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      How Lip-Syncing Got Real

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      Not long ago, lip-syncing was the domain of subversive drag queens, or pop stars that the media saw as talentless. Now it’s how scrappy amateurs get famous.Sally ThurerFor several weeks, Netflix has been insisting that I watch its gender-swapped remake of the ’90s teen romantic comedy “She’s All That.” This version — naturally, “He’s All That” — stars Tanner Buchanan as the high school outcast who needs to be whipped into prom-king shape and Addison Rae as the popular girl who does the whipping. It is Rae’s first movie, but she is ubiquitous on TikTok, where her central mode of performance is breezily dancing and lip-syncing to clips of rap songs and ephemeral bits of internet video. When I finally relented and cued up Netflix, I realized that I’d never heard her actual voice.It’s not a good movie. The bubbly charm that vaulted Rae from her Louisiana bedroom to TikTok fame fizzles on a studio set. As the resuscitated plot wheezes through its paces, Rae seems to be struggling to keep up. But the meta story interested me. Rae’s trajectory recalls the arc of “Singin’ in the Rain,” the classic musical about a silent-film star who stumbles in the jump to talkies. In that movie, the star masks her horrible voice by lip-syncing to a sweet-sounding actress hiding behind the curtain. The difference is that Addison Rae became famous by overtly co-opting other people’s sounds. And it is her world, TikTok, that represents the thrilling emerging medium.Acting as if you are singing when you are not singing — lip-syncing has been an object of American popular fascination for a century. Not too long ago, it could even prompt a pop-cultural panic. Framed as a weapon of talentless pop stars and their cynical handlers, it came to represent the height of crass media manipulation. But now the opposite feels true: Lip-syncing has been refashioned as a tool of the appealingly scrappy amateur. Addison Rae can don a crop top, perkily mouth along to a lyric about Percocet and be anointed Hollywood’s new girl next door.

      @addisonre HES ALL THAT NETFLIX FRIDAY ♬ original sound – Tristen🧃 How did we get here? Lip-syncing was so ubiquitous in early musicals that in 1952, “Singin’ in the Rain” relied on it even as it critiqued it: Debbie Reynolds, playing the actress who sings for the star, was herself partially dubbed with the voice of the unheralded singer Betty Noyes. But while films were using lip-syncing to build pitch-perfect Hollywood numbers, drag performers were doing it out of sly necessity. As Tom Fitzgerald and Lorenzo Marquez detail in “Legendary Children,” their cultural history of “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” drag shows were criminalized in early 20th-century America, and evading harassment meant performing at underground clubs and house parties where live music was often out of reach. While movie musicals hoped their lip-syncing created a naturalistic illusion, drag leaned into the artifice, building a commentary on the source material by challenging its gender norms.In mainstream spaces, that artifice has been eyed with suspicion, wrapped up not just in homophobia but also a fear of technology, which might threaten to reprogram the essence of human culture itself. As the Christian Science Monitor asked in 1990, “Is advancing technology leading us into a musical world where nothing is ‘real’?” Occasionally, that tension builds into a culture-wide authenticity crisis.In the early ’90s, the German pop duo Milli Vanilli scandalized the record industry by lip-syncing to uncredited studio singers, Pavarotti was sued for lip-syncing to himself at an Italian concert, and state lawmakers introduced a flurry of bills attempting to regulate dubbing. The pattern repeated itself in 2004, when Ashlee Simpson was pilloried for her lip-sync fail on “Saturday Night Live,” an online petition begged Britney Spears to actually sing on tour, and Elton John said that lip-syncing artists “should be shot.” Finally, in 2013, the controversy reached the Capitol, as journalists grilled Beyoncé about singing with a prerecorded track at Barack Obama’s second inauguration. This time, when she explained that she was a perfectionist using an approved industry tactic, the press actually applauded.Lip-syncing has since swept American culture both high and low. “RuPaul’s Drag Race” busted drag performance out of gay clubs and cabarets and into America’s living rooms. Along the way, it made campy spectacle into a mainstream vehicle for telling personal truths, and fashioned drag queens into, as my colleague Shane O’Neill has put it, the cultural avatars of being yourself. (So successful was the show that it was swiftly co-opted into heterosexual cringe, via the celebrity reality competition “Lip Sync Battle.”)It is now perfectly acceptable for pop stars to lip-sync in live performances, as long as they supply a fantastical enough show in return. This spring, lip-syncing even ascended to the opera: In Opera Philadelphia’s short film “The Island We Made,” the “Drag Race” winner