So long as there have been Leos Carax films, there has been the Leos Carax persona. After years of watching interviews, Q&A sessions, and docs on his “elusive” character, I first saw him in person this fall and chuckled on sight — seeing Leos Carax is like going to Disneyland and spotting Mickey Mouse or Captain Jack Sparrow, an actor in a costume conforming exactly to some popular (operative word) cultivated image. The distinction, here, is that it was the real thing, and he was simply sitting outside, drinking wine, smoking, surrounded by a den of admirers.
Properly meeting me the following day at a SoHo hotel, he was again wearing the Leos Carax outfit: porkpie hat, sunglasses, tan pants, and a long jacket over a dark-green sweater that fought against unseasonably balmy weather. The director was in town for New York Film Festival screenings of “It’s Not Me,” a 40-minute project combining footage from his previous features, 130-plus years of cinema, a gallery of the modern world’s “bastards” — Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping — some new material reuniting Carax with muses Denis Lavant and Baby Annette, and David Bowie’s “Modern Love.” If this suggests something less major than “Lovers on the Bridge” or “Holy Motors,” two films that regularly appear on best-of-decade lists, the mistake is understood but vanquished within mere minutes that reveal “It’s Not Me” as perhaps Carax’s single greatest work and some of the closest any recent film’s come to representing a perfect object.
Carax and I spoke for nearly an hour, charting this project, his career, and a personal philosophy of image-making that extends from artistic craft to dictatorial impulses. A couple cigarettes were smoked between greetings and departures.
This interview has been edited for length.
Indiewire: I wonder if it’s strange to talk about this film that mostly comprises your life’s work. “It’s Not Me” seems self-sustaining as a statement — it’s almost as if there’s no point in talking about it when the work does the talking. But have you found conversations illuminating?
Leos Carax: Well, the only strange experience was: the film was supposed to be seen once, disappear. I mean, it was not a film-film. It was a museum exhibit — the Pompidou in France, in Paris. Then, it left the exhibit and became something for French TV late at night on Arte. And then it finally became something that some countries release. But yeah: it’s only when I showed it in Cannes — I was there with my daughter — that I realized: “Shit, people are seeing this.” I liked doing it. I did it alone, so it was very… a home movie made alone with my dogs and my daughter. I had a week of shooting with other people, actors. But over a year-and-a-half, I was mostly alone with it. But once I got over that, now I’m fine. People, they’re mostly asking about Polanski and Godard.
Well, I have zero questions about either, so maybe this will go well. I hope. But the response to it’s been really good. I think it’s maybe the best thing you’ve ever made.
[Waiter brings drinks] We can’t order with you? [Waiter shakes head] This is such a strange country. Someone with water, someone will drop the things…
Can you still smoke in Paris restaurants or bars?
I would do it, yes. Not inside. I hear you can’t smoke here. In Paris, you can smoke here.
Looking at your prior films — some of which are 40 years old now — do you find yourself connected to that filmmaker from decades prior? Or do you feel separated from that person after so much time?
No, I didn’t have to see my films to do this. I don’t see my films. Four— [counts fingers] one, two, three — yeah, my first four films were restored this year. And I had the DP of my last films, “Annette” and this one, Caroline Champetier, restore them for me. So I would see a scene in each film — one or two scenes, a night scene — and it was very strange to… I mean, I would try to go back to what we were trying to do in the ‘80s. So, you know, “I remember this blue this way. I think the skin shouldn’t be…” And the scenes that are in the film, this little film, you know, that’s the way the film was written.
Yeah, I’d imagine it at night, and so many other images, and in the morning I would look for either these images or something approaching, would edit — learning editing at the same time — I would record my voice, try something, then go on to the next day, etc. Sometimes it was like a memory of the scene of my films, but sometimes it was, “I need a shot. I need something that can go from this shot to this shot,” or “I need something to show motion.” You know, I want to show something about motion, so I filmed Denis’ legs in this film, and I filmed Denis this way, running on this. That’s the way it happened. I didn’t go through my films that I used.
Was Champetier, as her own DP, bringing fresh visual sense to these older films?
