“I Was Sitting in the Library Writing It, Crying”: Jesse Eisenberg, James Mangold, Halina Reijn and the Writer Roundtable

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A dash of neurosis, numerous chuckles, and deep reflections were prevalent at a gathering of six screenwriters who penned seven of the most acclaimed 2024 films, as part of The Hollywood Reporter‘s Writer Roundtable. Among them were James Mangold (known for A Complete Unknown, co-written with Jay Cocks), and Jason Reitman (Saturday Night, collaborating with Gil Kenan), both of whom have spent decades writing and directing their screenplays, earning Oscar nominations for their works Logan and Up in the Air. Jesse Eisenberg (known for A Real Pain) and Halina Reijn (Babygirl) are primarily recognized as actors – Eisenberg was even Oscar-nominated for The Social Network, while Reijn has made a name for herself in the Netherlands’ theatre and film industries. However, over the past few years, both have ventured into screenwriting, directing their own scripts that were turned into films. Justin Kuritzkes (Challengers and Queer) and India-born Payal Kapadia (All We Imagine as Light) had their first scripts make it to the big screen; Kapadia directed hers, while Luca Guadagnino took charge of both of Kuritzkes’ films.

Jim, what set you on the path to writing?

JAMES MANGOLD An intense passion for filmmaking – capturing and directing scenes. It was challenging at first, even agonizing, a feeling that persists. However, as I’ve grown older, I’ve developed a sense of admiration and gratitude towards it.

Jason, your dad, Ivan, was an exceptional film director, however, he only wrote a small number of the movies he directed.

Jason Reitman became a filmmaker because he spent his childhood on film sets and yearned to be among the crew. However, he understood that the only way to join them was by creating something for himself. His father then informed him that when he was around 16 or 17 years old, he recognized Jason’s writing abilities and started treating him as a professional writer, which meant being tough on him constantly. To this day, Reitman remains proud of the script for “Up in the Air,” but when his father first read it, he remarked, “You know, a movie needs a storyline.” (Laughs.)

Halina, what inspired your pivot from acting to screenwriting?

HALINA REIJN Growing up, I was brought up by hippies who discouraged watching movies due to their potential negative impact on one’s soul. However, an exception was made when we had a babysitter who took us to the cinema at age 6 to watch Annie, which profoundly affected me. At that moment, I thought Annie herself must have created the film, and that sparked my desire to become an actress. (Laughs.) Additionally, I wrote stories, diaries, and eventually a novel, and my writing journey continued from there. However, my most valuable writing lessons came from the plays in which I participated, such as those by Shakespeare, O’Neill, and Ibsen.

Jesse, it’s challenging to determine whether acting or writing was your initial pursuit since you began both at such a young age.

Jesse Eisenberg initially penned light-hearted jokes due to his fascination with comedy. In his late teens, he began crafting screenplays in the vein of Adam Sandler from the ’90s. He managed to crack the code, enabling him to replicate this style. Some of these scripts were optioned, but none were ever produced. Concurrently, Eisenberg was also acting. At 20, he landed a role in a movie directed by Bob Odenkirk, and he shared his scripts with him because he believed that, given Odenkirk’s background in comedy and work at SNL, he would forward them to Adam Sandler. After reading the scripts, Odenkirk called Eisenberg and scolded him for an hour, although in a remarkable way. The conversation resonated deeply with Eisenberg because it altered his life. Odenkirk asked, “Why are you writing this? This is something that I’d be hired to write in a weekend. There’d be three of us at Happy Madison working on this. You’re a thoughtful, sensitive person. Why is this your art?” The criticism hit Eisenberg hard because those scripts symbolized years of his life. However, shortly after the conversation, he traveled to Poland for a film, visited his family’s home (as depicted in A Real Pain), and upon returning, he penned a play.

Justin, where did it start for you? 

