James Ivory / Career retrospective

For over fifty years, James Ivory, Ismail Merchant, and Ruth Prawer Jhabvala made films together under the Merchant Ivory brand, including such classics as Room with a View, Howards End, The Remains of the Day, and Shakespeare Wallah.  In celebration of the Cohen Media Group’s rerelease of Heat and Dust, Director Talk interviews James Ivory on his life in cinema and longtime collaboration. Availability: Heat and Dust and Autobiography of a Princess (US premiere) open September 1, Quad Cinema, New York City, and Laemmle Royal, L.A. To learn more about Merchant Ivory, click here. Thanks to Gary Springer, Springer Associates PR, for arranging this interview.

 

DT: You and Ismail and Ruth made films together for fifty years. Can you talk about your collaborative process? How strictly were the roles defined as producer, director, writer?

JI:  They were strictly defined: Ruth wrote, I directed, and Ismail did everything a producer needs to do—raise the money, make sure the film is released properly and publicized and all that. Our roles were quite defined, though I sometimes collaborated with Ruth on the screenplay. She certainly never ventured into the areas of producing or directing.

DT: Did you edit together?

JI: In a way. What we used to do was sort of unheard of. After we had a fairly organized rough cut and we’d screened it for ourselves and for her, she would come into the editing room and help us pull it together better. She considered that as part of her writing job. She wasn’t actually editing, but she saw things that she had seen in her imagination that hadn’t gone well during the shoot. Actors we’d had high hopes for weren’t as good as we thought they would be, or the reverse was true also: Some actors we weren’t going to feature were absolutely wonderful and we thought we had to make room for them, they were so good. Or I made mistakes. Generally we would pull it all together, and she would be in the editing room for about a week doing that.

The editors, far from being dismayed by this, were really pleased that she was there. This was a way of working that’s absolutely unheard of in Hollywood. Probably in Europe, which is more auteur-driven, writers probably did make other appearances, but that’s the way we worked, and that’s what we liked to do. And sometimes—this was something Ismail would get into very much—when Ruth would come in and we’d work on the rough cut with her, it would encourage him that maybe we needed something else here and there; perhaps we should have a scene of such-and-such. In fact, we did this with practically every film. We would have a secret shoot…we never, ever told the financiers about this. And we never told them that’s how we always worked—Ismail put money aside and we’d get the actors and go off and do some more. There would be some places in the film that needed things, and we’d just do it.

And that’s how we worked. It was very collaborative, the three of us, but we did have quite distinct roles.

DT: How much did you discuss a project together before you started shooting?

JI: Quite a lot. Again, it depended on whether or not I was collaborating with Ruth on the screenplay. We talked about it a lot. We would talk wherever we happened to be—at a meal, in a taxicab, wherever, just as the thoughts came to us. It was never any sort of formal sit-down-discussion sort of thing. This just gradually came about. Of course Ismail weighed in a lot, because as a producer he had certain concerns about what we were thinking. There was a lot of talk. But then that’s true of any collaborative work of art. I mean, there’s lots and lots of talk about it.

 

DT: You’ve said that a director is wide and shallow, while an actor is narrow and deep. You’ve also talked about how you “watch the actor.” Can you talk about how both of those things apply to how you work with an actor?

JI: When I say that an actor is narrow but deep, I mean an actor is primarily concerned with bringing out his or her role. Creating a role through some process of their own, based on their own experiences, and things they’ve observed in life and their own thoughts, they manage to put together a character, and I think it goes very, very deep into their consciousness and subconscious. They are creating a person out of their own experience that really only exists in fiction, and it’s not like what a director does. The director has to have an interest in a million different things, but he can’t go deep into any of them, because he has so many different things to contend with—the photography, the weather, whether or not a set is OK or not OK, or maybe an actor who was going to play a role doesn’t play it and someone else comes, all the rest. A director is spread thin. This has to be; you couldn’t be as engaged in all of those things as an actor is engaged in creating his or her role, and that’s why I say a director is sort of shallow. I mean, a director can have certain strengths in various areas. Some directors are marvelously strong when it comes to producing the image and the photographic side of things, or they can be marvelously strong in editing, or whatever. We all have our strengths and we all have our weaknesses, and I’m speaking now as a director. It’s like that, really. Directors have a lot to think about, but an actor really only has his or her role to think about.