Sasha Velour appears as a spacey maternal spirit, channeling the singer Eliza Bagg’s voice through her glittery red lips. And this fall, you can take a Zoom lip-syncing course with the performance scholar M.B Boucai, integrating the psychological gesture technique of Michael Chekhov and the mime tradition of Jacques Lecoq.Even as lip-syncing reaches new artistic heights, TikTok has democratized it, encouraging its billion global users to casually sing along. The app accommodates performance styles as disparate as Rae executing basic cheerleading moves and a girl mouthing the Counting Crows’ “Shrek 2” track “Accidentally in Love” over youthful images of the Unabomber. On a crowdsourced app, it makes sense for the central creative feature to have a low barrier to entry. Just as Instagram made everyone a hipster photographer with its vintage filters, TikTok turns its audience into experimental mash-up artists, with self-conscious nods to artifice baked into the experience.Besides, as our experience grows increasingly mediated, we’ve come to appreciate the skills of the people who do the mediating. Much of TikTok’s charm derives from its lo-fi aesthetic, its janky green-screen effects and shaky hand-held shots. There is no longer some suspicious Hollywood power broker pulling the strings. (Or if there is, he has swooped in later, after the TikToker is already internet famous.) The app has taken all of the hallmarks of Hollywood manipulation — dubbing, but also airbrushing and C.G.I. — and put them in the user’s hands, where they have employed them in hypnotic, surprising, occasionally beautiful ways.In the drag tradition, lip-syncing freed the body of the physical demands of singing, cracking open stunning new visual possibilities. Lip-syncing on TikTok is less about testing the limits of the body than exploring the boundaries of the phone. Some of the app’s most interesting content is made by young people broadcasting from under their parents’ roofs, and in a sense they are practicing their own kind of clandestine burlesque, playing with their identities amid nondescript backgrounds The tech may be new, but the performances are as pure as singing into a hairbrush.Addison Rae is not a standout lip-syncer, but that is not the point of her. A drag queen lip-syncs with spectacular effort and razor-sharp precision, but Rae telegraphs the opposite, wearing the practice with a flirtatious lightness and evincing the middling technique of an amateur. Her following on the app (84.6 million) feels unjustified by her skill set, but her approachability is part of the appeal. Perhaps you could be her, if you were born with superior tooth enamel and a preternatural awareness of your most flattering angles. Which is not to say that the actual job of TikTok star is easy: When Rae failed to post for a week in 2020, internet headlines speculated that she was pregnant, or dead.Rae’s earliest TikToks are staged in carpeted rooms featuring bare walls and inert ceiling fans, but as she rose in popularity, her backgrounds grew increasingly glamorous — Hollywood group house, infinity pool, Kardashian inner sanctum. The early frisson of her videos, which played off a girl next door unexpectedly surfing the cultural currents to stardom, has dimmed. Now that the self-reinforcing TikTok algorithm has ensured her hegemony on the app, she is swiftly invading more traditional entertainment spheres. You can find her on YouTube, where she sings the brief yet tedious pop single “Obsessed”; at Sephora, where she sells her branded makeup line; and now on Netflix, which has signed her to a multi-picture deal.Boucai, the Zoom instructor, told me that lip-syncing accesses a transgressive remixing tradition developed among marginalized communities: “It’s a way of being able to perform yourself through what you can’t be — through the impossibility of what you can’t be.” Drag rests on heightening and exposing the contradictions of identity, and the best TikTok material does the same. But the app also serves up a buffet of content that only smooths those contradictions into unnerving new forms.In a piece for Wired documenting the evolution of digital blackface on TikTok, Jason Parham observed that Black culture “works like an accelerant” on the app, driving the popularity of white creators who virtually port Black sounds through their own bodies. Here the casualness of a lip-syncing performance becomes discomfiting: For a white creator, Black culture can be assumed and shrugged off with the ease of a costume change.Speaking of bad makeovers: “He’s All That” should represent Rae’s debut as a fully formed star persona, no longer borrowing other people’s cultural expressions but staking a claim to her own. Instead she looks stilted, vacant, lost. A cleverer remake of “She’s All That” (itself a take on “Pygmalion” and “My Fair Lady”) might have taken a lip-syncing TikTok star and refashioned her into someone who had something to say, maybe with the help of a disciplinarian drag mother. Instead we have Rae, just going through the motions. Through figures like her, lip-syncing has finally become not a scandal, or a triumph, but a bore. More

