Photographs & interview by GREG WILLIAMS
As told to JANE CROWTHER

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Actor and producer Dakota Johnson explores London in a vintage Bentley with Greg Williams to discuss growing up in a Hollywood family, how she’s learned to trust herself and why Sean Penn calls her the ‘truth machine’.

This is very old Hollywood,’ I say as I photograph Dakota Johnson reclining in a marbled bathroom in a suite at the newly opened Chancery Rosewood Hotel in Grovensor Square in London. The building is the former US Embassy (complete with golden eagle atop its roof) and Dakota is wearing a gown by Annie’s Ibiza, white feathers cascading across the floor. ‘Is it?’ she jokes, a Boucheron diamond cat ring glinting on her finger. ‘This is me on a regular Tuesday…’

It’s the first week of July and Dakota has flown into London from Karlovy Vary Film Festival in Prague where her films Materialists and Splitsville were shown, with the latter receiving the president’s award. She’s meeting me at this storied building to tell some stories of her own. Now the founder of a production company, TeaTime Pictures, as well as an actor and a book-club figurehead, she’s the child of movie actors (Melanie Griffith and Don Johnson) and the grandchild of a Hitchcock star (Tippi Hedren). Old Hollywood seems to run through her veins, in the way she moves through the world. ‘I think I carry myself as just myself. I also grew up around my mom, who’s an actress, and my grandmother, who’s an actress, and it’s very intense the way they move, the way they interact with people. I guess I must have absorbed a bit of that. But I try to not try to be anything.’

Is she close to her grandmother? ‘I saw her on Mother’s Day. And I try to call her every week. You know, she’s 95 but she has wild fashion right now. She gets these long nails. And the last time I saw her, they were marbled green. And she was wearing red lipstick and red eyeshadow. It was a strong look. And a tie-died green t-shirt that had lions and tigers all over it…’ Hedren of course is famous for her dedication to animal welfare, establishing Californian big cat sanctuaries, the Roar Foundation and the Shambala Preserve, appearing in the film Roar and having a menagerie of animals living with her at her home. She was famously photographed for Life magazine in 1971, hanging out at home with Neil, a 400lb male lion who padded around her pool and kitchen, and shared a bed with then-teenager Melanie. ‘At her peak she had 70 lions and tigers that she had rescued, and two elephants. She had a black leopard that had three legs, and his name was Boo. And she had snakes. Everything. She just rescued these animals,’ Dakota says. ‘By the time I was born, they weren’t out of their compounds. But my mom grew up with them in the house. If I go to the preserve now, there’s a few lions that, if I lean against the fence, they’ll rub up on me. Who knows what’s going to happen in life? I may inherit some lions and tigers…’ 

As she begins to brush her teeth I ask her about her relationship with London, a city that her grandmother visited often and that has been a regular stop on her travels since she made her movie acting debut in The Social Network. ‘I love London,’ she tells me through the toothpaste. ‘I actually lived here as a kid. My mom and Antonio [Banderas] got married here, and we lived here. My brother and I were tutored. And I had two Irish nannies growing up. We lived in a house where I had a room in the attic – I loved it.’ Though she filmed Austen adaptation Persuasion in the capital, she mostly visits now to promote her work. I ask what she’s working on right now. ‘Myself,’ she smiles through the mirror. 

In truth she seems consumed with a number of projects, not least the ones she’s producing with TeaTime. Shepherding films through production to release, shaping them and contributing to the conversation about film is something she says is invigorating. ‘You know when something happens in your life, and it unlocks a part of your brain, and your creativity – that you’re like, “Oh my God, I knew you were there, but I didn’t know how to access…” I feel like a switch has flipped, and I’m so inspired all the time. I’m thinking all the time about the development, and the inner landscape of women of all different ages.’ That passion has led to reading Jungian psychology at the moment. ‘There’s a book by Robert A. Johnson called She, and it’s about the feminine psyche. I really want to tell stories about the truth of women, and I think there’s so many truths. Like, where do you even begin? There’s a movie that I’m going to make that my friend Vanessa Burghardt is going to be in. She is an incredible actress, artist and musician and she is autistic. She wrote a movie about her life as an autistic girl. It’s pretty amazing.’

