Known in the UK for his comic roles on The IT Crowd, The Mighty Boosh and Garth Marenghi's Darkplace (the latter of which he co-created and directed) -- as well as for directing music videos for the Arctic Monkeys, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Vampire Weekend among numerous other bands -- Ayoade's first feature stars breakout star Craig Roberts as Oliver Tate, a Welsh teenager obsessed with bedding bad girl Jordana Bevan (Yasmin Paige) and keeping his parents (Sally Hawkins and Noah Taylor) married despite the threatening life coach (Paddy Considine) next door. Adapted from Joe Dunthorne's novel of the same name, the project drew the early interest of Ben Stiller, who executive produced; Weinstein acquired the film not long after its Toronto 2010 premiere, taking it to Sundance as well last January before finally rolling it out this Friday in limited release.
Movieline caught up with the cult hero about the promotional marathon, his relationship to the conversation around his film, and why after all this time he's still not really prepared to talk about Submarine.
How many interviews are you doing today? Do you know exactly?
No. A few.
How many interviews would you estimate you've done regarding Submarine since Toronto?
I don't know... 80? 90? Quite a lot.
Does it feel like actual work doing these? To what extent is it a continued exploration of the film for you?
It certainly doesn't feel like a holiday. It's strange. It doesn't particularly come naturally to me, so it's harder than the other things connected to it. It's also largely about each person wanting to know one specific thing or wanting to hear it for themselves -- rather than there being a massive divergence in what you're talking about.
When you are on your 50th interview and you hear the 50th question about how Ben Stiller got involved, does that answer ever improve for you over the first time?
Well, that would suppose that the first answer was good. Not really. I mean, I'm not brilliant at having an easily digestible answer that I can just say. It tends to be needlessly complicated, my answers to things -- not succinct. I remember someone saying about how interviews can feel awkward, but that all people really want in an interview is for you to say things that they're able to write down -- which can reflect the film. You don't have to view it as an actual conversation. It was someone who was actually advising Ang Lee, who found it incredibly painful and difficult to talk about his films. I find it pretty painful and difficult to talk about, too. But they said, "They're not trying to torture you; they're just trying to get you to say something they can write down about the film. It's so counterintuitive because in a way, the room you're trying to escape from by writing is the room you end up back in because you're doing something that you probably aren't best able to articulate conversationally. You're then thrown back into a situation where you're trying to explain in conversation what you aren't able to articulate.
Have you discovered more about Submarine or about yourself throughout this process?
It's such a self-conscious process. I think the inherent problem is two-fold: One, it exists in a context of commerce and a context of at least not putting people off from seeing it. That, in many ways, counteracts any form of honesty that might exist in the interchange. And also, it's very hard to escape the fact that it's being recorded, and it is something that will be typed up or shaped and it is necessarily stilted as a result. In the same way that everybody fantasizes about creating a completely natural performance on film: As soon as you call cut, everybody relaxes. There's an inherent falseness to an interview. It's so alien to normal interaction. It's so one-sided in terms of one person pontificating or whatever you might call it. So it's quite hard. It's very hard to escape the thing itself, and it's hard for the job of the interview not to be "the interview." Ultimately, I think an interview, for example, about something else could be even better -- talking about another film.
Do you read interviews?
I find them very interesting with other people. Also I think it's a skill -- the way many things are a skill. Some people have a skill for being interviewed and some people don't. I think one of the things that, say, reality TV has illustrated about interviews is that seeing people who are supposed to be real shows how false they can be. Also, any prevarication is read as shiftiness. Some of the best interview subjects are people who are utterly unfiltered, and that isn't me. I am not an unfiltered person. I think a lot of the interviews -- in movie terms -- with the old Hollywood people after they've stopped being in films are incredibly interesting because they don't care. They're not making films anymore. They don't need to protect anyone. They don't need to protect an arc. It's like all of them have been in a war. What do they care? They're very interesting. Orson Welles is always incredibly interesting. And some people aren't. It doesn't mean that they aren't interesting. There are all sorts of ways people deal with it, but no one approaches it with complete honesty, unfortunately. It's very hard to. How could you?
