#I have never seen an episode of The Young Pope (2016)

[beastliness]

as far as I'm concerned the entire purpose of The Young Pope (2016) was to create a substantial body of high-quality reference photos of Jude Law in a white cassock for the general benefit of the blasphemous pervert community

[son-of-alderaan]

SPOILER WARNING: reveals information about some of the script's themes and about a character's transformation that happens gradually throughout the film. Information is given about early plot elements, but no plot details are given about the end of the film.

Tony Grisoni has collaborated on a number of projects with Terry Gilliam. The pair wrote the script for Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas (1998), and then The Man Who Killed Don Quixote. Grisoni and Gilliam performed a rewrite of Ehren Kruger’s script for The Brothers Grimm (2005) and wrote the script for Tideland (also 2005), based on Mitch Cullin’s novel. The pair also worked on scripts for Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s novel Good Omens and a project called The Minotaur, although neither of these scripts went into production.

Grisoni’s other feature films as screenwriter include Queen of Hearts (1989) directed by Jon Amiel, In This World(2002) directed by Michael Winterbottom, and Brothers of the Head (2005). In This World won the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival. He also collaborated with Samantha Morton, writing the script for her directorial debut The Unloved (2009).

The writer has also had considerable success in television, with credits including the outstanding Red Riding trilogy (2009) featuring Andrew Garfield, and the acclaimed Southcliffe (2013). His script for The City & The City, based on the novel by China Mieville, screened on BBC2 in 2018.

Grisoni was executive producer and wrote two episodes of The Young Pope (2016 - ), and penned Crazy Diamond (2017), the Steve Buscemi episode of Channel 4’s anthology series Philip K. Dick’s Electric Dreams.

The writer spoke with Philip Stubbs about his work with Terry Gilliam on The Man Who Killed Don Quixote in July 2017, just after principal photography had completed.

Philip Stubbs: Once Fear & Loathing had completed photography, there was a frantic postproduction. During the publicity for the picture in 1998, I remember that Terry said he’d been too tired to start anything else. I think it was towards the end of 1998 that he kicked off the Quixote project with you. Tony Grisoni: People remember Fear and Loathing very fondly, but what they forget is that, when it premiered at Cannes in 1998, it was a total disaster. I think that almost every trade publication trashed us. As a result, that had a huge effect on the distribution of the film. It was seen as being a failure. After going through the blood, sweat and tears that you shed to make the film, you can imagine how tough that must have been for Terry to have faced – guess what, this film is no good. Yet, over the years, students and schoolkids have made it a huge success, because it became the Friday night video.

It was a big seller in Walmart! Yes, huge. It became a very big home video seller, and then the movie became known as a great success. But at the time of its theatrical release, that was not how it was seen. The great and the good in the critical world saw it as trash. It was hard thing to take at the time.

So around 1998 he started talking about Quixote. He had a script from years before that he’d written with Charles McKeown. So we were having these conversations. Terry said, “I want to do something about this advertising executive. He’s really arrogant - he thinks he knows everything. He gets dragged into Quixote’s world. He goes back in time and he becomes Quixote’s sidekick.” Terry was talking about this, and I said, “But it’s not written down.” Terry then said, “It’s all in my head.” It sounded like a weird fusion of Don Quixote and A Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur’s Court by Mark Twain.

In fact Terry had spent six months working on Mark Twain’s novel just after The Fisher King I didn’t know that! So that’s where Terry stole it… now we know! In fact, this particular advertising executive, Toby, did bang his head, go back in time and meet Quixote. In the first drafts that we did together, it was split between the contemporary world - this advertising man making commercials, having betrayed any creative truth that he had, selling out to make commercials to flog cat food or whatever... He gets a bang on the head, and goes back to meet the real Don Quixote and then learns to become a servant to this crazed man. That was very much the early drafts. That balance and how you went into the Quixote world changed a lot, there was a moment I remember where he slipped into the contemporary world for a bit before being plunged back into the past. It very much played with that play between past and present.

In the middle of a previous script, he woke up in a hospital before going back to the world of Quixote. Yes, in one draft he woke up in a hospital. There were many different drafts, versions of this.

Casting your mind back to 1998, early 1999, when you put that script together, what can you remember about the roles you played? I’ve never worked with Terry where anything was distinct at all. Part of the joy is that it is play. What you have to do is to jump in and play. And it is hard play - you do it for a long time. I remember we’d act out scenes in a very natural way. We didn’t stand on a stage performing, but we’d just go through scenes and play different roles. Then we’d swap the roles we played.

By doing this, we understood the sense of the scene, the timing and how the jokes work. We would do that kind of thing, and I would go away with the material. I’d write and then send to him and then we’d meet up again and go over the script - that’s what we do.