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      How Hong Kong Censors Films to Protect National Security

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      The Asian film capital has cracked down on documentaries and independent productions that it fears could glamorize the pro-democracy movement.HONG KONG — The director of “Far From Home,” a short, intimate film about a family caught in the tumult of the 2019 antigovernment protests in Hong Kong, had hoped to show off her work at a local film festival in June.Then the censors stepped in.They told the director, Mok Kwan-ling, that her film’s title — which in Cantonese could carry a suggestion of cleaning up after a crime — must go. Dialogue expressing sympathy for an arrested protester had to be excised. Scenes of removing items from a room also had to be cut, apparently because they might be construed as concealing evidence.In total, Ms. Mok was ordered to make 14 cuts from the 25-minute film. But she said that doing so would have destroyed the balance she had attempted to forge between the views of protesters and those who opposed them. So she refused, and her film has thus far gone unseen by the public.“It was quite contradictory to a good narrative and a good plot,” she said. “If a person is completely good or completely bad, it’s very boring.”Hong Kong’s world-famous film scene, which nurtured groundbreaking directors like John Woo and Wong Kar-wai, has become the latest form of expression to be censored since Beijing imposed a tough new national security law on the former British colony last year.Mok Kwan-ling, an independent film director, was ordered by the censors to make 14 cuts and to change the name of her film, “Far From Home.”Anthony Kwan for The New York TimesIn March, a local theater pulled the prizewinning protest documentary “Inside the Red Brick Wall,” after a state-run newspaper said it incited hatred of China. At least two Hong Kong directors have decided to not release new films locally. When an earlier film by one of those directors was shown to a private gathering last month, the gathering was raided by the police.Directors say they fear the government will force them to cut their films — and, potentially, put them in prison — if they dismiss demands and show their work.“Under the national security law, Hong Kong is no longer Hong Kong,” said Jevons Au, a director who moved to Canada shortly after the sweeping law was imposed. “Hong Kong is a part of China, and its film industry will finally turn into a part of China’s film industry.”Beyond the national security law, the government plans to toughen its censorship policies to allow it to ban or force cuts to films deemed “contrary to the interests of national security.” Such powers would also be retroactive, meaning the authorities could bar films that were previously approved. People that show such films could face up to three years in prison.“Part of the underlying goal of this law is to intimidate Hong Kong filmmakers, investors, producers, distributors and theaters into internalizing self-censorship,” said Shelly Kraicer, a film researcher specializing in Chinese-language cinema. “There will be a lot of ideas that just aren’t going to become projects and projects that aren’t going to be developed into films.”The new restrictions are unlikely to trouble bigger-budget Hong Kong films, which are increasingly made in collaboration with mainland companies and aimed at the Chinese market. Producers already work to ensure those films comply with mainland censorship. Likewise, distributors and streaming services like Netflix, which is available in Hong Kong but not mainland China, are wary of crossing red lines.“Netflix is a business first,” said Kenny Ng, an expert on film censorship at Hong Kong Baptist University’s Academy of Film. “They show unconventional films, including politically controversial films, but only from a safe distance. I think Netflix has bigger concerns about access to commercial markets, even in mainland China.”Netflix representatives did not reply to requests for comment.Golden Scene, a Hong Kong movie theater, pulled the protest documentary “Inside the Red Brick Wall” after it was attacked by a pro-Beijing newspaper.Anthony Kwan for The New York TimesThe most likely targets of the new rules, which are expected to be approved this fall by Hong Kong’s legislature, are independent documentaries and fictional films that touch on protests and opposition politics.“For those independent filmmakers who really want to do Hong Kong stories in Hong Kong, it will be very challenging,” said Mr. Au, the director who moved to Canada. “They will have a lot of obstacles. It might even be dangerous.”The documentary “Inside the Red Brick Wall” was shot by anonymous filmmakers who followed protesters at Hong Kong Polytechnic University when they were besieged by police for two weeks in 2019. In addition to the film being pulled from the local theater, the Arts Development Council of Hong Kong withdrew a $90,000 grant to Ying E Chi, the independent film collective that released it.The censorship office had initially approved the documentary for audiences over 18, but now some in the film industry believe it could face a retroactive ban.Creators of the fictional film “Ten Years,” which examined the fears of vanishing culture and freedoms that invigorated the resistance to China’s tightening grip on Hong Kong, say it could also be targeted under the new rules. The filmmakers had difficulties finding venues when the movie was released in 2015, but now it might be banned completely, said Mr. Au, who directed one vignette in the five-part film.Kiwi Chow, who also directed part of “Ten Years,” knew that his protest documentary “Revolution of Our Times” had no chance of being approved in Hong Kong. Even its overseas premiere at the Cannes Film Festival in July required special precautions. It was shown on short notice near the end of the festival so Beijing couldn’t pressure the organizers to block it.“I need to do what’s right and not let fear shake my beliefs,” said Kiwi Chow, who directed a documentary on the protests in Hong Kong.Anthony Kwan for The New York TimesMr. Chow sold the film rights to a European distributor and, before he returned to Hong Kong, deleted footage of the film from his own computers out of fear he might be arrested.Some of the subjects of the 152-minute film, including pro-democracy activists such as Benny Tai and Gwyneth Ho, are now in jail. Mr. Chow feared he, too, might be arrested. Friends and family warned him to leave the city, release the film anonymously or change its title. The title is drawn from the slogan “Liberate Hong Kong, Revolution of Our Times,” which the government has described as an illegal call for Hong Kong independence.But Mr. Chow said he ultimately went ahead with the film as he had envisioned it out of a sense of responsibility to the project, its subject and crew.“I need to do what’s right and not let fear shake my beliefs,” he said.While he has yet to face direct retaliation, he said there were signs it could be coming.When he attended a small, private showing of “Beyond the Dream,” a nonpolitical romance that he directed, the police raided the event. Mr. Chow and about 40 people who attended the screening at the office of a pro-democracy district representative were each fined about $645 for violating social distancing rules.“It seems like a warning sign from the regime,” he said. “It’s not very direct. It’s still a question whether the regime has begun its work: Has a case on me been opened?” More

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      Bobby Zarem, ‘Superflack’ and Maker of Stars, Dies at 84

