Pretense of any kind is just too much work for The National frontman Matt Berninger. It shows in the honesty of his songs, which tend towards dark laments, poems of human longing and occasionally, downright funny observationals. There’s even less charade in the oddly touching band-documentary-that-wasn’t, Mistaken For Strangers. But putting it all out there is probably pretty easy once you’ve decided to abandon an established day job late in life to make it as in indie rock band. The National had a slow start, but its eventual success didn’t come from sticking to a formula; Berninger and the band court new uncertainties with almost every new release, and fans and critics have largely followed. He still seems mildly surprised that his music career hasn’t remained a solo one consisting of a basement, an 8-track, cigarettes and cheap red wine. His is an unusual story, but then, he’s an unusual songwriter. Berninger joins us to discuss the importance of discomfort, his side project EL VY, and the possibility that his mom always liked his brother best.
Pretense of any kind is just too much work for The National frontman Matt Berninger. It shows in the honesty of his songs, which tend towards dark laments, poems of human longing and occasionally, downright funny observationals. There’s even less charade in the oddly touching band-documentary-that-wasn’t, Mistaken For Strangers. But putting it all out there is probably pretty easy once you’ve decided to abandon an established day job late in life to make it as in indie rock band. The National had a slow start, but its eventual success didn’t come from sticking to a formula; Berninger and the band court new uncertainties with almost every new release, and fans and critics have largely followed. He still seems mildly surprised that his music career hasn’t remained a solo one consisting of a basement, an 8-track, cigarettes and cheap red wine. His is an unusual story, but then, he’s an unusual songwriter. Berninger joins us to discuss the importance of discomfort, his side project EL VY, and the possibility that his mom always liked his brother best.
Pretense of any kind is just too much work for The National frontman Matt Berninger. It shows in the honesty of his songs, which tend towards dark laments, poems of human longing and occasionally, downright funny observationals. There’s even less charade in the oddly touching band-documentary-that-wasn’t, Mistaken For Strangers. But putting it all out there is probably pretty easy once you’ve decided to abandon an established day job late in life to make it as in indie rock band. The National had a slow start, but its eventual success didn’t come from sticking to a formula; Berninger and the band court new uncertainties with almost every new release, and fans and critics have largely followed. He still seems mildly surprised that his music career hasn’t remained a solo one consisting of a basement, an 8-track, cigarettes and cheap red wine. His is an unusual story, but then, he’s an unusual songwriter. Berninger joins us to discuss the importance of discomfort, his side project EL VY, and the possibility that his mom always liked his brother best.
“No one actor can be in 35 seminal movies.” It’s not an unreasonable statement, but it does border on the ironic coming from Tim Robbins, an actor who’s probably come closer than most to doing just that. After his breakout in Bull Durham, Robbins became an almost Zelig-like presence in just about any critically acclaimed film going, including The Shawshank Redemption, Mystic River, Dead Man Walking and The Player. Robbins’ filmography is a testament to more than just his capacity as an actor, writer and director. It’s also a reflection of a lingering punk sensibility and artistic integrity all too rare in Hollywood these days. In this conversation, we discuss the major influence of theater on his career, the kind of films he just won’t do, and Bob Roberts – the eerily prescient film that inspired countless would-be mockumentarians, a young Jack Black, and a certain aspiring still photographer.
“No one actor can be in 35 seminal movies.” It’s not an unreasonable statement, but it does border on the ironic coming from Tim Robbins, an actor who’s probably come closer than most to doing just that. After his breakout in Bull Durham, Robbins became an almost Zelig-like presence in just about any critically acclaimed film going, including The Shawshank Redemption, Mystic River, Dead Man Walking and The Player. Robbins’ filmography is a testament to more than just his capacity as an actor, writer and director. It’s also a reflection of a lingering punk sensibility and artistic integrity all too rare in Hollywood these days. In this conversation, we discuss the major influence of theater on his career, the kind of films he just won’t do, and Bob Roberts – the eerily prescient film that inspired countless would-be mockumentarians, a young Jack Black, and a certain aspiring still photographer.
“No one actor can be in 35 seminal movies.” It’s not an unreasonable statement, but it does border on the ironic coming from Tim Robbins, an actor who’s probably come closer than most to doing just that. After his breakout in Bull Durham, Robbins became an almost Zelig-like presence in just about any critically acclaimed film going, including The Shawshank Redemption, Mystic River, Dead Man Walking and The Player. Robbins’ filmography is a testament to more than just his capacity as an actor, writer and director. It’s also a reflection of a lingering punk sensibility and artistic integrity all too rare in Hollywood these days. In this conversation, we discuss the major influence of theater on his career, the kind of films he just won’t do, and Bob Roberts – the eerily prescient film that inspired countless would-be mockumentarians, a young Jack Black, and a certain aspiring still photographer.
If all great comedy comes from tragedy, Aubrey Plaza’s great tragedy was not getting the part of Cinderella in a community theater musical. Cast instead as an ugly stepsister, her one song got all the laughs, and Plaza got the idea she was funny. Since then, so have a lot of other people – Judd Apatow cast her in Funny People at about the same time the folks at Parks and Recreation cast her as April Ludgate (after she informed them they’d written the part all wrong). The fact that the roiling turmoil she swears is inside doesn’t always make it to her face can be disconcerting, but it’s funny because it comes from truth, and Plaza is nothing if not completely herself. We talk to her about her transition from standup to film, her inability to re-tell a story and fighting for the roles she’s not usually offered. And, masturbation (in a strictly clinical context, of course). She’s called herself the worst talk show guest ever and hopes one day to be as smooth a chatter as Tom Hanks. We wish her success in every goal but that one.
If all great comedy comes from tragedy, Aubrey Plaza’s great tragedy was not getting the part of Cinderella in a community theater musical. Cast instead as an ugly stepsister, her one song got all the laughs, and Plaza got the idea she was funny. Since then, so have a lot of other people – Judd Apatow cast her in Funny People at about the same time the folks at Parks and Recreation cast her as April Ludgate (after she informed them they’d written the part all wrong). The fact that the roiling turmoil she swears is inside doesn’t always make it to her face can be disconcerting, but it’s funny because it comes from truth, and Plaza is nothing if not completely herself. We talk to her about her transition from standup to film, her inability to re-tell a story and fighting for the roles she’s not usually offered. And, masturbation (in a strictly clinical context, of course). She’s called herself the worst talk show guest ever and hopes one day to be as smooth a chatter as Tom Hanks. We wish her success in every goal but that one.