She’s the same generation as Jean-Yves Escoffier, who made my three first films … Jean-Yves was 10 years older than me when I made my three first films in the ‘80s. They’re close to the same age. And she started with film — not with digital, of course. But it wasn’t… I mean, digital, there’s infinite possibilities. You could shoot something terrible and make it beautiful. But that’s the danger. That’s the laziness, let’s say, of digital. So when you restore it, I was always… I don’t know, I haven’t seen them restored. I always hear too much dynamics, too much contrast, too much color.
Over the years, you’ve expressed regret for not being a musician and that the construction of your projects is more about composing than writing a film. Something I love so much about “It’s Not Me” is that the construction and experience of watching it is especially musical. More than a lot of your films. There are these rhymes, there are these resonances, almost little melodies and verses throughout.
Hopefully, because it’s freeform… I’m not a storyteller anyway, but there’s no fiction. And the fact that I edit it alone. Not only that I edit it alone; the writing is the editing. I guess it’s the closest place to composing, anyway. When I talk about music, trying to be a musician with cinema, it mostly happens when I imagine the film and when I edit the film. Not so much the shooting where, you know, you try to find some kind of grace, some kind of melody. So, in this case, imagining the film and editing were the same thing. Which hopefully made it, yeah, into kind of a musical piece.
I’m curious how you found the experience of being sole editor of the film. What did you work on?
[Avid] is the program that my editor uses. So I knew it because every day I’m in the editing room on my films, but I rarely touch. I mean, I knew vaguely how to… basic, but I had to learn how to do it alone…. I loved it… I would not do it for a fiction, for a feature. I still would need my editor, Nelly Quettier. I would like to do more someday. More of that jazzy, jazz thing.
Were there any mishaps or big learning curves?
Probably did… That’s what should happen. I kind of forgot. But usually, mistakes are pretty good. Usually, mistakes are miraculous, and I forget the bad ones. [Pause] No, the thing is: Since it’s a film with not that many images that come from me, I think in terms of the film — or images I took from other films, from the internet, from paintings, photos — there were copyright issues. But suddenly I added something, the music, and I couldn’t get them. So it fell apart because I tried other images; some things like that happened. But that’s okay.
Was there anything that was especially hard to get the copyright on?
Music; Bowie. I[t] took a year to get Bresson — one shot of “Balthazar” from the widow of Bresson. And then, the French subway tried to forbid us to use the scene in the subway. We shot it in the subway, we were there, and then they saw it and said, “No way you can show that.” But finally, they said nothing.
Relative to your ambitions to be a musician, I’ve always loved your singing and accordion work on Sparks’ “When You’re a French Director.”
I love accordion. I picked it up, I guess, 15 years ago. I went to Louisiana with a friend in a musical society. I came back to Paris. I thought, “I have to make a scene in ‘Holy Motors,’ with Denis Lavant playing.” So I imagined the scene, and once I imagined the scene, I had to learn accordion. And that’s how it started. I love accordions.
Do you still play it regularly?
I was obsessed with it too much. I had to stop; I hurt my two shoulders. Then I had to travel with “Annette,” and I just picked it up again a month ago, and I’m trying to go back to it.
How’s that been?
Physically, it’s OK. As I say, I’m not a musician, so I had to work very hard, and I had to relearn it.
I didn’t know you could hurt yourself doing it.
It’s quite physical — especially if you don’t hold it, if you’re not exactly seated the way you should be. It’s quite heavy, too. Especially if you don’t play well. [Laughs] If you play well and you know how, you’re fine.
One of the things I love about “It’s Not Me” is that it’s maybe not something you should think about for a second longer than when you watch it. Because the resonances are so powerful that to think about it would ruin it, the experience of watching it. But certain things nevertheless really stayed with me. Like saying you’ve only ever done one POV shot in your career —
Probably not true. I don’t know.