Meanwhile Terry would say, “I had a go. I had a look at that scene and I’ve got a new version here,” and Terry would often say things like, “I managed to destroy the work that you did!” Joking aside, sometimes he has! But I say: well you’d better send it to me then. Toss the ball back. Then I have a look at it, and of course he hasn’t destroyed it totally, the destruction always brings a new idea or a new twist or an interesting take on something, or a new element. Then I incorporate that. We talk, we read the script, we have new ideas. I make sure I’ve got many notes, so I could go away and piece it together and do the writing and then come back and do some more. So it’s a very fluid process.

When it comes to putting a script together, the skills you bring in and complement each other, is there something that Terry specifically needs you for? I know that everyone likes the image of Terry being a crazed, out-of-control madman. But he’s not - he’s actually very disciplined. You can’t make a film unless you are disciplined. His take on a script is very, very good. He’s got a very good eye for a script. He understands structure of a script.

I’m in love with structure because I think structure is everything when it comes to a screenplay. It’s all about juxtaposition, it’s all about the transition from one scene to the next scene, and the meaning is in the middle, in that juxtaposition.

The film will be shot to shot to shot. The joy is the same in the script, going from one sequence to another. So to be really blunt about it, if you’ve got a really sad scene, you really want to come in with a very funny scene. The closer you put beauty and horror together, the better the horror works and the better the beauty works. The closer you put funny next to sad, the better the funny works and the better the sad works.

The other thing is that I used to be scared of writing dialogue. These days I really enjoy it. The biggest demon in dialogue is exposition of course. One of the biggest problems is the number of notes I get saying “Can we make it clearer?” In other words: can we tell everyone what’s happening? That implies that the executive understands, but he or she is worried the mass audience won’t.

The best dialogue you write is never about the plot. The best dialogue you write is about something else. The opposite of what’s happening. I enjoy writing that stuff very much.

Terry is a very visual filmmaker. Of course he is. But he’s also a chatterbox. He does a very funny thing with some dialogue: sometimes he’ll start talking non-stop. It’s very funny, very stream of consciousness, and it is great is to integrate stuff like that. I see the script as being my responsibility, that’s what I do. I’m the screenwriter. I want to pull everything back to me, write it and set it down.

This method makes him free to come up with ideas, to write something which is freed of the rigours of the framework of the screenplay, which we can then go over and explore. I can then try and integrate it all so that it works.

That addresses my next question: why does Terry need a collaborator on the screenplay? Because it leaves him freer to invent, when he has a collaborator to work with him? Well, I think that’s a really interesting point. I think what you are describing is the bigger business of filmmaking. A mentor of mine, the great producer - Tony Garnett - refers to filmmaking as being a social act, which it is of course. This isn’t just paying lip service like a great award ceremony where people say what a collaborative art it is - before they then take the gong…

The point is that it is an actual description of the business of filmmaking. It is a social act, and if I am writing a screenplay on my own - do I need a collaborator? Of course I do. It tends to be a producer whom I trust, whose notes are part of an ongoing conversation which is not just for that one film. Does Nicola Pecorini do his cinematography all on his own? Does a designer, a sound mixer, and actor?

No - none of us do what we do on our own. And we really are only as good as the people we are working with. And that applies to directing and screenwriting too. It’s about the dynamic between us all the time. It doesn’t need to be a fixed thing: one person can play the sensible one and the other person can be the irresponsible one. Then you can switch over - you can be free about how you play. It is about dynamic - you can’t have the same roles, because that’s when you don’t get anything interesting. So you need to challenge, offer up an alternative. It’s a debate. Does that sound too dull for you?

No, it’s fascinating insight! The way I work with Terry is unique - totally different from any other way I work. I think what you say about him writing with a screenwriter, partly yes there are many instances where he can be freed because - guess what - my main responsibility is the screenplay, that’s my job. But it’s not the only way it works. I might come up with an idea which is a bit off-piste, to which Terry might respond that it doesn’t really fit. We argue it out. He might have the final say - it’s his brand - but I will still argue. He enjoys a fight - as you may have noticed. The important thing is fluidity. You don’t stop. 

Terry has said himself the two things you need to get films made is momentum and belief. If he had enough knuckles he’d have them tattooed on his knuckles! Those are the two things, the two requirements. That’s all to do with playing. And by playing you avoid the demon of fear.

Momentum and belief is what gets movies into production without full financing! Absolutely, and it’s also increasingly necessary. I can’t remember the last time I went into production on a feature film with a contract all signed and sealed. There’s always something slightly outstanding isn’t there? I think that’s one of the reasons we’re all moving to television.

