ALEX ANDER PAYNE

From Election to About Schmidt to the Oscar-winning Sideways and The Descendants, Alexander Payne has kept the flame burning for intelligent , nuanced comedy-dramas. With his latest film, The Holdovers, reuniting him with an on-fire Paul Giamatti, Total Film meets the writer- director as he asks where all the adult dramas have gone.

‘TODAY W HEN YOU MAKE A HUMAN MOVIE W HERE SOMEBODY DOESN’T FLY, YOU HAVE TO HAVE A SHRINK-WRAPPED BUDGET.’

Alexander Payne is back, not a moment too soon. When Total Film meets the writerdirector of About Schmidt, Election and Nebraska, ensconced in a first-floor suite in the Soho Hotel, he’s on the London leg of his festival tour for The Holdovers, the eighth film of his career. Now 62, he’s only here briefly before jetting off to Lyon and Paris to spread the word on this hugely satisfying comedy-drama. It marks a long overdue reunion with Paul Giamatti, his star from 2004’s Sideways, the film that truly put Payne on the map, winning him and co-writer Jim Taylor an Oscar each for Best Adapted Screenplay.

At that point, Payne had already established himself with three features. Born and raised in Omaha, Nebraska, where his parents ran a Greek restaurant, Payne studied Spanish and history at Stanford before entering UCLA Film School. His graduation film The Passion of Martin hit the festival circuit, leading to his debut feature, 1996 abortion satire Citizen Ruth, with Laura Dern. He followed it with Election, starring Reese Witherspoon in one of her most indelible roles – as high-school overachiever Tracy Flick – and About Schmidt, with a towering turn from Jack Nicholson as retiree Warren Schmidt.

Yet it was Sideways, featuring Giamatti as wine snob Miles, that showed Payne as a director so acutely attuned to the human condition, with its heartbreaking tale of midlife malaise. After a gap of seven years, he returned with The Descendants, featuring George Clooney as a father trying to reconnect with his daughters after his injured spouse slips into a coma. Another Best Adapted Screenplay Academy Award followed, this time shared with co-writers Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, putting him in that rare category of the double Oscar-winner. For all the glittery success (he’s been nominated for seven Oscars in total, three times for Best Director, including 2013’s black-and-white Bruce Dern-starrer Nebraska), Payne has also ridden out storms. His last film, 2017’s Downsizing – a CG-heavy tale featuring a shrunken-down Matt Damon – took just $55 million, lower than its budget, and was met with critical apathy. After that, various projects spluttered and stalled. Which makes his return with The Holdovers all the more pleasing. Based on an original script by David Hemingson, from an idea by Payne, the film casts Giamatti as Paul Hunham, a cantankerous history teacher working in a prep school in 1970.

With his verbose vocabulary and ocular issue – one eye looks in the opposite direction to the other – he’s another worthy addition to Payne’s collection of flawed male protagonists that began with another teacher, Matthew Broderick’s Jim McAllister, in Election. Here, Paul finds himself forced to look after one solitary pupil, Angus (Dominic Sessa), over the Christmas break, with only the school cook Mary (Da’Vine Joy Randolph) for company.

Sessa left Payne full of admiration. ‘To see this young kid hold his own was in its own way as thrilling as watching Jack Nicholson or Bruce Dern,’ he says. But the newcomer’s performance is just one of the pleasures of a film that teleports us back to the 1970s, right down to the pre-credits old-school studio logo.

‘I don’t watch a lot of contemporary movies… I watch old stuff,’ says Payne, unsurprisingly. He might just be last man standing when it comes to making the human stories Hollywood once served up every week.

How did The Holdovers start?

I had had the idea for the film for about 10 years but hadn’t gotten around to researching it. I knew I would have to go back east and spend time in boarding schools and sop up the atmosphere to get the details right, and then from the details, figure out the story. Then about five years ago I was submitted a pilot script for a proposed TV series. It was very well written, and it took place in a boarding school. I got in touch with [the writer David] Hemingson and said, ‘I like your pilot, I don’t want to do it, but would you consider writing a feature script from my idea?’ And he agreed. I just gave him a premise. It took us a while to hash out the story, and then he ran with it.

With its callback to the 1970s era of American filmmaking, some reviews have said, ‘They don’t make ’em like this any more.’ Did you want to not just set a film in the 70s but immerse yourself in this world?

Let me untangle two parts of your question or your observation. They don’t make ’em like that any more could even apply to a contemporary film. As a moviegoer, I lament [the demise of] more human comedy-dramas: literate, intelligent, humane, humanistic, anthropocentric. And even, say, larger adult dramas with visual scope. I say, ‘Where is Out of Africa today? Where is even The English Patient or The Talented Mr. Ripley? Why aren’t studios making those films today?’ Today when you make a human movie where somebody doesn’t fly, you have to have a shrink-wrapped budget. That whole middle territory of films has largely disappeared. In as much as this feels like an oldfashioned, character-driven comedy… they don’t make ’em like that any more… If that’s true, I’m glad I’m making them. Then separately is the veneer of the 70s movie, which was just kind of a parlour trick I wanted to pull off. More than a trick… I don’t mean to be dismissive of it.

