By Michael Guillén

On the last day of his six-week press junket for Michael Clayton [0], Tony Gilroy [0] was feeling good about being cut loose soon. "Congratulations," I grinned, "you made it!" Premiering at the Venice Film Festival [1] and then moving on to Toronto [2], the film was poised to open wide on the crest of a massive wave of critical praise. So much has been written about this story of an upscale law firm "fixer" brought in to rein a senior defense attorney on a multimillion dollar class action suit who has hazardously imploded during a crisis of conscience. With all that's been written, it's always a treat to go straight to the horse's mouth, even if a car bomb explodes behind you.

 

---

 

Do you find people want to talk to you more now that you're a director and not just a screenwriter?

Nobody wants to talk to you when you're a writer. Your wife doesn't even want to talk to you! [Laughter.] Seriously. Nobody's interested. The only people who want to talk to you all day long are all your friends who are other writers and they want to talk to you because they want you to call them so that they're distracted as well. There's a whole series of phone calls, a whole bunch of people that I know that I can call; but no, nobody wants to talk to you when you're a writer.

When you look at this canvas of the Michael Clayton character and how the other characters play off him, how many times did you have to go through it - writing and directing it - to get the sense that you had it?

You mean the world of it?

Yes, as a director, how long did it take you until you felt comfortable with the subject matter? As a writer, you've been putting it out there for a number of years, but how does it feel for you to be directing your own script?

People have asked me if I write differently because I directed it; but every script I've ever written, I've directed. Anybody who's a good screenwriter is directing the movie. There's two parts to it. The biggest part is imagination. That's the thing that gets constantly lost in all these conversations about craft and mechanics. It's very easy for people to talk about screenwriting like it's taking a car apart; but basically, ultimately, it's imagination. A huge part of it is making shit up.

After that, there's a big part of it that's journalism. You have to really describe what it is; the movie that you're seeing. I've directed at least every first draft of everything that I've ever turned in. There's a version of it that's in my head. The script that we ended up with is structurally very close to what we started with so it was a world that was real to me. The hard part is when you're setting things aside. We set it aside so many times. It took about six years from the moment the script was written. If you set it aside and you're doing other things and it lies fallow and you're waiting to hear from somebody, the down time is refreshing yourself, climbing back in - that's the most difficult part.

So much has been written about Michael Clayton in the wake of its Venice and Toronto film festival screenings, but I wanted to focus on just a beautiful bit from the film that I'd like to tease out and hopefully amplify, if you'll indulge me?

Sure.

 

I've seen the film twice now. The first time I watched it, I was intrigued by the scene where Clayton (George Clooney [2]) pulls his Mercedes over to the side of a country road and walks up the hill to get close to the three horses. There was such a confused look on his face, almost a befuddlement, an anguish, and I didn't quite understand it, couldn't quite read it. The second time I watched the film, I understood it in the sense that it had something to do with his son Henry (Austin Williams [2]). Earlier in the sequence, when he goes into Arthur Edens's (Tom Wilkinson [2]) apartment, his attention is captured by a copy of Realm and Conquest, the book his son has been encouraging him to read, within which he finds a valuable piece of evidence - the photocopy receipt - inserted at a page where there is an illustration of a horse on a hill. Is there a connection between his finding this illustration of a horse on a hill in his son's favorite book and his spotting the horses on the hill that made him pull over to take a look at them? Which, in essence, saved his life?

I don't want to cop out on this, but I've heard so many honest-to-God extraordinary explanations and interpretations of what's happening in that scene. I've heard Christian interpretations. I had a woman come up to me and talk about The Furies and classic Greek. I've had someone come up and tell me the horses have their bridles on because they're still contained. And that's not even the tip of the iceberg. My son sent me a link where people were arguing about it online.

Here's what I know: I never write from a place of trying to write about an issue. I try to write intuitively. It was very simple for me why he pulls over. It was simply because he was so absolutely soul sick that he needed to see something that was natural and real. He needed to put his feet in wet ground. He needed some reminder that he was a biological being on the planet. It was almost like going to church in a way; the church of nature. Now within that, many other interpretations seem to be available and viable. I am so leery of getting in the way of anything that disrupts that.

Because as I've ruminated on this story, it's the role of his son that keeps underscoring the events; the impact he had on Arthur Edens and, indirectly, on Michael Clayton himself; their relationship seems crucial to everything that happens in the film. Christian-wise, yeah, it's like the young Christ among the elders. It's like the remembrance of innocence being an instruction.