She clearly recalls the catalyst for this obsession but tells me she doesn’t want to tell me the details of it. ‘I saw something happen, and I was obsessed with it for days. I still am. I think about this thing all the time. I think I’ll probably write about it, or put it in a movie of some kind. Normally I’m inspired by other people’s ideas. This was kind of foreign territory for me. I don’t quite know what to do with all these thoughts and feelings and images. I’m not really confident enough in writing yet. I think I just have to stop being a bitch about it! I’ve always felt inspired by characters that are written by other people, and I now feel inspired by these things that exist in my heart and in my head and in my soul. I’m bursting at the seams with ideas.’ I ask if this feels like an artistic evolution. ‘Yeah. It feels like I’m learning and interrogating myself so I can grow and evolve.’

We decide to go for a drive in a beautiful vintage Bentley I have borrowed, in a nod to her grandmother’s time in London when she shot to international fame thanks to her starring roles in Hitchcock’s The Birds and Marnie. Hedren then stayed in London while filming Charlie Chaplin’s last film, A Countess from Hong Kong, at Pinewood with Marlon Brando and Sophia Loren. We climb into the silver 1952 R-type Continental and take a spin around the streets of Mayfair. ‘This makes me love London even more,’ Dakota enthuses. ‘Today is like one of those perfect, glorious days in London. It’s just sweet. Tomorrow will probably be muggy and rainy, and I’ll be like, “Oh, this is one of those perfect, muggy, rainy London days…” She’s enchanted by the car and asks the driver to toot the horn for her. ‘That’s the most beautiful horn. Can you imagine if that’s what it sounded like in New York? People would be so much happier.’

Before I can ask Dakota anything else she’s talking to the driver, getting him to open up about his family in beautiful detail. ‘How did you draw all that out of me?’ he marvels as he turns onto Piccadilly. ‘It’s my gift,’ Dakota laughs. ‘It’s just a thing that happens. I think people feel safe with me. Sean Penn calls me a truth machine. When we were making Daddio together, he came up with that. I won’t take bullshit, you know? If somebody’s talking nonsense, I’ll just be like, “OK, nice to meet you. Bye.” And I don’t really like small talk.’

Dakota has a reputation for truth telling and no BS – influencer Blakely Thornton calls her a ‘little Caucasian chaos demon’ thanks to her refusal to be anything other than herself in interviews. I wonder if she’s always been this way, so assured in her own skin, and she shakes her head. ‘I’ve had to teach myself that for sure. I’ve had to learn the hard way. I was a teenage girl once, you know? And that’s, of course, when I think you’re trying everything. You’re trying: “Who am I?” But then it’s very exhausting. I would rather know myself more and more, and be as unique as possible. I don’t want to try to be something else.’

That confidence is something that would lend itself to directing, and Dakota has started down that road by directing a music video. Later this year she hopes to direct the film she’s producing for Vanessa Burghardt. But she’s reluctant to say she’s directing a feature film. ‘I don’t know why I don’t want to say, “I’m directing a film.” It’s just a thing that I’m making with my friends and amazing, talented people, and we’re making it together.’

We head to The Wolseley for a martini and caviar (which the gluten-allergic actor eats on sliced cucumber). I ask about growing up with Antonio Banderas as her stepfather (her parents split in 1994 and Melanie married Antonio in 1996) and what he might have taught her. ‘They’re not married anymore, but he’s still my stepdad, I would say. He’s extremely disciplined with prepping movies, prepping his roles. But also taking care of himself. He’s always warming up his voice and his body. He’s very disciplined with diet and exercise. He’s always studying movies and theatre. He’s obsessed with theatre.’ Is that discipline something that rubbed off on Dakota? ‘I think so. I’m very disciplined with my health and wellness. I’m bad at texts and emails!’ 