In a promotional context, it seems impossible.
Yeah. And in general there are two types of reviews: One that presumes people have seen it -- which is probably the more interesting review -- probably to write and to read -- and one that's essentially saying, "Should you go see this film?" That massively inflects those different ways of approaching a film. It's a strange transaction, isn't it?
As much as other filmmakers' movies might influence you, do their interviews ever influence you?
I think there's an extent to which... You read interviews sometimes searching for a key or a clue, and you go, "Oh, that's why Kubrick is so great." The reason Kubrick is so great is probably not explainable, and even if it could be explained, it's probably not a quality you possess. It's interesting how that affects things. Many of the people I most admire have done no interviews, or very few interviews.
Kubrick's a perfect example.
Yeah, though he did more interviews than you'd think. Even Malick's done a couple. I think they certainly can be illuminating, but they're hard for people -- especially from a comic background. You're so used to the idea of talking about yourself being a funny and pompous thing that to step into that same ring seems slightly absurd.
When we spoke the other night [following a preview screening of Submarine], I got the impression that your natural instinct is self-deprecation.
In those terms, if you like Orson Welles, it's not hard to be self-deprecating! It's absurd not to be. I've seen other films; I'm not swaggering into the room. It really isn't for you to say ultimately. I have great sympathy with people who find it difficult to talk about their films and things they've done. And some people are good at illuminating it, and that's part of their personality, perhaps -- they've learned how to do it. But I don't know that I have that skill.
If you could not withdraw, necessarily, but maybe choose your interviews more selectively, would you?
Even that is sort of loaded, because it feels lack of ingratitude to people who've been kind enough to talk about your film or interview you -- through no great desire, I'm sure, on their part to spend time in your company. But I suppose the other way of putting it is: If all you wanted to do was talk about your film in this context, there would be something very wrong with you. In most situations it would be seen as a sign of incredibly bad grace to want to be the center of attention I that kind of a way. And it's also having things that you, in many cases, are thinking up off the top of your head codified and recorded forever -- which is such a juxtaposition to something that has taken three years and had a quite a lot of applied thought. To have the ill-thought-out ramblings be the things people see more than the thought-out thing is strange.
I don't think they're so ill-thought-out! You're doing fine.
They're not massively considered, I'd say. But yeah, I don't think it would be a great loss on anyone's part if I didn't give interviews. People doing interviews wouldn't have to retire weeping. It's not like Tarantino stopping talking about things. I think people would quickly adjust.
Is there something to be said, however, for letting work speak for itself?
I think so. I think in many ways it ruins it for people. Or it can. It's interesting. I think also there's a thing whereby... I mean, it feels very presumptuous to talk about stuff because you're already assuming that it has some kind of worth -- that it ought to be discussed. It seems so soon, so close after the fact. It's clearly infected by the idea of selling it, which seems a disingenuous way of discussing things -- when you read an interview and at the end it says, "Submarine opens June 3." It is somewhat infected. People writing it know that, and people reading it know that. People doing the interview know that. It's a genre, isn't it? The interview genre.
I never thought of it that way.
It can limit things. You don't want to say, "This is what this film is." It might prevent a certain way that someone else might have of enjoying it. On some level, you hope it's something people can enjoy. I think some people have a certain way of unlocking films that can make others enjoy it more. Some people feel they would prevent others from enjoying it. It's a feeling of whether or not you think it's appropriate to go on about something.
There's an interesting scene in Submarine where Oliver and Jordana walk out of a movie early, and Oliver feels bad. He believes it's rude to the filmmaker. Do you share that philosophy?
Yeah. I try not to, really. I've only done it a couple of times under extreme circumstances.
You don't have to name the film, but what was the extreme circumstance?
