This is The New Yorker Radio Hour, a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. This is The New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. Richard Linklater is one of the most admired directors working in film today. But moviegoers may like him for very different things. You might love the stonerish early comedies set in Austin, Slacker, and Dazed and Confused, or the romance trilogy that started with Before Sunrise, starring Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy. And then there are crowd pleasers like School of Rock and the more recent Hitman. Boyhood, a coming-of-age story, was filmed over a 12-year period. This month, Richard Linklater has two new films coming out almost simultaneously, which is pretty unusual for Hollywood. The film critic Justin Chang wrote about both in The New Yorker. I think that there is a kind of casual mastery that he's achieved, and I think it's on display in these two movies, in Blue Moon. We have to celebrate this is the greatest musical in the history of American theater. No, no, I'm not drinking with you, Larry. And Nuval Vogue. Blue Moon is a portrait of the great lyricist Lorenz Hart. His final days, and the final days of his collaboration with the great composer Richard Rogers, Rodgers and Hart, wrote some of the most famous songs in the American songbook in musical theater history, songs we still listen to today and are loved. The second film that Richard Linklater has coming out this fall is Nuval Vogue. And the Nuval Vogue is, of course, what we know as the French New Wave. And the movie returns us to those days in the late 50s when the French New Wave, this explosion of creativity in French cinema was just a scrappy thing getting off the ground. And at the center of the movie is Jean-Luc Godard, who hasn't made his first film. And the movie recounts the making of that first film, Breathless, which becomes one of the most celebrated debuts in film history. Rick, there's a real serendipity, I think, to these two movies coming out together, which we'll get into. But let's go one by one. And I'll start with Blue Moon. The movie takes place over one night, and it's the night that Hart basically sees his legacy with Rogers eclipsed in the public imagination, because Oklahoma has just opened on Broadway. And from that point on, of course, Rodgers and Hammerstein being the most famous names on Broadway. This is such a perverse premise for a film about a great artist. And it's very affectionate toward him. But it's so much more about his failure in a way than about his success. Or at least it seems that way to me. What did you think when you first read Robert Kaplos script? This is like 13 years ago. I'm like, Robert, what are you working on? I'm writing about Laurence Hart. And I'm like, oh, God, I love Laurence Hart. What is it? I'm setting it on the opening night of Oklahoma. I'm like, oh, my God, that is so perverse. And he knew the story that Hart did actually go and he was trying to be a good sport. But I mean, just logic tells you he's just dying inside in my tagline for this movie that they're not going to use on any posters. But it's my tagline. It's called Forgotten, but not gone. You know, there he is. It's so heartbreaking, awkward. But to do a film about the end of someone's career and that great age of, of, you know, where there were so many show tunes. So he was so prolific. I mean, they did a thousand songs. They had a great quarter century run. As Rogers tells him, it's not the work. It's, you know, it's his alcoholism. It's his life. It's, you know, he's just made himself impossible to work with. And you can see the frustration from the very beginning. I describe this as like, oh, this is kind of a little howl into the night from an artist who's being left behind, you know, not just by his partner, but by the times. And I'm telling you, I swear to God, our best work is still ahead of us. Yes. The new Connecticut Yankees. Yeah, yeah. Any bigger stuff? All right, I'm coming. I mean, Marco Polo is going to be a show about joy, but a hard earned joy, an unsanimental joy. Something wrong with sentimental? What? It's too easy. Oklahoma's too easy. The guy actually getting the girl in the end is too easy. You've just eliminated every successful musical comedy ever written, Larry. It's too easy for me. Did you hear the audience tonight? Yes. Sixteen hundred people didn't think it was too easy. You tell me sixteen hundred people are wrong. I'm just saying. You know, Oklahoma is it's not just a huge success, but it changes Broadway history. Like it's it's a before and after like, oh, musicals are just going to be different to see yourself sort of go extinct. You know, there's a little bit of Salieri aspect, right? Although. Larry Hart's a genius, you know, Salieri was kind of a, you know, a mediocrity, as he called himself. There's such a fascinating conversation that the movie is having about art versus entertainment, art versus commerce, what the public wants versus what it needs. And Larry sort of represents perhaps what it needs in the sense of like for, I don't know if it's about moral betterment, but just aesthetic betterment, perhaps. Exactly. Whereas