An Interview with Britain's greatest living film Director: Terrence Davies
By Martyn Conterio | Published on September 16th, 2008

I met Terence Davies at the British Film Institute in London to discuss his work, his influences and the struggles of being an independent filmmaker. In person, Terence Davies is friendly, very funny and incredibly open about the travails of his cinematic career. -Martyn

Martyn Conterio, Scene 360: What did cinema mean to you as a child, and how did it influence your decision to become a filmmaker?

Terrence Davies: I was taken to the movies when I was seven by my father, and it was to see “Singin' in the Rain,” which is a wonderful production. The huge influence on me was the American musical. There were eight cinemas within walking distance of my house, and then eight in town—there were sixteen, you were never lost for anything to see. So I fell in love with the American musical.

What was also important at the time were the British comedies. The British comedies of that time were better than the American ones. We had fabulous people like Alastair Sim and Margret Rutherford… the list was endless.

When you’re a child you’re not aware of influence, you absorb—you absorb the world. And I suppose I absorbed the film language because I was seeing it and I thought it was true. I didn’t understand what a cut was, I didn’t understand what a dissolve was, or a close-up. I just looked at it and I felt. I thought it was real. And now when I see something like “Young at Heart” even the street is actually on a sound stage, but we thought that was a real street (laughs). So it was an add-mixture of all those things and absorbing it in a way that a child absorbs things. You’re not aware of it, but you are affected very deeply by it. For me it was magic, it really was magic.

What did you learn at film school?

I learnt a lot at film school, particularly about structure, but when I did those things—I made my first film at drama school in fact. I did it naturally, but I did it very clumsily because I’d never made a film before, I didn’t know how you did it? There were certain things I did instinctively, and I didn’t know why, I just felt it would be right. I didn’t know whether it was right or not… I was never told it was right. I trusted my instincts. I mean there’s lots and lots of things wrong with the first part of the Trilogy, it’s far too long and far too slow… but you learn by doing, that’s the only way.

What was a revelation at film school was to be able to see a film on the screen and analyse it—actually breaking down a scene into its component parts.

When you were making the Trilogy, were you weary of staying away from social realism?

Not really, that wasn’t conscious. I suppose in a way it is socially realistic to a degree because that is the tradition that had dominated British cinema since the late 1950s. But I knew I didn’t want it to be “This happens then this happens and then this happens.” That’s not interesting. What I was more interested in was “What happens emotionally?” Which may not be the next thing… it might be a flashback or a flash-forward, but it doesn’t matter, it had to be true to how I saw it. I didn’t know why I saw it like that, and if somebody said “Justify it,” I couldn’t, I could just say “It felt right.”

Time and memory are important themes in your work. What attracted you to these ideas and how did you develop them cinematically?

Well, I think it develops emotionally within you naturally. You then have to find a way of putting it in the order that feels right because memory is cyclical and not linear, that’s what fascinated me.

Critics have said that your films have no storylines. What are your thoughts on this?

There are stories, but the stories are very simple. They are not complicated. And there I suppose my template is Chekhov. What happens in Chekhov? Not a lot. He’s talking about the human condition, which is even more interesting. And when you’re talking about time and memory, that is fascinating in itself. So all you need is a very simple story, and all the best stories actually are. Is drama about lots of things happening? Well, actually it’s not… all that it is about is lots of things happening… Real drama is about something much more interesting.

Are the structures of your screenplays written in a non-linear way or is it all put together in the editing suite?

Everything is in the screenplay. I know every shot, but the order will change. And what I’ve found is, you take a simple idea and take it out and the repercussions throughout the film are huge. When you get it right, or you feel it’s right, it flows quite naturally. But what memory does that linear narrative cannot do is to move between temporary spaces and emotional spaces. And if you get it wrong it is completely confusing, and the people who don’t like what I do, and this was said of “Distant Voices, Still Lives” was: “I’ve no idea what’s going on.” They didn’t buy the illusion of the lie. But when it is set up at the beginning, it is clearly not going to be linear… it makes it clear, and you either get that or you don’t. And if you don’t get it then you’re not going to enjoy it.

The opening shot of "The Long Day Closes" is very dream-like with the dark street, the pouring rain, the mixture of dialogue and music. The camera tracking slowly away from a wall to drifting down an empty house. How do you come up with such scenes?

To be absolutely honest with you, I’ve no idea (laughs).

How did you devise and execute the montage sequence in “The Long Day Closes,” which encapsulates Bud's daily life and rituals?

Well, that I can answer! I wanted to try and portray the environments of his life, which were mine. They were “The house, the street, the church, the movies… the school.” And I thought “How could I do that? Where they are all combined?” And I didn’t know what to do... I put the manuscript on the floor… and I got up to make a cup of tea, and I thought “It‘s over-head, all travelling left to right,” but even then it wasn’t complete. It needed something else. Again, I’ve no idea where it came from, one of my sister-in-laws and her youngest sister took me to see Debbie Reynolds in “Tammy and the Batchelor” and I can only remember one song from it, Tammy which was a big hit! And I thought that’s what I should put over it. That’s how it came about, but where these things come from, I’ve no idea.

There is an incredibly emotional sequence with the camera tracking high above, the match dissolve between the priest and the school master—the morphing of authority figures and the cinematic representation of cyclical memory.

