Rebecca Zlotowski’s A Private Life, which premiered last year in Cannes, has finally arrived in the UK. Critics praised it for being a Hitchcockian homage, following Lilian Steiner (Jodie Foster), an American psychiatrist working in Paris, who tries to unravel a mystery around the death of one of her patients. Was she actually murdered? Or maybe it’s only Steiner’s unhealthy obsession? Or maybe she’s right? With the help of her ex-husband, Gabriel (Daniel Auteuil), she will do everything to discover the truth.
When we meet in London at one of the hotel restaurants, I tell Rebecca that every single review of A Private Life explores the Hitchcock references and underlines the genre-bending premise of the entire thriller. It feels like everything has already been said about the film’s substance. This is why we decided to discuss everything else, from therapy to working with her actors and being in control of your own life.
The Cold Magazine (CM): How are you?
Rebecca Zlotowski (RZ): Hi, sorry for being late. The woman fainted in front of the hotel when I arrived.
CM: What happened?
RZ: I don’t know, at least she’s fine. Now I wonder if I personify bad luck. Like, do I give bad luck to people around me? Be careful, it’s the second time that someone has collapsed in front of me.
CM: Do you think you’re giving bad luck?
RZ: I hope not! I think it’s all about the heat. Sounds like a Roland Emmerich movie to me.
CM: Or an opening sequence to your new feature film.
RZ: No. I don’t know if I can lean towards huge doses of anxiety in my storytelling. I’m full of anxiety, so instead, I package it in fake murder mysteries and pleasurable camp.
CM: I need to ask: have you ever met a therapist who, just like Jodie Foster’s character, wasn’t that professional or tried to invade your private space too much?
RZ: I’ll tell you a story. I’ve been pretty reluctant towards therapies and psychiatrists, and believe it or not, I was the only intellectual Jewish Parisian person who would not see any therapist for a long, long, long time. And when I turned 40, I somehow needed to see one. And I attended a few sessions, and after maybe 3 or 4 months, my problem was solved. So I was like, “That’s fine, I’m fine.” But she would ask me to stay, and then it became interesting.
CM: Why?
RZ: Well, this is maybe the reason why A Private Life happened in the first place. I became intrigued by the relationship which I had with my therapist. You constantly speak, and they know everything about you, but you know nothing about them. Yet, at some point, something happened: she had to take a phone call. This is when I learned that her husband was dying. She has never told me anything about her life, until this very moment, in which she just burst into tears, informed me that her husband died and just explained the whole story. This is when I realised that this is it, we cannot be patient and doctor anymore. So, I would say that she didn’t invade my privacy, but I guess it is I who intruded on her private life.
CM: Is therapy a playground for you as a filmmaker?
RZ: Yes, because it is amazingly rich, and it can project all sorts of fantasies. It’s a space in which people either repress or open their frustrated desires. I believe it’s a place where there’s a lot of mise-en-scène. Someone is listening, someone is talking. And as a director, you ask yourself all those questions: When do you lay down? When do you just sit? When do you raise your voice? How does the office look? What’s with the furniture there? How much do you pay? What is the ritual, the fetishism? This is like a séance on its own.
CM: Are you still in touch with that therapist?
RZ: No. I think that my film just sealed the end of the therapy.
CM: Do you ever feel like a therapist for your own actors?
RZ: No, I would be a horrible therapist, to tell the truth. But do they try to be friends with me on set? Yes, that happens.
CM: Do you like it?
RZ: Yes, I really like to bond with other people. Obviously, you can’t become friends with everyone, so at some point you have to choose. But the actors and actresses that I want to work with are already people that I admire. To some extent, I desire them as a filmmaker. If we decide to have dinner together, it will already work well for the film, as we are bonding. We all have many doubts on set, so we try to seek in the dark, and our collective effort eventually becomes a film.
On the other hand, Jacques Audiard once told me that he does not remain friends with his actors. He always says that after completing the shoot, he feels like they achieved the highest level of bond, and that’s it, you can’t really go back to this moment or somehow recreate it in other circumstances.
CM: How do you build your own sense of trust with your actors? Do you find it difficult?
RZ: Not at all. It starts with the casting, when both sides agree to work together on a film. This becomes an unconditional thing when right from the start we both have to trust each other, right? Then, I have to help them serve, and they have to serve me. This sort of relationship is already distorted, so trust becomes an essential tool to navigate this microcosm. You can draw a line between two kinds of directors. We have the directors who hate actors, distrust them and are worried they have too much power over them, and over the entire film, too. And, contrarily, some directors love actors, want to film them and don’t want to abuse them, or just don’t want to fool them. I believe in artifice, and I truly believe in the actors’ competence
CM: There is a specific genre called “comedy of remarriage,” right? And when I was watching A Private Life, I felt it was a “drama of remarriage.” Or a “drama of divorce,” as they do not ultimately remarry, but the film couple remain friends.
RZ: They divorced well, and this is something we all should learn! This pairing, Jodie Foster and Daniel Auteuil, is a reason why I treasure actors so much. It’s this factor that you can’t predict. Sometimes, you don’t have the chemistry between two people, two actors, and sometimes you have it, and I’m certain that Daniel and Jodie Foster had it. Their relationship wasn’t that central in the script, but after seeing them together, we emphasised this theme a little bit more. It was such a pleasure witnessing them act in the same room.
CM: Do you think that every relationship needs a little bit of thrill to keep it going?
RZ: I love peace, so it depends on what kind of friendship or love you are really seeking. But still, we always experience some kind of suspense, practically every day, which revolves around our private lives. And then when you have children, you have a double suspense, because you’re scared about them and their well-being. All of it already gives you an additional thrill in your life. So, it’s up to you if you need more than what life is already giving you.
CM: It’s quite funny that we started chatting about someone fainting, and now we’re talking about the suspense of the everyday.
RZ: I hope this woman is fine now! But, yes, we’re surrounded by the fragility of existence, and I think that’s the reason why you love movies and why I make them. It’s because when we watch things, we feel in control of something. Everything feels organized and staged on screen, especially when we compare it to the chaos that we are living in today. I guess it’s pathetic, at least in a way.
CM: Why do you think it’s pathetic?
RZ: It’s an attempt to calm the chaos that we don’t understand, and they’re all just films at the end of the day.
CM: You mentioned that you enjoy peace, but your protagonist is not a fan of it. Was it, perhaps, a subconscious decision to write someone very different from you, so you can fulfill certain fantasies on screen?
RZ: Definitely, as there’s always an aspect of the characters you depict, which is, ultimately, your secret desire. Inadvertently, they become people you secretly wish to be. Yet, I would never dare to do what she does, even if it’s purely amateurish. It’s also easier for us to follow her attempts. She’s in constant danger, but it’s not really danger per se. The film protects us from what Lilian is actually going through. It’s a comfortable sensation that I want the spectator to have. She’s this kind of character I would simultaneously hate to be and love to be.