DT: So would you describe yourself as basically hands off when you work with an actor?

JI: At first, yes. I believe in allowing an actor to show me what it is he or she has created. They have to do that before anything else. They have to show me what it is they want to do. If they seem to be going astray in any area, I would get in there and steer them in the direction I wanted them to go. But on the whole, they’re artists, after all, and you have to respect what they’ve created. You want to see it and know what it is before you comment for better or for worse. That’s the way I work, and that’s the way I think you should work.

And it doesn’t just apply to acting. It applies to other areas in film. It applies to music, it applies certainly to set design and costumes and so on. They have to show you what it is they made and you have to respect that. They are artists also. Wait to see what that is, and hopefully you’ll like it; usually I did like it. But sometimes of course I didn’t, and in some cases I’d rather cautiously say, “I think maybe a little bit more of this and less of that” sort of thing.

DT: Would that take place while you were shooting, or did you rehearse in advance?

JI: It could certainly take place during shooting. Not so much where sets and costumes are concerned, those things are already there—even in photography, really, but certainly in the interpretation, in the acting. If you don’t like something, you have to speak up, but you have to wait to see how they wanted to do it. I believe you owe the actor that. It happens all the time, from the beginning to the end of shooting, you’re always in that situation. You’re never not facing that.

As far as rehearsals are concerned, we principally rehearsed every scene on the day we were going to shoot it. We didn’t go in for big rehearsals because very often we couldn’t get all the actors together. That’s the problem with movies—the actors are off doing another film or maybe they’re in a play, or whatever. They’re not all there at the same time, and you can’t really have a decent rehearsal unless everybody is there. The only film we really had the luck to have everybody present was Mr. and Mrs. Bridge, starring Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. We had absolutely everybody there, including the two kids, so we could have two weeks of proper rehearsals like most people like to have, most directors are very happy to have, and the actors certainly want to have.

 

DT: Speaking of performances, you get particularly extraordinary performances from male actors, like Christopher Reeve in Bostonians and Julian Sands in Room with a View.

JI: They are very different actors. Christopher Reeve was a highly trained actor and also worked on the stage, and he believed in doing a lot of homework. Julian Sands had only just begun to act. It was pretty much off the cuff with him, but he was just right for the part and memorable. It depends on the actor. Some of them are very, very experienced and know how to do all kinds of research. Christopher Reeve got together with some ex-politician from Mississippi in order to get that accent. He worked on it for weeks and weeks.

DT: He was wonderful.

JI: He was, and very much underrated, I thought. People were so used to seeing him as Superman that they couldn’t accept him in a sort of Rhett Butler role, which is what he was playing, basically. They couldn’t accept that. The same thing happened with Paul Newman as Mr. Bridge. Everybody loved their version of Paul Newman—all of his movies were so popular—and the idea that he was this stern, rather unrelenting and somewhat puritanical father figure was hard for people to take.

 

DT: One thing that I love that you do—it’s so subtle but it’s so great—you have the camera focused on the main action, but you have other people moving on and off the screen, in front of the action, behind the action, on the side of the action. It’s almost as if you want the audience to never forget that there’s life going on outside the frame. I didn’t know if that was intentional or not.

JI: It’s hard to achieve that, let me tell you. If you look at my earlier films, you don’t always get that idea, but it really comes about if you have very, very experienced and very good first assistant directors. The assistant directors have to concentrate on all of the side action that’s happening, and some of them are very, very good and subtle and some are not at all. But I can’t think about that very much or worry about it. If I see something—say on the first take I see people doing something off on the side that I don’t like, or I think they could be better used in some other part of the shot—I say something. Sometimes I go right out on the floor and move people around myself. That has happened, but on the whole if you have very, very good assistant directors who are good at that kind of thing, it’s a relief. For me, anyway.

