AN INTERVIEW WITH ANDY LITVACK

Where did the idea for Merci Dr. Rey come from?

The easy answer is that it's the fruit of 10 years of strict Freudian analysis.

And the not-so-easy answer?

It's "me", but it's not at all autobiographical. I can identify with each character. They're all a part of me. But getting them out on paper and up on the screen was a grueling process, and people find this strange. Since Merci Docteur Rey is a comedy, people tend to forget that it was "born" the way most movies are, and especially most first movies: painfully. It is the essence of comedies that they go down quickly. You're not supposed to feel them pass. So the idea of a painful birth strikes most people as contradictory. 

I don't want to exaggerate the suffering, though. Writing is hard for me, but I did laugh each time I had a funny idea. I'm my own best audience. It must be my innate narcissism!  And the shoot was two months of pleasure, despite the financial constraints. My actors and my crew were extremely talented and devoted...

The story is hard to sum up...

I know. And it's even harder in that there are several shifts in tone. But on an abstract level, I'd say that Merci Docteur Rey is a comedy that makes fun of psychoanalysis while respecting its rules pretty scrupulously. It plays blithely with the notions of narcissism and the double.

Despite the warnings made to Thomas at the beginning of the film about the futility of "looking for same",  he and every other character end up finding some version of himself or herself: Thomas and the murderer, Elisabeth and Penelope, Penelope and Vanessa Redgrave... They are all flip-sides of the same coin. There is no "getting outside" one's own fantasies. That's the structure of desire itself.

Someone told me that the film is a psycho-comedy. I find the neologism amusing. The movie puts a spin on the concepts of transference and the Oedipal drama... Even dead, Dr. Rey remains a highly efficient analyst! Sure, the characters are as off-the-wall at the end as they were at the beginning, but at least they've been able to reconstruct a new family... even if the Law is lurking behind them... in the form of a police car!

Did you have specific actors in mind while writing the script of  Merci Docteur Rey?

The only actress I had in mind while writing was Jane Birkin.
For me, Jane doesn't come laden with all the baggage from the sixties and seventies. I didn't know Serge Gainsbourg's [her ex-husband's] music before I moved to Paris, and although I've become quite a fan, I can't really say Jane is part of my collective unconscious the way she is for pretty much the entire French population.

What attracted you to her?

Like me, she left her English-speaking country for France, and since, she is neither English nor French. She's in a limbo somewhere between the two, like I am. But neither of us ever really questions this. It's a limbo which we thrive on, and to which we stake a claim.

It's just when I'm asked whether Merci Docteur Rey is American or French... that's when I don't know how to answer. Dianne Wiest has always found it very French. In France, people see it more in the tradition of  American comedy. In the end, I guess it's not up to me to stick a label on it. All that matters is that it's original, and I hope it is.

In any case, with Jane I feel that I've found a veritable alter-ego. And since we have the same accent in French, and we make the same mistakes, listening to her is like listening to myself. Her English is a lot more refined than mine, but still, I get a great deal of narcissistic pleasure.

You really are into narcissism!

But not the navel-gazing variety.

Says you!

Indeed. But to get back to Jane...  I didn't know of her as a singer first, but as a film actress. In Blow Up, of course, but also in two enjoyable adaptations of Agatha Christie novels – Death on the Nile and Evil under the Sun. But it was when I saw her in two Jacques Rivette films (Love on the Ground and La Belle Noiseuse)  that I knew I had to work with her. Rivette was the first person to capture her magic and mystery on screen.


Did you see the Rivette films in France or in the United States?

The only Rivette film which I saw in the United States was Céline and Julie Go Boating. I saw it five or six times at college. Rivette is by far my favorite French director – the most refined, the most elegant, the most playful. I should have put him in my credits as "casting director" because I took three of "his" actresses for Merci Docteur Rey: Jane Birkin, Bulle Ogier and Nathalie Richard.

Who are your other favorite directors?

Robert Altman, especially Nashville, The Long Goodbye and California Split. Lubitsch, Hawks, Preston Sturges. There are so many. I'm a big fan of American comedies from the thirties. In general, I prefer it when a movie has a sense of humor. It's strange: lightness of touch is so hard to achieve, yet it's not really appreciated these days.  True, when it falls flat, there's nothing worse. But when it's pulled off, there's nothing more pleasurable. In any case, not for me... That's why it's so much fun working with Jim [Ivory].

Let's get back to the actors... You've assembled quite a cast!

It definitely helps when they like the script, but I really owe it to my producers. Getting actors to work with a first-time director is no small task, and sometimes when I watch the movie, I have to pinch myself! Or I'll start humming under my breath: "Oh no, you can't take that away from me..."

What a miracle to have been able to bring them all together during the course of the shoot. From the leads down to the cameos. "Guest-stars" are great, but they truly are a scheduling nightmare! The most incredible day was the scene in the dressing room at the Opera, when we were shooting with Dianne Wiest, Jane Birkin, Bulle Ogier and Vanessa Redgrave. 