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      As a spirited impresario of public relations, he promoted entertainers, films and the “I Love New York” tourism campaign.Bobby Zarem, the exuberant press agent who fulfilled his childhood fantasies by catching rising stars and promoting them to stellar careers, died early Sunday morning at his home in Savannah, Ga. He was 84.His death was confirmed by Bill Augustin, a longtime colleague, who said the cause was complications of lung cancer.A gregarious and ingratiating Yale graduate, Mr. Zarem lasted barely 18 months on Wall Street before stumbling into a career as an indefatigable show business promoter.A largely affable Barnum, he cannily cultivated a symbiotic bond with reporters, greeted favored guests at his parties by obsequiously dropping to his knees and kissing their hands, and gushed with joyful benevolence one moment only to unleash a vitriolic but lyrical X-rated tirade the next, prompted by a perceived slight or an underling’s lapse.Mr. Zarem’s clients included (in alphabetical order) Alan Alda, Ann-Margret, Woody Allen, Michael Caine, Cher, Michael Douglas, Dustin Hoffman, Sophia Loren, Jack Nicholson, Diana Ross, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone.He publicized the films “Tommy” (by staging a gala party in a Midtown Manhattan subway station) and “Saturday Night Fever” (after stealing stills of the production from the studio, which expected the movie to flop and neglected to distribute photographs of John Travolta), as well as “Rambo,” “Dances With Wolves” and “Pumping Iron,” the 1977 documentary about bodybuilding, which starred Mr. Schwarzenegger. For that film, Mr. Zarem arranged a meeting with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis that helped elevate Mr. Schwarzenegger to global superstardom.Mr. Zarem with Michael Douglas in 2010. Mr. Douglas was one of Mr. Zarem’s many celebrity clients.Dave Allocca/Starpix/ShutterstockHe also played a role in initiating the “I Love New York” tourism campaign — although just how much of a role is unclear; he was one of a number of people who claimed credit for originating the slogan (the logo was designed by Milton Glaser).He was hired by William S. Doyle, the state’s deputy commerce commissioner, and said he recruited the Wells Rich Greene advertising agency to produce a television advertising campaign starring Broadway celebrities.He also promoted his own birthplace, transforming John Behrendt’s true-crime book “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” (1994) into a tourism magnet for Savannah. He helped launch a film festival there in 1998 and retired there in 2010.Judy Klemesrud of The New York Times called him “Super Flack.” Spy magazine characterized him as “preternaturally energetic.” Marion Meade wrote in her biography “The Unruly Life of Woody Allen” (2000) that Mr. Zarem was “fueled by an inexhaustible tank of hot air.”And Hal Erickson, likening him to the fading publicist he inspired who was played by Al Pacino in the film “People I Know,” wrote in his book “Any Resemblance to Actual Persons” (2017) that Mr. Zarem “never worried about getting into heaven as long as he could get his people into print.”Like his theatrical clients, Mr. Zarem could deftly switch roles: from the choleric control freak grappling with the last-minute glitches in staging an event to the chivalrous host greeting every guest like a best friend.He wanted badly to be liked, but he could develop a grudge when he wasn’t.Mr. Zarem feuded venomously with the columnist Liz Smith in the 1980s after he discovered that she was writing a separate syndicated column under a pseudonym, Robin Adams Sloan, that denigrated his clients.In contrast to many of his less gregarious colleagues, Mr. Zarem’s own boldfaced name punctuated gossip columns nearly as frequently as his clients’.But despite his personal visibility, Mr. Zarem insisted in an interview with The New York Times in 2001 that his career “was for a long time hurt because I didn’t promote myself.”“People don’t know half of what I’ve done because I’m not a bragger,” he had told The Times four years earlier. He added, though, that while most of his competitors were “handlers or caterers,” he himself had “elevated publicity to an art form.”He regularly dined at Elaine’s on the Upper East Side (where he said he introduced Mia Farrow to Woody Allen), helped organize an annual Oscar-night gala (“Almost everybody here is somebody,” he said at one event), and, in an era of antiseptic tweets, was known for sending personalized handwritten notes.Endowed with a discerning eye that could identify potential stars, Mr. Zarem delivered on his boyhood dreams.“I sit here now,” he said in an interview with South magazine in 2017, “and I realize that everything I fantasized about became real.”Robert Myron Zarem was born on Sept. 30, 1936, in Savannah, the youngest of three sons in an Orthodox Jewish family. His father, Harry, owned a wholesale shoe company. His mother, Rose (Gold) Zarem, was a pianist.“I’ve had major identity problems all my life because I’m obsessed with meeting stars,” he told The Times in 1997When he was 8, he said, he and a friend cut Sunday-school classes to collect an autograph from the tempestuous actress Tallulah Bankhead, who was staying at a Savannah hotel.They planned and executed an elaborate subterfuge — learning her room number from a bellhop who worked for Bobby’s father; walking up eight flights to avoid the elevator operator; knocking on the door and refusing to be cowed when she shrieked, “Go away! I don’t sign autographs”; and then sneaking in behind a maid’s breakfast cart, prompting Miss Bankhead to lob a newspaper at them.Many years later, as a prominent publicist, he encountered Miss Bankhead and made one more fruitless effort. He was equally unsuccessful. “I still don’t sign autographs,” she said.He would continue to collect them, though. Before his father died of cancer when Bobby was 13, he would accompany him when he came to New York for treatment at a New York hospital. They would stay at the Waldorf Astoria, where Bobby would forage for famous guests.After his father died, he told Hamptons magazine, “I was scared to get close to anybody out of fear that that person, too, would disappear.”Despite a lifelong struggle with attention deficit disorder that made reading demanding, he followed his two older brothers to Phillips Academy in Massachusetts and then to Yale, where he graduated in 1958. (Danny Zarem, a fashion retailer, died in 2013. Dr. Harvey Zarem, a plastic surgeon, died in 2015. No immediate family members survive.)After earning a bachelor’s degree in political science, he worked for the United States Trust Company in New York; served briefly in the Air National Guard; was hired by Columbia Artists Management; and, starting in 1968, discovered his gift as a publicist while working for the producer Joseph E. Levine.In 1969 he went to work for Rogers & Cowan, the public relations firm, where his client roster included Dustin Hoffman. He opened his own agency, Zarem Inc., in 1974.Mr. Zarem, a workaholic, never married and didn’t drink, although he smoked marijuana to relax. He cultivated a devil-may-care style in untucked shirts and New Balance sneakers, but that style belied a fierce temper.The publicist Peggy Siegal, who once worked for him, swore that Mr. Zarem lobbed a typewriter at her when she erred in taking a phone message. (He responded that he wouldn’t have missed at such short range.) Mr. Schwarzenegger recalled in his 2012 memoir, “Total Recall,” that Mr. Zarem “always talked like he was completely confused and the world was coming to an end.”He bemoaned the current state of public relations, he told New York magazine in 2010, because the warp speed of digital media pre-empted what to a pro like him was a fine-tuned battle plan of leaks and exclusive stories.About the state of the art as he practiced it, Mr. Zarem noted, “Nobody knows what a press agent does, and if you’re smart, you keep it that way.”He claimed that he had gained self-awareness after more than three decades of analysis with Dr. Samuel Lowy, a psychiatrist who specialized in interpreting dreams. Mr. Zarem concluded that he promoted other people to magnify his own self-image.“I think that’s why I did what I did,” he told Hamptons magazine. “Not feeling that I had anything to communicate, I felt that if I made the rest of the world accept Dustin Hoffman and Ann-Margret and Cher, and all these people, then I would be accepted.”In retrospect, he said, he saw his role in the “I Love New York” campaign as a breakthrough.“My therapist once told me, ‘Anyone who saved the single greatest metropolis can’t be that screwed up,’” Mr. Zarem said. “For the first time in my life, I don’t feel the need to jump out a window if someone cancels dinner on me. Now I know who and what I am.” More

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      ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ | Anatomy of a Scene

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      Film directors walk viewers through one scene of their movies, showing the magic, motives and the mistakes from behind the camera.Film directors walk viewers through one scene of their movies, showing the magic, motives and the mistakes from behind the camera. More

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      Watch Ben Platt Perform in ‘Dear Evan Hansen’