But you very deliberately set the story in that decade, right?

Hemingson and I decided we wanted to set it in 1970-71. We didn’t want it to be the 50s – that had been done: Dead Poets Society. And then somehow I, as a director, thought, ‘Well, wouldn’t it be groovy to make it look and sound like an actual 70s movie?’ Not to be super-dogmatic about it, like the movie Bait. And not just in filmic quality and mono sound but even the sense of narrative. And really for me what it came down to was… because I adore so many 70s American films, giving myself the gift of pretending I was making a film back then.

Perhaps it would’ve been an era you would have flourished in?

I would have liked to have been a comedy director in the 20s and a feature director in the 70s. Forgetting the fact that they didn’t have arthroscopic surgery.

What about Paul’s journey across the film? Do you feel his curmudgeonly behaviour melts just a little?

I mean, all the pictures I’ve done, I think probably [the protagonists] don’t change a whole lot. They maybe shift a little bit or realise something. I guess in this and in About Schmidt, maybe in The Descendants… you have a character who seems pretty set in his ways. Seems immovable or hidebound… It’s a word even from the script. And then somehow there’s a climax in which that character breaks out of that shell. Moults! A bit of the exoskeleton is chipped away…

‘TH AT WHOLE MIDDLE TERRITORY OF FILMS HAS DISAPPEARED’

The arcane language spoken by Paul is glorious. Where did that come from? A lot of that is David quoting his Uncle Earl. ‘You hormonal vulgarian’, ‘you snarling Visigoths’. ‘Christ on a crutch. What sort of fascist hash foundry are you running here?’ That line gets one of the biggest laughs in the picture. That’s from his Uncle Earl, apparently.

What was it like reuniting with Paul Giamatti? Was it different almost 20 years after Sideways?

It was different in that it was even better. It felt both like a yawning gap from our previous experience, way too much time, and simultaneously as though we had just shot Sideways yesterday. Some crew people close to camera would comment to me on how they had seen shorthand between director and actor before, but not quite that short. How abbreviated our conversation was. We have an instinctive understanding of each other and of what movie we’re making. It’s really nice.

What makes him such a special actor?

I can’t break it down. I just know that he can do anything. My first thought after I auditioned him for Sideways in New York in 2003 was, ‘Oh, that guy can make even bad dialogue work.’ You plough through auditions where actors are making good dialogue fail. And you start to doubt the script, like maybe the script sucks… That’s why all the auditions are terrible. Then you get someone who nails it. I even interviewed him publicly a few years ago in Omaha and I said, ‘Paul, people say that you can even read the phone book and make it work – ha-ha-ha.’ And I reached under my chair and handed him the Omaha phone book and said, ‘Would you mind reading some?’ It was terrific. He can do dramatic things with comic panache, and he can do comic things with utter seriousness. And he’s just delightful to watch. I think there’s nothing he cannot do.

Paul’s eyes that go in different directions. Was that achieved with CGI?

It’s a secret.

Were you worried that some viewers may feel you’re mocking the afflicted?

Oh, I’m sure to get letters from the International Society of Strabismus.

You’ve always succeeded in casting young actors, like Shailene Woodley in The Descendants and Reese Witherspoon in Election. Now you have Dominic Sessa…

Both were on their way. I mean, Shailene Woodley… I had never heard of her, but she was on an ABC Family TV show [The Secret Life of the American Teenager]. Young girls knew who she was. I had no idea. But both those gals were going places, and I just helped. And they were right for the movies I was making at the time. This one’s a little bit different in that Dominic was genuinely plucked from obscurity.

How did that happen?

The casting director had fielded about 800 submissions from around the Englishspeaking world. And we didn’t like any of them, at least not for that part. Then we called up the drama teachers at the schools where I was actually going to be shooting, which is something you want to do anyway out of politeness to give their kids a chance. And there he was. He was a senior at Deerfield Academy in Deerfield, Massachusetts. And I got another actor from that school, too – a blond kid early in the movie who says, ‘Wait, he does what to the Cobb salad? I eat that Cobb salad. Why would he do that?’ He was a junior at that school – third year.

And then Da’Vine Joy Randolph – what brought you to her?

Have you seen Dolemite [Is My Name]? I loved that movie. She walks away with all the scenes she’s in. Among the women I was to meet or audition for that part, I asked for her by name because I remembered her so strongly from Dolemite. And she turned out to be the right choice.

Election, of course, was also set in a school. What do you like about telling stories in that environment?

