‘Fighting against YouTube is a Losing Battle.’

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Kelly Reichardt is concerned she might seem grumpy during our conversation at the New York Film Festival, where her newest film, The Mastermind, is being shown before its release on October 17. “Please soften this! I don’t want to come across as an old curmudgeon,” she asks after a lengthy discussion about her dislike of people eating during movies-and yes, that definitely includes popcorn. (“In France, you sit in a lovely seat and no one is eating. But then it’s all in French! You have no idea what’s happening.”) Despite her amusing complaints, Reichardt, 61, is far from a crank, though she’s known for not putting up with nonsense. The writer-director has spent over three decades creating unique independent films that portray characters with such closeness that watching feels like a brief moment of mind-reading. Her work is recognized for its slow, thoughtful pace and focused scope, but it deserves just as much praise for its ability to surprise viewers. Her 1994 debut, River of Grass, set in her home state of Florida, is about a couple who go on the run but never actually leave town. And when she made a western, Meek’s Cutoff, in 2010, the most memorable scene wasn’t a dramatic showdown-it was Michelle Williams, playing the wife of a pioneer, firing a flintlock rifle and then painstakingly reloading it in real time so she could fire another shot.

Kelly Reichardt’s ninth film, The Mastermind, is her most ambitious project to date, but its scale is unique to her style. The movie is a heist story set in the fall of 1970 in Massachusetts, centering on a family man, James Blaine Mooney (played with brilliant vulnerability by Josh O’Connor), who intends to steal paintings from his town’s museum. Staying true to Reichardt’s approach, the film isn’t focused on the heist itself – which unfolds somewhat clumsily in the first act – but rather on the consequences that follow. It’s a film that finds excitement in surprising places, and, much like her previous work Showing Up, explores the relationship between art and making a living. These are themes the director – who has skillfully balanced filmmaking with teaching film at Bard College for many years – has had ample time to consider, even while concerned about current events.

The Mastermind tells the story of a man who leaves art school and drifts into carpentry. Later, around the age of 30, he unexpectedly decides to become a thief, targeting paintings at his local museum. What inspired this story?

Showing Up was a movie centered around art, and I wasn’t quite finished with the enjoyable research process yet. I found an article about some teenagers who unexpectedly found themselves caught up in a robbery, and that seemed like a great place to start developing the story.

Have you ever found yourself casually wondering, as if it just occurred to Mooney, something like, “This painting is simply on the wall… what if I were to take it?”

I’m just too scared. I’ve always worried about ending up in jail. Plus, I don’t know what I’d even do with it – I couldn’t possibly keep it in my apartment. It would probably just end up in a cheap storage unit. It’s a good thing it’s a shared space, like a museum. It’s really one of the few public activities left that doesn’t revolve around eating.

Since we have no idea what Mooney originally wanted to achieve, I’m wondering – when you created the character, did you imagine him as an artist who hadn’t succeeded?

No, he hasn’t given it a real effort to be considered a failed artist. I believe he’s reacting against the comfortable, suburban lifestyle of his parents – the very same patterns of marriage and family he fears he’ll repeat. This is a period of questioning and upheaval, influenced by the disappointments of the 1960s, so it’s almost as if he’s trying to benefit from the spirit of revolution. Ultimately, he’s just dismantling his own life.

How did you end up casting Josh O’Connor as Mooney?

Karim Aïnouz, a filmmaker and a mutual friend, brought us together, and I jumped at the chance to connect with him. I shared materials with him to capture what life in America felt like during that specific time – it wasn’t simply the ’60s or ’70s, but 1970, a transitional period. I sent things like popular radio songs, records from the era, and essays by Joan Didion written at that time. He collaborated with a voice coach to perfect the regional accent, and since Bill Camp lives near Worcester, he and Josh were practicing the accents together over Zoom. Getting into the costumes and fully immersing oneself in the setting really helped elevate the performance. Have you ever met Josh O’Connor?

I haven’t had the pleasure.

Ridiculously charming person.

That definitely comes through onscreen.

There’s a scene where Josh is stuck in a car with his two incredibly energetic and talkative on-screen sons. He has a camera mounted on the car, making the driving challenging, and he’s constantly interacting with the kids. The children really adored Josh. If someone else had been in that role, or if they didn’t share the same comedic timing, the experience could have been very different. A lot of it is unpredictable – you never know what might go wrong – but Josh made everything much smoother. However, he’s too busy at the moment, so I’m going to say he’s being difficult.