 

DT: You’ve said that your early influences were Satyajit Ray and Jean Renoir. What did you like about their films, and how did they influence your own directing?

JI: That’s a very big question. I liked Ray’s films so much because I discovered Ray at the time I discovered India, and he was the foremost, really the only, Indian director at that time that a Westerner could really enjoy and get something from. I loved his films, and then I came to know him, and I see his influence still, even after he’s been gone twenty years now. I see his influence in my work in little, little ways that most people probably wouldn’t see.

I was lucky that with our very first film, I had his entire crew. We made The Householder, our first feature, in India. Ray wasn’t making a film at that time, and I wanted to borrow his cameraman, Subrata Mitra, who was a great, great cameraman. We didn’t have a cameraman, and Ray said, “Yes, of course, take him.” Subrata wanted to do it, but then Ray said, “Nobody else is working for me right now,” so I got them all—his assistant director, soundman, cameraman, cameraman’s assistant. They all came to work for me, and it’s not surprising that there’s a look to the film, and one or two of the other Indian films, that reminds one somewhat of Ray. Not so much the content—the content was very different—just the way the scenes are put together and photographed and so on.

As for Renoir, well, Renoir is a very great European director whom I’ve always admired, as Ray did.

 

DT: Me too!  You fell in love with India, but you also fell in love with Venice, where you made your first film. Room with a View is one of the most romantic films I’ve ever seen. Do you think that your feeling for Italy affected that film in particular, and do you think that happens generally—that your feeling for the location somehow affects the way the film turns out?

JI: I think so, sure, otherwise why are you there? Why are you in that particular location? You like being there, and you want to have it as a backdrop to your story. Where Italy was concerned, Venice was the first Italian city I ever went to and spent any time in, and I was just bowled over by it. From there I went to Rome, and I had equally strong feelings about Rome. But strangely, for some reason, and this went on for several years, I never visited Florence. I don’t know why, maybe it just seemed like such a huge correctional thing to see and do that I just felt I would wait and put it off to some other day. So when I came to do the film in Florence, yes, I already had very, very strong feelings about Italy, but when I came to do Room with a View, Florence was all new to me, and I was seeing it with a fresh eye. I think that was useful, that I was discovering Florence myself when we made that film. I didn’t know it, and I had to learn the city in the same way that I learned Venice and Rome, and I think it certainly shows in the film itself.

 

DT: Are you participating in the Cohen Media Group’s restorations of Heat and Dust, Autobiography of a Princess, Howards End, Maurice, and Shakespeare Wallah?

JI: Oh yes. I have been, and I expect to go on doing that. My actual technical participation isn’t so great. The most I can do is sort of sit there with the cameraman and regrade the picture for color and darkness or lightness and so on and contrast. We do that together. That’s about as much as I can do, because I can’t get involved in the sound. On the whole I’m limited to being there with the cinematographer, and we make sure that the color is right and the contrast is right, it’s not too light or dark; that sort of thing. Beyond that, I get very much involved in the packaging of the films, and when they’re released, I do a lot of press. I get involved to the extent that they allow me to be involved in the advertising campaigns. They usually don’t want directors to get involved in that because perhaps we’ll suggest some uncommercial things.

DT: Do you choose which films are going to be restored?

JI: In some cases, yes. I suggested that if they were going to do Heat and Dust, they needed to restore Autobiography at the same time because both films are very related in subject matter. They’re also going to go in a DVD package, probably on two discs. But I think that everybody agreed that they would start out with Howards End. Next they moved to Maurice, and then they wanted to go back to one of our earliest films, considered a classic, which is Shakespeare Wallah. I go along with what they want to do, but I do make suggestions sometimes about the order of things. So far so good.