Justin Kuritzkes From a very young age, I’ve been drawn to writing. However, it wasn’t until a playwriting festival at my high school where they produced student-written plays that I truly felt connected with others who shared the same passion. This was like discovering my tribe.

Payal, your background in non-fictional filmmaking is evident in your first narrative movie, as it carries that same level of expertise.

PAYAL KAPADIA My passion for experimental films, particularly those by Stan Brakhage, Len Lye, and Indian filmmaker S.N.S. Sastry, sparked my desire to create films. I encountered these at film festivals, and my response was always the same: “I want to make films.” I pursued this dream by attending film school, but soon discovered that writing was an essential part of the process. As a novice scriptwriter, I struggled with structuring my scripts and was frequently advised to redo them. This experience was challenging at times, even bringing me close to tears, but it ultimately honed my ability to rewrite extensively.

In my final year at film school, I was tasked with creating a 20-minute “diploma project.” At that moment, I had two family members in the hospital. While waiting for updates in the hospital lobby (as I wasn’t employed yet), I found inspiration in the hospital environment and decided to create a film from this unique mise-en-scène. I observed the surroundings, made friends with some nurses, and learned the rhythm of the hospital shifts. I noticed small moments of happiness amidst the otherwise bleak atmosphere. To gather more material for my film, I conducted interviews and soon realized that 20 minutes wouldn’t be enough. It has been five years since then.

After the triumph of your 2007 movie “Juno”, you had numerous options at your disposal. What prompted you to join Saturday Night Live instead?

In my youth, I shared two aspirations with my agent: one was to become a film director, and the other was to work as a writer for Saturday Night Live. Lorne Michaels, in his kind manner, granted me an opportunity to join as a guest writer for a week. His response was something like, “Of course, you can attend Space Camp.” (Laughs.) The reason I made the movie is because I’m captivated by the individuals involved. When viewing SNL, there are those on screen, then a brief interlude where you see them setting up the sets and cameras. In that moment, as a youngster, I yearned to learn more about them, and I wanted a movie that would make one feel like they’re part of this team that arrives with nothing on Tuesday, but by Saturday, they have a completed show.

Jesse, A Real Pain blends a past project that you’d written with the story of your family, right?

EISENBERG I was penning a brief tale featuring two companions embarking on an adventure to Mongolia, but the narrative wasn’t flowing smoothly. Then an advertisement for “Auschwitz Tours” (with lunch included) appeared online, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. I didn’t expect those four words would alter my course, but they did. I shifted the characters from Mongolia to this peculiar excursion – a tour package of historical suffering for the yuppie class. Their personal conflicts unfolded against the grim canvas of genuine historical events; the two narratives could interact and enrich each other.

Halina, during your acting career, did you view Paul Verhoeven, the director of Basic Instinct, as a mentor? Was his style perhaps a factor in your decision to produce an erotic thriller?

At a particular juncture, I felt drawn to the role of a director, yet I was deeply immersed in acting. I’d often find myself turning to Paul for guidance, asking, “Could you assist me? What should I do?” To which he would respond, “If your goal is to produce a full-length film, it’s beneficial to focus on a single, defining question.” For Babygirl, the question was: “Can one truly love all aspects of oneself, not just the liked or socially acceptable parts, but also the parts that are awkward and vulnerable, the hidden and dark parts?” As I delved into themes such as sexuality, power, control, and other topics that captivate Paul, I found myself engaging in a dialogue with films from the ’90s that resonated with my inner darkness, like 9½ Weeks, Fatal Attraction, Basic Instinct, and another film directed by Paul, Elle.

Hey Jim, around two decades back, you produced Walk the Line, a movie centered on Johnny Cash, and he also appears in A Complete Unknown. Did your fascination lie specifically with Bob Dylan, or do you find yourself drawn to tales from the music industry as a whole?