Even though things are chaotic today, the early 1970s – the setting for The Mastermind – were also a turbulent time. But does it seem strangely hopeful to imagine a scandal having the power to remove a president from office?

My upbringing was pretty unsettled, so I remember that time spent in the country as being similarly chaotic. And it truly was: The Vietnam War was still raging, there was a lingering sense of disappointment after the 1960s, the president wasn’t truthful, and as a regular citizen, it was hard to understand what was really happening. My earliest political memory is being at the pool in Miami – where I grew up – when everyone had to stop swimming to watch Nixon resign. I was in third grade, and the teacher asked each of us to explain what Watergate was. All I knew was that something was constantly on TV, and it seemed to involve bugs, which I didn’t care for. But now, whenever Watergate comes up, I’m like, Bring it on. I rewatched the hearings countless times while living in New York. Smoke a joint, head to the Museum of Television, and catch some Watergate? Absolutely. That’s my kind of reality TV. I also followed all of the Iran-Contra affair. I definitely enjoy a good hearing, that’s for sure.

The Mastermind is a movie about a robbery, but it’s different from most films in that style. Do you enjoy heist movies?

It really varies depending on the director. I particularly love the films by Jean-Pierre Melville – they’re likely my favorites. However, I also see this as a film that deliberately unravels, much like those from the New Hollywood era. I need to stop referring to it as a heist movie, because that sets the wrong expectations. I showed an early version to a friend, and her immediate reaction was, “Please don’t tell me this is a heist film!”

You’ve collaborated with actors such as Michelle Williams and John Magaro multiple times. When you begin working with a new performer, what makes you feel confident that a successful working relationship is possible?

I once had a really strange experience meeting an actor. I met him at his hotel, and there was a queue at the reception desk. He immediately started shouting at the receptionist, even though she hadn’t done anything wrong. I remember thinking, Wow, he’s going to start yelling at me too. And I was right! Because of that, I’ve learned to recognize potential problems early on. Not everyone is suited for this kind of filmmaking process. The Masterpiece was definitely our most relaxed shoot, but even then… People either really connect with it, or they really don’t, so it’s crucial to work with the right team. You get quite spoiled when you work with Michelle Williams often because she’s incredibly easygoing and fully committed.

You’ve mentioned in interviews that audiences might be critical of Wendy, the character Michelle Williams portrays in Wendy and Lucy, due to the decisions she makes and what she leaves behind. Mooney faces a comparable situation; he’s relied on his charisma for a while, and the film shows how that charm eventually runs out.

You’re right, that’s a good observation! A woman choosing to walk away from her responsibilities, even in River of Grass, where Lisa Bowman leaves her children – that receives much harsher judgment than a man doing the same (although some of my female friends also strongly criticize that character). He clearly understands how to manipulate situations to get what he wants, like getting money from his mother, so he’s conscious of his actions and relies on his charisma.

Following the completion of River of Grass in 1994, you faced a decade of difficulty securing funding for your subsequent film. Has obtaining financing become a simpler process for you now?

Creating short films is genuinely challenging. While this budget is the largest I’ve received so far, it’s still relatively modest overall. I often find myself thinking, It’s incredible that I was given funding to make a film about a man who steals milk, a woman caring for an injured bird, and a fragmented ceramic object. The fact that these stories have been made possible is truly remarkable.

It’s always felt uncertain, but now everything feels that way. While big franchise films and projects like those have their own risks, they’ll likely continue. It’s definitely become much simpler than it used to be, but there’s always this feeling during filmmaking where we think, Well, clearly this is the last one we’re going to do, the plug’s going to be pulled. So… I keep my day job as a teacher.

Is there a project you’ve been dreaming up, something you’d start immediately if you received $80 million with no strings attached?

I doubt there’s a budget of $80 million available, without any restrictions. However, I’m really eager to work with cinematographer Chris Blauvelt and production designer Tony Gasparro. I’d prefer not to work with a large team from the studio – it’s not a criticism of studio people, but I’m just not suited to that kind of environment. From the very beginning, when we’re discussing the script, I’m always focused on keeping costs down. The biggest benefit of having more money is having more time. We used to film for six days a week, scout locations on the seventh, and never had enough time to properly think things through. Simply being able to shoot for five days a week would be a massive advantage.

