Interview /// A Conversation with Mike Mills

You may know Mike Mills for his music videos, posters, album covers, artist books - he's a man of many pursuits. Having directed his first feature length film Thumbsucker (2005), his new film, Beginners, is a considered and tightly-tuned autobiographical account of love, generation gaps and expectations. Tom Melick meets him in a beige-smothered hotel room. He wears a suit, looks overworked and speaks with a casual generosity.

I was wondering, with the disciplines you seem to swim in (graphic design, illustration, music, film, graffiti, photography and so on) do you think of your output as one inter-connected 'total artwork' or are they distinct in your mind?

Well, lots of themes and interests run across all the work I do – so in one very important way they are all interrelated – they kind of help each other. I guess I like being busy in my head because I'm happy when I have all these projects running concurrently. So there is definitely cross-pollination going on.

Obviously making a film is so different from making a poster or a record cover. Film is such a public thing; you need so many people, you have to source all that money – it's a political affair. So they relate and they totally don't relate.

Ok ok, so they sit on a similar conceptual ground but not on a practical one?

Yes, my projects are linked through the deeper themes they explore…or just wanting to be creative, or simply wanting to talk to people. I mean the excitement I might have for a poster or a Fellini film is a similar excitement. I'm interested in joining these (not so) different realms.

Elvis Costello supposedly said that his songs had to 'work' even when played through the cheapest transistor radio. I thought that a similar want is present in your work, where expressing the idea is paramount, with the medium being a result of the idea. Beginners is a film that contains a lot of other mediums – text, still images of presidents, stars and nature, graffiti, colour that fills the entire screen…does the idea come first for you, followed by the appropriate vehicle?

I see. Well, I went to art school and studied with a conceptual artist named Hans Haake, so really I've always thought of myself as a product of those classes because Haake was all about [fingers jumping into action]:

1. That the idea comes first – the idea is primary and;

2. The medium is secondary, or serves the idea.

If you think about it this enabled me to construct my own kind of career, giving me permission to do lots of things all at once. Haake was all about how to get out of the verified art world, since it really can be like contained theatre: you can do anything you want but you're not really sure what the impact is. It's exclusive, it's integrated with money – and not just any kind of money – rich people money. So from art school my friends and I looked for other outlets.

So is that what drew you to film, in that it's less about speaking to the already converted and more about an immersive engagement?

Sure, yeah, definitely. Film offers a much bigger discussion. I mean Beginners isn't exactly a huge blockbuster film but I've already been to many countries, I've been all over America, I'm talking to all kinds of people who may not be ready to see an older gay man on screen for example…people who have never thought about Fellini or the Situationists – so that's really powerful. Film offers an amazing opportunity.

In the States when I'm on tour I do a lot of those morning breakfast shows…and I'm really proud that my Dad's story can be relayed via that kind of platform. Even the fact that my film re-looks at the 'all-American' family, or what constitutes a 'normal family', finds an unlikely audience through those shows. This platform is much more interesting for me then presenting the same idea in a museum or gallery.

What interested me about Beginners was the father - played excellently by Christopher Plummer - who tells his son (Oliver) he is gay late in life. The father undergoes a kind of re-politicization – where suddenly he is going to gay nightclubs, has a boyfriend and begins writing papers as a gay activist…living a hyper-political life but at the same time nearing death from terminal cancer. Was this mix of politics couched in humour and sadness an intentional strategy, or did it come quite naturally?

Hmm…a bit of both actually. I'm interested in asking how we got here. Which is very Marxist in a way. I like the idea of addressing a political position in an entertainment context, accompanied by humor or silliness. Like Situationist graffiti mixed with Groucho Marx. Humor is fantastically subversive, and why not? For me it's an awesome anti-depressant, it's just fun to laugh than to not, you can really undermine and reveal the false stories that we all pretend to believe in. Humour is great way to discuss bigger themes without needing to be explicit – when I show people my films they don't need to know about Guy Debord even though I was thinking of him at times during its making. I like that.

I see, it reminds me of Charlie Chaplin's 1940 film The Great Dictator where he simultaneously plays both the lowly Jewish barber as well as a fumbling, insecure version of Hitler himself.

Yeah exactly…but even that is more overtly political. I've just been reading about Chaplin actually. There is so much hunger in Chaplin's humor for example. There are so many food gags or just depictions of being hungry, of people trying to find or make food…so there is definitely a class consciousness embedded in Chaplin's humor – he's quite a punk in that way, always a vandal, always in prison, never cooperating.

You focus a lot on the distance between generations in the film. We see Oliver [played by Ewan McGregor] dealing with his dying father and trying to understand love at the same time – both in his own life and in his father's. I wondered what you thought about how each generation re-invents what it means to be in a relationship, what it means to be in love at a certain time and so on.

As historical beings the personal is political…the genesis of all of this comes from my real Dad having to grapple with social constructions of what constitutes a relationship. Being born in the 1950s meant that he faced certain challenges that no longer seem so ingrained…homophobia, a psychoanalyst telling him he had a mental illness, expectations of a married man and so on. He never really understood my ideas of love, why I was asking for so much, and I never understood his, since I thought he was asking for too little. The fact is that our idea of love is historical and it's codified.

And that's really the fulcrum in which the story spans out of. It was me trying to understand my Dad; what was it like to be gay and born at that time? What was it like to marry my Mum in 1955 and be gay? That's when I devised those lyrical essays that you'll notice in the film – it's the voice of Oliver who guides you through the film and its the most 'me' element in the story. You'll find similar strategies are used by artists like Christian Boltanski and Sophie Calle to great effect.

That's interesting because there is this literal but personalised tone in the film, where information is delivered flatly and succulently but somehow escapes your regular didacticism.

That's a gag I'm fond of. A big influence is Jorgan Leth's 1967 film The Perfect Human. Being so straight that it…[pauses to think]

So literal that it manages to go somewhere else…

Exactly. I could do that shtick forever. In fact there is a scene where Ewan is dancing at a party and the dance is modeled off the one the man does in The Perfect Human.

What about other influences? Big or small, direct or indirect.

Tons. I did a blog on the Focus Films site, which lists a bunch of influences for the film, from the Milan Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being (the book not the film) to Istvan Szabos' Love Film.

One last question. Arthur – Oliver's four-legged companion that he inherits when his father becomes unwell – plays a substantial role in the film. Explain?

Arthur (whose real name is Cosmo) is a curious soul and good interlocutor despite being unable to speak. He and Ewan actually developed a great chemistry on screen, where Cosmo would respond to Ewan's gestures and vice versa. On set we'd treat him as though he was an alien visiting earth; he wasn't cute, he didn't speak our language but he was an intelligent being. Dogs have 220 million smell receptors and we have 5 million – who knows what the fuck they're smelling that we're missing.

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