JANE I’m a big fan of Bob Dylan, but that alone isn’t a strong justification for producing a film. In fact, it’s a rather poor argument. What truly captivated me was the opportunity to create another film centered around an artist in an era without smartphones, and the music was compelling. Upon discovering Elijah Wald’s book Dylan Goes Electric! and the project, it already included Bob and his music. The Searchlight team discussed acquiring the book and existing materials with me while I was on a flight to Telluride, carrying them with me. Even without a contract, I began writing in Colorado. By the time Ford v Ferrari premiered in Toronto [a few days later], Timmy [Chalamet] met me there. The project evolved through my unwavering belief that I had to do this, even if they didn’t want me. The script that existed, while excellent, shied away from the most interesting aspects because the Dylan camp insisted it focus solely on the music. I chose to disregard their advice and wrote about everything. I then made a deal. Bob’s team was apprehensive about the direction my script took. However, when COVID-19 struck, Bob’s tour was canceled, and he reportedly told his manager, “Let me read this thing that you’re worried about.” And he enjoyed it. This shift in opinion significantly affected everything. Over the COVID-19 pandemic, I held a series of meetings with Bob. When I first sat down with him, he asked, “What’s this movie about?” I replied, “It’s about a man who’s struggling to breathe in Minnesota and needs to flee, abandoning all his loved ones, making new connections, becoming extraordinarily successful as an artist — only to find himself suffocating again and running away from his old friends and family.” He smiled at this.

Justin, you wrote Challengers on spec, right? 

KURITZKES Indeed. Prior to writing a feature script, my background was in playwriting for ten years in New York and novel-writing. One fateful day, while watching TV, the US Open final between Serena Williams and Naomi Osaka was on. The match was contentious due to an umpire accusing Serena of receiving signals from her coach during play, which she vehemently denied. This scenario felt incredibly dramatic to me: being alone on the court with one other person in a vast stadium who shares your level of intensity about the game, yet is unreachable. The thought struck me: What if you needed to communicate something crucial, not just about tennis, but about your relationship? And what if this secret also involved the person across the net? At once, it became apparent that the best way to convey this tale was through a movie. This match took place in 2018, but I didn’t begin writing until 2021. However, the idea of this film I longed to see remained with me. As my research progressed, I developed an unquenchable interest in tennis, to the point that it became my sole focus. It seems that many writers have few distractions; actors engage in various activities, but most writers I know are merely dedicated to writing.

REITMAN We should introduce you to whiskey.

KURITZKES Here’s another way to put it:

While you’re engaged in writing, you can also do that. You know, I ran out of Grand Slam and Masters tournaments to watch, so I stumbled upon these smaller events called the Challenger Tour. It’s still professional tennis, but players compete for less money than it costs them to participate, and most matches are filmed by a single stationary webcam, giving it a security-camera feel. Yet, there are only a handful of us watching this worldwide spectacle. On the court, though, are individuals fighting for their dreams. As someone who works in off-Broadway theater, I could really empathize with that. The character Josh O’Connor portrays in Challengers is ranked 271st in the world at tennis – he’s incredibly talented, yet overlooked and struggling financially. I might as well be the 271st most successful playwright in America. I understand what that means: Although it’s not too far from the top spot – you share the same spaces – it feels very different, and it seems like walking dogs, tutoring, working as a coffee boy at an architecture firm, and doing all the jobs I used to do.

After Luca reviewed your script, your position improved because he was eager to produce it and have you present during filming. This eventually resulted in a project labeled as “Queer?”

Or:

Following Luca’s review of your script, your standing got better due to his desire to create the piece and keep you involved during production. This ultimately brought about a project titled “Queer?”, which was initiated.

One day on set, Luca gave me a book by William S. Burroughs (the 1985 novella that serves as the basis for Queer) and said, “Give it a read tonight and let me know if you’d be willing to write it for me.” I did as he asked, called him back, and agreed.

As a fellow movie enthusiast, I’ve had the pleasure of working on both original (self-penned) and adapted screenplays, and I thought it might be interesting to share my thoughts on the unique challenges and rewards each presents.

