Mike Mills: ‘All my films are me communing with… | Little White Lies

Interviews

Mike Mills: All my films are me com­muning with some­one I real­ly love’

30 Nov 2021

Words by Hannah Strong

Illustration of a man with greying hair and a beard, wearing a pink shirt, against a grey background with a plant in the foreground.
Illustration of a man with greying hair and a beard, wearing a pink shirt, against a grey background with a plant in the foreground.
The direc­tor explains how father­hood shaped his lat­est film, and how cre­at­ing space is inte­gral to his cre­ative vision.

From the tur­bu­lent ado­les­cence of Thumb­suck­er through to the found fam­i­ly of 20th Cen­tu­ry Women, Mike Mills cre­ates thought­ful por­traits of com­plex rela­tion­ships. The same goes for his fourth fea­ture, C’mon C’mon, in which radio host John­ny (Joaquin Phoenix) forms a bond with his nine-year-old nephew Jesse (Woody Nor­man) after fam­i­ly strife brings them together.

LWLies: Begin­ners and 20th Cen­tu­ry Women are very much root­ed in your famil­ial expe­ri­ences. Is the same true of C’mon C’mon?

Mills: It def­i­nite­ly start­ed with my kid, Hop­per. There’s lots of scenes of things that hap­pened between me and my kid, but it’s a lit­tle dif­fer­ent this time as it’s the first time I’m deal­ing with some­one who’s alive, and some­one who’s a child. I had to find a way to cre­ate dis­tance, like the uncle part of the sto­ry, and the idea that John­ny and Jesse don’t real­ly know one anoth­er. But there are nuggets that are very much my kid.

The weird, spir­i­tu­al crazi­ness of writ­ing means you’re not in con­trol of what’s hap­pen­ing and things are com­ing and you don’t know exact­ly why. The way I work with actors, I need them to make it theirs. So I’m doing every­thing I can do give it to them. Woody is not my kid, but there’s some­thing beau­ti­ful about that exchange, with him bring­ing his soul and psy­che and his­to­ry and tim­ing and humour. Tak­ing my ver­sion of my own kid and run­ning with it.

How did Hop­per react when you explained you were going to make a film about your relationship?

My kid nev­er met my par­ents and hasn’t seen any of my films. They con­sid­er me and my kid’s mom [Miran­da July] to be pret­ty good film­mak­ers, but Wes Ander­son – there’s a real direc­tor. At some point I told them about my par­ents and those films, and I said some­thing like, A human being is a crazy, com­pli­cat­ed, flu­id, ever-chang­ing, mul­ti-lay­ered, con­tra­dic­to­ry cos­mos,’ and in each of those films, if I can get just one slice of them, I’m real­ly lucky. But it’s just a slice. There’s so much more going on. When I told Hop­per, I said, I’m think­ing of mak­ing a film that starts with us,’ and they said, You mean like when a per­son is real­ly huge, like a cos­mos, and you only get a slice?’ So Hop­per com­plete­ly under­stands what’s going on.

It must be nice for Hop­per to have this film to come back to when they’re old­er and see this ver­sion of them.

Yeah, it’s as much Woody as it is Hop­per, but who knows… You know the whole sto­ry of Christo­pher Robin and his Dad?

No.

Christo­pher Robin hat­ed his father, hat­ed all the Win­nie the Pooh books. He thought that they stole his like­ness, his name and his child­hood. He nev­er want­ed any­thing to do with them, didn’t want to talk to his dad, all that. So that’s my huge fear, that some­thing like that hap­pens. I hope Hop­per doesn’t care too much. I hope they under­stand the love that was there, and how much I adored my time with them. But I also hope they’re their own film­mak­er, and think, Dad, you were cute, but I’m mak­ing much bet­ter films now.’ That’s the goal.

You men­tioned a moment ago the col­lab­o­ra­tive process between you and your actors being inte­gral to your films. How ear­ly did the cast come into the cre­ative process this time?

I wrote the whole script, and I thought I was done, but I’m nev­er real­ly done. I’m always hunt­ing for a way to make it bet­ter. I want­ed Joaquin, but you can’t think you’re going to get Joaquin. I have friends who have worked with him, I know from Spike [Jonze] how dif­fi­cult it was to get Joaquin. So we met and he very nice­ly told me he couldn’t fig­ure out how to do it jus­tice; there­fore, no. And I just com­plete­ly fell in love with him. Luck­i­ly, he was inter­est­ed in the ter­rain. I kept him engaged, and we just kind of hit it off. I think we made each oth­er laugh, it’s as sim­ple as that.