The extreme circumstance was the film, sadly. Yeah, I just couldn't. But in general, you do [stay], although as I get older... I suppose you must have to leave films at certain points?
Very rarely. Sometimes it's unavoidable at a festival, perhaps, but my job is to stick it out.
Yeah. I don't think an audience is duty-bound to stay in there. I think he has an idea of himself as someone who sees everything through properly. I think it's more about that, really.
Can filmmakers in fact feel when an audience member walks out, as Oliver believes? Did you have these kinds of psychic premonitions if, God forbid_, people leave Submarine?
You can hear the hit of the seat. It's interesting with an audience. If you watch it with one other person, that's an audience, and you get a sense. It's like if you play someone a song, and you say, "You've got to hear this song," that song will immediately feel like the longest song of all time. And you regret ever choosing that song to play for this person. You pause and you go, "Oh, this bit..." And that bit takes ages to come. All of those feelings sort of occur in the film.
But I don't know. Why do you think Malick doesn't do interviews?
The word on the street is that he's shy -- that he doesn't feel like he can present himself or his philosophy or take on the work in a way that is appropriate to the work. And there is that thing where I think he truly believes it should speak for itself.
Especially since I've been a performer, I think there's some inherent suspicion about the idea that you can be shy and be a performer. I find it relatively uncomfortable. Performing is a very controlled situation in which you can, for a very brief time, not be that shy. But before it, you're sick. And you're sick afterward. In terms of actually talking about the thing itself, I've probably not talked about it. I've batted it aside, effectively.
How do you mean?
Well, I probably haven't particularly talked about the film. I've done interviews about avoiding taking about the film, which I'm sure is a relatively frustrating, annoying tack.
Do you think in some back part of your mind that you just aren't prepared to talk about it?
Yeah, to an extent I'm not really prepared. Just on a central level. If you started doing jokes and doing things like that, and you needed to talk about the joke, then it's already gone wrong. As in, you go, "The reason that was funny..." It either was funny to some people, or it was not. And talking about it is annoying. For me it's the difference between talking to a friend about a film you like -- and that being a pleasurable exchange -- and being the kind of person who's in the queue in Annie Hall and talking so loud that everyone else has to hear. I suppose as interested as I would be if that person in the queue was John Cassavetes -- and because I do not feel myself to be John Cassavetes -- I do not feel that my thoughts are particularly worth codifying. It's just somewhat embarrassing.
They do say explanation is the death of the joke, but by the same token, isn't there something scientific about comedy? Can't we break it down?
No, I don't think you can. Not really good comedy. You could do some kind of topography of Buster Keaton's face and say, "This is what makes this the best face for silent comedy," but it's just somewhat unexplainable. That's not to say analysis isn't incredibly interesting. Truffaut wrote very interestingly about films, and Godard did. Even Chris Marker did -- someone who's completely averse to being interviews. It's incredibly interesting, and the discussion is interesting, but it's not necessarily good to do that about your own stuff. I imagine Malick could talk pretty interestingly about stuff he didn't do. He's talked about The White Sheik at the Rome Film Festival -- he felt he could talk about that. It's outside of him.
For example, I find it very hard to look at pictures of people I know. There's something very frozen about it. It's quite an intense thing. Some people like having their photograph taken, and some people freeze. You can change, but I think some people just have that as an instinct. It's not necessarily anything to do with renown; some people just don't like it.
So let's set aside the interview process for a second. Do you feel comfortable observing or witnessing the conversation about your film? Are you reading about it -- what others say, what they think? Do you want to know?
You do to an extent, but I think the problems of that film are so specific to that film that it's very unlikely to be repeated. It's unlikely that it will help you with the next film, unfortunately. I think self-consciousness is a very paralyzing thing. If you're given to self-consciousness, you don't want more of it. It's certainly not something that shouldn't exist. It's just that what are you going to do with that information?
