The career ascent of writer/director Chloé Zhao has been immense, taking in intimate indie dramas (Songs My Brother Taught Me, The Rider), sprawling sagas that cleaned up at the Oscars (Nomadland) and the more thoughtful side of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (Eternals). She returns with an emotionally tumultuous adaptation of Maggie O’Farrell’s 2020 novel, ‘Hamnet’, about William and Agnes Shakespeare’s devastation at losing their young son to an illness that was sweeping the land.
LWLies: When you are reading something, or finding material for films, and you happen across something that makes you think, ‘This could make that transition,’ what are the thoughts that go through your head?
Zhao: It’s not a linear way of thinking. It’s more spiral-like. I do believe stories exist in the past, present, future – somewhere beyond us. And when the conduit is ready, at a moment in their lives when they have gone through the inner work that is necessary to channel that story, then the story will come with such a clarity and force that you can’t quite understand why, but everything is pushing you towards it and synchronicity will happen around you to make that story happen. And all you have to do is answer the call or not. I truly believe that.
Is it a physical thing?
Very. It’s actually not something we can control. We can, as much as possible, with medicine and stuff. But it’s like childbirth, and the child will choose when it’s the right time to come into the world.
Can it be frustrating to think that you’re looking for something but it’s not the time?
Absolutely. So then I think you either kick and scream and fight against the current that’s designed by someone much bigger than you, or you can just walk towards the fire with dignity. And I kick and scream and I force things, and then what happens when you do that is sometimes you’re still not ready. Something might be coming and you’re just too eager. And what happens is you end up with something that either isn’t channelled through in a way that the culture can handle at that moment, or it just comes through way too uncontrollably, like a massive flood or like a volcano. Sometimes you have to wait for it to cool down and then you can shape it.
Do you think part of being an artist is recognising that moment?
Yes. And I think when we burn our witch, you know, at the stake, because we think she somehow is dangerous, what she really did was search for patterns, watching nature and listening. But that became very scary to the patriarchy, because then they’re now in control, right? Something that existed, pre-existed from that. It’s like nature balances itself out, and the patriarchy comes to thrive on balance. So it’s got to have to strip us away from that. And unfortunately, even before this, I mean, Plato and Aristotle, who we all studied as if they were the answer to everything, but they were responsible for stripping away mysticism and really pointed western civilisation towards logos and reason and rationality. But they actually kept the mysticism to themselves. And so I would say I do feel that collectively where we are right now, there is a desire for the mystery, there’s a desire for the language of ambiguity, of poetry. I can see that just bursting through everywhere. So I’m very happy about that.
There’s this notion in Hollywood that filmmakers are building films for audiences and masses of people. And this film is saying, sometimes the greatest art is made for one person. And I wondered if that idea resonates with you as a creator, and who are you thinking about when you’re making the art?
I think maybe for me there is a bit of a tunnel vision sometimes when you have immense pain in your own life, and your art becomes your own salvation. Really the only thing that you can focus on is your own survival. And so I was not thinking about anybody else. I was barely keeping my own head above water. I was where the character in Hamnet was. But I’m a student of Carl Jung, if you can’t tell already, and he asks: who are you as an actor in the divine drama of life? That’s the question we all have to ask ourselves constantly. Who are we? Quite Shakespearean as well. What role do we play in life? And that is, in Jung’s perspective, the purpose of our existence – to understand that meaning. And if we don’t ask that question, then we’re in great danger of realising we’re empty in the end.