There was a 1999 attempt to make the film that fell apart, but shooting started in the autumn of 2000. How happy were you with that script going into production? Then, I was very happy. With hindsight, I am not. The first thing is that anything that you wrote a day ago just doesn’t look as good. Anything, let alone something that’s from 17 years ago. At the time you think it’s something of complete genius. And then it doesn’t seem to be quite so genius a week later. You gain a certain objectivity, hopefully you get better. You have new ideas, new ways of putting something together. And after 17 years, you’re not the same person. It’s a very natural thing. Yet at the time, I thought it absolutely felt just great to be getting it out there on the road.

Over the 17 years, I think on average we probably rewrote the script twice a year, maybe more sometimes - depending on the possibility of the film going into production again. Whenever it looked like there was a chance, I’d get the phone call and it would be Terry saying, “It looks like we’ve got Quixote back together again… I read the script and it’s crap!” That would be his way of saying we’re on the road again, let’s have a look at it. 17 years on I think we’ve finally got quite a good script.

One of the big differences is that now there is no time slip: everything is contemporary. That was a very welcome decision in a practical way. It’s also a smarter move because it’s not such a literal thing. As a result of shooting in Spain, we can still have Holy Week; we still have interiors of castles; we still have period costumes for great extravaganzas. So we are in the contemporary world, but we can slip back into a more ancient world in a subtler way, in a way where the old world and the new world are combined.

The other thing was to find a more solid story for Toby, which is what happened to him in the past when he was a young filmmaker- how he was recreating the Quixote myth in Spain using people who are nonprofessional actors, people who had jobs, such as an old man who was a cobbler. A man who is losing his marbles and who becomes convinced by Toby that he is in fact Don Quixote de La Mancha. Therefore Toby feels a responsibility for what subsequently happens.

Toby’s guilt gives him a solid grounding for his transformation. Yes it does. It is interesting if you ask yourself what is this guilt about - because he made something, because he produced something, because people were affected, some people were damaged by what he did? It’s interesting that he has that guilt.

I think Toby’s guilt is about irresponsibility, but to be honest he’s talking about a much younger self. I think his guilt is misplaced to be honest. I don’t think he is in fact justified in feeling the guilt he does feel. I don’t think it’s a true thing.

Making a movie can shake up people’s lives, yet I don’t think that it destroys them. Far from it. Anything you do in this world can affect people. I’ve seen plenty of examples of people becoming involved in films from outside the film world, and it’s only been a good thing. It’s like running away with the circus. People can reinvent themselves; people can throw off an older life. It’s a responsibility because if you are part of this whirlwind, this crucible stirring, of course you are responsible. You can’t pretend that you’re not having an effect, but it is not necessarily a negative thing. In fact most of the time I don’t think it is a negative thing. I think it enhances the world. It’s a bigger world, though a more dangerous world. I would never say that Toby was involved with a cynical misuse of the Quixote myth, and now he’s going to suffer because he’s guilty. Now he may feel guilty, and he clearly does, but I think it’s misplaced. I don’t think he’s thinking straight about it.

The part that really captures me is the tenderness between Toby and Quixote. And I really like that part of the story which is developed throughout, really. Toby does start off to be an arrogant shit, but I really like his gradual taking on of serving Quixote, and what I like about it is – it is two characters of course, but it’s about Toby giving himself up to a crazy idea, something you can’t see, something that is bigger and more extraordinary than the world you touch and see. That’s what he’s really giving himself to. He’s allowing, he saying that he’s not everything. There’s a huge world out there that’s nothing to do with me, and I’ll be in second place to that world. That sounds very highfalutin but that’s what’s going on.

By the way, isn’t that partly the source of his guilt, his being self-centred? As Quixote says to him, “It’s always about you…. me, me, me,” he says. I do think that guilt is about him being self-obsessed. Toby thinks, “It must be me, I caused this.”… I’m not sure - perhaps his real sin is he never lived up to his promise.

Straight after the Quixote collapse you did some work with Terry on Good Omens… The collapse of Quixote and the collapse of Good Omens was a real blow. I started working with Michel Winterbottom actually around that time, and that became In This World. That was a different kind of filmmaking where we were going to people and asking them for their experiences, and making a film guided and informed by that. It was purposefully a different tack. It was in response to those two big collapses. Although Good Omens wasn’t as big a disaster as Quixote, we did a lot of work on that script. And I still feel it would make a really good film. I think we had a good script there.

Tell me about the backstory of Toby’s student film. First of all, remember that we had come through the collapse of Don Quixote, so what was happening there? A filmmaker was making a version of Don Quixote which then collapses because of a great storm. So that’s sitting there. Plus we’ve both had experience of being ambitious young filmmakers. These things are in the ether. Toby’s student backstory grew out of those elements. It’s not: here’s a new idea - we’re going to slap on, it was quite a natural development.