At the end of the movie, when you think of Michael Clayton in the cab, one of the things I was trying to do at the end was - you know, you had this sort of feel-good moment when he confronts Karen Crowder (Tilda Swinton [2]), which feels really good and really satisfying - but I wanted to reset the vibe of the movie. That's not really where I'm at. I wanted to reset the vibe of the movie but also, for anybody who's paying attention, I wanted to posit: What's going to happen in the next hour? What's going to happen in the next week to all the people in this film? And the one thing, I think, the only upside to this whole movie, is he's going to be able to face his son in some sort of honest, fundamental way. I do think you're right. I think that's the sole achievement at the end for him. I do think you're right in suggesting that it's my intention that that's a fundamental, underwritten part of the story. But I'm leery about going farther than that. I don't want to get in the way of anything.

I respect that.

It's not like I have a complicated version of it that I'm hiding. My version of it is the most simple version of it, but it's available for all these other interpretations. That's my safety.

I guess that speaks to the truth of images being polyvalent and capable of containing many values and meanings.

Images are pure. They're very simple. Three is a powerful number. The boy. Anyway...

Ten years ago, you wrote Devil's Advocate [2] wherein Satan was inextricably entwined with the practice of law. Now you bring us Michael Clayton. What are you saying about lawyers and the practice of law?

Devil's Advocate is an opera. It's really not about lawyers as much as it's about Nietzsche. I feel sympathy for lawyers. One of the real eye openers about even doing the research for the film was actually shooting the film, shooting in these firms. What a rugged life! It's not glamorous in any way, shape or form. We were shooting in these law firms at night, at three in the morning, and we shot in a bunch of them to create that composite that we have at the beginning, and there were three or four lights on every floor, someone buried under paper. It's not pretty and they've been there [a long time] and will continue to be there, and will not be seeing their kids, billing by the hour.

Do I think that I personally could spend my life making a product that is protecting somebody who's doing something that I know is really horrible? I don't think I could do that. I don't think that's an indictment of an entire profession. I don't know. I'm evading the question. Again, I'm really copping out here. [Laughter.] I'm like so decisive but I'm being really wishy-washy here. It's a rough life, though. Lawyers who see the movie feel really nervous about people seeing the movie. But I say, you know what? If I show you a movie about a journalist who's a mass murderer, a serial killer journalist, you wouldn't feel like that was you. You'd really want to know if I got the world of journalism right, if the paper looked weird or looked wrong. Everything [about the law firms in the film] looks like it really looks.

Perhaps my question is really about the insularity of the legal profession and the dangers of that. In the press notes, your production designer Kevin Thompson [2] talked about how law firm life can become a parallel universe and how that disconnect can foster insular thinking and corrupt ideals. It's not so much that the lawyers themselves are bad but the system can ultimately fail you as a whole human being. Like Arthur Edens, I had a crisis of conscience working for the State Judiciary.

Plus you're also asked to make this thing in front of you an emergency. Everything's an emergency! But if you take three steps back...

That's exactly what I did; I took three steps back.

I think you took six steps back! [Laughter.]

 

Speaking of a crisis of conscience. Tom Wilkinson. Wow. He really comes in like gangbusters here. That's a very physical performance from him. Can you talk a little bit about his work in the film?

One of the main reasons to go to Tom - Tom was the first choice in my first conversation with George - is because the movie opens with a four-page monologue and that's certainly a great opportunity for a lot of bad behavior. Do you know what I mean? To get someone restrained who was not going to say, "Oh my God! I'm going to chew the scenery for a month off this." Tom's work in everything he's done is restrained, tasteful; he's such a finely - calibrated actor. That's the first thing.

The second reason that he was so attractive is - you're meeting the "after" shot of him; this whole part is after - but you need to have some serious glimpses of the "before." You need to see this shark that's underneath all this beatific madness that's going on. Tom has a fierce intelligence and it's not hard to believe that he would be this attorney. And he needs to be someone you really have affection for because you really need to have affection for this character and what happens to him.

Those three things. And Tom, boy, he just proved me right. He's sort of director-proof. He just comes in and he doesn't really want to talk very much. It's just, "Got it. Ready to go." As a director, you just have to get film in the camera and just make sure you get it. It's a low-maintenance process with Tom.

In your interview with Nick Dawson [3] for Filmmaker magazine, you made a comment I really liked about filling in moments that other writers normally leave out...

In this script, I don't want to separate myself from other writers. I want to separate myself in this film from a lot of the other work that I've been asked to do.

Can you give me a specific example of what you mean by that?