Even­tu­al­ly, he was sit­ting here in my house, and we were read­ing through the script over and over again, with me act­ing out all the oth­er parts. Total­ly intim­i­dat­ing. But we would expe­ri­en­tial­ly feel it through, and one of us would have a ques­tion every few inch­es of text. We just kept work­ing on it, ques­tion­ing every­thing. That was rad. I didn’t do that so much with Gaby [Hoff­man], because by the time she came on board I’d done it so much with Joaquin. But Gaby and Joaquin were my first choic­es. I’ve loved their work for many years and nev­er knew either one of them, so it was a sweet thing.

To me, remembering is one of the more precious human behaviours. And remembering something together – thats love.

There’s this incred­i­ble intel­li­gence and warmth but also world-weari­ness to Woody Norman’s per­for­mance. You real­ly under­stand him as a ful­ly-fledged human being. It’s like watch­ing a 40-year-old in the body of a nine-year-old.

You described that real­ly nice­ly; that’s what it feels like to be with my kid, and a lot of oth­er kids, as an adult per­son. Devel­op­men­tal­ly they’re dif­fer­ent, but they’re not less than. That’s one of the themes of the film, with the oth­er kids we inter­view and with Woody’s char­ac­ter. The premise of the film is grow­ing enough to treat chil­dren as com­plete­ly valid and legit­i­mate and equal. I think our cul­ture does so many things to make that not so; we make kids cute, we make kids dumb, we make kids sim­ple. And they’re not any of those things.

C’mon C’mon is so much about fam­i­lies want­i­ng to under­stand each oth­er, and be seen and heard by each oth­er. A lot of that is in the film’s sound design, too, and the fact we’re con­stant­ly being asked to lis­ten to the city, to take a breath and just be present.

It’s just sound, but space, too. I love the Wim Wen­ders film Alice in the Cities, and there’s a lot of space in that film. A big hero for me is Erik Satie, I love his piano pieces – to be able to walk between the notes and not be sort of dom­i­neered by the music. I’m try­ing to do Satie moves at all times. There’s this film by [Erman­no] Olmi, The Fiances, which is amaz­ing. There’s no tense ropes in that movie. Everything’s kind of relaxed, like a fab­ric. It’s part of the edit­ing, part of the sound; want­i­ng to hear real things. My sound mix­er, Zach Seivers, has a gen­tle touch and is a real nat­u­ral­ist. There’s actu­al­ly more sound added in this movie than in my last two movies combined.

And you worked with Aaron and Bryce Dess­ner again, after col­lab­o­rat­ing on The National’s I Am Easy to Find’.

Yeah, luck­i­ly they’re very patient, because it is a long process. You know, in some ways I think they under­stood the film bet­ter than I did. The gen­tle­ness and the heart. I was try­ing to move it to do oth­er things and they were like, You can relax, Mike, you can have it be this very gen­tle, min­i­mal thing.’ When I hear it now I feel like I’m hear­ing the sound of John­ny and Jesse togeth­er. The sound of their rela­tion­ship. Emo­tions and sound are real­ly interrelated.

What insight did going to these loca­tions and meet­ing all these kids give you into how it is to be young in Amer­i­ca at the present moment?

In the film you hear one thing from each kid, but we did a 40-minute inter­view with each of them, so it’s just the tip of each ice­berg. Some­times it’s kind of mis­lead­ing… The girl in New Orleans who says she wish­es she could change her anger, it’s kind of a fun­ny moment, but what she’s angry about in real life is incred­i­bly trag­ic and intense. We did those inter­views almost every day through­out the shoot. We start­ed off with a list of ques­tions, but the con­ver­sa­tion always took its own turns. Film pro­duc­tion is often Go go go! Get get get!’ but this was not that – it was prac­tis­ing being’.

There’s a real­ly beau­ti­ful moment towards the end of the film where Jesse says to John­ny, Am I gonna remem­ber any of this?’ Do you think every film you make is an act of self-preservation?

Hell the fuck yes. To me, remem­ber­ing is one of the more pre­cious human behav­iours. And then remem­ber­ing some­thing togeth­er – that’s love. It’s as inti­mate and mean­ing­ful as it gets. Because mem­o­ry is fucked up. It’s not a fact. It’s very frag­ile and flu­id, and a lot of my films come from mem­o­ry, so I spend a lot of time try­ing to remem­ber. But the more you try to remem­ber the more it goes away. All my films are me com­muning with some­one I real­ly love, who real­ly con­fus­es me, and is a real mys­tery. I’m try­ing to under­stand them a lit­tle bit bet­ter. It’s pre­sent­ing a ver­sion of myself to a per­son I love, and try­ing to hold them with my best self.

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