 

DT: And what’s going on with Richard II?

JI: I don’t know. I mean, I lack a very good producer, I lack a powerful producer. My regular producer, Ismail Merchant. I don’t have that. Had I had such a person, I think the film would have been made years ago. The pity is we didn’t make it while Ismail was still alive, which we might have done. I don’t know what’s going to happen. It’s out there, and people are still sort of supposedly thinking about it, but I wonder, really, what will happen.

 

DT: I really hope it’s made. Are you continuing to donate your films to the George Eastman House?

JI: They have pretty much everything. They don’t have the studio films. They have prints and that kind of thing, but the studios almost always keep their negatives to themselves on the whole. I donated the films that Merchant Ivory actually owned, which was more than thirty, but as I say, the studios hold onto the films that they made, like Remains of the Day. They keep their things in their vaults, where I’m sure they’re properly cared for; the right temperature and all that. But we do have prints of all of our films, and we had a lot of secondary material that accumulated over the years, whether those are studio films or not, and whenever there was anything interesting, I put it at George Eastman.

 

DT: How involved did you get in casting your films?

JI: Very. I’m the one that says yes or no. It’s interesting, though, because sometimes Ismail would jump in there and surprise me and cast somebody himself if he was getting fed up with my not being sure about this person or that person. He did that several times, but who was to complain, because he came up with people like James Mason or Maggie Smith or Helena Bonham Carter. Who’s to complain?

DT: Wasn’t Emma Thompson in that category also?

JI: I found Emma.

DT: How did you find them? From other movies? Onstage?

JI: Not in Emma’s case. Emma was suggested to me by Simon Callow. He suggested that I find out more about her. When they were casting Howards End I might have seen one film that she’d made, it might even have been something for television. She came to me and she obviously wanted to do it. She’d read the script, but she didn’t have the script with her when she came to read for me, so she read straight out of the novel, and that was it. Some of the other actresses who had come that day were quite big names, but she got the part on the spot.

 

DT: Speaking of that, you said that when you’re doing an adaptation, your actors sometimes carry the novel around with them on the set.

JI: We discouraged that. We actually pulled the novel out of their hands. The last thing you want is to be in the middle of a scene and the actor says, “You’ve left some dialogue out. I just love this dialogue and I want to say it.” That’s the last thing you want on the set. I don’t mind if they read other novels on the set. That’s fine. I feel very lucky, because that’s how I discovered Remains of the Day. An actor was reading Remains of the Day while we were making Mr. and Mrs. Bridge. One day he came up to me and said, “I’m reading this book that I think is sort of boring, but I think you may like it.” He gave it to me to read, and I couldn’t put it down. It wasn’t the next film but the film after.

 

Copyright © Director Talk 2017

Heal the Living/Katell Quillevere

When a young teenager is left brain-dead after a car accident, his parents agree to donate his powerful heart to a a sickly middle-aged mother. The story line deftly weaves together the lives of donor, recipient, and the doctors who bring them together, but beneath the story line lies a tender homage to the wonders of our earthly existence, pulsing with vibrant life.  Availability: Opens April 14, New York City, Quad Cinema. To see the trailer, click here. Thanks to Aimee Morris, Sophie Gluck & Associates, for arranging this interview.

 

DT: As you watch certain films, you slowly become aware that they’re about something else—something far beyond what’s happening on the screen. Heal the Living is such a film.  My question to you is this:  How do you accomplish something so ephemeral? Through working with the actors? Through intention? Through the editing process?

KQ: In this film, the big question for me behind the story of organ donation and the transfer of life is the question of the link between human beings; the larger idea of taking part in a family or a community, like the hospital. Hiding the link influenced me in every step of the process of the film, even in directing and choosing my actors. I chose them as a team, a collective, based on the diversity of their physical aspects, their appearance, the different movies they’d made, famous not famous, professional or not, because I wanted the casting to be an image of the diversity of society.