I remember writing the details of it – it just ran, it just went, it was very easy. It felt such a natural progression, but it didn’t come out of nowhere. It comes out of the fact that we are constantly talking about this film, this story and these ideas. I don’t think we ever mentioned: isn’t this like another mirror on what actually happened on the collapsed Don Quixote shoot? I don’t think we even said it.

We have a film where, guess what, we’re making a film with a version of Quixote but as a commercial, and it collapses. We didn’t say: just like in real life. You don’t have to say it. By analysing those things, it destroys them. You’ve got to believe in the story. It’s the story you go to, not the storyteller. You just need that belief in the story, keep going, don’t worry about whose idea it is, just do it.

The script is very funny. Nicola, who clearly was there when it was shot, said that what was shot was funnier than the script, He said that the moviemaking alchemy has made it a very, very funny film. What challenges were posed by having to write humorous dialogue? There are different types of films, and different film projects call for different kinds of dialogue. It’s both a curse and a blessing, working on what is going to be labelled a Terry Gilliam film, because that’s what’s going to happen. One of the freedoms you get is the way that people talk to one another can veer into quite sort of surreal comedy. It allows you to do that. And remember this is co-writing - it’s a to and fro’.

I remember writing Rupert’s dialogue, and really enjoying it because I didn’t plan to write comedy. I planned to write this particular character, and Rupert’s very controlling. He makes a living out of being as close to Toby as possible, as close to power as possible. He’s full of that, ingratiating himself to survive - a bit of a guru, and a fake. All of these things can only be funny if played to Toby as the straight man. Which is what happens - it comes out of character, it doesn’t come out of comic intent. The development of that of course depends on the playing of them - performers picking up on that particular dynamic between those two characters in this instance. And getting it and playing it to the hilt. That’s what happens.

(Tony jokes) Maybe Nicola’s English is not good enough to appreciate out brilliant script. What a cheeky fucker! What Nicola is saying is that his bit of filmmaking is better than my bit of filmmaking. I shall poison his vineyard!

Clearly Nicola is talking about what the actors brought to it enhanced it! Listen, I recently worked with Steve Buscemi. The big danger with Steve Buscemi performing the lines that you’ve written, is that you think: I’m a really good writer. Because you get someone like that, you get Adam Driver, you get these people - they take hold of the lines and make them theirs. It’s a beautiful thing. I always think that writers pretend, and actors become. So I’m very pleased and absolutely believe everything what they have done with this script can only make it better, and thank Christ for that. People can then say, “Really great writing!”

One scene I did see being shot was when Jonathan Pryce as Javier/Quixote and Adam Driver as Toby arrive horseback at the castle. Jonathan Pryce was terrific, the one scene he was particularly good at was trying to please Alexei, while at the same time apologising for Toby’s behaviour and also being angry at Toby’s behaviour. He did all of those things simultaneously. It was hilarious. He’s born to the part or what? What I’ve seen of Jonathan Pryce becoming Quixote is just sublime. People pretend that the writing stops when you go into production, and of course it doesn’t. It continues, and that’s what Jonathan Pryce has done because he has continued the writing of the film. That’s what’s so beautiful. What Nicola’s saying is absolutely right, of course it is, and it’s a great thing when that happens.

Now, did you ever think it was an impossible dream, and did you ever take Terry to one side, and say “Don’t you think it’s time, you’ve tried it 10 times, to be focussing on something else?” I never did say that to Terry, but I did think it. That is the truth. If anyone asked me, as they did on several occasions, “What about Quixote?”, I’d say absolutely we’re going to make it. Absolutely it’s going to happen. Privately, I visited the garden of Gethsemane more than once. That’s my confession. My joy of Terry turning over on the first day was only surpassed by my joy of him turning over on the last day. I’m very pleased for the man.

Did you visit the set of this one? No I didn’t. I stayed away from it. I think that’s why it’s turned out such a success! I almost went to the set, but I didn’t go in the end. It’s a funny thing, Terry used to phone up every now and again, and say something like, “We’re shooting a scene and they’re hiding under the stairs and I need some dialogue.” I said, “Who’s hiding under the stairs - what are you talking about?” He said, “Quixote and Toby are hiding under the stairs - just write something!”

We also had conversations about what song is Adam singing? Lots of little bits and pieces. These missives from the front now and again appeared, and I just loaded up some ammunition and sent it back.

We talked before about Terry’s wild imagination, so you could say that Terry resembles Cervantes’s character Don Quixote, but you also mentioned the side of structure and practicality that you need to get a film made. So to what extent does Terry resemble Quixote, that is, Cervantes’s character? If you watch Lost in La Mancha, we make a big thing of that, and I think we got it wrong. I really do. I think Terry has a love of Quixote, he has an understanding of this old man’s dreams which are so detached from the waking world - yet that isn’t Terry. You can’t make movies like that. Don Quixote would not - could not - make a movie.

