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Interview: Lone Scherfig Talks An Education

Scherfig reflects on the film industry in Denmark, her love of Peter Sarsgaard, and more.

Interview: Lone Scherfig Talks An Education
Photo: Sony Pictures Classics

“I’m the director, I’m not their mom,” Danish filmmaker Lone Scherfig dryly notes, regarding her first English language effort, An Education, and directing a cast that includes the spry, young newcomer Carey Mulligan. “It is probably a good thing [that I am a mom] because it makes me less hysterical—listening to people who may want to make cuts on the film. I know [the film] is not my child; [the editors] are not literally cutting my daughter’s toes off when cutting a scene. It’s almost the other way around—because I’m a mother, I’m more pragmatic.” Scherfig, a director of darkly pensive yet warm contributions to the Dogme 95 canon, has cultivated a strong following as an art-house stalwart with Italian for Beginners and Wilber Wants to Kill Himself. Now, sitting poolside at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel in L.A. and basking in the gleaming sunny weather (and the surmounting buzz encapsulating An Education), Scherfig reflects on the film industry in Denmark, her love of Peter Sarsgaard, and working with the lauded, hip English novelist Nick Hornby, who adapted Lynn Barber’s evocative memoir for the screen.

What do you think of Hollywood?

I’ve only been here a day and a half. Someone showed me a lot of old photography from Los Angeles [before I arrived], and from then on, I understood what it’s about. When you can see this place—all the old buildings, the neon signs, things of historic interest—then you start to understand the city much better. There is so much warmth here; people are really kind. Like in Europe, you can feel that you’ve gone south: People just warm up, they become friendlier. Maybe it’s the same thing here.

How would you compare the Danish people to the American folk?

We are much more shy, protestant, ironic.

Dry humor…

I think so, that’s tradition. It has a lot in common with the English humor.

Now that you’ve made your first major leap into Hollywood filmmaking, how would you compare the Danish film community/industry with tinsel town?

In the tradition that I come from, one of the reasons you make film is to maintain the language. That’s a whole different attitude, which means you have state support, the director has much more influence, the budgets are much smaller, and you need to access a much larger percentage of the population in order for the film to break even. You really can’t compare it, but the craft is the same and the way you communicate on set is the same, and the Danish actors are out of the same tradition as the American ones, whereas the English is a different tradition all together. That was a good thing about An Education: I got to work with British actors. It was a treat, especially with this type of cast. They are so disciplined, and they are humble and professional. They always leave their emotions out of the room, unless they want to access them for artistic reasons.

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You mentioned there is a profound difference with English actors. Is it mainly the theater background?

No, it’s that they’re very text-oriented. In the American tradition, you find the material within yourself, whereas the English would find it outside of themselves—it’s more technical. It’s not better, just different. And this film is an example of [those two styles of acting converging]. Emma Thompson, a truly old-school actress, and Peter Sarsgaard, who is a much more experimental American—to make them belong to the same film, even if they didn’t have any scenes together, [proved] a good, great challenge. My system would be to always try and adjust, and see how I could get that individual actor to find a way through this film, and through—obviously—the text and the character.

When you say working with actors coming from different places and with different skill sets—as in the scenes shared by Emma and Carey, who had only done a few films, and doesn’t have the background as, say, Emma…

Well, Carey hadn’t done very much. She had only done [a bit part] in two films and a little bit of television. She doesn’t have an [acting] education.

How do you approach the disparity from a directorial standpoint?

It is always different. If there is a method to the way I work, it is that it is different. It also depends on the scene, but once you’ve cast people, you believe they are good and they can contribute, and it is also a matter of creating an ambiance where they have the courage to add something. I mean, for some directors that I really admire, everything is planned like a bank robbery and all they have to do is fill in the blanks. It’s like acting by numbers, and that works really well for some. But this kind of material, I was looking for something that only happens once, to get the life out of the scene, the authenticity. Whereas in a thriller, you would be working completely differently, and plan it much more carefully.

Since the lead character, Jenny, is such a pivotal, central role, and carries the film, what was the casting process like?

Well, I did look for someone who could carry it, because it is very different to find someone who could play the part and [hold the audience’s attention] for 100 minutes, and someone who had the ability to move you. Carey’s main virtue is that everything she does rings true; there is no phoniness about her, and that is the advantage of not having an education: She has no bad habits. And she is lovely—but that’s secondary. Once we started shooting, she just got better and had a wider range, and did not throw fits, and showed up on time and came up with really good ideas. She is a good co-actor, which is really important. Also, speaking of co-actors, you can’t overestimate Peter Sarsgaard and his work in this film. One film after another, he illuminates a [character]. You look at how [Sarsgaard’s character] David controls the drama and how Peter plays his cards in this film. Even if we shot out of sequence, [the performance] is refined and elegant work. He seduces you, cheats you, but you don’t feel appalled. He does a fantastic job. It’s just that it is Carey’s film; he’s the engine.

