Fortunately, Greta Gerwig was never comfortable being the charming, likeable ingénue who exists (in Hollywood, anyway) to be adored and/or saved by a male lead. When she came to the realization that she probably couldn’t sit by the pool and wait for the scripts to roll in, she decided she’d have to write them herself. Creating your own destiny can be a lot of work, but there’s comfort in knowing the result will ring true not only to you, but also to the artists whose work you find most exciting. It’s also the best way to use your own peculiarities and gifts, which in Gerwig’s case include a rare lack of artifice, a writerly ear for dialogue, and a way of turning the standard story tropes a few degrees askew. As you’ll gather from the following pages, she actually is quite charming and likeable. Just don’t tell her you “liked” Hamlet.
Fortunately, Greta Gerwig was never comfortable being the charming, likeable ingénue who exists (in Hollywood, anyway) to be adored and/or saved by a male lead. When she came to the realization that she probably couldn’t sit by the pool and wait for the scripts to roll in, she decided she’d have to write them herself. Creating your own destiny can be a lot of work, but there’s comfort in knowing the result will ring true not only to you, but also to the artists whose work you find most exciting. It’s also the best way to use your own peculiarities and gifts, which in Gerwig’s case include a rare lack of artifice, a writerly ear for dialogue, and a way of turning the standard story tropes a few degrees askew. As you’ll gather from the following pages, she actually is quite charming and likeable. Just don’t tell her you “liked” Hamlet.
Fortunately, Greta Gerwig was never comfortable being the charming, likeable ingénue who exists (in Hollywood, anyway) to be adored and/or saved by a male lead. When she came to the realization that she probably couldn’t sit by the pool and wait for the scripts to roll in, she decided she’d have to write them herself. Creating your own destiny can be a lot of work, but there’s comfort in knowing the result will ring true not only to you, but also to the artists whose work you find most exciting. It’s also the best way to use your own peculiarities and gifts, which in Gerwig’s case include a rare lack of artifice, a writerly ear for dialogue, and a way of turning the standard story tropes a few degrees askew. As you’ll gather from the following pages, she actually is quite charming and likeable. Just don’t tell her you “liked” Hamlet.
It’s hard to come by any better example of a true artist—and split personality—than Andrew Garfield. He came out of the womb as “a lunatic, a wild animal, a clown,” who couldn’t hang with rules, threatened to tear up our studio, and regularly butted heads with a father who wanted him to choose a “safe” career. He’s also piled up acclaim for consistently soulful, vulnerable performances in a career full of uncannily successful projects. He admits to having both a Caligula-like ego, and an “inner accountant” who reminds him he’ll never be enough. He loves a scene one day and is horrified by it the next. It makes you wonder how he’s able to survive as an actor; and also how he could ever survive any other way. Garfield muses on working with directors as diverse as Scorsese, Gibson and Fincher, why he loves acting, and the role of storyteller in celebrity culture. You will never see Death of a Salesman or listen to “Vincent” the same way again.
It’s hard to come by any better example of a true artist—and split personality—than Andrew Garfield. He came out of the womb as “a lunatic, a wild animal, a clown,” who couldn’t hang with rules, threatened to tear up our studio, and regularly butted heads with a father who wanted him to choose a “safe” career. He’s also piled up acclaim for consistently soulful, vulnerable performances in a career full of uncannily successful projects. He admits to having both a Caligula-like ego, and an “inner accountant” who reminds him he’ll never be enough. He loves a scene one day and is horrified by it the next. It makes you wonder how he’s able to survive as an actor; and also how he could ever survive any other way. Garfield muses on working with directors as diverse as Scorsese, Gibson and Fincher, why he loves acting, and the role of storyteller in celebrity culture. You will never see Death of a Salesman or listen to “Vincent” the same way again.
It’s hard to come by any better example of a true artist—and split personality—than Andrew Garfield. He came out of the womb as “a lunatic, a wild animal, a clown,” who couldn’t hang with rules, threatened to tear up our studio, and regularly butted heads with a father who wanted him to choose a “safe” career. He’s also piled up acclaim for consistently soulful, vulnerable performances in a career full of uncannily successful projects. He admits to having both a Caligula-like ego, and an “inner accountant” who reminds him he’ll never be enough. He loves a scene one day and is horrified by it the next. It makes you wonder how he’s able to survive as an actor; and also how he could ever survive any other way. Garfield muses on working with directors as diverse as Scorsese, Gibson and Fincher, why he loves acting, and the role of storyteller in celebrity culture. You will never see Death of a Salesman or listen to “Vincent” the same way again.
When you grow up ping-ponging between three very different worlds on one very small island, you learn a lot about your place – or lack thereof – in life. Turns out you also learn a lot about acting. Not that Riz Ahmed ever assumed that was an option; despite the joy he found in school plays, he took a look at the entertainment cultural complex and just didn’t see playing Taxi Driver Number Three as a feasible way to make a living. Then again, he didn’t see much future as a desk jockey either, and over the last 10 years, he’s built one of the most diverse and acclaimed artistic careers we’ve ever had the pleasure of digging into. He’s come to realize that specific personal experience resonates across all borders, and why shouldn’t it? As he points out, we’re all mongrels in one way or another. We sit down with Riz to talk about how his culture informs his art, how life is likely to change after The Night Of and Star Wars, and how one night in a London club taught him that the place where you think you don’t belong is exactly the place where you should be.
When you grow up ping-ponging between three very different worlds on one very small island, you learn a lot about your place – or lack thereof – in life. Turns out you also learn a lot about acting. Not that Riz Ahmed ever assumed that was an option; despite the joy he found in school plays, he took a look at the entertainment cultural complex and just didn’t see playing Taxi Driver Number Three as a feasible way to make a living. Then again, he didn’t see much future as a desk jockey either, and over the last 10 years, he’s built one of the most diverse and acclaimed artistic careers we’ve ever had the pleasure of digging into. He’s come to realize that specific personal experience resonates across all borders, and why shouldn’t it? As he points out, we’re all mongrels in one way or another. We sit down with Riz to talk about how his culture informs his art, how life is likely to change after The Night Of and Star Wars, and how one night in a London club taught him that the place where you think you don’t belong is exactly the place where you should be.