First of all, I never want to shoot in another school again… I’m sick of it! Even Sideways… Miles is a teacher toward the end. And I did a pilot in 2008 called Hung where Thomas Jane played a teacher at a high school, a coach. I’m done! That’s it. Until the next film…

Are you shooting when the pupils of the school are actually there?

On Election we did. School was in session. We had wonderful cooperation. We do most of the brunt of our work after 3.15 in the afternoon. But there were even days where we would shoot during class. And I needed a lot of extras. It became a big participatory thing for the school to fill my corridors with genuine extras.

So what do you like about this arena? Maybe the fact I was so dumb, I was in school till I was 29. I graduated from university at 23. I graduated from film school at 29. I love learning. I liked school; I could see myself being a teacher a little later in life. I’ve done some university teaching over the years. I like it. And I don’t know, maybe you always want some kind of microcosm of something larger. Prison, a store, a neighbourhood, a fireman’s ball, whatever you choose, but a school can be a decent one.

It’s a little different in The Holdovers, with the school largely empty… Comparing Election and this one, both start with teachers who express high-minded ideals and then violate those ideals. Election discusses morals and ethics. You have to be moral and ethical or whatever. And then this guy in The Holdovers is always talking about the honour code, and each violates it.

Looking back, when did you feel directing could become a viable career?

Six months ago! I mean, I lived like a student until I was 39. For Citizen Ruth, for writing and directing, I was paid a total of $41,000, or something. I had to borrow money from my dad to pay taxes for the next couple of years. And then Election happened. It takes a long time to feel… God… established. And then by the time maybe you are established, you’re so trained to think you’re not established that it’s hard to believe. Especially when it comes to you that late. I was in film school till I was 29. I had a hit student film and it looked promising, but that heat quickly grew cold. Then it was five years later that I finally shot Citizen Ruth, and that was barely released… I didn’t make any money.

Things did change for you when you made Election, right?

Obviously, when Jim [Taylor] and I got nominated for an Oscar for Election, which we were not expecting, it was such a beautiful surprise. I remember my dad called and said, ‘Now don’t let this go to your head.’ And I said, ‘No, Dad, but I want it to go to other people’s heads.’ That stuff… there’s an ego stroke, a validation, that’s great. But more importantly, success is a commodity to hopefully get more films made, or at least your next one. I also remember having a very good feeling about filmmaking after my first meeting with Jack Nicholson, when he said yes to doing About Schmidt. I was driving home thinking, ‘Wow, I’m about to make a movie with Jack Nicholson.’ I really couldn’t believe it.

‘ELECTION GOT GREAT REVIEWS, BUT IT DIDN ’T MAKE ANY MONEY ’

That must’ve felt like a real feather in the cap?

Yeah, to land a big star… Citizen Ruth, say what you will, nice little movie, I’m proud of it. But you know, small indie. And then Election was… Well, it got great reviews, but it didn’t make any money. It cost $8 million to make. It made $15 million at the domestic box office. That’s chump change for those people. So one is still not assured.

With Citizen Ruth, do you think it has been reassessed, with the changing face of the abortion debate in America?

When Roe vs. Wade was reversed, Laura Dern and I both fielded a lot of calls.

Probably the most highfalutin one was The Washington Post. A reporter for The Washington Post called us both, calling the film prescient. Of course, I had a mixed reaction: I was delighted that they were watching the film again, because basically nobody saw it when it first came out. But of course, I was sad for the reason why. But people say now that that movie, if anybody deigns to see it, seems more important. It hasn’t aged. The critique it’s making, not of the political abortion issue, but of the people around the abortion issue, their sincerity and their hypocrisy, is perhaps stronger now than it was then.

Do you find your films are often reassessed over time?

Just watch: Downsizing will be revered as a masterpiece in 700 years, when everyone really is small. ‘Look, someone understood us’ – and they’ll worship me as a god.

Are you aware of people revisiting them with new perspectives?

I’m getting it now a little bit – now that I’m on my eighth feature. You and I are talking while I’m on the pre-release festival circuit. A number of these festivals are not just showing The Holdovers, but showing two, three, four of my previous films. It’s not necessarily a reassessment of films that they didn’t like then that they like now in hindsight, but more, I think, an appreciation of a body of work. And that’s a nice feeling. The good part is it helps you feel established. The bad part is you start to feel like an elder statesman before your time.

How important has your regular co-writer Jim Taylor been to you?

Extraordinary. We’ve written 10, 12 scripts together, most of which have been made, five of which I directed, whether our names are on or not. And we will continue to write. I feel very fortunate. You look back in film history, and Billy Wilder always had a collaborator, and all the great Italian directors… Kurosawa always had collaborators. I’m lucky to have Jim. I have a new one also in David Hemingson, who wrote The Holdovers. That’s a good relationship that kind of plopped into my lap. But my relationship with Jim continues.