In my work with them, I helped them understand that the goal was not their own performance but the fact that they were participating in a story that was stronger than them, so they had to be generous and focused on more than what was crossing their own paths. And it was a good way also for them to forget themselves. In France, many of them are really famous, like Emmanuelle Seigner, Tahar Rahim, Anne Dorval, and you discover them as characters, not as actors. This was difficult, as there were no main actors and they don’t appear til later in the film, but that was the big challenge: to forget them as actors. One of my techniques was to bring them into the reality of the story. I asked all of them to work at the hospital. They were trained by real doctors, surgeons, nurses, and we really loved that. It was a great experience for them to discover their characters, in the medical way but also in the emotional way, and I think you can tell that in the movie.

 

DT: Absolutely. Can you talk about mise-en-scene, also from the same perspective.

KQ: How to build on the question of the link was trying to figure out what the movie looked like with my camera operator. We wanted to define the camera’s figure of the movie. The metaphoric figure of the movie was a circle, so we wanted to move this into life, to the center of life, not at the end of the line, like the caboose on a train. We wanted to put it inside to show how it even engenders life, so we built the aesthetic effect of the movie in echoes, from the center of the movie, which is when the heart recipient is in bed with the woman who is her lover.

From there, we worked it in echoes. For example, at the beginning of the film [when the boys are returning home after surfing but before the accident that renders Simon brain-dead], there’s a shot of   the two teenagers in the car falling asleep head to head.  You can find this image at the end of the movie, with the two young sons waiting to see if their mother, the heart recipient, has survived surgery. Another example: the movie starts with two faces, of two teenagers in bed. One is falling asleep, the other [the organ donor] is watching her, and it’s exactly the same image as the organ recipient and her girlfriend in bed, so there are a lot of examples like that, symmetrical to the center of the movie, to create this organic aspect, this feeling of human connection, finding the link, looking for a link to each other all the time.

We also found that the traveling movement of the camera was like the DNA of the film, the filmmaker always traveling, irrigating the movie like the blood in the veins of the body. When it comes time to fixate it, it’s a series of steps until the intensity arrives, and then when the decisions are made [to give the organ or to accept the donation], movement comes back into the movie.

 

DT: Can you talk about the editing process, addressing the same question?

KQ: For me the question of editing is a question of writing the movie. You always write a movie three times; the script, the shooting, and the editing, and it’s always the same question: Informing. The big question while editing this film was the balance between the major plot line and telling the story from one body to another, from death to life, and also the detours the movie had to make to bring humanity inside this story, which helped every character have his own singularity.

It also meant that everyone’s smallest gesture had an influence on the big picture, as it does in life, working with the way that we are constantly influenced by the gestures and the decisions of others and that we are linked together. That balance was really difficult to get; it was our big goal for the success of our movie, for making the movie function.

DT: What gestures in particular?

KQ: I paid attention to gestures during the whole movie. The way the surfers dressed, the way they put on their wet suits, the way they took care of their surfboards, how the doctors washed up in the hospital, how they took care of a body. In a way it’s really how these gestures, which are all part of what human capabilities are, are responsible for helping lives to continue.

 

DT: I love the way that you approached objects. Some critics called it very clinical, but I found the shot of the blood pumping during the surgery to be one of the most beautiful images I’ve ever seen.

KQ: All through the movie we tried to film objects in their metaphoric aspect. There are a lot of tubes and wires in this film. The tubes are things that link people to each other, but there are also tunnels, like when you see the teenager biking through a tunnel. All these tunnels and tubes are all linked from one to another, like the veins inside the body.

 

DT: There are a lot of dangers in making a film like this one, which is so sweeping and has such a wide perspective. Can you talk about your greatest fears in making this film and the dangers that you had to avoid?

