s vision is evident, making every guest feel valued.
The menu is a tribute to California’s rich agricultural bounty – around 90 per cent of the ingredients are sourced from local farms, emphasising organic and sustainable practices. This focus results in a dynamic, seasonal menu that brings out the best in every ingredient. A menu that celebrates the intrinsic qualities of each and every component, allowing their flavors to be fully realised.
The chef’s tasting menu is a showcase of contemporary Californian cuisine, featuring nine courses that highlight the restaurant’s dedication to fresh, seasonal ingredients. Each dish, from the truffle mushroom risotto (more of which later) to the dry-aged lamb chop with allium XO sauce and chanterelles, serves as homage to the culinary possibilities inherent in the local landscape. For plant-based diners, a dedicated tasting menu ensures an equally enriching experience.
Our dining experience commenced with the Crowded Beach, a vibrant assortment of mussels, uni, clams, yellowtail and other treasures of the sea, each bite bursting with fresh, oceanic flavor. Followed by the Beef Tartar Cigar, an inventive presentation of finely seasoned beef tartare encased in a crispy shell, accompanied by a rich yolk dip for added depth. A highlight of the meal was the mushroom risotto, featuring spigarello, Fiscalini cheddar and oyster mushrooms. Adding the truffle supplement brought an extra layer of indulgence to the dish, enhancing its flavor complexity. The autumn salad showcased fresh produce from the farmers’ market, offering a vibrant and refreshing prelude to the mains. Among them was the sea urchin pasta. This pasta stood out with its creamy emulsion and delicate breadcrumb topping, capturing a sense of oceanic luxury. The Liberty Farms duck breast was tender and well-paired with kuri squash and autumn spices, embodying the warm flavours of the season.
For dessert, Meehan fashioned a toasted meringue gelato made with Strauss cream. Shaved on top was a house-cured egg yolk that offers a sweet-and-salty texture, resulting in a dessert with a rich, decadent mouthfeel balanced with a light, airy texture – a fitting finale to an exceptional meal.
Langley’s carefully curated wine programme is a testament to his extensive experience and knowledge. The wine list showcases an impressive selection of both local and international wines, with an emphasis on Central Coast varietals and rare, small-production bottles sourced from private collections. For a truly immersive experience, opting for the wine pairing with the tasting menu is highly recommended.
Kali’s handcrafted cocktails are just as noteworthy. The Alley Cat, with amaretto, strawberry tequila and Luxardo, was bold and flavourful; while the Shanah Tovah, made with Tom Cat gin, honey apple and kombucha, provided a refreshing and unique twist.
Kali offers more than just a meal – it delivers an experience that stays with you long after the last bite. Meehan and Langley have crafted a space that is personal yet sophisticated, with every detail thoughtfully considered. Whether you’re a local searching for a new favourite spot or from out of town and eager to explore Los Angeles’ culinary offerings, Kali is a neighbourhood gem that’s well worth a visit. Tell Chef Kevin I sent you…
Photographs by KALI Words by ABBIE CORNISH 5722 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90038 www.kalirestaurant.com
Photographs by GREG WILLIAMS Interview by JANE CROWTHER
Greg Williams steps on set of the fourth Bridget Jones instalment and director Michael Morris tells Hollywood Authentic why this latest chapter is reassuringly the same – but different.
On the surface, there may be little similarity between director Michael Morris’ last film – searing, raw social drama with Andrea Riseborough, To Leslie – and his latest, the fourth outing for a romantic comedy franchise that sees an older Bridget Jones try to find new love after the death of Mark Darcy. ‘This isn’t a sort of genre that I usually play in,’ Morris admits when Hollywood Authentic catches up with him during a break from mixing Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy. ‘But what I saw in this was: how often do you get a chance to take not just a character who’s completely beloved and who we’ve known for 20 years, but a relationship, in Bridget and Darcy, that is beloved? What you end up with is a challenge as a filmmaker: can you do a comedy of grief? That, to me, became the animating principle of the film. So everything became more grounded about this film. I want it to still be everything we love about Bridget, but now she’s in a different part of her life. It gave me the opportunity to tell the story differently.’
In that respect, Mad About the Boy shares some commonalities with To Leslie – a woman struggling with loss, parenting and her reality told through a virtuoso actor. ‘Renée’s a character actress first, who happens to be a movie star. It’s pretty spectacular what she, Helen [Fielding] and Working Title have put together over the years. I can’t think of another film franchise that is about a woman who doesn’t fly or turn into an animal or can breathe underwater. Bridget’s just a person. It’s brilliant.’