So I think the relationship is way more interesting and less literal than a bunch of us, myself included, stated in Lost in La Mancha. It’s much more interesting. It’s a love for Quixote’s detachment from the world, a wish for it as well, but it’s the conflict that makes it interesting, the very worldly process of the business of making a film. You are freest when you are writing, because you’re furthest away from the reality, compared to when you are shooting. Time is limitless when you start writing, up to the point just before you start shooting. And then it reverses out.

It rains; someone falls off a horse; the scene wasn’t as great as we thought it was; we found a different way of doing that scene; everyone was pointing in the wrong direction that day - all of these things, these are practicalities. And Terry is very, very practical.

With analogue film, the actual film was literally physically clicking through the gate at 25 frames per second: every frame costs money. That’s what’s happening when you are making the film, just as John Boorman called his book Money Into Light. That’s the alchemy that’s happening, that’s the magic going on. You can’t be Don Quixote and make that magic. You have to be someone else.

It’s interesting about Terry Gilliam/Don Quixote, because I regret having bolstered that equation. It’s a bit lazy and not close enough to the truth. I think the reality is really fascinating: that tension between recognising the crazed dreamer that is Quixote and recognising that in yourself and at the same time embracing the very practical things that enable you to turn the dreaming into film. It’s a way more interesting equation. In the end the film is Quixote and we are all Sancho.

You mentioned some other projects you have on the go... I’ve had three things all shooting at the same time: there’s Don Quixote (Terry Gilliam), and one of an anthology of Philip K Dick short stories called Crazy Diamond, which Mark Munden has directed for Channel Four and Sony. A third thing is an adaptation of a novel called The City & The City by China Mieville, and that’s a four-parter for the BBC, which is directed by Tom Shankland. They are all now in the cutting room. I am now writing In the Wolf’s Mouth, which is a set of interlocking stories all set around Sicily in 1943. That’s with Andrea Calderwood producing.

[angelofberlin2000]

Photograph: Jake Chessum

Adam Driver and Andrew Garfield on Martin Scorsese’s new film Silence                                            

Silence stars Adam Driver and Andrew Garfield talk about the cathartic experience of shooting Martin Scorsese’s epic

By Joshua Rothkopf

Posted: Tuesday December 20 2016          

“ ‘What’s that bird?’ ” It’s maddeningly early for a Sunday morning, but Adam Driver, gleeful with his coffee and smoked salmon in the near-empty Brooklyn Heights café that’s his local favorite, is setting a scene. “We were shooting in the hills of Taiwan, and Marty kept hearing a certain kind of bird, asking everyone around, ‘What’s that bird sound I’m hearing? What’s that bird?’ It was really important for him to get it. And I don’t remember that bird! It was a detail I wasn’t absorbing. But Marty was so open, in the midst of everything, to be aware of how the space was affecting the story.”                                       

Marty is, of course, Martin Scorsese, the high priest of American cinema, maker of Mean Streets, Goodfellas and, occasionally, something that challenges and floors even his most ardent fans. That movie this time around is Silence, the director’s long-cherished passion project come to fruition after nearly 30 years of development. Based on Shusaku Endo’s controversial 1966 novel about faith under fire, the film follows the plight of 17th-century Jesuit missionaries who travel from Portugal to Japan, which was at the time a mystery to the West.

In Scorsese’s execution, Silence is more than just an Oscar contender, more than a masterpiece, even. It’s simply the kind of thing that doesn’t get made anymore. It explores a spiritual agony last probed by Sweden’s mighty director Ingmar Bergman while being swaddled in a smoky fable-like texture that even Akira Kurosawa would have envied. And if you’re wondering if Marty ever found his bird, rest easy: The film’s opening seconds in the darkness build to a deafening roar of chirps, the shriek of a land that won’t be tamed.

“There’s a short list of directors that, if they call—no matter what they’re asking for—you do it,” says Andrew Garfield, leaning in as if confiding a secret, the most obvious one in the world. “And Scorsese is at the top of that list. I had just finished my stint as Spider-Man. I wasn’t aware that it was over yet, but I kind of had that feeling. I was doing a lot of reflecting. That was a really difficult learning process and a wonderful one as well.”

Garfield and Driver make up the emotional core of Silence as a pair of young novitiates who, Heart of Darkness–style, head into the wilderness searching for their missing mentor, who hasn’t been heard from in years. Along the way, they are tested by a brutal regime that doesn’t want their foreign beliefs spread, even as converted Japanese Christians harbor the holy men as fugitives.