Jane Birkin and Vanessa Redgrave hadn't worked together since Blow Up...

No, they hadn't. And this time, it's Vanessa who has the small scene. The tables are turned in a way, even if it's totally by chance. Still, it becomes ipso facto a sort of refection on the history of cinema...

Jane and Vanessa are fascinating... the kind of women that only England can produce.  Both aristocratic and committed – so generous, and at the same time, "stars". For example, they are both involved with the Chechen cause. So in addition to the actors, there were lots of Chechens wandering about the set at the opera that day. Then all of a sudden Jerry Hall arrived for her costume fitting, like a Texas-born Amazon covered in diamonds. It was like a scene in And the Ship Sails On – divas, diamonds... and political refugees!

How did you choose Jerry Hall?

I'd met her two years earlier at a dinner at the villa Ismail [Merchant] and Jim [Ivory] had rented when The Golden Bowl was shown at Cannes. She came with Mick Jagger. In front of Mick Jagger, I was like the character of Penelope in front of Vanessa Redgrave.

Did you vomit?

Not quite.

And Bulle Ogier ?

Did she vomit?

No, how did you come to choose her?

Ever since The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, I've been a big fan of hers. I'd written the role of Claude for a man, but once I had the chance to meet Bulle, I decided to turn him into a woman.

Now I find Merci... Dr Rey ! unimaginable without her. At first we think she's just playing second banana to Dianne Wiest. But Claude is the one who "directs" all the characters by summoning them to the Maison de la Radio to make peace. Her "directing job" veers into something she hadn't anticipated, but in the end, she pulls it off. That's why I have her lowered like an angel in front of the curtains at the end of the film.

Claude, as portrayed by Bulle, becomes a sort of fantasy of the role of the director: the person who wrenches the boots of her lead actress... who explains her play by stealing bits and pieces from a book... and who, miraculously, makes everything work. You need a certain grace to pull this all off, and Bulle for me is grace incarnate.


When did you think of Dianne Wiest for Elisabeth ?

At first, I thought I'd be making the film entirely in French, but that wasn't at all possible. Finally, Ismail [Merchant] said to me that the only way to make Merci Docteur Rey was to get an American actress.  Dianne was my first choice. We sent the script to her agent, a wonderful man named Sam Cohn. He read it the day he got it. Dianne read it the next day. And the day after that, I went to New York to meet them.

Dianne is incomparable. A real actors' actress, literally: sometimes I wonder whether only another actor can pick up some of her nuances. She can slow things down, speed things up... all in the course of one sentence! Elisabeth is the thankless role in the film, to the extent that we can only understand her behavior – and thus, all of Dianne's acting – at the very end of the film, when everything is explained.  After the fact. Or by watching the movie a second time. But I think that's what Dianne liked about the role. To be able to do things right in front of our eyes that we don't even see. Or that we see differently once we know the ending.

Did you discuss this with Dianne Wiest before the shoot?

I said two things to Dianne when I met her: first, I wasn't asking her to play this role simply because she had already "done" a diva in Bullets over Broadway. I think that reassured her a lot.

Second, and more important: I wanted her to keep "pulling out" of the role. That is, Elisabeth should be aware that she is constantly playing a diva. In this way, everything becomes acting, even emotions and sentiments. I don't know how well I'm expressing myself, but Dianne did it stupendously well... She'd give each of her scenes a slight turn of the screw, and it was enough to pull out the rug from under us.

And Stanislas Merhar?

I chose Stanislas because he has a great ear. When I knew that Thomas would have an American mother, I had to find a French actor who could work in English. Besides the precision of his acting, which I've appreciated since I first saw him in Dry Cleaning, Stanislas is very musically inclined. He is sensitive and instinctive. Thanks to him, Thomas is the center of gravity of the film. All the crazy women orbit around him.

Merci Docteur Rey begins and ends with Thomas in a closet. But when he comes out the second time, he does so in telling a lie. I wanted to subvert, or to play with, the somewhat rudimentary notion of coming out of the closet as a form of sexual liberation. Most movies with gay characters take all that stuff so seriously. It's become something of a cliché. So I thought I'd just play it as a Freudian joke... And there's something so innately ambiguous about Stanislas that it makes it all the funnier.

You started in the movies in an unusual manner: by subtitles...

When I finished university in 1987 I left the United States for Paris. I was twenty-three. I didn't speak a word of French. It took me a couple years to feel comfortable with the language. In 1990 I met Youssef Chahine, who asked me to help with the translation of the English subtitles for his film Alexandria Forever and Again.

During the ten years that followed, I subtitled over 150 French films into English – Jean-Luc Godard, André Téchiné, Jacques Doillon, Claire Denis, and Kryzstophe Kieslowski.  