While Zellweger and her original cast return for a tale set in London amid the snow (Morris actually shot in mid summer and trucked in fake snow to Flask Walk in Hampstead, which is where Greg Williams captured some on-set moments), new romantic options also meant new cast members. Chiwetel Ejiofor is one possibility as teacher, Mr Wallaker, and Leo Woodall (see page 12) as young Royal Parks officer, Roxster. ‘Casting Chiwetel opposite Renée is a statement of its own because he’s such a beautiful, nuanced actor known for all kinds of drama, as well as being able to do comedy. And Leo leapt out because he’s my favourite kind of actor – he can straddle both leading man and character actor.’
While Morris admits to feeling somewhat daunted by the legacy of Bridget Jones, he notes that having a cast who have worked together over 25 years created added poignancy. ‘I think there’s a great sense of joy about everybody getting back together again, and finding a story that really needed to be told. Not just doing it again, but there’s a reason to tell this particular story in her life. But there’s a sense of an ending, and it made it quite emotional.’
Words by CATHERINE MARTIN/ARIANNE PHILLIPS Introduction by JEREMY LANGMEAD
The highly decorated costume and production designer behind opulent visual feasts such Romeo + Juliet, Moulin Rouge and Elvis talks Arianne Phillips through her career, ChatGPT, parental inspiration and her nemesis on set.
Catherine Martin is a true polymath. She has an extraordinary ability to bring to life, through her award-winning costume, production and set designs, the vision of her partner in life, and in film, the director Baz Luhrmann. Together they had created visually spectacular and compelling storytelling through movies such as Romeo + Juliet, Moulin Rouge, The Great Gatsby and Elvis.
Catherine has had 78 awards nominations and 62 wins, including four Oscars. In fact, she has been nominated for and twice won two Oscars in the same year – costume and production design for Moulin Rouge and The Great Gatsby. The only woman to do so since Edith Head in the 1950s.
Here Catherine, with her trademark modesty and good humour, talks to Arianne about balancing high creativity and daunting logistics, setting boundaries when working with your partner, and raising children to researching Joan of Arc.
AP: Hi Catherine. So great to meet you. We’ve never actually met.
CM: I know. And I’m a huge fan of what you do. I went and saw all the Madonna shows and saw what you did for her, and I just thought, ‘Wow!’
AP: Thank you. Well what I love about you is that you’re a multi-hyphenate – not just a costume designer, production designer, producer, but you’re also an entrepreneur, and you do interiors. I’m so just thrilled to hear about your process and what it’s like having your life partner also be your creative partner. And when do you have time for all this? You also have a family. How did this multi-hyphenate life begin?
CM: Thank you. Well when I was still studying at NIDA (National Institute of Dramatic Arts) in Sydney I worked on set design and costume projects for the theatre. And so when I met Baz, who had graduated from NIDA just before me, I’d already had experience of both when we started working together on Strictly Ballroom (1992).
Strictly Ballroom, 1992. RANK/Alamy
AP: A lot of people don’t understand the tradition that in the theatre, set designers will often also design the costumes. There’s a real fluid flow in theatre and in opera. What I love about your trajectory is that both you and Baz have this real theatre foundation, and it really makes sense that you’re able to continue this type of fluid work between sets and costumes in the films you create.
CM: Absolutely. Baz always says that in film a lot of the time sets are the costumes because 30% of a film is in close-up. And then if you have a big crowd scene, well, the set is kind of obliterated by the crowd – and it is they who create the atmosphere or the milieu in which the story is told. So he’s very focused on everything visual. You know, every single detail he will have a perspective on. Baz is a visualist, and he will have a strong idea of how he wants something to look. He’ll rip pictures out of magazines; he will draw little scribbly pictures that are very helpful; he is now, very scarily, starting to talk to Chat GPT. And what I think is incredible is that I can’t get good pictures out of Chat GPT, but he talks to it like a director and corrects it and then the images actually make sense. I just go, how can you make such great pictures? I’m meant to be somebody who’s a designer and I can barely get it to give me a cat that doesn’t have 6 legs.
AP: It’s a testament to his verbal acumen that he’s able to express aesthetics, because that is a gift and a skill. In my experience most directors are completely unable to express aesthetics, which is so crazy.
CM: He has a really strong aesthetic, obviously. But at the same time, what makes it great is he’s not like, you know, Charlie Chaplin, the great dictator, with a big ball running around his office. He’s actually engaging with you as a true collaborator: ‘now how do we work this out?’ And he doesn’t do it just with design. He’ll do it with music. He’ll do it with movement. He’ll do it with the actors. So what’s rewarding is you’re not just another cog in the wheel. You feel connected to all the other people in the team.
AP: You both have such a strong aesthetic and visual identity, I wonder what movies you loved or that had inspired you when you first started out creating your own stories?