In writing an original script, you have the freedom to let your imagination run wild, creating entirely new characters, worlds, and stories from scratch. It’s a thrilling experience that allows for endless creativity, but it also comes with its own set of hurdles, such as developing engaging characters and plots without the guidance of existing material.

On the other hand, adapting a screenplay means taking an already established story and bringing it to life on the big screen. This can be a rewarding process as you get to breathe new life into beloved characters and explore familiar worlds in fresh ways. However, the challenge lies in staying true to the source material while still making it cinematically engaging for modern audiences.

Ultimately, both experiences offer valuable lessons and unique rewards. Whether you’re crafting a story from scratch or bringing an old favorite to life on screen, the process is always an exciting journey!

MANGOLD Essentially, there’s no significant variation between the two scenarios. In one instance, it was Cop Land, where I initially penned a 200-page script, but later found it necessary to modify and refine it, almost like molding a novel. In essence, this process involved adapting a novel to fit the screenplay format.

On Saturday Night, we spoke with as many individuals as possible who were within the building on October 11, 1975. We began with Lorne, followed by Dick Ebersol and Rosie Shuster, every actor, writer, production designer, costume designer, even members of Billy Preston’s band. Essentially, we were like a sponge, soaking up all the different memories, many of which didn’t align perfectly. In a peculiar manner, it seemed as if we were adapting these recollections.

Dear Friend, I’m curious if the themes explored in “Babygirl,” “Challengers,” and “Queer” – which revolve around power dynamics within sexual relationships – were influenced or shaped in any way by the revelation of Harvey Weinstein’s behavior and its aftermath? Was your intention to narrate these stories, or perhaps the manner in which you chose to tell them, impacted by these events?

JANE I believe my presence here at this table is connected to the current situation, truthfully. The evolution of women’s roles has been significant since then. It’s a challenging task to create a film that explores themes like control, surrender, power, sensuality, and consent while also exposing our inner darkness. My movie serves as a warning about the consequences of self-suppression. With the rise of #MeToo, as an actress, I found it crucial for this movement to take place. And my film aims to address these issues in a unique way.

Artistic evolution follows the shifting tides of life and society, and it’s crucial to adapt accordingly. Neglecting this adaptation might indicate a lack of awareness, which is your fundamental role. However, the essence of the artistry that moves me and empowers me remains unaltered by global events. The core of who you are as an artist endures.

In Europe, our perspectives on such topics can vary. This is why I was thrilled to create a film exploring sexuality within this nation.

Jesse, could you elaborate on the scene from A Real Pain where your character David expresses his complex feelings towards Benji, played by Kieran Culkin? He says, “I love him, I hate him, I want to kill him, I want to be him.” What were the emotions and thoughts behind these words?

EISENBERG The film shares some unique autobiographical aspects – my child portrays my child, and the home where the characters visit is our pre-war family house. However, the deeply personal elements of the movie revolve around me discussing my challenges in male friendships. In this instance, it’s a cousin, but it could be any friend, experiencing intense envy towards someone whose life appears worse than yours, being a self-conscious and anxious individual. Benji symbolizes my inner self, or alter ego – he’s remarkably comfortable with himself and expresses his grief in a raw, genuine manner that differs from how my character communicates his feelings. At the same time, my character is aware of Benji’s unhealthy lifestyle and struggles to reconcile this extraordinary person with the one who seems empty. These aspects are deeply personal; I wrote them while crying in the library.

MANGOLD It’s a beautiful scene.

For everyone else, did you come across a moment that made you feel apprehensive, but eventually, you managed to conquer it?