What was extraordinary when we were filming it was you realised why mood music was used on the sets of silent films because as soon as we began playing for the speed for the track everybody was lifted. And it’s a terrible song! It was extraordinary how it lifted everybody.

There are scenes in “Distant Voices, Still Lives” where the film feels like a really unconventional musical as everybody is singing. Was it like that growing up in Liverpool?

It was like that. Most of the people had good voices too. Not just my family but friends. Yes, everybody knew what was a group song. They used to say on the continent that “England was a land without music,” and it wasn’t true. People sang. My mother had a lovely voice, two of my sisters and my brother had smashing voices. I mean, I sing in x-flat (laughs). I’ve got a terrible voice. It was absolutely common, you sang in the pub, had a bit of a dance then came home and sang again. Somebody said “Distant Voices, Still Lives” was a Proustian musical (laughs).

You once described your first American-based film “The Neon Bible” as “a film that doesn’t work.” Can you elaborate on this?

It’s holding onto images for far too long and not covering them properly. Like all transitional works it has got good things in it but it doesn’t work as a whole. I was glad to have made it and made those mistakes, because I wouldn’t make them again. I will not make them again (laughs). And I couldn’t have made “The House of Mirth” without having made that. It’s entirely my fault (laughs).

I consider “The House of Mirth” your most experimental film because it’s different from your other films, it is so classical. You worked with some well-known actors such as Dan Ackroyd, Laura Linney and Gillian Anderson. What attracted you to the material, and what was it like working with these actors?

Well I love the book, you see. I was influenced by the classic Hollywood films such as “Letter From An Unknown Woman” and “The Heiress,” and things like that. It was daunting, I mean some of those people have made more movies than I’ve had hot dinners. It was wonderful trying to realise a book that I really loved, and I think it is her (Edith Wharton) best novel, although I loved “The Age of Innocence.” “The House of Mirth” is about the discovery of having moral integrity in a society that doesn’t have any… and God knows that is relevant today, because that’s the kind of society we’ve got now.

Looking back on your career, you’ve received many critical plaudits. Do you feel that this has vindicated you as a filmmaker?

Because of my personality, I get worried when I get a lot of praise. I become frightened. I’m an atheist now, but I was a practising Catholic, and a very devout one from seven to twenty-two. As soon as I start to think “This is lovely,” the Catholic in me says “Beware the sin of pride.” I get frightened. I mean, I read one bad review and I’ll think they’re right. I’m completely neurotic (laughs).

Your latest film is “Of Time and the City” (2008). Tell us if it was something you were developing or if the producers came to you?

It happened completely by accident. Sol Papadopoulos (the producer) rang me and said would you be interested in doing a film about Liverpool? And I said “No, I’ve done my fiction films about Liverpool. I don’t want to do any more.” I thought what might be interesting was to do a documentary about the Liverpool... I remember juxtaposed with the way it is now.

The film received ecstatic reviews at this year’s Cannes film festival. Did you go to Cannes and see the movie with the critics?

Yes. Myself and the two producers went, in fact, most of the team went which was lovely because they were really supportive. They couldn’t really afford to go but they went anyway, it was just wonderful! Edinburgh Festival said they wanted it, and Edinburgh have always been very supportive of my work, so I was just pleased with that.

The response was magnificent. I mean I was in a complete daze, 70 festivals want it. It was made for a tiny amount of money, only £ 250,000, and with the most modest of intentions. It seems to have touched the zeitgeist and all these people from all over the world.

Are you looking forward to the premiere in Liverpool? What do you think the response will be there? Do you think they will enjoy it?

Well I hope so, it would be awful if they don’t. It would be really embarrassing. Well I’ll say I’m Quentin Tarantino and then they won’t know (laughs).

Do you have a constant struggle with financing your projects and scripts?

Yes, it’s why I didn’t work for eight years. It is really difficult if you are not in the mainstream. We are really enthralled to America, and not just politically but culturally. Why make films that they do better anyway? What’s worst of all is this Robert McKee nonsense… it’s done so much damage. You’ve got twenty-five year olds who know nothing… saying “You’ve got to have a climax on page 60, well, who said so?” Who made Robert McKee God? Or they’ll say “Every character has got to have a background story…” that would make the film four hours long! Are you going to fund a film that is four hours long? Silence. “Singin’ in the Rain” for example, what background story has Debbie Reynolds’ character got? She’s actually got none. And we are still watching it fifty-four years later. Funny that! And they show you the door. And the worst of all is this idea that there is no difference between television and cinema. There is! And it is a very simple one. In cinema you go on a journey. In television they tell you where you are going before you leave. That’s the difference. A lot of people in the film industry simply do not know the difference, and that’s what’s really shocking.

A lot of money does seem to get wasted on British films trying to copy the Hollywood formula.

You could have the worst script imaginable, put in a big star and it’ll make 25 million. If you have a good script and you’re not relatively well known, they’re not interested. ‘We’d like to see this film, but not with my money’, that’s the attitude. And it perpetuates with re-makes instead of doing something original, and they’ll put the same old faces in because people will go. That does nothing for me, and it does nothing for an indigenous British cinema—in fact, it does it a great deal of damage.

Do you have any projects that you are working on now?

Yes, three but whether they’ll get made is anyone’s guess. I’m very circumspect about them getting made. I’d love to make them because I care about them but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if after all this ooh-ah about “Of Time and the City” that I don’t work for another five years.