Well, yeah. This movie's sort of a parallel universe thriller. I've written so many thrillers and done so many movies [in which] usually what happens is you go along and in the third act the villain gives you their worldview. Even if it's a really well-written version of the villain - it's just a question of how well it's written and how subtly it's done - the villain comes out and says, "Look. Here's why I've been doing what I've been doing. This is what I think." The more cogent philosophy that you can give them, the more artfully they can say what they say. That's traditionally how you write a thriller villain.

This film is not that at all. In this one, you meet the villain rehearsing to be herself. You meet the villain as this empty vessel who's lost. That would be one example. Another example would be the murder. The moment that's the most interesting to me is the moment that - in the other movie, in the traditional version of the thriller - you'd go past. That's the moment when they're waiting. There's a moment where they're waiting for a long time, quietly; there's no music, there's nothing. There's a moment of shame almost between the two [assassins]. They don't look at each other. That's a quantum leap from what you would traditionally be doing with your henchmen. God knows I've written plenty of henchmen over the years. That extra moment of competence and failure at the same time. Hopefully, that's all the way through.

The tone of Michael Clayton is a buzzing paranoia reminiscent of 30-year-old films like The Parallax View [3] and The Conversation [3]. Did those films directly influence Michael Clayton? Or was this something unconscious?

No. Those were the films that I loved the most. I think a whole bunch of screenwriters of my age are trying to navigate in the direction of those films. A lot of times you're just not allowed to do it. You're not allowed to go to that material. When movies cost $70-$90 million, you sit in the test screening and everybody has to get everything. The movie costs $15 million to release. Everybody's got to get everything. The studios will say they don't understand this, it's just too complicated, it's just too ambiguous, they didn't get this joke, they don't understand why she's doing this. That's the enemy of everything. Even if you're writing and working, you know that's where you're going to end up.

There used to be a culture 30 years ago where you had the most muscular professional people at the top of their games working on really interesting stuff. It wasn't split into Sundance and [Hollywood]. Five Easy Pieces [3] would be a Sundance movie [today] and it might not have a cast that it had. It might not look as good as it looked. It might be a very interesting film, but it probably wouldn't have the extra craft and everything that would go into it. Cuckoo's Nest [3] would be in the same category. Diary of a Mad Housewife [4]. [Nowadays], those films would be pushed off to the side. You'd never make Klute [4]; good luck getting Klute off the ground right now.

How long did it take to get Three Days of the Condor [4] back to Bourne [4]? That was one of the things I was trying to get back to. It's economics. It's just economics. If George Clooney doesn't cut his fee and work for free, this movie doesn't get made. It's not a viable movie. I always knew that was the only way this movie would get made. Once you get over a certain dollar amount, and if you don't have actors like George who are willing to reinvest in films like those, you're not going to see [those films]. This shouldn't be that "fresh" of a movie. You know what I mean? It should be part of a continuum.

It's kind of odd, being someone who grew up with these movies in the 70s, to look back and recognize that period was something of a Golden Age of moviemaking that we took for granted at the time.

I show these films to my son. I made like a whole canon for him over the last year and said, "Watch this." Every other night I get a call: "Wow! Holy shit! You didn't tell me about this! How'd they do that? Unbelievable!" Just one after the other after the other.

That's why I couldn't quite buy some of the criticism levied against the film that complained that you were pandering to the 70s. I thought, "What are they talking about?" This is the type of movie we loved. This is what we've lost.

We weren't slavishly trying to do them. It wasn't like a hemline we were trying to follow. That's the ethic of the people - George, Robert Elswit [4], myself and my brother [John Gilroy [4]] - those are the movies [we loved]. We had a free plant area to make a movie with no adult supervision and do what we wanted to do.

No creative restraints?

Nothing. We had no noise whatsoever. Once George came in, we were bullet-proof. They got me final cut! There was Steven Soderbergh [4], Sydney Pollack [4] and George. You can't allow any daylight in there. I don't know what would have happened if we fell behind. We came in under budget. We had a very controlled show. Man, as long as we put one foot in front of the other, we were completely doing whatever we wanted to do. I'm totally screwed. I'll never get that experience again. [Laughter.] You think I'm kidding?

Never say never. [Laughter.] When I was in Toronto, I had the good fortune of talking to Béla Tarr [4]about The Man From London [5] and I asked him what it was about Tilda Swinton that inspired him to cast her...

What'd he say?

He went for her face. He wanted her eyes and her bone structure.

[Laughter.] With me it would be elbows and ankles!