Rogers makes the case for no, there's a place for sentiment, there's a place for emotion. Should note, of course, Ethan Hawke plays Larry. And when you've read this, did you have him in mind for this from the beginning as well to play to play Larry Hart? It wasn't what it is now. It's not it wasn't a full script. It was just almost long monologues. I think Robert was really wondering what it is. And I was immediately like, no, this is a film. I mean, most people would say, oh, this should be a play. But I'm like, no, no, no. But I don't think Ethan immediately even thought I was offering it to him as to play hard. He's kind of an unlikely choice. He's a foot taller than hard. He's, you know, he was too young at the time, all that stuff. But it's such a wicked piece of writing. And it's such a hard thing to pull off. Ethan is in that phylum of actors who probably has the quickness, you know, because it's hard. You know, I said it's hard to portray a genius. You can only portray a genius with a little bit of that yourself. But I knew Ethan could do it having worked with them a lot. I mean, this is the ninth time we've worked together. We hadn't worked together in 10 years. So we realized that since we finished boyhood, it was like, God, we haven't really rolled camera. We've been developing a few things when we talk a lot. So like, even we've been working on this all these years, would have readings and go through it. But I was like, yeah, it's time to make this, darn it. Let's let's do it. It is interesting because your so many of your films do have this lengthy gestation and it has to get done in 15 days, 30 days, what have you. It's is it is it weird to live with a project for that long. And I know you lived with both Blue Moon and Nouveau Vogue and many of your other films, just thinking about it constantly. And and then suddenly it's like, you have to get it right in this very fine item out of time. That time is really valuable. Those years of thinking about a film, you're really aesthetically dialing in on what the film is. I think the most important film you make is the one you make in your head. You know, you're really finding the movie. You're finding the tone, the look, everything about it. I have to feel my way through it. I want to go back a little bit too to Ethan Hawke. This is such an unusual performance from him in the context of your work. It's so different from many of the films you've made together, whether that's before sunrise, before sunset and before midnight or and boyhood, certainly where, you know, we think of it as, I don't know if I call it naturalistic, but it's certainly a more a more naturalistic register than this. This is very stylized. This is someone who is a real person. And so there is a precision that he has to achieve. Did you direct Ethan differently than you have done in the past? You know, most to me, performances and my rehearsal process, I think you're building a performance. You're it's additive with Ethan in this part. It was deductive. Strangely, it was like, we're taking away everything where he's just nothing but a brain. I mean, what is Larry Hart? He's not really a body, you know, no one that's no one's interested in that. Unfortunately, poor Larry, you know, it's he's a brain. He's a mouth. He's a wit. It's like, Ethan, that gesture you just did. That's really Ethan E masculine. That's all that, you know, you're playing this gay guy in 1943, who doesn't have typical relations and he's very, you know, the closeted of the time. It's a portrait of that time, which is, you know, very, very different. And Ethan was up for it. It was it was, I think the hardest thing either of us have ever done because it's not really fun. I'm it's fun to build and go somewhere. It's it's tougher to tear down. And like, I was a naggy director like, you did that thing again. You don't have to let the words carry it. You don't have to add, you know, I was just riding his ass about stuff. But I thought that's what required. I didn't see any other way around it. Film actors will always say they're not really challenged that much. That's why a lot of them do stage and Ethan's like, yeah, wow, to be doing something that's just bumping me at the absolute limit of my talent. I said, me too. It's a good place to work from. That's where we strive to be. But when you're there, it's it's uncomfortable. Richard Link later talking with the New Yorkers, Justin Chan. More in a moment. The headlines never stop and it's harder than ever to tell what's real, what matters and what's just noise. That's where Pots Save America comes in. I'm Tommy Vitor and every week I'm joined by fellow former Obama aides John Favreau, John Lovett and Dan Pfeiffer to break down the biggest stories, unpack what they mean for the future of our democracy and add just enough humor to stay sane along the way. You'll also hear honest, in-depth conversations with big voices in politics, media and culture like Rachel Maddow, Gavin Newsom and Mark Cuban that you won't find anywhere else. New episodes drop every Tuesday and Friday with deep dives every other weekend. Listen wherever you get your podcasts, watch on YouTube