CM: I think the movie that absolutely struck me the most when I was a kid was The Wizard of Oz. I think I first saw it when I was 10. My dad is a huge movie buff. Even though he’s a professor of French, and a specialist in 18th-century French literature, he’s just loved the movies from when he was a child. He was actually a child actor. And he would tell you all about how they did everything – like when someone’s telling you about the special camera they invented for Snow White, the multi-plane camera so that it felt like you were moving through time and space. When you’re a child, it sometimes takes the magic out of it all, but noone could take the magic out, or the fear I had, from those monkeys. I still find them terrifying. And I really wanted those red shoes with the sparkles on them. And I also liked the pale blue socks she wore with the red shoes. I thought it was so ugly, but so good. And this is now very politically incorrect, but you must remember that I was a child when I first saw it, but I was in awe of Gone With the Wind. It was just so enormous and epic.
Moulin Rouge!, 2021. 20th Century Fox/Alamy
AP: The scale, magic and colours of those epic movies are all reflected in your work. As is the transportive nature of those films – whether it’s through Moulin Rouge or The Great Gatsby. I’m just curious about when you are in the early development phase with your films, and you and Baz have privilege of being partners in life, as well as in film, do you discuss your work at the dinner table… how you come together with your early ideas about the films that you’re deciding to make?
CM: It has to be relatively disciplined because, ultimately, Baz is the decision maker. And we’ve had to learn to have a process for him to discover what he wants to actually make the next time – because he commits hook, line and sinker. So every time we go into that moment he needs to go off on a kind of quest to find that idea that he wants to commit to. And then there’s a process of him telling the larger group the story. So I would be one of the first people to hear that story. And then he would tell our other colleagues. And then he might start talking to the casting director about it in order to start fleshing out the story for himself.
Baz is in a writing mode at the moment, and that’s a very specific and singular thing for him. And whilst he’s on that journey I will do external kind of research. His next project is Jeanne D’Arc and I will obviously read the book on which the story is based and generally research around the subject. We’ve already done some field trips to see various people and places and museums. In fact, I’m going to Rouen tomorrow to see where poor Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. But in earnest, I’ll be invited into the design process in a quite formal way
AP: I get it.
CM: So, yes, we talk about everything and anything. But when you work and live together, you kind of have to have systems in order to create the space for the other person to not trample them creatively. So I know if Baz has a really good chance to brief me, he’ll give me the space and time to give it my best shot, then I’ll be ready to present it to a group. And presenting can be really traumatising because when you present something you actually see all the flaws that were not real to you when you were just sitting in your room by yourself, or with your immediate team, or whatever. But what’s great is that it doesn’t matter if you fail. You just have to go back to the drawing board and give it your best.
AP: Catherine, when you speak about presenting to the group, it’s reminiscent of what we do in theatre, right, or in opera when you present. And I love that process, that structure, because it is exactly what you say: when you do present it’s like reading your writing out loud. Then you understand, ‘oh, I need to work on this more, this doesn’t work’, but that is such a gift. Having done a little bit of opera and a little bit of theatre, I found that that process is nerve wracking, but wholly rewarding. And I am jealous that you have this partnership and this structure that you’re able to do that with your film work. That’s fabulous.
CM: The big advantage with theatre is that you effectively have 100 opening nights, instead of one. Whereas someone could be wearing a terrible wig on opening night in the play, for whatever reason, you can fix it in the run. Once you’ve shot something, you can never change it. Perhaps with visual effects, but costume fixes are a lower priority in that budget. Most people would rather fix a stunt or a building than a costume or a wig.
AP: Yeah, that’s right.
CM: I’m always, like, ‘can you close the shirt? And what about the fact that the sock’s not long enough going up into the trunk?’ I can see these are the things that as costume designers drive us crazy, right? And, oh my god, I wish there was a special erase button for bad shoes. Why is that person with the bad shoes right in the front? Can you put good shoes on?
AP: Ha. Always. How do you manage your team when you are designing sets and costumes, and you’re also a producer…how does that work?
CM: Well, it takes me nearly to the brink of a nervous breakdown. And in fact, although it was only partially to do with work, but a combination of COVID, two children in their late teens, my mother breaking a hip, and so much to do that I actually did have a bit of a nervous breakdown…
AP: I’m sorry to hear that.