KQ: You’re right—you have fears when you’re making a movie. One of our biggest fears concerned the emotions, the feelings. I really didn’t want the movie to be over the top in the sense that the viewer becomes hostage to the emotional situation that is portrayed. And the idea of how to view the subject of death without being morbid—going beyond that was something that really obsessed me.

 

DT: What difficulties did you encounter in adapting Maylis De Karangal’s novel?

KQ: The first was the whole issue of temporality and time in a film versus a book. In a book you can move forward and backward in time, you can be in the present, you can go back in the characters’ memories, and also to their future hopes. In cinema you can’t do that. You’re much more in the present moment in film, so that was really one of the challenges.

The other was the thoughts of the organ recipient. Her character is not really developed in the novel, but I felt that it was really important to develop her character to give balance and symmetry with the figure of the donor.

DT: How did you use the score?

KQ: One of the challenges with the score was to find music that would enable me to find the organic dimension of the film and to define it. It’s a choral film with many characters, and what was important was that the link between the characters be defined. One of the roles of the music was to help those links become more evident. I worked with Alexandre Desplat because he’s a melodic genius, and he was very, very good at finding the appropriate melody to bring these things out.

 

DT: When you watch the finished film, how do you feel?

KQ: Whenever I finish a film, I look at it and I’m really happy because I know that in the process of making it I’ve gone as far as I can and I’ve done as much as I can. At that moment when it’s all done I really feel a sense of happiness, but later on, when I have a chance to take a few steps back and I see how others react to it and what others’ impressions were, then doubts begin to arrive.

DT: You shouldn’t have any doubts about this one. Thank you for making this film.

 

Copyright © Director Talk 2017

Les Cowboys/Thomas Bidegain

In an homage to John Ford’s The Searchers, director Thomas Bidegain tells the story of a young Frenchwoman who leaves home to convert to Islam. Convinced she’s been brainwashed, her father embarks on a mission to bring her home that will lead him around the world, his unwilling son in tow. Availability: Opens June 24 New York City, San Francisco, Los Angeles. Click here for trailer and theater listings. Thanks to Emma Myers and Nathaniel Baruch, Brigade Marketing, and the New York Film Festival for arranging this interview.

DT:  It seems that some people love the film, like I did, while others don’t respond to it at all.

TB: They’re seeing it as all white or all black. I think the film is very straightforward. There’s no irony in it at all. It’s just first degree all along, so if you watch it and don’t get inside—if you look at it from afar—it will seem improbable. If you enter the film, you’ll believe. You will believe because this film has a classical thing to it, this suspension of disbelief, like you have to believe that Humphrey Bogart was a marine officer. So when people get in and are there for a good ride, they’re very moved at the end. The film has that quality of being very straightforward.  It doesn’t try to be clever.

 

DT: Don’t you think that’s true of genre films in general, and especially contemporary Westerns? There’s something very distancing about a Western in this day and age. You have to come to it with a determined viewpoint, saying, I am going to suspend my disbelief in order to get into this film.

TB:  You have to get in with a certain amount of naivete, a freshness. Extend a generosity to it. Say, OK, I’m in for a ride. If you try to judge, it will seem very long.  But I’m very proud of the film. It’s exactly the film I wanted to make.

 

DT: You’ve written many wonderful screenplays, but this is your first time directing.

TB: When you direct, it’s a machine to reveal yourself. It’s very different from screenwriting, where you can always hide. When you’re directing, you make all the decisions, and each decision will reveal something of you. And to you. It’s a weird process.

DT:  Will directing a film change the way you write?

TB: I’ll write shorter scripts. Also, through editing, I learned a lot about what things to get rid of.

 

DT:  Let’s talk about the European fascination with cowboy culture. As an American, it’s very hard for me to understand. What do cowboys represent in Europe, especially in relation to 9/11?

TB: A lot of communities celebrate country/Western culture; there are a lot of festivals, all year long, every weekend. Sometimes it’s just about the music, sometimes it’s more about the dance. People love to square dance. Sometimes it’s the horses, but it’s always with that cowboy theme. About twenty percent of the people are really decked out, but the rest are just wearing a hat or boots, like the father in the film.