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      Stephen Chbosky, the director of the film adaptation of the Broadway musical, narrates a sequence with the song “Waving Through a Window.”The director Stephen Chbosky narrates a sequence from his film, featuring Ben Platt.Erika Doss/Universal PicturesIn “Anatomy of a Scene,” we ask directors to reveal the secrets that go into making key scenes in their movies. See new episodes in the series on Fridays. You can also watch our collection of more than 150 videos on YouTube and subscribe to our YouTube channel.Adapting the Broadway musical “Dear Evan Hansen” for the big screen gave the director Stephen Chbosky an opportunity to interpret some of the show’s themes in fresh visual ways.In this sequence, the lead character Evan Hansen (Ben Platt) is struggling with anxiety on his first day of school. He sings one of the show’s signature songs, “Waving Through a Window,” as he walks the hallways. But the sequence isn’t choreographed or performed like a traditional musical.“What is distinct about the scene,” Chbosky said, “is that if you look at what’s actually happening, even though he is singing, what the singing in this moment represents is a thought in his head.” So the character isn’t so much bursting into song as he is thinking into song.Rather than “High School Musical”-style moves, Chbosky and his team instead went for a kind of visual choreography. That involved locker slams to the beat of the music and some quick cuts to represent Evan’s feelings of being both overwhelmed and ignored.“It was really choreographed to his emotions,” Chbosky said. “That was always the main thing. Where is he living? What does this mean? How does it affect him emotionally?”Read the “Dear Evan Hansen” review.Read interviews with cast members on how they found their voices.Read the review of the Broadway show.Sign up for the Movies Update newsletter and get a roundup of reviews, news, Critics’ Picks and more. More

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      Roger Michell, Director of ‘Notting Hill,’ Is Dead at 65

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      He was an accomplished theater director as well as a filmmaker. But he was best known for his blockbuster romantic comedy starring Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant.Roger Michell, the British theater and film director best known for “Notting Hill,” the wildly popular 1999 romantic comedy that somewhat overshadowed the rest of his extensive and diverse body of work, died on Wednesday. He was 65.His family announced his death in a statement released by his publicist. The statement did not say where he died or what the cause was.Mr. Michell’s first film, a 1995 adaptation of Jane Austen’s novel “Persuasion,” caught the eye of the screenwriter Richard Curtis, who had scored a major success with “Four Weddings and a Funeral” the year before. Mr. Curtis was looking for someone to direct his next screenplay, about a humble London bookseller who falls in love with a movie star.Though he found the idea of trying to match a blockbuster like “Four Weddings and a Funeral” to be daunting, Mr. Michell said yes immediately. He knew he wanted to cast Julia Roberts as the movie star, but he cast around for a male lead before settling on Hugh Grant, who had also starred in “Four Weddings.”“We toyed with the idea of casting someone else because of an anxiety about the film being seen as a retread, a sequel,” Mr. Michell told The Guardian in 1999. “Then we thought, ‘How ridiculous — we have the greatest actor in the world for this kind of material, wanting to do this film.’”Mr. Michell’s worries proved to be unwarranted: “Notting Hill” grossed $262 million worldwide, $6 million more than “Four Weddings” had. It was the top-grossing British film at the time (it has since been surpassed by the “Harry Potter” movies, among others), though Mr. Michell was ambivalent about its success.“Actually I sometimes wonder whether doing ‘Notting Hill’ was a bad thing,” he told The Birmingham Post in 2002, “because it was so successful, everybody is so surprised when I do anything different.”Julia Roberts, Huge Grant and Emma Chambers in Mr. Michell’s best-known movie, “Notting Hill” (1999).Clive Coote / Universal PicturesHe continued to notch critical and commercial successes. His next film was “Changing Lanes,” a big-budget thriller with Ben Affleck and Samuel L. Jackson that did well at the box office, though most of his subsequent films were smaller productions, among them “The Mother” (2003), about a middle-aged woman’s affair with a younger man, and “Enduring Love” (2004), an adaptation of a novel by Ian McEwan. Both films starred Daniel Craig, one of the many actors who worked with Mr. Michell frequently.Mr. Michell was supposed to direct Mr. Craig as James Bond in “Quantum of Solace” (2008), but he backed out after he realized that the film had no script and was being rushed forward to meet the producers’ release date.He remained a popular director in London theater while continuing to work in film. He had a personal policy of directing only new plays, the exception being the work of Harold Pinter, his hero.“I have strong views about the kind of work I want to do,” he told The Financial Times in 2004. “That’s all that guides me. I don’t have any other kind of strategy. I’m ambitious — what else is there?”Mr. Michell was born on June 5, 1956, in Pretoria, South Africa, where his British father was stationed as a diplomat. As a child he moved around often; he lived in Damascus and Beirut, and he was in Prague to witness tanks rolling through during the city during the Soviet invasion of 1968.Mr. Michell’s first marriage, to the actress Kate Buffery, ended in divorce. He was separated from his second wife, the actress Anna Maxwell Martin. He is also survived by his children, Harry, Rosie, Maggie and Nancy.Mr. Michell studied English at the University of Cambridge. After graduating in 1977, he began working for a theater company in Brighton. A year later he got his first big break: a job as an assistant director at the Royal Theater Company in London.There he worked alongside old theater hands like the playwrights John Osborne and Samuel Beckett — whom he remembered, in a 2017 interview with The Sunday Star-Times, a New Zealand newspaper, as “the opposite of this sort of terrifying eagle presence that you might suspect from photographs.”He also worked with the next generation of directors and writers, including Danny Boyle, who would win an Academy Award for directing “Slumdog Millionaire” (2008), and Hanif Kureishi, an up-and-coming novelist and playwright.Mr. Michell and Mr. Kureishi later became collaborators. Mr. Michell directed a 1993 adaptation of Mr. Kureishi’s novel “The Buddha of Suburbia” (1990) as a BBC series, and Mr. Kureishi wrote the script for two of Mr. Michell’s films, “The Mother” and “Venus” (2006), starring Peter O’Toole.Mr. Michell’s most recent film is “The Duke,” a comedy about the 1961 theft of a painting of the Duke of Marlborough from the National Gallery in London, starring Helen Mirren and Jim Broadbent. It was shown at film festivals in 2020 and is scheduled for general release next year.Although his success with “Notting Hill” vaulted him into the top ranks of English-language directors, Mr. Michell kept a low profile, preferring to let his actors and screenwriters shine — a quality that may explain why so many actors liked working with him.“As a species, stars are pretty frightening: they’re iconic and you’re not,” he said in the Guardian interview. “But like any other performers, they thrive on a good environment. Part of my job is to give the impression of enormous calm; it’s not necessarily how I feel.” More