or subscribe on Apple Podcasts for ad free episodes. This is a good point to sort of segue to Nouvelle Vogue, but I was thinking about this, watching the film again, like, oh, Godard is like the original slacker figure of the French New Wave because and it's funny, not a slacker in the sense of that we often, I think, incorrectly assume and that I think your films are a corrective to, which is this idea that slackerism equates to laziness and it's not. It is, he's actually working quite hard, but he is projecting this, you know, and in Nouvelle Vogue, the John Lovett that we see is just running so counter to what we think of as the norm of any kind of film director and he's probably surprising himself as well. And so in a way, what you do with time is interesting because it's like, it's sitting in a moment and not crowding something with plot and not it's there's a certain harmony to that, I think. And for in course, we're sitting with the quotidian sitting with with the things we don't think make a movie, right? In Nouvelle Vogue, that was the idea that we're just going to drop in on Godard trying to make his first movie. Godard is so interesting because his cinematic brain is just so different than everyone else. And I think he's driven by the idea if you're going to do something different, it's OK to you have to do it differently. You know, he'll call the first day of productions rolling around great. Everybody like, what next? And he says, no, that's it for the day. I'm out of ideas. We're going to move on. No, that's all for today. I have no idea. We're going to go. After only what it's been two hours, right? Yes. We're going to do a repetition for tomorrow. No. There's like a cinematic revolution going on. But for those there, it certainly didn't feel that way. You know, films are funny. You don't know if they're in, you know, you can be on sets where everything everybody thinks it's going great. They're applauding after the actors finish their take. And then at the end of the day, it's like, God, this film doesn't work at all. And then there can be other films where madness, no one knows what's going on. And then it'd be good. It worked. And I told the crew this, this isn't a film about icons, but this guy maybe doesn't know what he's doing. You know, this is not an icon. No, none of you guys are. You're just all youngsters with this opportunity. And I couldn't help but relate to making my first film when I had people around me. So it's it's exhilarating. It's what you want to be doing. But it's also terrifying. It's also really humbling. So I think you only make your first film once. So this is really just a portrait of someone making their first film. It just happens to turn out to be one of the most influential films ever made. But no one knows it, except maybe one person. Breathless. Godard's 1960 film, one of the great debuts now in cinema history. It's funny. Godard and his friends are sort of joking, comparing it to sort of Citizen Kane or something. It's no Citizen Kane. It's no Citizen Kane. And yet, as I was, you know, thinking about it, it's like it is one of the few debuts that could actually stand unembarrassed next to Citizen Kane. You can say that about every movie. But that movie, I know it's so well now. I can tell you how many takes they did of every scene. You know, we had the real camera from it was our camera in the movie. I was very it was so fascinating to be so close under the hood of another movie like this. And I even said like this isn't a film. It's a film from 1959. This film is was made in 59 that we're making. It's going to look, sound and feel like a film from that era, which I know people have tried a lot and I was talking to a cinephile friend of mine like two years before and he's like, yeah, that never really works. Does it when people try to and I was like, yeah, you're right. It doesn't work when you try to do that. So I took that as a challenge and like, let's try it. Let's see if we can pull it off. So there was two levels at work. One was kind of erasing film history beyond that point. At this point, if you see the way they shot those films, and it's pretty simple, especially good art. It's kind of in the editing room, but, you know, they just follow the action as best they can and they didn't have cranes. They didn't have much money. So they're shooting off balconies and, you know, it was really the spirit of the characters, the story, but the techniques, they were pretty limited. And then in my own mind, I just approached it like, I'm 28, making my first film again. We took a really simplistic, kind of fun naive, is maybe even the word. So it was it was really magical to look up and look across the room. And there's Roberto Rossellini. And then there's, you know, the entire T of the new Vogue. It was very emotional, actually, to kind of have reconstructed this moment in time. That means so much to it certainly meant so much to everybody working on the film. And I think cinephiles everywhere. There was one day. This is kind of Zoe Deutsch's story, but it's all of our story because we were there. It was pouring rain where we're shooting the campaign premiere, the final