There seems to be a subtle sheen reflected in each of the actors’ performances, revealing a satiric tone that never feels condescending, while still commenting on ’60s London and the characters inhabiting this world.

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Well, I think it may have to do with the fact that neither Nick nor I identity with [the characters]; it’s somebody else’s story. If you read the original piece, [Lynn] has a self-irony and sarcasm. Nick and I just invite the audience into this little time-bubble, and that’s what the film is. It’s not like a story we need to tell or something I want to prove, but it’s much more a discussion of values and a little world or womb you’re invited into. I hope you don’t have the filter between you and the period you often have with period films. I think it’s really hard to make period films moving, because of all those costumes and those bad wigs.

There are so many aesthetics involved…

Yeah, a bad wig can ruin a film.

What was the process like constructing the aesthetic elements for the time period?

The film is pretty accurate [regarding the era]. Some of us remember [the time], but we did more research than you normally do—because even if you do remember, you shouldn’t be fooled by [your memory]. The English class system is so refined that it makes a big difference if you’re in Twickenham or in Bloomsbury. You can do a lot of research and it will always be inspirational. If you feel like you’re heading toward clichés, research is often the way out of it. But stylistically it looks a lot like some of my other films. You can take a reel from this film and swap it with one of the other films. I listened to people more because it was a different country. I wasn’t aesthetically as sure of myself as I would have been if I had been at home.

If the film was set in ’60s Denmark?

Yeah, I would have a completely ethnographic feel for it that I don’t have in England. I had more fun though—because it is just fantastic photographing all these places, things and faces that you haven’t seen before. It gives you an enormous appetite for shooting when you’re in a different world.

Because Nick Hornby is such a notable writer, was he ever on set? What was your relationship like with him?

No, he wasn’t on set. I would ask him to make sure I understood everything that wasn’t on the page. I would ask him a lot about music because he really knows much more than I do, especially about English music of that time. He is a complete music fanatic, and he came up with some good suggestions for tracks that are actually in the film. He is very economic as a writer; it’s minimalist, the script. There is a lot of space for a director. I think, in general, he’s probably more auditory than visual. He has impeccable timing, even at the script stage; the dialogue is brilliant. There is a lot of structural order in the film; everything is there for a reason, all setups are paid off. It doesn’t read like a script from a first-time screenwriter.

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What first grabbed you about the script?

The tone. I knew Nick’s work, and I love his tone, and I liked David’s character a lot. I didn’t see Jenny until later. I wasn’t that interested in her; it was more David. When you read about Jenny [in the script], she is more anonymous than when she is walking around in the film. She is just a sad girl—a little bit dippy and a little bit sad here or there. It doesn’t read as complex as it ends up being. And of course you’re always more interested in something that’s not you, so I loved David and I loved Helen.

Rosamund Pike?

No, the character Helen, Rosamund came later. I love the way [Rosamund] plays it though, very low key. When you read [the script], Helen is much more bossy and loud and tasteless. Rosamund and I decided that Helen should be; she looks sophisticated, and seemed like she has taste and style but no education at all.

The complexities and dualities of the characters really do shine through, especially with Jenny, who has an incredible appetite for knowledge and culture but is incredibly naïve, lacking a real awareness of the world outside her own.

She is a little girl. When you see Jenny with her schoolmates, she is really naïve and sweet—a stupid little girl trying to smoke. It’s that combination that’s beautiful.

What did you think of the New York Times profile on female directors in 2009?

I didn’t read it. There was only a little bit about myself, as I only spoke with the journalist for a few minutes. But I don’t think [the directors and I] have much in common.

In a Sundance interview this year, you mentioned that you were never completely satisfied with the cut of the film.

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What was that—six months ago? I’m beginning to leave the film now, but there are moments that I ask myself, “Why did I not see that [flaw]?” But with my other films [over time], I become more forgiving: “Why was that such a big problem?” You are always your own worst enemy, and self-criticism isn’t so bad; it protects you from doing something really nauseating. When you do something that you know will be in a multiplex next to the new Spielberg film, you have to relax and live with the fact that some films are better than others, otherwise you can’t go to work. It is paralyzing if you think of the competition that you’re in, because someone else will always be better. Film history is so short that I pretty much know everything, and I know that other people can do other things better. I mean, this film is coming out the same year as The White Ribbon, which is probably the best film I’ve ever seen, but you still got to go to work. And you have a right to make films, even if you’re not Michael Haneke.

Adam Keleman

Adam Keleman is a filmmaker living in Los Angeles.

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