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      Camille Cottin, de “Dix pour Cent” à Hollywood

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      Après le succès fulgurant de la série aux USA, la comédienne joue avec Matt Damon dans “Stillwater”, de Tom McCarthy. “Vous ne pouvez quasiment pas la quitter des yeux quand elle est à l’écran,” dit le réalisateur.The New York Times traduit en français une sélection de ses meilleurs articles. Retrouvez-les ici.Au coeur de la pandémie, à mi-chemin entre les sorties de “Ted Lasso” en août et de “Bridgerton” en décembre 2020, vous êtes peut-être tombé par hasard sur la série française diffusée sur Netflix “Dix pour cent” — “Call My Agent!”, en anglais — une parodie de l’industrie du divertissement à la fois tendre et absurde, vue depuis une agence artistique parisienne dont les agents, pour la plupart des amateurs de cinéma au grand cœur, se soumettent aux caprices de leurs clients très exigeants.Dans ce cas, vous êtes parmi les millions de spectateurs à avoir découvert Camille Cottin, l’actrice française qui incarne Andréa Martel, une dure à cuire aux yeux verts perçants qui s’échine à maintenir son agence à flot tandis que sa vie privée est en pleine désintégration.La série est l’une des rares à nous avoir remonté le moral pendant la pandémie. Elle a aussi incité le public américain à s’aventurer vers d’autres séries étrangères comme “Lupin” ou “Money Heist” (“La Casa de Papel”), à condition de surmonter “la barrière des sous-titres d’un pouce de haut” évoquée par le réalisateur de “Parasite” Bong Joon Ho dans son discours aux Golden Globes de 2020. Le succès de “Dix pour Cent” a inspiré des spin-offs en Grande-Bretagne, au Québec et en Turquie. Et il est maintenant question d’un long métrage qui verra Andrea Martel partir pour New York.Pourtant Camille Cottin, 42 ans, formée à la fois au théâtre et à la comédie à sketches, est passée complètement à côté du phénomène qu’est devenu “Dix pour cent” aux États-Unis. Et pour cause: elle était confinée à Paris avec son mari et ses deux jeunes enfants — au final aussi malheureuse que nous.“J’étais bourrée d’inquiétudes pendant la pandémie et je me sentais assez tétanisée”, nous a confié Cottin lors d’une interview par vidéo, en anglais. “Je voulais être créative, mais je ne l’étais pas du tout. Et j’avais aussi le sentiment que je ne pourrais plus jamais retravailler. J’avais peur.”“Et là, vous me dites que pendant la pandémie, tout le monde regardait “Call My Agent!”. J’étais à mille lieues de ça, au contraire, je me sentais enterrée vivante”, a-t-elle ajouté avec un rire sombre.Camille Cottin en agent artistique dans “Dix pour cent” — “Call My Agent!” aux USA — entourée de Grégory Montel, à gauche, et d’Assad Bouab.Christophe Brachet/NetflixCottin menait cette interview dans la voiture qui la ramenait chez elle après un essayage de robes pour le Festival de Cannes. (Pour les fans de “Dix pour cent”: ce n’était pas une robe à plumes comme celle qui embarrasse Juliette Binoche à la fin de la Saison 2). Dans son nouveau film “Stillwater”, Cottin est Virginie, une comédienne active et mère célibataire qui vient en aide à un père plein de remords — Matt Damon— venu à Marseille avec un plan mal ficelé. Pour la critique du New York Times Manohla Dargis, elle est “électrique”. Vanity Fair qualifie sa performance de “brillante et attachante”.La scène dans la voiture était un peu moins glamour. Sa fille de 6 ans dormait profondément, la tête sur les genoux de maman. Et quand la voiture s’est arrêtée, j’ai vu Cottin, multitâche, en pleine action, sa fille ensommeillée et une boule de taffetas rose sur un bras, son appel vidéo toujours en cours au bout de l’autre, le ciel lumineux de Paris en arrière-plan. Elle s’est interrompue un instant pour coucher sa fille, puis a poursuivi la conversation assise sur le carreau de sa salle de bain — un compromis qu’elle a fait avec son enfant qui lui avait demandé de ne pas trop s’éloigner. Puis son mari, Benjamin, rentre à la maison. “Le père est là !” s’exclame-t-elle. “Si ç’avait été Virginie, elle aurait eu à gérer cette situation seule”.Après un petit rôle en 2016 dans “Allied”, un film avec Brad Pitt, avec “Stillwater” c’est cette fois un public américain bien plus large que Camille Cottin a l’occasion de toucher. Il s’agit là sans doute d’un rôle qui la fera officiellement passer aux Etats-Unis, du statut d’actrice française peu connue à celui de sensation mondiale. Avant la fin de l’année, on la retrouvera aussi aux côtés de Lady Gaga et d’Adam Driver dans “House of Gucci” de Ridley Scott, où elle incarnera Paola Franchi, la petite amie de Maurizio Gucci (Driver). Et elle devrait retrouver le rôle d’Hélène, membre influente de l’organisation criminelle des Douze, dans la série “Killing Eve” de la BBC.Le public étranger a découvert le talent de Cottin bien avant que nous, les Américains, ne soyons confinés chez nous. Quand “Call My Agent!” est passé à la télévision britannique, Cottin a pris conscience que la série avait trouvé un public outre-Manche. C’était en 2019, et elle participait à un festival de directeurs de casting à Kilkenny, en Irlande, avec son propre agent français. Soudain, elle s’est retrouvée au centre de l’attention.