If it’s not true, what compels you to say it in the movie? Is it for a narrative? Because the thing about it is: the POV shot is of Juliette Binoche, who was your girlfriend at the time. Which breeds this thought of, “Oh, there’s something very powerful and moving about that,” that the “only” POV shot you ever did was of your girlfriend at the time. But it might not be true, so…
I have no idea if it’s true. Well, I remember that shot. And I remember — because I had opened a chapter called “Déjà Vu,” I think — and I remember maybe the first time I had that “Déjà Vu” allusion, all of that was shooting to get film of Juliette in one or two scenes. I also remember that when I started making films, I made my first film in black-and-white. I was young. I chose black-and-white because I was too… I hadn’t studied films, and I thought, “I’m gonna get lost. I don’t know how to direct actors. I don’t know how to film. I don’t know anything. But there’s color. It’s too much.”
So I reduced it to black-and-white. Although black and white is not… but it was also a way of thinking how to shoot in Paris, mostly at night. But that way I can kind of control what’s going on. It’s a cheap film; I can’t repaint the cars and buildings and whatever they’re showing. And at the same time I thought, “Hitchcock, of course, is important for every filmmaker. Okay, I won’t make any point-of-view shots. Let’s see what happens. I forbid myself.” Maybe I’m wrong, but that’s the two rules I remember: black-and-white, and no point-of-view shots, and then see let’s what happens.
“It’s Not Me” premiered at Cannes. I don’t know if you saw the opening ceremony.
Oh, yeah. I heard that some French woman sang Bowie.
Yeah, she sang “Modern Love.” Most people associate it with Gerwig and “Frances Ha,” but even though Noah Baumbach would say he didn’t take it from from “Mauvais Sang,” I think most people agree that it was probably… taken. “It’s Not Me” ending with Baby Annette running to “Modern Love” just made me very happy, but I also thought there was some element of reclaiming the song for yourself a little bit.
It was… I wanted to work with Annette again. And I had loved working with Annette and I had loved the puppeteers who created it and worked on her, and made it alive. We also felt, maybe at times, that the film was depressing. I might find the film depressing if I see it. Also … I didn’t want my daughter to see an intimate film finish in a dark way. And I thought, “There’s nothing more alive than Baby Annette. Let’s tell something I did in the beginning and something I did, ‘Annette,’ recently. It’s like Denis Lavant meets Annette.” And actually, they did meet in Cannes. That’s how it happened.
Years ago, talking about “Holy Motors,” you said, “I still think that what we call cinema is the possibility to recreate itself each time. The problem is to find again that primitive power of cinema, that first shot of the train in ‘La Ciotat.’ It’s harder and harder to do today. You have to reinvent that power, which is almost a mystical power, a magical power. The problem is finding again that primitive power of cinema.” Even if you claim not to watch many films anymore, you still seem to care about the medium. Was this film in any way an opportunity to form a new passion for it or a new relationship with it?
What you’re quoting, let’s say I’ve said things like that. Or even in the film, “It’s Not Me,” I’m talking about it — with Murnau, “Sunrise”— and it’s also true, this reinvention, it’s also true about yourself. And myself. It’s true about cinema: every generation has to reinvent. In English acting, they call it “the gaze of God” — le regard de Dieu. But also, every film I’ve done, it’s hard. I mean, it’s hard to do. It’s easier for me… not for me, but it’s easier if you do little films. I’ve made very few films. I’m not the same person who made “Boy Meets Girl.” But someone like Fassbinder, let’s say, made 32 films in 36 years of life. It’s another way of experimenting in cinema and theater. Well, you have to do a lot. There’s got to be a flow. And it’s not about experimenting. I’m not reinventing cinema, but finding a strength in the flow. I don’t know that; I haven’t experienced that and I don’t think I could have. Even if I had all the money in the world, I wouldn’t have made 32 films. If I had more imagination, I wouldn’t have had the power he had.
Well, he did a lot of drugs.
Yeah. Well, that’s power and drugs, obviously. I had to accept these limits — no imagination, not a storyteller, not always money to make a film — and to find out that, OK, it might be sad or bad or whatever, but it gives me time to get depressed or to be sick, to hopefully be someone else when I make a new film. Or you dream, or you have a kid — things happen. And I guess, yeah: it’s not a nice thing in life, not to be able to do what you want to do, but also you have to learn from that. I’ve never made a film that made $1 — not one — so I could say that I’m very lucky. “Annette” is expensive — it’s made way above what I should be allowed. I find that very lucky. I can’t complain — that’s what I mean.