Do people find it strange you have Jurassic Park III on your CV, which you and Jim were brought in to rewrite?

Well, I’m surprised! I forget about it.

Recently, somebody stuck a Jurassic Park III poster in my face to sign. I went, ‘Oh, come on, man. I worked on that for a month but if you insist.’ Well, Oliver Stone used to do a lot of behind-the-scenes screenwriting. John Sayles, too. The Coen brothers.

It’s a beloved franchise to be a part of…

And the cheques still come. Once or twice a year, we still get a cheque.

Did it make you decide that blockbustertype movies aren’t really for you?

It didn’t whet our appetite to do it more. That’s not the kind of movies we make. The job was anomalous when we got the call and anomalous when we turned it in.

But the kind of films you do make have a certain identity. Do you recognise what that is?

Well, all I know, for me, it’s unconscious, but I’m forced to be conscious or reject the question when doing interviews for a new film. That’s when people ask, ‘Oh, what is it about your flawed American male protagonist?’ The only answer I can muster for that one is that for some reason it’s the comic template that Jim and I gravitated to – that protagonist must surely represent some part of us inside. Chaplin had the homeless guy and Keaton had the stonefaced ne’er-do-well and Lloyd was the bright-eyed American can-do fellow. And somehow we have our own comic template, but not in all my movies, man. Citizen Ruth is not that way.

Is there one film that you look back on with particular fondness? Or are they all your children?

Well, all my children in terms of how I feel about them now, and I have a good time making all of them. I have a really good time… I just love doing it. Sideways was maybe the best time because we were young and full of vim. And it was fun to finally be out of Nebraska and shoot in California during harvest time, a beautiful sunny region. There was very good energy swirling around that film.

They must send you buckets of wine every year for what you did for that winemaking region?

Let’s just say wine people are pretty thrifty. The only person who remains nice to me is Frank Ostini, who runs the Hitching Post restaurant. He’s made millions off the film, and when I see him, he walks me out to the car with a case of wine! Those guys have made far more money off that movie than I ever will, and the tourism continues to be huge up there.

You won Academy Awards for writing both Sideways and The Descendants. Do they mean much to you?

Of course, it goes back to what I said before. I don’t want it to necessarily go to my head, but I want it to go to other people’s heads and keep letting me make movies. Filmmakers are Border collies. We’re not so interested in ‘Good dog! Good dog!’ We want the next herd of sheep to round up.

You went on to make Nebraska after The Descendants. Do you feel it’s something of a kindred spirit to About Schmidt, with its focus of an older man in crisis?

I’m not saying it’s a better film, it’s not for me to say, but the desolation that Schmidt feels, and says outwardly, if comically, in those letters – the existential crisis he’s in – is present in Nebraska but without having the character’s having to say it. So it’s a little bit more poetic in that way; if it has any poetry at all and is able to communicate things non-verbally, I think it’s a little bit better.

‘SIDEWAYS WAS M AYBE THE BEST TIME BECAUSE WE WERE YOU NG’

Like working with Nicholson on About Schmidt, you must be very proud to have directed Bruce Dern on Nebraska…

Those are rich life experiences. To be able to work with Jack Nicholson. I have to include Paul Giamatti. These are rich life experiences. Bruce Dern. Stacy Keach. In Descendants to have… yeah, Clooney is awesome, but to have Beau Bridges. These guys from the 1970s. Those are rich life experiences.

Who were your 70s icons then in terms of directors?

Obvious ones. Coppola’s string of films in the 70s. Those four masterpieces he made. Hal Ashby. I watch The Last Detail about once a year. I watch Paper Moon about once a year. I watch Nashville maybe every two or three years. And those are the American films. I like Ettore Scola’s A Special Day, 1977, with Marcello Mastroianni and Sophia Loren. I like that one. We could go on and on.

After Downsizing, you had some projects that didn’t happen. Like the Olivia Colman HBO drama Landscapers…

The pandemic shut it down. And then I flirted with doing The Menu for a few months. And then we were five days away from production with a lovely script and beautifully cast with Mads Mikkelsen. And that shut down about five days before production started.

So it must’ve been a tricky period?

It was. With that film that got shut down five days before… you read about that in other directors’ careers and you think, ‘How does that happen?’ And then it happened to me. But even after Downsizing, a commercial and critical failure, and then this one falling apart… and even after a success, there’s only one word that you should say, which is ‘next’. What’s next? Keep going.

So what is next?

I don’t know yet. I’ve got something cooking with Jim Taylor. David Hemingson, the guy who wrote this one, we’re beginning to conceive a western because I’ve long wanted to make a western. And I’m sniffing out a couple of things on the horizon. I just know I want to be back doing it soon.

THE HOLDOVERS IS IN CINEMAS ON 19 JANUARY 2024.