KAPADIA One part near the end has a touch of magical realism, transitioning from a documentary-style film to something surreal and dreamlike. This scene was significant because it was the first I wrote. I often create unrelated scenes and then try to make sense of them by finding connections. I’m still grappling with issues related to the three-act structure… Yet, connecting these dots is something I really enjoy. The story revolves around a woman who’s in an arranged marriage but her husband has disappeared from her life. Despite this being acceptable according to society, she looks down on her roommate for having an affair with someone society wouldn’t accept due to their different identities and religions. In my perspective, the husband didn’t need to return to enlighten her; instead, she needed to rid herself of societal morality and find light in a world that had been shrouded in darkness for her. The title originates from this theme of finding light.

REIJN The result was absolutely magical. So poetic and beautiful.

KURITZKES During the production of Challengers, I was firm about not revealing the winner of the match in the final scene. To me, by this point, all their secrets are exposed and they’re having the most sincere conversation of their lives, using tennis as a medium. Since it’s been years since Tashi [Zendaya] played tennis, and the actual game doesn’t matter anymore, announcing a winner would diminish that emotional depth. However, given the size of this movie, there was pressure, “This is a sports movie, we need to know who wins.” I understood that, but I believed it wasn’t the right approach. Then, I realized that within tennis, there lies a solution: Sometimes a game can bring players closer together, especially during volleys at the net. So, it seemed like this could be a way to enjoy both outcomes.

In my film, Harris Dickinson as Samuel and Nicole Kidman as Romy engage in their initial prolonged encounter within a budget hotel room. The difficulty of this scene lies in the fact that their relationship evolves dramatically over approximately 12 hours, simulating a marriage. To ensure an authentic performance, I isolated just the DP and the actors; we strategically placed microphones throughout the room to allow for privacy. This scene is filled with emotional intimacy but also poses technical challenges due to the complex dynamic between them. The challenge was to create a tone where they alternate between their performance of sexuality and moments of hesitation, as they explore their relationship dynamics. I wanted Samuel to assign Romy a task while simultaneously expressing uncertainty, asking, “Is it alright if I say this?” or “Sorry, may I proceed?” My concern was how to write this nuanced tone on the script so that actors could comprehend and deliver it convincingly. After much deliberation, I carefully crafted the dialogue to hopefully facilitate the actors’ understanding of the scene.>

In a different phrasing: Instead of having 90 distinct scenes, we structured our movie as one continuous 90-minute scene. From the initial introduction of Lorne to the iconic “Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!” moment, everything is interconnected. We understood that we would encounter multiple characters along the way, so we essentially had two scripts: The first was the producible one, which we numbered in reverse order. The second script contained all additional details because we were managing around 30 main characters and 80 speaking roles. To create an authentic atmosphere, it was crucial that everyone had dialogue, not just those in focus. This required layered dialogue throughout different rooms to allow the tracking of individual storylines even when they seemed unrelated. The key to this was constant back-and-forth dialogue.

The point at which I felt as a writer that I had grasped something significant occurred quite early on. While Jay Cocks’ script contained excellent scenes, Jay was constrained by certain limitations, particularly in terms of the dialogue between music. However, my pursuit of these unspoken elements led me to understand what I chose not to do. In my past, I collaborated on a film titled Girl, Interrupted, and there’s a scene where Angelina Jolie’s character questions Winona Ryder’s about therapy at the institution, saying, “Did you cough up your secret?” To which Winona’s character replies, “What secret?” and Angelina responds, “The one that you cough up and confess so that they let you out.” This exchange serves as my personal reference to what I call the structure of films such as Ordinary People or Good Will Hunting, where a character conceals and suppresses something, only for it to be revealed in the third act, leading to some form of healing. This narrative approach is not problematic – it’s a classic technique, and I employed it in Walk the Line. However, I knew that I couldn’t adopt this method for this movie with Dylan, as there was nothing he would disclose in the third act that would elicit a sudden “Ah-ha!” moment.

This tale was initially published in a special solo edition of The Hollywood Reporter magazine, released in January. If you’d like to get the magazine, you can subscribe by clicking here.

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2025-01-06 20:26