You were working on films between “Pola X” and “Holy Motors” that had struggled to get along, and after that, you developed “Annette” for a while. How do you fill your days or spend your time? Looking for inspiration?
Well, I spend lots of that. I spend a lot of time trying to make films I didn’t make — that’s part of it. I spend lots of time being disgusted by cinema, myself, or whatever. I spend lots of time like any people here. But there’s not that many films I didn’t do that I regret. I mean, I don’t regret any of them, actually, but there are not many films I really tried to do — just three or four, maybe — that I really thought I would do, I spent a few years trying to make. I mean, the problem is: Once you make a film, all the old projects are dead. You can’t go back. I might try, actually, to go back to them [Laughs] now, but I’ve never done it, go back to an old project. Sorry, mind if we go…? [Motions to street]
Can we just keep talking?
Yeah.
[We step onto the street. Carax lights a cigarette.]
I’ve never smoked a cigarette.
Yeah?
Do you think I should do it?
I’ve never drunk white wine in my life. There are things you never do, you know? It’s fine.
Do you drink red wine?
Yeah. But I don’t really taste it. I still don’t want to taste it.
Could I ask what the project you might revive is? Is this the film that you’re working on with Adam Driver?
Yeah, I don’t want to talk about the project itself. I think it started, actually, because of Adam. I guess by the time we finished “Annette,” we liked each other, and he said, “So you’re not going to spend 10 more years, blah blah blah? Let’s make a film next year.” I laughed, but then I went back home and thought, “I feel the energy to make a film right now. I feel good.” Then I thought of some things and then I thought of this whole project.
Between “Holy Motors” and “Annette,” you direct kids very well. I often think of Lavant and the daughter in the former.
First time I directed a kid. I was very afraid of directing kids. I’m still afraid of it, but if you torture them enough, they’re good. They’re great. But this one, in “Annette,” she just turned five, and It was very… risky. I mean, on “Holy Motors,” it was one scene without singing and she was 12, I think, the girl. But in “Annette,” she’s only five years old, you know? And although I had a connection with her, you don’t know what’s going to happen. [Laughs]
[We return to our seats]
I got a note from this girl, who was 12 years old — she’s probably now twentysomething this year. It was a very nice note saying she was so happy; it changed her life. I don’t know how. I’ll see her one day. It’s nice.
It’s probably a good memory. She can go to a party or somebody and tell somebody, “I’m the kid in ‘Holy Motors.’”
Mmm-hmm. Yeah, it’s something I care about — that it will be yours. Not only actors, except one or two, but crew members who worked on “Lovers on the Bridge” who have strong memories of shooting the film with us. Even if the films are difficult, there will be tragedies, and blah blah blah, there’s a sense when you shoot a film — all of them except my fourth film, called “Pola X,” which was a bad experience. Like, the production, the producer. The climate was not nice. The experience of the shooting for everyone involved should be a very strong experience. Not always pleasant, but very strong. I mean, in my case, I feel the film is good if the crew feels… I felt especially on “Annette,” it’s a musical and when I would leave the set, I would hear crew members whistling the tune that we had just recorded. I could feel the energy.
“Pola X” is a film that I think has endured, though — maybe partly because it’s never really had proper distribution in America, so it’ll play on a print every so often and always sell out. It’s a weird kind of event film that people have to see.
Well, that’s my worst failure. People hated it. Nobody liked it. It went to Cannes. [Laughs] It’s that thing where, the next morning, you know… some people, a few people, love it. Or like it. Jacques Rivette defended it, or a few other people liked it or defended it. But very few. I don’t know. It’s a grotesque film for sure. There’s something grotesque in the novel, too, actually. I always defended it because, also, of these two young actors who died young. Caroline restored it, so I guess in France, at least, it’s going to come out again. Maybe here. I don’t know.
I actually have the “Pierre” cut of “Pola X” lying around.
Oh, yeah — the TV, longer thing.
Yeah, which I still haven’t seen. I need to watch it, but I also still haven’t read Melville’s novel, and I have a copy on my shelf.
It’s great. I don’t know, it’s great when I read it at 19 — I thought it was written for me — but a lot of people find it ridiculous.