Did Antonio’s dedication to his art give her the drive for a creative 10-year plan of her own? ‘I just want to move in the direction of my soul and my heart,’ Dakota says. ‘I don’t have a 10-year plan or a five-year plan.’ What perspective has growing up in the film industry with actor parents given her? ‘Maybe a sense of not taking it so seriously, and also knowing that it all could go away any second. It’s all just silly. I mean, it’s serious, but it’s also silly. I take it seriously, but I don’t take myself seriously. Growing up inside of this world, I’ve observed it for so long that it’s all just kind of ridiculous, but I’m also in love with it. So it’s just fun, and, at times, gruelling and hurtful and difficult. You know, when I don’t get a job that I really want. And it happens all the time. But you just kind of get used to it.’

We find our table at the restaurant and order gin martinis with a twist while Dakota reflects again on the tough side of the film business. ‘Some people just have creative genius in their minds. But a lot of us have lived through certain difficulties or traumas. Like, I’ve been in therapy since I was four. Because my family was so famous. My parents were so famous. I’m always guarded, talking about them, because I don’t want to bring their personal lives into the world. But it also was always in the press. They both struggled with addiction, which is not news to anyone. And I think growing up in a very public family with that going on inside the home, was challenging. But it led me down a path of being so curious about developing myself – learning and growing and interrogating myself constantly so that I can grow and heal.’

We share steak and lobster, and Dakota tells me more about her experience of producing and why she finds it so inspiring. ‘Not only can I curate what I’m making, I can curate the people that I’m working with, and make sure that everybody gets along, and is collaborative and kind. And if not, I can say, “This doesn’t work for us. I wish you the best of luck.” So I help create the world, obviously, of the movie for writers and directors. And then I build around them people that protect them, uplift them and support them. I just really don’t like being on sets where nobody knows what’s going on, and that happens a lot. And it sucks. It makes you feel unsafe as an actor. You can’t do your job, and it’s the worst. Like, this business model doesn’t work, and it could be better.’ Though TeaTime doesn’t have a mandate, Dakota is clear in the type of art she wants to make. ‘I like films that are provocative in some sense; emotionally, intellectually or visually. And I like films that have female characters that are explosive or subdued or complex or quiet. It’s not; hot, blonde, 24, wears glasses so she’s smart and nerdy. Like, “She’s hot but she doesn’t know it.”’

Dakota feels she has never fitted neatly into a casting box. ‘I think the industry might be a little confused by me, so I appreciate that. I like that. I think they know I can deliver in a comedy. They know I can deliver it in whatever sense. But there are movies that I’d love to do like The Lost Daughter or Suspiria or A Bigger Splash or The Peanut Butter Falcon. I don’t know what people expect of me. No actress is one thing, but no woman is one thing…’

When we’re done with dinner, Dakota gets changed in the back of the car outside the Ritz, slipping into a silver fringed dress that moves like water. It has turned dark outside and we walk to a street corner under a lamp to catch the light dancing across her as she moves. ‘I feel like this corner works for me,’ she jokes as she twirls and passing motorists shout encouragement out of their car windows. ‘This is my new job!’ As we walk through the twilight I pick up again on the trauma Dakota talked about earlier, asking her if she has an age she reverts to now, the source of her psychological make-up. ‘If I revert to an age, it’s four,’ she says decisively. When I ask if the circumstances are a secret, she nods. ‘Everything is a secret in my life, sadly. I wish I could say everything, but I just can’t. I think some artists are able to be like, “This happened, and this happened, and this is why this happened.” And I just can’t. Not because of the fact that my family is known, but I just don’t think it’s anybody’s business, honestly.’

Is childlike innocence important to her craft? ‘It’s all play. It’s make-believe. So you have to have it. I really respect actors that are in it all day. And I just can’t do it. It just makes me laugh. The whole thing makes me laugh. Even scenes where I’m devastated make me laugh. Because it’s ridiculous. I feel like childlike play means being open to the universe and inspiration and imagination. For me, if I become so focused on a thing, and if I have to be a certain way, it makes me not do my thing well. So I have to do both. I have to be focused, and also allowing for the bullshit to come through.’ She corrects herself as the dress shimmers in the half light. ‘It’s not bullshit. It’s magic.’

