Willem Dafoe: ‘I live near Rome, on an alpaca farm; it’s the best place to see the river of life’

It’s impossible not to be charmed by Willem Dafoe. The 70-year-old actor radiates charm, jumps into jokes, invents his own, and is universally praised by the crews he works with... Sean Baker spoke of how the actor adapted to a project as small as The Florida Project — a film built around non‑actors and children with no experience — only to earn the third of his four Oscar nominations.

In Barcelona, ​​at the BCN Film Fest, which opened on Thursday, Dafoe has remained unmistakably Dafoe — even in his mannerisms. Years ago, he recounted in an interview how he realized how singular his features were while riding the New York subway with his young son.

“Some guys got on the train — and they’re sitting and they’re looking at me and they’re looking kind of rough," he said. “They were looking kind of mean and they were looking at each other, and then I heard one say, ‘Yeah, it’s got to be him. Nobody looks like that mother fucker.”

The conversation begins, fittingly, with his son, because in The Birthday Party, directed by Miguel Ángel Jiménez, Dafoe plays a Greek shipping magnate who, in the summer of 1975, hosts his daughter’s 25th birthday on his private island. His eldest child died in an accident, leaving both the daughter and the father emotionally shattered. What could have been a celebratory gathering quickly turns into a pressure cooker of business interests and family recriminations.

Question. I hope your relationship with your son is better than your character’s relationship with his heir.

Answer. [Laughs] I hope so too, I only have one.

Q. In the film, the magnate’s deceased son appears in a photograph. Could it be a portrait of your real son? They look very much alike.

A. I don’t remember, I really don’t remember... but it could be, I like those details.

Q. The millionaire from The Birthday Party is very concerned about his legacy. What about you?

A. Not at all. Thinking about that causes problems. Because I go from one job to another, I immerse myself in them. If you think about legacy, you have to step back and observe yourself from the outside for too long. I’m not like that. As actors, we have to navigate between the corruption that surrounds us and the corruption that comes with being self-aware. Let me explain: if you’ve had a long career, good or bad, with its ups and downs, like mine, people start to have opinions about you, and you hear them. You have to have willpower so that your own opinion of your work isn’t based on external comments. And I feel very strong in that respect. I think basically what happens is that you keep doing what you do. You pay a price, of course, because you stay in the moment, you don’t look back or forward, which is how you observe a legacy.

Q. On International Theater Day, last March 27, a message you wrote was read at the end of every performance around the world, in which you spoke of the importance of this art in a “divisive” world, especially since we are “social animals and designed biologically for engagement.” You’re not on social media — do you really think our ability to connect is in such bad shape?

A. Social contact is what will save us. Communities were created to share. Even to share worries. And also in the context of theater. Theater is becoming increasingly important because many people have virtual lives. Theater is a way to find life, to find other people, and to find ourselves. You immerse yourself in something you don’t control. And when you go to the theater, that collective experience is fundamental. Doing things in a group builds empathy, builds a shared vision. And it also protects us from those few people who want to control everyone else. And we know that’s a big problem these days.

Q. How do you choose projects? Do you look for adventures?

A. First, I look at the directors. Not always, but often. And it depends a bit on what I’ve been working on. Sometimes you get tired of making historical films, and you look for a balance. Recently, I decided to look for contemporary scripts; I couldn’t stand another period costume and another strange accent. I’m not saying this with a career in mind, but to enjoy myself and stay grounded.

Q. Do you still live near Rome, with your alpaca farm?

A. It’s the best place to see the river of life. And observing nature is the best way to understand many of today’s problems.

Q. At the 2018 Berlinale, when you received the Honorary Golden Bear, you described yourself as a color in the hands of artists. Really? You’re Willem Dafoe!

A. Look, yes, I’m not just a color. The concept is that as an actor, you’re a material. And I want to make a distinction. Thanks for the “Really?”, but if you’re material, you’re flexible. You’re not a performer, you’re yourself. It’s a powerful position. Color in an oil painting has a powerful position. Don’t say “just a color.” Color is strong. Color is reality. As an actor, you embrace those things. And in relation to the director, you’re an artist too. Color collaborates with the artist. I collaborate with the filmmaker. At the same time, I want to go against someone’s vision, especially my own, because I already know where it’s going. This is a way of pushing myself, a way of challenging myself. And it’s a way of having an interesting life. Director, tell me what you see, and we’ll collaborate on that joint creation.

Q. Do you reject many scripts?

A. It depends on what comes up; there are even times when I turn down up to four films a week. What I do know is that I’ll never direct. Too much responsibility. Sorry, I’m just kidding. On the farm, I’ve already learned to work with other people. I feel freer when I’m doing what someone else gives me. And if that happens, generously on the part of the filmmaker, that’s enough for me. I love it when they make me go for a clear objective, and I achieve it, and in the process, there’s a spark. I like restrictions when filming because I find freedom within them. If there’s too much freedom, you fall into laxity and self-indulgence. I see myself as someone making pottery: focused on the technique, shaping the vessel, not thinking, simply going through the technique to create. I like that feeling of doing something. It applies to any story, in film, in my position as artistic director of the Venice Theatre Biennale. That’s how I feel I’m contributing as a human being.

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