It seems like that stays with you, going to Cannes and a film is not well-received. You can tell the difference between people liking or disliking a film.
I think it was my first time in Cannes. Yeah, it was my fourth film. My first film went to some small section in Cannes, and then they didn’t go to Cannes. I think in my mind — this was after “Lovers on the Bridge” — I thought, “I’m finished. It’s out. They won’t let me do any films anymore.” So after 10 years, I did “Pola X,” and again I thought, “OK, yeah.” [Laughs] So: the nightmare, again.
Do you prefer the longer cut?
I don’t know.
I will say that everybody who I’ve talked to about this new film really loves it. I think your films tend to be a little divisive. I don’t know if you felt anything in the reception that’s been…
I don’t know. Because who’s going to see a film like that, who doesn’t like me at all? You know?
Yeah, I suppose so.
You’re not gonna go see a film by a director that’s supposed to be some kind of self-portrait. 40 minutes. So I guess it selects, a bit, the audience.
Maybe they could put that on the poster. Your friend and collaborator, Harmony Korine, has been saying a lot of things about wanting to reinvent cinema. I don’t know if you’ve seen these quotes from him about new projects like “Aggro Dr1ft” and “Baby Invasion.”
That’s his latest films? I haven’t seen him nor his films in a long time. I don’t know — I haven’t seen him.
In any case, there’s a concern that young people aren’t seeing films anymore. And in your films, you’re reinventing yourself.
I’m trying to.
I don’t know if your daughter’s interested in films as a younger person. Or if there’s any desire to impart to her a cinematic interest, or it’s just not a concern.
There’s a concern about images — what’s become of images and what’s gonna happen with images. What’s gonna happen with the way we watch stuff? But every image — a tree or a kid or a dog. One of the reasons I like to travel with my films and [as far] from France as possible — I like to show them in India or in Asia — because my fear was each time I would make a film the audience would get older, and I would have to end up with people my age. It’s not the case. When I go to screenings of my work in the world, there are a lot of, mostly, young people. That’s reassuring. But there are very few of them. [Laughs] There is, like, ecology, pollution, the planet, the seas — there’s a real ecological problem with images. So that concerns me. We’ve all seen, you walk in the streets and you see kids with their… how do you say it? [Makes pushing motion]
Stroller.
Yeah, with their iPads or the parents’ iPhone. So, of course, if you’re bombarded by these images on the streets… I walked through Times Square the other day and I thought, “I don’t think I’d ever seen so much light in my life.” Even 20 years ago it was not that strong, not that many. And not that flashy. It’s amazing. I guess the film, this little film talks about that at the end. How will we be able to keep on seeing, watching, looking at things — at people, everything? Of course, it’s such a slow aggression. The same thing with the sound, of course. That’s a concern when I have a daughter, I guess.
I mean, I’m the same way. I don’t watch films, but I watch pieces of everything — you know, every series, every film. Not every film, but I want to see how it’s done. I want to see the face of a new actor, actress. And what I see is the reproduction on my computer, so I’m kind of used to it, too. Ecology: I was saying that because you have… hopefully young people are going to fight for changes. Like this young girl. I forgot her name — a star girl or something. Greta. Greta something.
Who?
The girl who’s famous for…
Oh, Greta Thunberg.
There should be someone like that for movies, you know. For images. It should be young people going in the street saying, “Cut all these images out.” And I always thought, you know, I would like to be a dictator: “You’re not allowed to show more than four images a year. So you really want to show your cat? You choose one a month of the year.”
Your version of Times Square, everything is shut off.
Well, or you let filmmakers have new stuff and show their stuff there. But it’s a… it’s a violence.
I like the idea of dictator Leos Carax.
I like it, too. Nice dictator, of course.
No, yeah. A dictator for images is a great idea, actually.
Well, all dictators are dictators of images.
Thanks for this. Hopefully this was relatively painless. I’m glad you could have a cigarette.
Thank you.
What else are you doing in New York?
Well, I have one more day here. I had promised Adam I would see his Coppola film, so I might have to do that.
“It’s Not Me” premieres on MUBI December 10.