I think it’s something reassuring for them, plus it’s very white. You go there and it’s very nice and everybody’s very nice, but at one point you look around and say, This is not [ethnically] mixed at all. So it’s nice, but within a limit. When you come to a festival like that from Paris, you say, Something’s strange here.

I wanted to create certain images because I wanted to talk about the community. The fact that the daughter leaves will affect the life of her father, her family, but also the entire community will be changed. And even the life of a girl in Pakistan will be changed because of that. It’s like a ripple effect. This community is us. The movie opens with a country/Western festival. The second time you see the festival, we’ve included a woman in a veil, and you have an image of our society. It’s just that: this community is our community. You always have to think about the images that the story will produce, and this is definitely one that I had in mind from the very beginning.

 

DT:  You dealt with sensitive material in an intelligent way. How did you avoid stereotypes?

TB: I always believe in being true to the character, really telling the story from their point of view. We never show anything the main character doesn’t see; it’s always their point of view. There are no crane shots, it’s always at their height.

Sometimes they don’t understand, sometimes they get thrown. Small people get thrown into the tumult of the world—that’s really what the film is about. So yes, it’s sensitive material. Sometimes the father will say something racist, but it’s the father, not the film. If you’re above the characters, you have to judge, but if you’re at their level, then you just have to go through it. Life forces us to go through things and sometimes we don’t know what to do, like the second country/Western festival, where people are trying to rip Shahzana’s veil off.  The sheriff is helpless; he just doesn’t know what to do.

 

DT:  The next question deals with The Searchers. What were the dangers of remaking such an iconic film?

TB:  It’s not a remake.  I took the theme. If I was to make a remake, I would never have chosen The Searchers. I was inspired by the theme and wanted to make an homage to all the films that gave me so much. I’ve learned so much from John Ford, John Huston, Raoul Walsh, Michael Curtiz. I’ve loved so much from those classics that it was very important for me to pay that homage and to give back.

When I had the idea for this story, I knew it was my song, and I knew it was for me to sing—not to write it for somebody else. I have a very specific American cinephilia that’s about those times,  so it’s more an homage than a remake.

 

DT:  In The Searchers, John Wayne is forced to confront his racism. Does the father do that in this film?

TB: The film starts with people who think they’re cowboys and believe Arabs are the Indians. That’s why I wanted to confront this culture.

At one point in the ’90s, when the movie starts, people were talking about a world civilization and what would happen when two cultures collide. What better portrait, what better metaphor can you find for a war of civilizations than cowboys and Indians? I believe that the father cannot reconcile with the other because he thinks they are a civilization and they are apart; he believes he is a cowboy, and he believes the other guys, the Muslims, are the Indians. His son, Kid, will not see Muslims as a civilization. He will see them as human beings, so there’s the possibility of reconciliation at that moment. That’s where racism is: seeing the other as a different civilization. They’re not. They’re just human beings. As long as you see things as world civilizations, as cowboys and Indians, no reconciliation is possible.

 

DT:  What was the political climate like when you were writing the film?

TB:  I first read about jihad a long time ago, when nobody was talking about jihad. While we were writing the film, we were reading more and more testimony in the papers depicting scenes that we had already written. At one point we were afraid that the subject matter would devour the film because it was too overwhelming. While we were shooting on the border between India and  Pakistan, everybody said, Be careful. One week later in Paris, it was the Charlie Hebdo shooting. We go to Pakistan, and it’s the homeland that’s under attack.

Everyone in the cast and crew was very shaken by that. We spent our night listening to the radio while we were shooting, but I talked with almost everybody, and we felt the only thing we could do was this kind of film: represent the world, portray what it is when that kind of tragedy happens to you. Don’t try to explain it, just show. I think that in itself is a political act. Just to represent.

 

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