“Ils me disaient, ‘Oh je peux faire un selfie avec vous?’ et moi je disais: ‘Quoi? Mais vous êtes le directeur de casting de James Bond!’,” se souvient-elle avec un éclat de rire.C’est grâce à ce voyage, puis à un deuxième à Londres, qu’elle a été castée dans “Gucci” et qu’elle a rencontré le producteur de “Killing Eve”.Camille Cottin dit qu’elle a beaucoup moins d’assurance qu’Andrea, son personnage dans “Dix pour cent”. “Quand je dois faire un choix, ça me prend longtemps, toujours trop longtemps. Et je demande l’avis de tout le monde.”Tania Franco Klein pour The New York TimesMais “Dix pour cent” n’a pas joué dans la décision du réalisateur de “Stillwater”, Tom McCarthy, d’engager Cottin — il n’avait pas encore vu la série quand il l’a rencontrée. Il a engagé la comédienne sur la base d’une audition dont il dit qu’elle les a stupéfiés, lui et ses co-scénaristes, Thomas Bidegain et Noé Debré.“Vous ne pouvez quasiment pas la quitter des yeux quand elle est à l’écran”, a-t-il dit récemment, lors d’une interview depuis la France. “Elle est un peu éparpillée, un peu dans tous les sens. Elle est drôle, elle a de l’autodérision, elle est empathique. Elle est coriace. Elle est directe. Et je continue à ressentir tout ça après l’avoir vue pendant un an et demi en salle de montage, chaque moment avec elle est intense.”Pour Cottin, le personnage de Virginie, qui est ouverte, maternelle et toujours à la recherche de quelque chose à réparer (comme le rustre venu de l’Oklahoma qu’incarne Matt Damon), est son quasi-double.“De tous les personnages que j’ai eu à jouer, Virginie est celui dont je me sens le plus proche”, dit-elle, même si c’est l’un des rares rôles qu’elle ait tournés en anglais. “Nous avons la même énergie. Et jusqu’à maintenant, on m’a surtout castée dans des rôles de femmes plus tendues. Un peu plus dans le contrôle.”Cottin est d’un naturel désarmant, évident dès le premier contact, en totale contradiction avec le vernis glacial de son personnage dans “Dix pour cent”. Elle ne se prend pas trop au sérieux — McCarthy dit qu’elle est “gaffeuse” — et on réalise vite son grand potentiel comique. Celui-ci se révèle au grand jour dans son rôle français le plus connu, le rôle principal de l’émission TV humoristique “Connasse”. Parmi d’autres exploits, elle y escalade la grille de Kensington Palace dans l’espoir de rencontrer le prince Harry.Camille Cottin avec Matt Damon et Lilou Siauvaud dans “Stillwater”. Elle a décroché le rôle sur la base d’une audition avec le réalisateur Tom McCarthy, qui n’avait pas vu “Dix pour Cent”.Jessica Forde/Focus FeaturesDominique Besnehard, l’un des producteurs de “Dix pour cent”, dit de Cottin qu’elle est “celle qui est jolie, mordante, audacieuse” et qui, dans le rôle d’Andréa, “est très douée pour passer de la dureté à la fragilité”.Pour Cottin, Andréa est un personnage qu’elle admire et comprend à la fois, mais qu’elle ressent très éloignée de sa propre personnalité.“J’ai beaucoup moins d’assurance qu’Andréa. Elle est plus sûre d’elle, plus stratégique et plus douée pour prendre des décisions”, estime-t-elle. “Quand je dois faire un choix, ça me prend longtemps, toujours trop longtemps. Et je demande l’avis de tout le monde.”Si Cottin ne manque certainement pas d’assurance quant à sa carrière, en tant qu’actrice quarantenaire, elle est très consciente que les succès qu’elle connaît aujourd’hui ne présage en rien de l’avenir.“Peut-être que si j’avais 20 ans, je me dirais : ‘Oh mon Dieu, je vais peut-être décrocher un Oscar’,” dit-elle en riant, d’un accent américain moqueur. “Ce n’est jamais vertical. Vous pouvez faire un pas, vous pouvez penser que vous êtes arrivée au sommet et puis soudain, vous pouvez descendre. Rien n’est une ligne droite. Pour moi ces projets sont des voyages, des voyages magnifiques. Je ne peux pas dire ‘Oh, maintenant que j’ai fait ça, je peux vous dire ce qui va suivre’, parce que je ne le sais pas. Et ça ne veut pas dire que ça arrivera de nouveau.”Besnehard estime qu’elle pourrait mener une carrière comme Binoche, avec des rôles à la fois en France et aux États-Unis. “J’espère que les Américains ne la monopoliseront pas”, prévient-t-il.Pour McCarthy, la trajectoire de Cottin est bien plus claire.“Je prédis de grandes choses pour Cami, et pas seulement grâce à notre film, dans lequel je la trouve sensationnelle, mais simplement parce que son heure est arrivée,” assure-t-il. “On le sent, quand quelqu’un a mérité un moment dans sa carrière et a travaillé le temps qu’il a fallu, et est prêt à en prendre les rênes.” More