In that regard, praise is worse than criticism. At least criticism can be the start of a discussion. But I think one of the difficulties is I don't think anybody who's written things doesn't have a point where they just go, "This is rubbish. This is all terrible." Kafka wanted none of his stuff published. And unless you extremely bulletproof -- in which case you're probably not a writer -- you will stop. You'll give up. Any negative comment you completely believe, regardless of how outlandish it is. If there was some kind of comment about this film that said, "I think it's anti-Semitic," then part of me would say, "Is it? I don't think it is, but maybe it is? I wasn't aware." It will get to you in some way. It won't help people seeing your films. It won't necessarily make you better. It may just make you worse. I think it's very rare for the discussion to be something that's outside of that particular film, and it's very hard for it to be outside that particular film. And by the time you're doing something else, the problems of that particular film don't apply.
Speaking of which, I've read classifications of this film as "quirky." That could be taken as either pejorative or as a compliment, depending on the filmmaker. What do you think?
My association with the word "quirky" is probably more pejorative, but I realize what it's trying to describe -- and that what it's trying to describe isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's kind of offbeat. I guess it's a shorthand, isn't it, to say "not mainstream," perhaps? Or describing something it isn't rather than something it is. It's very... "Kooky," perhaps, is a more injurious term. But it is difficult. There's such a spectrum associated with that. Some people might take it as the highest compliment. I wouldn't refer to myself as "quirky," because "quirky," for me, has become a word to describe people who aren't actually quirky but think they're quirky. Like a "You don't have to be mad to work here, but it helps!" sticker. That's the most un-deranged thing possible. [Laughs] It's a manufactured, mass-produced sticker that you have consciously sought out and purchased.
Do you, like Oliver, have an 8mm film of memory? Or is it more like 16mm? Pixelvision?
DigiBeta. Early Beta footage, actually -- maybe not with the full resolution of the [Thomson] Viper, or something. Not really. It's one of those things: When you see super-8, it's such a cliché of remembered times. I think he's sort of trying to put something into that container as a shorthand. It was just something that was meant to be a joke, really -- his being self-consciously formal about it.
Memory's fascinating, though. It's very fungible, and no one remembers one shared experience the same way. Here, though, it's shown as a phenomenon recorded on film. What did you want to say about memory, if anything?
Well, I suppose with that moment, because they're happening at that time, they're not memories. He is trying to see himself in the moment, from the future. Which is probably a way of not having memories and not particularly experiencing the moment. It's more about him standing outside himself.
Is that a variation of this film's endless toying with era? We never know exactly when it's taking place.
Yeah. There's an element to which it doesn't feel like a contemporary story. There's not a "now"-ness to it that felt important. But media is just necessarily historical because it's recorded and it isn't the present. I guess I'm interested in the idea of archiving and the idea that people's sense of themselves can sometimes exist in archives. Especially people who obsessively collect things -- that creates a kind of shape to something. You record something, and then you shape it. I remember Scorsese saying something like that. Whether something is documentary or fiction, there's still a recording process and a shaping process that exists in both. [Oliver] is trying to do that at the time: "This is the shape of this moment."
Do you have archives?
No. I'm quite bad at taking photos. Things that are commercially released, I have a copy of, but a lot of stuff... Fairly early on, unless you have massive resources, it's quite hard. Like, do you keep all of your rushes? And you do self-consciously go, "Well, what are you going to do with all this stuff?" Probably in 20 years it will seem like an error. But it's just storage.
Is there anything you regret not keeping?
I don't know yet. I had quite a few Star Wars toys. I was about 12, and my mum said, "Come on; enough's enough. You've got to pass these on." I knew something was wrong with the transaction at the time; I thought, "This isn't right. I'm not getting these back." So yeah. I had some good Star Wars toys.
A while back I actually went to a Star Wars-themed birthday party for a 37-year-old man.
Yeah. Maybe she was right. She probably did do me a favor.
Submarine opens June 3.
[Photo credits: Page 1 and 3, Getty Images; page 2, Sundance Institute]