But there’s another story here: that of two actors, both 33 years old (Jesus would smile at that), both at a crossroads of success and personal satisfaction. Silence has been their crucible, and they’ve emerged from it hardened and recommitted to chasing their art to a degree that’s noticeable.

Driver, the soulful ex-boyfriend of Lena Dunham’s character on Girls and a brilliant portrayer of millennial squirminess in Noah Baumbach's While We’re Young, now chafes at his popular status as a Bushwickian sex symbol. “I’m kind of mystified by it,” he says, “because a lot of times, I feel disconnected from my generation.” An ex-Marine who arrived at New York’s Juilliard School in 2005 with a strict sense of discipline and a fierce work ethic, Driver has never known what he terms the “shitty-apartment part” of young strugglers (he loves his “gravely quiet” hipster-free neighborhood). Shaking his head, Driver won’t say a word about next year’s Star Wars: Episode VIII, in which his villainous Kylo Ren from The Force Awakens reappears. Instead, he pivots our conversation back to his passion for personal expression, even in a galaxy far, far away: “Because J.J. Abrams and Rian Johnson directed those [Star Wars] movies, they still feel like independent films to me. They don’t sacrifice story for spectacle.” (Before the year is out, Driver will also be seen in Jim Jarmusch’s bus-driver haiku, Paterson—as small and lovely as it gets.)

Garfield, for his part, lashes out at his years toiling in the Marvel megamachine. “There has to be something urgent about the stories we’re telling,” he says, “otherwise we’re a part of the numbing of the culture. I think that was hard, doing the Spider-Man stuff. Because even though I felt an opportunity to do something for young people—adolescents who were going through the confusion of ‘What’s my gift? Who am I in the world?’—it ultimately became about shareholders and McDonald’s. It ended up flattened and made to appeal to everybody. That’s a heartbreaking thing.”

After that heartbreak, Garfield took some time off. He prepared a full year for Silence, training under the tutelage of Father James Martin, a Jesuit friend of Scorsese’s who worked as the film’s consultant. “He became my spiritual director for a year,” says Garfield. “He took me in as if I was training for the priesthood.” That, combined with Scorsese’s own homework assignments (���the most obscure movies, like black-market films that only three people had seen”) and even a 30-day silent retreat with Driver, coaxed a new actor to emerge, one who could take on Mel Gibson’s ferocious war picture Hacksaw Ridge—itself about a deeply religious man challenged by the realities of WWII soldiering—with confidence.

“I think there’s always been a longing in me,” Garfield adds when I ask if he thinks of himself as a spiritual person. “There’s a big hole that needs filling all the time. I mostly search for it in all the wrong places, like we all do: work, success, food, drugs, alcohol, validation. You name it. One of the things I understood in the process of making Silence is that we’re always worshipping something. We’re always devoting ourselves to something, even if we’re not conscious of it. So better to be conscious of it and choose what we’re devoting ourselves to.”

As for the director who inspired his two leads to lose a combined 85 pounds to better portray both literal and religious hunger (Driver looks painfully emaciated in the film), Scorsese himself sounds like the upstart 33-year-old who helmed Taxi Driver during a sweltering New York City summer in 1975. “I guess I’m looking for it for myself,” he tells me on the phone from Los Angeles, of his quest for something higher, a core element of even his most violent and hedonistic films. “I’ve always been very close to religion. I figured if I could pull myself through this picture, I might get a little closer to it, you know? The problem is, how do you act it out?”

Scorsese, Driver and Garfield all describe the birthing of Silence as difficult. Above and beyond the years of looking for funding—Scorsese was first turned on to Endo’s book in 1988 during the controversies over The Last Temptation of Christ—there was the matter of shaping the material into a script, a multidecade task undertaken by frequent Scorsese collaborator Jay Cocks (The Age of Innocence). And then, even with the green light, the Taiwan shoot had its share of miseries.

“It was actually pretty painful,” Scorsese says of one particular scene: a moment when Garfield’s priest, captured by the Japanese and ranting in a haze of religious doubt, comes close to snapping. With its echoes of Raging Bull, specifically when Robert De Niro smashes up a Miami jail cell, the scene is arguably the summit the 74-year-old director has been working up to his entire career.

“The key there was Andrew, because I put two cameras on him and created this atmosphere in which he could just take off—in one take, by the way,” says Scorsese. “And it was—how can I put it?—excruciating. A lot of the stuff in this film was. Excruciating to the point where you feel pain in your back and your stomach and your head. It may have been cathartic, but I gotta say, none of this stuff was enjoyable.”