scene of the movie where he dies and she, you know, the last image is her standing in the crosswalk. That is only about 200 meters from where Jean Seabourg's buried. She's in Mount Perness Cemetery. She's amazingly close to that location. So it was lunchtime. It's pouring rain. We're maybe not going to get our day and we're on a tight schedule and budget and everything. We all have umbrellas and Zoe says, let's go visit Jean because we've been there before, you know, but I was like, yeah, let's just go. So at lunch, we walked over there and as we approached her grave, Zoe is Jean Seabourg. She looks, she's in the dress at the end, her hair. She's a ghost walking out. As we approach her grave, it just kind of quits raining. Miraculously. And then as Zoe, she got out ahead of us and she goes up to the grave. The sun comes out and I don't believe in any of this stuff. I just telling you what I witnessed with my own eyes. And we walk back, we put our umbrellas down and go back and we shoot the whole rest of the afternoon and we get the scene. That's incredible. You've had a really long career, Rick, and one that is not nowhere near it's near it. No, we're near its end either. I mean, it's this. But talking about, you know, it's difficult and it gets more difficult by the day and by the year. If you talk to filmmakers, especially independent filmmakers, I feel like you are a unique figure in having hit on something that works for you and you and alone. And you are one of the key figures, of course, of the Austin film world and the independent film scene that was not even fully was certainly not fully there when you when you arrived in the 80s. And I'm just, do you feel that you are finding a way amid the sort of apocalyptic gloom that I feel hangs over the film industry at this point in time? Apocalyptic gloom that hangs over everything, but especially the film industry. My filmmaking grew out of my own little film community. It's a good world. I love the cinema world, the subculture of cinephiles. I didn't know many filmmakers, though, that myself and others, we were kind of a first wave of that. I think Neuval Vogue will that that moment in time is so special because there was just such a high concentration of great filmmakers and films. So you have to make that happen for yourself. I think the American indie world that had kind of come to be in the 80s and 90s, I was sort of a beneficiary of what came before and then a part of a good era after that. I can get films made under a certain budget. You know, I have just enough, maybe I can attract some actors to work with me. And, you know, I'm still doing that. That's how we got Blue Moon. You know, no one got paid, but it was like, challenging material. Let's let's do this. I mean, even when I started, you know, let's say the early 90s, it was always gloom and doom. And we were actually in a pretty good era. It was the last what seems to me the last great era of studios. They had bigger slates of films and they took chances on young filmmakers like, come on. You know, they gave me six million to make a film with no stars, at least at the time. And, you know, maybe it'll be the next American graffiti. You know, they they could talk themselves into that. But at some point they're like, no, you know, we're not doing that. You know, when I started out, Slacker didn't cost, you know, it was like $23,000 budget. It made one point something million distributors happy. Everybody's happy. It was seen as a success. Now that just doesn't register. You know, it's like an artistic success, cultural success. But I think it became so unaffordable. The modern world, we've just ground ourselves in the dirt because everything's so expensive. You know, the real expense in films is marketing. It's so expensive to break through the American consumer consciousness because everybody's so distracted to let them know your film even exists. Where it used to be, they could just put some, you know, full page ads in the weekly and boom, you're in the culture, not anymore. And I don't even know where these two films I have now, they're both kind of strange, little indie films. I don't know where they fit. Well, Rick, I'm very excited for these two movies to make their way into the world. Thank you, Richard Linklater. It's been a pleasure talking to you. Well, thank you, Justin. Yeah, it's really, really nice talking with you today. Richard Linklater's Blue Moon comes out next week and New Velvagh a week after that. You can read Justin Chang on the movies at NewYorker.com. I'm David Remnick. That's our program for today. Thanks for listening. See you next time. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Our theme music was composed and performed by Meryl Garvis of Tune Yarns with additional music by Louis Mitchell. This episode was produced by Max Balton, Adam Howard, David Krasnow, Jeffrey Masters, Louis Mitchell, Jared Paul and Ursula Summer with guidance from Emily Boteen and assistance from Michael May, David Gable, Alex Barisch, Victor Guant and Alejandra Decke. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Cherina Endowment Fund. 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