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      ‘Stillwater’, l’autre tragédie américaine

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      Dans le dernier film de Tom McCarthy, le rôle tenu par Matt Damon est sur-travaillé, d’une réserve plombante. Mais l’électrique Camille Cottin donne de la force à son personnage et de la gravité à ses scènes.The New York Times traduit en français une sélection de ses meilleurs articles. Retrouvez-les ici.A l’évidence, quand les films americains veulent parler des États-Unis, qui plus est de sujets grandioses, profonds ou symboliques, ils ont tendance à retenir leurs coups. Cette timidité peut s’expliquer de différentes façons, au rang desquelles la peur de heurter la délicate sensibilité du public figure évidemment en bonne place. C’est ainsi que des récits éminemment politiques ne prennent que rarement parti, et que des films au ton très sérieux comme “Stillwater” finissent par couler sous le poids de leurs bonnes intentions.Dans “Stillwater”, le dernier opus du réalisateur Tom McCarthy (à qui l’on doit notamment “Spotlight”), Matt Damon joue Bill Baker. Il coche toutes les cases du personnage-type acculé par les déboires du capitalisme tardif, y compris les jobs qui ne mènent nulle part, les agonies familiales et la masculinité blessée . Il offre aussi une touche d’exotisme à l’hollywoodienne : il vient de l’Oklahoma. Ancien toxicomane, Bill alterne désormais entre le maniement du marteau et la prière. Fier, dur, solitaire, et dont l’impassibilité peine à cacher la violence qui l’habite, il mène une petite vie morose dans une petite maison morose. Il ne dit pas grand-chose, mais présente tous les symptômes du blues de l’homme blanc.Il traîne aussi un fardeau, en la personne de sa fille, Allison, (l’erreur de casting Abigail Breslin), qui purge une peine dans une prison marseillaise, condamnée pour le meurtre sauvage de sa petite amie. L’histoire conçue par McCarthy (qui a co-écrit le scénario avec d’autres auteurs) s’inspire de celle d’Amanda Knox, une Américaine étudiant en Italie condamnée pour un meurtre remontant à 2007. Une affaire qui avait fait un scandale international. La peine de Knox a finalement été annulée, et son retour aux États-Unis immortalisé par de sordides gros titres dans la presse, des livres, des documentaires et, en 2015, par un long-métrage alimentaire avec Kate Beckinsale.À l’image de ce film-là, qui traite des travers de médias vampiriques et sensationalistes, “Stillwater” s’intéresse moins aux détails de l’affaire Knox qu’aux lecons morales que l’on peut en tirer. Juste après la scène d’ouverture, puis un tour de l’habitat naturel de Bill — un paysage gothique industriel et des diners de malbouffe peu fréquentés — il rend visite à Allison, un voyage qu’il a déjà entrepris à plusieurs reprises. Cette fois, il reste. Allison pense avoir une piste pour prouver son innocence, plongeant son père dans une enquête sans fin, qui pendant un moment, accélère le rythme du film.Loin d’être un cinéaste intuitif ou innovant, et comme beaucoup d’acteurs devenus realisateurs, McCarthy se montre plus apte à diriger des acteurs qu’à raconter visuellement une histoire. Filmé par Masanobu Takayanagi, “Stillwater” rend plutôt bien — c’est sérieux et professionnel — et Marseille fait son effet, par son soleil et sa face sombre, en faisant peser une atmosphere écrasante sur Bill qui parcourt la ville de long en large en quête d’indices et de méchants. Pas en reste non plus, l’acteur franco-algérien Moussa Maaskri, sous-utilisé, tire son épingle du jeu en incarnant l’un de ces détectives privés sournois et désabusés qui, comme le spectateur, a déjà tout compris bien avant Bill.Il se passe beaucoup de choses, y compris une relation soudaine et peu convaincante avec une comédienne de théâtre française appelée Virginie (l’électrique Camille Cottin, de la série “Dix pour cent”, ou “Call My Agent!” sur Netflix). Le personnage est un fantasme, un ange gardien avec un corps de rêve et une môme adorable (Lilou Siauvaud). Parmi ses autres traits peu crédibles, elle ne s’agace même pas du fait que Bill ne parle pas un mot de français. Mais Cottin, interprète charismatique dont la fébrile intensité crée sa propre force gravitationnelle, vous tient en haleine. Elle donne de la force à son personnage et de la gravité à ses scènes – un soulagement vu la réserve plombante de Bill.Il y a peu de joie dans la vie de Bill; le problème, c’est qu’il y a aussi peu de personnalité. Il est clair que Damon et McCarthy ont pensé l’homme sous toutes ses coutures, de ses chemises à carreaux à sa démarche bien crispée. Son personnage a l’air de souffrir de constipation depuis des semaines; surtout, il semble sur-travaillé, le fruit d’une conceptualisation trop poussée sans assez de sentiment, d’humanité identifiable ou d’idées bien définies. Et comme Bill ne parle pas beaucoup, il n’émerge qu’à travers ses actes et sa présence corporelle contrainte, ses yeux baissés et son visage en partie dissimulés par la visière baissée de sa casquette de baseball.On a ici affaire, comme on dit dans le milieu, à une performance engagée. Mais c’est aussi une performance frustrante par sa platitude. Davantage concept que personnage, Bill n’est pas ce père spécifique, cet Américain mal à l’aise à l’étranger : il est un symbole. McCarthy dévoile son jeu dès la première scène en Oklahoma, avec ce plan de Billbien cadré au centre de la fenêtre d’une maison qu’il aide à démolir. Une tornade a traversé la région, rasant tout sur son passage. Lorsque Bill s’arrête pour regarder autour de lui, prenant conscience des dégâts, la caméra s’attarde sur les survivants en pleurs, les décombres et la ruine. Un bon début, riche de potentiel; mais, au fur et à mesure de l’histoire, il devient évident qu’il ne s’agit pas juste d’une catastrophe, naturelle ou pas. Il s’agit d’un présage.A l’image de “Nomadland” et de nombre de film présntés au festival de Sundance, “Stillwater” se saisit de la figure classique de l’Américain stoïque, l’individualiste endurci qui, à ne compter que sur lui-même, s’enferme dans un piège, une voie sans issue et — si toutes les pièces du puzzle narratif s’assemblent — une tragédie. Et tout comme “Nomadland”, “Stillwater” tente de dire quelque chose des États-Unis (“Ya Got Trouble” — “Vous avez des ennuis”, comme le chantait The Music Man dans la comédie musicale éponyme) sans risquer de se couper du public en citant des noms ou en soutenant une position idéologique. Les temps sont durs, les Américains aussi (du moins dans les films). Ils gardent le silence, ils persévèrent, les yeux plissés face au soleil et au vide. Il leur arrive bien des malheurs, et c’est forcément de la faute de quelqu’un — et pourtant tout est tellement vague. More