Elvis, 2022. Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc./Alamy
CM: It was just a lot. So, you know, Elvis wasn’t a perfect journey because I really did become extremely depressed at one point. And you don’t realise that that’s happening to you. It’s just like the oxygen’s being taken out of the room in tiny little gulps. And one of our children was having, you know, suicidal ideation. They’re totally fine now. That’s the thing about children, that one minute it’s like the end of the world for them, and then they turn around and say ‘that’s over now, I’m good’. I wish I was as resilient. So it’s not perfect, you know, all the time. And I think that was just a really tough period. And I underestimated too how much work Elvis would be. Initially I thought the movie might be a bit of a psychological rest because we were not world-building from scratch, we were recreating one. But, of course, it wasn’t like that at all. It was world-building and there were around 9,000 complete outfits. And sometimes I just felt like I was in Indiana Jones and there was a giant ball coming behind me. And I kept thinking ‘how can there be 105 speaking parts?’ And I was a producer. And I would go to my fellow producers and colleague, Schulyer Weiss – because his creative area is casting – can you cut some of these parts because there aren’t enough clothes in the world!
AP: Wow, I can imagine. This Bob Dylan movie I just did, A Complete Unknown, had 120 speaking parts. It’s a lot.
CM: It is. Since Elvis, however, things have changed so much. Both kids are at university; they have their own lives; one is living at home at the moment, and the other one lives three minutes away in an apartment. And it means I’ve just had more creative opportunity this year in a way that I haven’t before because, you know, I’m now less tied to the children. I love my children. Best thing I ever did. But you go through this weird seesaw moment where you go, ‘oh my god, they’re leaving home. The whole meaning of my life has been removed. This is a disaster’. And then you go, ‘oh, freedom, freedom!’
AP: Ha. Because, as you’ve alluded to, there are so many logistics to plan and solve in your work with Baz, how are you able to separate the vision and the practicals when planning a project so that one doesn’t hamper the other?
CM: I think you have to have the idea first. You have to have the concept, the idea, and then you have to work out how to do it. Obviously, when people whose names shall remain nameless – but their name might rhyme with Faz – ask you to build the Eiffel Tower the day before the Eiffel Tower has to be there, maybe you do get a little tight in the chest. But you’ve got to go: ‘Okay. Now you may not be able to build the Eiffel Tower, but what are they actually saying to you? What do they actually want? What does the Eiffel Tower symbolise? What does it mean? Why do we need it? Okay, now what’s the solution?’ It’s the same thing in costumes all the time. Actors might not like something they’re wearing. And, usually, for a very good reason, but it might not be the reason they’re saying. You have to sort of get into the head of the person to understand what they’re really trying to tell you because then you can find a solution that satisfies the problem.
Romeo + Juliet, 1996. 20th Century Fox/Alamy
AP: Yes. It’s solving a riddle. And I think that is one of the crazy masochistic reasons why I keep working on another film is that it is that riddle, that creative riddle, between practicality and creativity – and how the two shall meet. It can take a lot out of you and also give you a lot of gifts, too, in the end.
CM: This is true. I have been criticised for saying this in the past, but I believe that what separates a designer from an artist is that a designer is problem solving. A design is about a situation that you’re presented with: whether it’s a script, a person or wet weather. And a director who’s explaining to you how they want the movie to be, and an actor that has certain views on their character, and your job is to thread the needle between all those people.
AP: Good point. What’s been the biggest challenge you’ve faced in all the films that you’ve worked on? Is there a particular scene?
CM: I think I was really nervous before filming the ‘68 special in Elvis because I saw all the clothes and it just really didn’t come together until I saw everyone in hair and makeup. I just thought, ‘what is this?’ It just felt so discombobulated. But then with hair and makeup it all came together. Hair and make-up is a really unsung department. They really can save you. Good hair and makeup is just invaluable for creating character and mood and bringing everything together. You know, that was pretty terrifying. And it’s what we shot first on Elvis.
The great Gatsby, 2013. Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc./Alamy
AP: You pulled it off. So great.
CM: Thank you. And when you think that was entirely shot in Australia. And it’s so under the skin, you can’t see it. So beautifully done. Yes, it was just that first day shooting the ‘68 special that felt like we had so much to lose. Ultimately, with all the more complex scenes we film, I just always feel so grateful when nothing explodes, no one gets hurt, the clothes stay on everyone, the work is good, everyone’s happy, the props worked… props are always my nemesis. Not so much the set dressing props – I love set dressing – it’s just those props that are handled by actors. It’s so interesting because someone like Leonardo DiCaprio or Hugh Jackman can get the worst prop, the prop that doesn’t work, and you’ll say to them, ‘can you just make this work? I’m so sorry this is a disaster. And I’m just terrible’. And they can, you know, they can basically bring an inanimate object to life. And then there are other people who can’t sign a check. And it doesn’t matter how many pens you bring them, just no pen works. You can have 7,000 pens and I can still hear my name being called over the radio to come to set.
AP: The same with a wardrobe malfunction, too. Some people are just able to handle it. When you’re working with a brilliant performer they know instinctively how to create the illusion. We’re all creating illusions. And Catherine, you are a master of this, your work is extraordinary.