 

I loved her performance in Michael Clayton and it's such a unique opportunity to ask you why you cast her? What qualities did you see in her that you wanted in your film?

I needed someone who was solitary; who could work alone. The character's alone all the way through, so I needed someone who could really be alone. So I thought: I need somebody fascinating to watch. That list of women between 30 and 50 is the best list ever. There's so many amazing actors on that list. There are so many women and they all want to work. It's the best, deepest list. So I was thinking, "Oh my god. I need someone fascinating to watch." I was watching The Deep End [5] where she's alone in that movie. She's carrying that secret all the way through and no one else knows what's going on. You can't take your eyes off of her. Then I watched a couple of other things. You can watch Young Adam [5] and realize how brave she is.

Bravery is the perfect word. Some of her gestures, her bits, are indelible. Like when she feels the sweat of her armpit, you know she's wracked with stress and under intense pressure. It's not necessarily a pretty thing to look at and an actor has to brave to present it so unflinchingly.

I thought, I'll start this process and I'll meet her. I thought, she has this whole avant garde cred and it would be interesting to tap into that. Then I sat down and met her. I'd never met her. She's like the coolest friggin' person you've ever met. She's a filmmaker, you know? I'm sure she's going to be a great director. She's going to make a great film. You get that from her. My attitude was to surround myself with as many other filmmakers as possible. I told her, "I want to make a movie with you." And over lunch she said, "C'mon, let's go do it!" [Laughter.]

What fun! Can you talk about what it was like to work with Sydney Pollack, both as a producer and an actor?

As a producer, he came on really early. He read the script and he wanted to direct it. He called me up and I told him, "I'm not going to let it go. I want to do it." He said, "Well, let me help you get it done." So he came on and I did some polishing on the script and he had some questions about it. We final scripted it along the way. Sydney's power in Hollywood is so quiet and it's so deep. So much of getting movies made is being diplomatic. So much of it is in protocol and when to call and who to call. Can you get this person on the phone? And what does that mean? So he really acted as an incredible advisor and broker along the way.

Then he would leave to go to The Interpreter [5] and Steven Soderbergh got involved as well and he would come on. The real thing is, there was no money here so - because there was no money - there was nothing to fight over, so everybody could stay involved. When it came time to act, he literally transformed into a completely different human being. He started as an actor.

 

I consider him one of the most natural actors working today.

He's an amazing actor. Few people are aware of how [amazing he is]. Anybody who doesn't know should go look at Husbands and Wives [5] to see what a good actor he is. When it came time to act, it was hard to get him to agree to be in the movie because he thought everybody was going to say, "He's producing it..." He was all prima donna about being in the movie. [Laughter.] When he finally got [on set], all he wants to do is act. He's eager to. He was the most on-time, the most well-prepared, even more than George. He was like, "What do I need to do?" The best citizen I could possibly have on set. There was very little direction that needs to be done. Again, basically, you just get out of the way and make sure you pick the right takes.

Did the two of you ever discuss his film The Firm [5]?

No. The only time he mentioned The Firm was when we were talking about the score. We had so much trouble scoring this film. It was very difficult. The movie was repellant to music. Johnny [Gilroy] and I actually cut it and screened it for three weeks completely dry. It was actually really interesting. There was like a moment where everybody thought I was out of mind when I said, "You know, let's just keep it dry." Then I realized everybody was talking behind my back. [Laughter.]

The most conversation we ever had about The Firm - that's the score where Dave Grusin [5] did it all on the piano - and that was one of the things we were fishing around, trying to think of a way to do the score. The Firm came up in that sense. Maybe it was the thing to do to have a solo instrument? That's the only time we ever discussed it. Michael Clayton is a very different temperature of film.

As a final question - more a final comment - I wanted to commend you on the scene where Clayton talks to his son Henry, making sure he doesn't take on any blame or shame for the situation he just witnessed with his uncle. It's a beautiful bit.

Thank you. You know, it's really George. There are things that are great on the page and you're just hoping that someone is going to come in and confirm it. There's a very bad version of that scene that could be available for the asking. It's very close to the edge. It could be very sentimental. It could be a bunch of different things. That's a scene that looks good on paper; on paper it works, but watching him do that, sitting in that car, watching that, it's actually one particular take, watching that one take happen, I thought, "Oh my God, that's why we cast George." The script supervisor was sitting next to me and she's worked on a lot of great movies - she's a tough audience - and George finished that take and I looked over to her and I said, "Put an asterisk on that," and she literally was choked up and she said, "That's why we love men!" [Laughter.] I said, "Well, put two asterisks by that take!"