Driver agrees, saying he fed off the parallels between religion and the leap of faith needed to take on any role seriously. “Acting, a marriage, any relationship where you make a commitment to something—it’s filled with doubt,” he says. “But that’s actually a virtue of Scorsese. He sets an environment for people to take ownership of their parts. He actually hires you for your opinions. He wants you to rebel, to do something unexpected. He’s been thinking about this stuff for 28 years, and still he doesn’t have a ‘right’ way of going about it, which I think is amazing.”

Silence now arrives in a moment of global uncertainty, making it extra timely. A private meeting between Pope Francis and Scorsese’s family led to blessings and a message of hope for the days and months ahead. “He said, ‘Pray for me—I could use it,’ ” recalls the director. But in no small way, Silence already signals a mighty resurrection, even under the guise of a historical epic about religious repression. It’s a long-won triumph for Scorsese and an arrival for its two stars, poised to possibly join the company of cinema’s great tortured souls—the Brandos and the Pacinos. “I want my work to be as deep as it can possibly be,” admits Garfield. “I’m more aware than ever of human potentiality. And I think I need it all.”

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Game Of Thrones Power Rankings: Medieval ‘I Never’ And Cersei’s Superweapon

Alex Van Mecl for HBO

Boy, if you thought last week’s episode involved some questionable military tactics, this week’s episode must’ve really been a treat.

This episode went from feeling like slightly stilted, expository fan fiction (but funny) — turning “previously on” into a game of medieval “I never” was an interesting choice — to strong conflicts about how to recognize a tyrant, to an episode of Hitler’s superweapon, all while wiping their ass with basic physics. Now, you might say it’s silly to quibble about physics and realistic tactics in a show about dragons and zombies. And to that I say, if you can’t figure out a believable way to fill plot holes in a universe where shapeshifters, talking animals, and powerful wizards exist, what are you even doing?

Down: Daenerys

You know how sometimes you just want to Yaas Qween but the crossbros just won’t let you? Must we relitigate the 2016 primary again?

It’s weird, because this episode was so strong on the subject of trying to recognize a future tyrant and yet so weak on basic physics. I’m just saying, if a fleet of giant crossbow weapons just destroyed one of my dragons and my entire fleet, my first reaction probably wouldn’t be 1) fly my last remaining dragon directly at all of the crossbows while screaming, and 2) conveniently assembling the vanguard of my army well within crossbow range.

When Daenerys first started flying straight at the crossbows I thought, “Oh, maybe she’s drawing their fire, because crossbows are notoriously slow to reload. Or maybe she’s just wheeling around behind them because surely ships can’t turn as fast as dragons.”

But nope, turns out that was just Daenerys blowing off steam. To quote Hot Fuzz, haven’t you ever fired your gun up into the air and gone “aaaarrggh?”

Still, we have to give her a little credit. Things would be better in Westeros if only people would actually listen to Daenerys. Did she not tell Jon that he would ruin everything if he told anyone he was a Targaryen? So what does he do? Tells everyone that he’s a Targaryen, of course, and ruins everything. Way to go, dumbass.

So yes, Daenerys is about to go a little nuts, but can you really blame her?

TORMUND, slapping Jon on the back: What kind of person climbs on a dragon? A madman, or a fucking KING!

DAENERYS: [*angry Tracy Flick music plays in background*]

HBO

Maybe that’s the thing about absolute power. Maybe it only corrupts absolutely because the more power you have, the more dumb bullshit you have to deal with from idiots who drive you crazy. Oh, did you like it when the man rode the dragon? Did you not like it when I was doing it two seasons ago while freeing the slaves, you ungrateful proles!

VARYS: “Hmm, I don’t if we can trust her, she seems a bit nuts.”

Down: Ser Jorah

Helen Sloan for HBO

Dry ol’ Mormont, not even dying for his lady could get him a kiss on the lips. You hate to see it.

Down: Tormund Giant’s Bane

HBO

Poor Tormund, everyone’s favorite party animal, cockblocked by Jamie Lannister, the greatest fuckboi in all of Westeros. “Pardon me, m’lady, it seems I’m having trouble taking my shirt off.”

You hate to see it. Why don’t women ever go for nice guys instead of rich phonies? Then again, maybe Tormund saying “find the coward who shit in my pants” isn’t the greatest pick-up line.

“Women don’t like me here.” Yeah, well virgins don’t either. Know your audience, man.

Up: Euron Greyjoy

HBO

Euron’s collection of flowing scarves and devastating sneers are really helping tide me over while I wait for Young Pope to come back on. It looks like he’s really lucked into a good thing here thanks to Qyburn’s crossbows. And good on him for not snickering when Cersei brought up having a child. “Babe, babe, you’re an aging ex-dowager who’s had three children by her own brother and failed utterly at keeping any of them alive, and I’m considered a Tomcat even by the standards of the race of grumbly, bickering pirates who steal everything they own from which I come. But for sure, yeah, I think we’ll make great parents.”