We climb back in the Bentley to head for a stroll alongside the Thames and it reminds me of a car ride in London with Dakota in 2016. She was nominated for BAFTA’s Rising Star award and we shared a car from the hotel to the event. ‘Didn’t win,’ she smiles. ‘It was like when I didn’t get into Juilliard. I didn’t want to go to college anyway. I worked instead. My dad told me that if I didn’t go to college – he likes to say this in press, so I will quote him – he says that if I didn’t go to college, I would be off the payroll. So I said I’ll apply to one college only, and it was Juilliard. And I got an audition. I went in there to audition with 200 kids, and you do this group warmup. And I was just like, “Fuck this shit.” And they asked me to sing. I didn’t know that you had to have a song prepared. So I didn’t have a song prepared. But Radiohead’s In Rainbows had just come out and so the song Nude was stuck in my head… which is just impossible to sing if you’re not Thom Yorke and a horrible choice in audition song. So I really fucked that up. And you’re supposed to go and get asked for another audition, and they were like, “You’re not going to have another audition.” And I said, “That’s fair.” So I moved out of my house.’

The move from the family home and out on her own was facilitated by a supermodel. ‘I was at an airport with my mom, who’s obviously a famous person. We ran into Naomi Campbell when I was 16, and she said, “Your daughter should model” because I was gawky and skinny and weird-looking. And I was like, “Yeah, I should, I should, I should, I should.” Because I wanted to make money so that I could leave my house. And so she called Ivan Bart at IMG, and I got signed to IMG. And then I did two jobs that made me enough money to support myself until I got a job. So I moved out of my house at 18 with my dog Zeppelin and supported myself.’

She didn’t model again but she did live the struggling actor life as she tried to get her foot in the door. She lived in a ‘shitty’ West Hollywood apartment, her car got broken into all the time, and she had cockroaches. Now she’s shimmying to No Broke Boys by Tinashe on her phone on the banks of the Thames, under Somerset House. The London Eye winks across the river. ‘I feel like I have always belonged here in a way, and I don’t know where I belong yet,’ she says of London. ‘I’m always drawn back. And I would live here if I needed to. And maybe I will. To me, London is the central part of the world. There’s such an incredible mixture of people and it also feels removed from the world in a way. Most of my favourite musicians have come out of the UK, like Led Zeppelin, the Stones, the Beatles, Blur, Oasis and Pulp… the list goes on.’ She laughs and leans against the car. ‘And I’m putting my ass on a Bentley. You know from Betty Blue where she says, “I’m warming my ass?” I’m warming my ass.’

Now it’s late, it’s time to head to a mutual friend’s premiere party. We get back in the car and continue to talk as we travel to Claridges. Dakota is a frank person and I notice that she brings that frankness to her two latest films. Celine Song’s Materialists sees Dakota play a NY matchmaker caught between two romantic options: Pedro Pascal’s millionaire and Chris Evans’ penniless actor, and talks honestly about the role money plays in love. In Splitsville, two married couples explore open relationships with a candour that is disarming. ‘I think as an actress I’m quite frank, but I think I’m drawn to filmmakers and writers who are very honest – brutally, radically honest in their writing. So the frankness is kind of inherent. It’s provocative to me, and it makes me feel alive. It makes me feel seen. I see people being drawn to movies that are a bit more direct, not skirting around the truth of life and love. Materialists is certainly frank in one direction, and Splitsville is very frank in the other. But, truly, I think it’s just about honesty. I think there are so many honest paths of love, and it doesn’t matter what they look like, as long as everyone is happy and not hurting anybody else. I think it’s interesting that these movies are coming out a couple of months apart. But I just am so interested in love and relationships, and how people are choosing to love each other. We’ve been swiftly moving into a phase of humanity where some people are lucky enough to be really themselves, and love the way they want to love, and be true to themselves, and honest with themselves. I just want to try to represent the vastness of the human condition in film. Materialists is, “Who do you marry?” The person that represents the life you think you want, or the person that may not have all of the material assets, but truly sees you and loves you and just completely wants the whole of you?” Splitsville is, “How do you just really live your life, and also commit to another person without unnecessary rules or boundaries?” And neither is the right answer. It’s just: to each his own. Her own.’

Do you think there’s a right answer? I ask as we arrive at our party. She smiles at me with that trademark mischief as the street lights illuminate her face. ‘I don’t think there’s a right answer at all…’