Meeting Godard was what impressed me most. He always got Gaumont to pay for my trip to Rolle, in Switzerland, so we could go over the subtitles together. (I subtitled five of his films, as well as his Histories of Cinema.) But each time I arrived at his house, while I still had one foot in the taxi, he'd say to me : "Actually, I reread your subtitles. They're fine. I have nothing to say. Come have a cup of coffee, then you can go back to Paris." Then he'd add: "And if you don't mind, I'll give you a little package for Anne-Marie [Mieville, his collaborator.]"

In fact, I think he had me come instead of calling Federal Express. Maybe it was to annoy Gaumont. Or maybe he just wanted some company.  We'd spend a few hours together. Sometimes we'd watch one of his films. That's how I got to see his King Lear.  In any case, for me it was a dream come true. Except the time I lost the package for Anne-Marie. That was a nightmare.

I stopped writing subtitles after Histories of Cinema, which took me a year to translate. For me, subtitles were a great part-time job – much more fun than teaching English to businessmen. But it was starting to take up too much time in my life. And I already was working on Merci Docteur Rey.

How did you meet James Ivory and Ismail Merchant ?

I met Jim and Ismail in 1994 via Humbert Balsan (Youssef Chahine's producer and longtime Merchant Ivory collaborator.) I worked as Jim's assistant on three films, culminating with A Soldier's Daughter Never Cries in 1997, on which I helped cast the roles, wrote some scenes, worked with the actors and in the editing room...  I even got to help choose some of the additional music. With A Soldier's Daughter Never Cries, I think I went as far as I could go without becoming a director myself. Jim [Ivory] even let me "direct" a scene in the movie.

The film takes place in Paris in the early seventies. The characters were supposed to go to the opera to see Tristan and Isolde. Wagner is great, but I couldn't imagine anything more boring on screen. When I mentioned this to Jim, he said: "Do whatever you want, as long as it's fun." So I turned it into a hardcore version of Stauss' Salomé, full of cocaine and deadly syringes. It was more the kind of production one would have seen in Berlin than in Paris, but Jim didn't mind.

Ismail [Merchant] didn't want to splurge on the extras we needed to crush Salomé with their shields.  Whence the idea that Hérodias, her own mother, herself a heroin addict, could give an overdose to her loose-living daughter. Jim loved the idea. So did Ismail – probably more for the money I saved him! We only needed two singers and John the Baptist's head on a platter with some ketchup.

You like to tell stories...

Isn't that what movies are all about?

But in this case, the story has a moral, and that is: the greater the constraints, the more inventive you have to be. Ismail is a wizard at imposing these constraints, almost unconsciously, or instinctively...
It's as if he knows there's something better to be done for less money, but he can't formulate it. So he gives you his royal veto, and you're forced to find the solution yourself. Nine times out of ten, you find it. You end up proving him right... and then he never lets you forget it.

And the tenth time?

That's when you have to persuade him that's he's wrong, which is truly a Herculean task. And one you can never really win, because even if he gives in, which he does, it will always be your fault for not having found the more economical solution.

Did you learn a lot from James Ivory?

Everything I know about working with actors comes from Jim. And also a very precise idea of the role of the director. The mix of concentration and patience that you need, and especially the respect you have to show your actors and your crew.

Jim has an incredible way of making everyone feel responsible. Of getting everyone to give his most, of leading them gently toward his "global" vision of the work at hand. He especially taught me that the director's vision must be constantly nourished by the contributions of others. Obviously, the director has to know how to choose among various propositions... but the more you trust your actors and crew, the greater the choice... and hopefully, the greater the film.

It seems to me about learning to navigate between suppleness and certitude.

How did you work with your actors?

Jim sort of overturned my preconceptions of the myth of the tyrannical director. When people ask Jim how he directed Vanessa Redgrave, Anthony Hopkins or Emma Thompson, he answers that they are not the kind of people you "direct". And that  90% of what is commonly called "directing actors" is achieved in the casting.
I agree with this notion of directing actors. It's in the remaining 10 percent that the director can maneuver. In the movies at least. The theater is different.

Have you ever worked in the theater?

At the Comédie Française, in 1991-1992. I was Youssef Chahine's assistant on Albert Camus' play Caligula. We rehearsed for three months. The kind of thing you never can do for a movie.

Did you rehearse at all with your actors?

Ten days sitting around a table. It was in Dianne Wiest's contract. Fortunately, for all of us. It's a great luxury. The actors get to know one another... They can harmonize their performances.  And it was important for Dianne, who arrived in a country she didn't know, to work with actors she'd never met before. It was a great help to us all. And it was fun.  Dianne's daughter would sit in on it, along with her babysitter. By the end, a dozen members of the crew had joined us... at the actors' demand!

When you're lucky to have actors that want to give so much of themselves, all a director can really do is create the most pleasant atmosphere possible...

And if things get tense?

When things get tense – and they always do, for every actor, on every set –the director just needs to have broad shoulders. You have to take it on yourself. It's the actors who are baring themselves in front of the camera.  They're entitled to their little explosions, once in a while.  If you explode back at them, you're not really getting anywhere. Not when you're working with actors of a certain caliber, which was my case... and my great joy.

--Gianni Everetti