My man looks like Pacey from Dawson’s Creek.

Way Up: Qyburn

Qyburn is quickly turning out to be the MVP of this whole conflict. You really have to give the guy credit for developing a giant crossbow thingy that can:

-fire massive, dragon-killing bolts thousands of yards. -be mounted on ships and fired at sea -reload almost instantly, despite the fact that the hand-held version are notoriously slow -snipe an animal no one has ever seen before out of the sky with deadly accuracy

…and are apparently light and portable enough to be carried up to the top of a castle’s walls via man and horsepower. Those things are a real game changer. Who knew a necromancer would be so damned good at engineering and organization? The Citadel really has egg on their face for kicking Qyburn out.

Down: Dorn

Hey, where the fuck are you guys? There are only a few episodes left, are you ever going to originate a substantive plot in this show? So far your most valuable contribution is as a place in a song where someone “slept with the Dornishman’s wife.” Cucked province.

Up: Cersei

HBO

I admit, I questioned the wisdom of shacking up with a weaselly, iron-born rebel, but between Euron and Qyburn, Cersei is fast beginning to seem like she has a real gift for staffing. Still, I have to question some of her choices.

For instance: When you take out your enemy’s fleet with giant crossbows and they wash up on the beach, you just let them run off home? Or did they just respawn back in their own lair like a video game? Either way, that seemed like an ideal time for host-crushing. Instead you… took a bed slave hostage? Interesting.

Also: if you dispatch a professional assassin to kill your dwarf brother because said brother is allegedly such a valuable asset to your enemy, and said brother just waddles right into arrow range unarmed, why wouldn’t you just kill said brother? Was it not elaborate enough? I feel like Cersei can’t stand to see her enemies die unless it involves wildfire, necromancy, superweapons, or elaborate schemes. Foolish Tyrion, invoking Cersei’s children. Clearly, it’s the drama that she loves.

Up: Bronn

HBO

Speaking of, how the hell did Bronn just show up alone in a room with the hand of the king and Jamie Lannister in the middle of their entire army? And shhh, quiet, I don’t want the explanation from you. That just seems like something it would’ve been cool to see, and/or have someone on the show question in any way. Instead, they were like “Oh cool, Bronn’s here! That makes sense, he’s definitely a character in this show.”

[*Tommy Wiseau voice*] Oh, hi, Bronn.

Up/Down: Tyrion and Varys

HBO

Thank God for these two, they’re the only ones keeping this show from going completely off the rails (or at least, the ones keeping it semi-watchable even as it leaves the rails far, far behind). It’s nice to watch them discover that perhaps the best person to lead Westeros is the person who’s least interested in leading Westeros. The same rules apply to taking kids on a camping trip.

Still, I have to question Tyrion’s strategy of appealing to Cersei’s better nature. And walking right into crossbow range. And assuming Bronn wouldn’t slap him around just because they had history. Honestly, for a clever character, Tyrion is starting to become a real dumbass.

HBO

Down: Jon Snow

Wow, man. Are you seriously going to pull a Lena Dunham on the dog who just lost an ear protecting you from the undead? Not even one last nuzzle and “who’s a good boy?” Also, way to just let your dragon die, you dumb asshole. Jon’s leadership favorability really starts to take a hit once you factor in pet ownership.

Up: Brienne Of Tarth

HBO

The former Maiden of Tarth got to have two men fight over her, finally got it in, and in the end learned a valuable lesson about thinking you can change the handsome charming rich guy who kills people and fucks his sister. You hate to see it. In any case, it seems like she’s better off. And there’s still time to run through the proverbial airport after Tormund.

Up: Starbucks

Excellent product placement, so subtle I barely noticed.

Still, my favorite Game of Thrones coffee tie-in has to be this one.

Even: Arya Stark

Between “I’m not a lady” and “I respect that,” Arya is getting the most consistently fan-fiction-y dialogue in this show. Still, she managed to make a full recovery from getting stabbed by the Night King in less than a day and made Gendry Baratheon fall in love with her after just one roll in the hay. What tricks did she learn from the Faceless Men? Or maybe Gendry was just smitten ever since he thought she was a young boy named ‘arry. Either way, it was probably smart not to husband that one.

What Will Next Week Bring?

Some Cleghane-on-Clegane action? Qyburn getting a taste of his own dark magic? Greyworm going John Wick on some fools? Dorn… well, Dorn factoring into this story in any way? Daenerys letting those Aerys genes shine through? Necromancy spells (Jon, The Mountain) beginning to wear off? Whatever happens, I just want Davos to be okay.

Vince Mancini is on Twitter. You can access his archive of reviews here.

Source: https://uproxx.com/tv/game-of-thrones-power-rankings-the-last-of-the-starks/