So no one’s come calling to pitch you on some franchise film yourself?

It wasn’t really a big issue – it didn’t even come up with my agent. Some people are really good at navigating these things, and they’re still getting to make the movies they want with large budgets. I often ask myself, What if this was the last project you ever worked on? Anyway, I consider myself lucky; I’m in a good position.

You’ve encountered projects that didn’t come to fruition, such as “The Royal Court,” the crime film you developed after “River of Grass.” Do you ever go back to those ideas, or attempt to get them produced?

Wow, that feels like a lifetime ago! Back then, everyone used to say, “Create movies based on your own life.” But I soon discovered that making films about unfamiliar subjects is much more compelling. It allows you to step outside of yourself and it’s simply enjoyable to explore and learn about different worlds. Naturally, you’ll inevitably find connections between those new subjects and your own life, your identity, and your past experiences.

Recently, I was developing a project to film in Europe, but much of the research I did for it ended up being used in First Cow. I was able to incorporate some of my ideas into that film. But things change so quickly these days that I’m not sure what will happen next. Yeah.

I think about you as such an American filmmaker.

I think a lot of people felt the same way, because I just didn’t have the resources to get involved. It leaned into fantasy, and honestly, a lot of folks kept pointing out it didn’t really seem like something I would make. And they’re right, I’m not usually drawn to that genre. Still, it sounded like it could have been a really compelling project.

Some people describe your films as “slow cinema,” a label you don’t particularly like. However, it does highlight your tendency to realistically portray the duration of actions, which is unusual. Most films tend to skip over or shorten these moments!

Filmmaking is fundamentally about manipulating time – how you play with time and space is what it all comes down to. Commercial interests push for everything to be quicker and discourage careful observation. They don’t want us to contemplate or take the time to truly *see*. It’s all about constantly showing, look at this and look at this and look at this, and the pace only accelerates. Nowadays, a single shot might only be 10 or 20 seconds long. It’s honestly quite disturbing. People seem unwilling to experience life at a natural rhythm anymore. That’s why everyone is constantly glued to their phone.

You teach film at Bard to students who’ve always known the internet. This has significantly shortened everyone’s attention span, breaking it down into very small pieces. What’s your experience teaching students who have grown up with constant access to the internet like?

It feels like I’m constantly facing an uphill battle with YouTube, but that seems to be my life right now. Something I’ve noticed changing is the increasing number of women in my classes. When I first started teaching at NYU, there was this very opinionated man who would come to each class and declare that “Women will never ever, ever be directors.” Imagine him saying that to a room full of men, one female student, and myself – quite a statement! My longtime friend and collaborator, Jon Raymond, jokes that “It proves cinema is dead because the classes are all women now.” But actually, there are now a lot of women and men in the classes, and it’s a really positive environment.

I’m currently using Bard, and it seems to be different – it doesn’t rely so much on storytelling. The real challenge is convincing people to avoid shaky camera work; that’s a tougher issue than getting the timing right. People are very accustomed to seeing footage shot handheld. While a moving horizon bothers me, most students aren’t bothered by it. Overall, students are looking for visuals that are different from what they see on their phones. Having grown up in a fast-paced world, they appreciate seeing something a little more deliberate and slower-paced.

Many young people today seem to be feeling a lot of stress about finding ways to earn money.

It’s interesting, I was recently chatting with a friend about how, when we were younger, people with money tended to keep it quiet. But talking to younger generations now, they openly say everyone wants to be rich. That wasn’t a factor for the people I knew in bands, film, or the arts. We all hoped to keep creating, but the idea of actually earning a living from it wasn’t something we really considered. Nowadays, young people are facing much higher costs for education and housing. I’m concerned they don’t have enough free time to connect, discuss their work, and experience art because they’re so focused on just making ends meet. The corporate world seems to have a much stronger grip on everything. It’s hard to figure out how to navigate all of this while staying true to yourself.

To come back to YouTube, online videos are also so up-front about sponsorships and monetization.

At the New York Film Festival yesterday, our group-the actors and me-went to get a Polaroid photo, and someone secretly filmed us. I don’t use social media, but someone sent me the video, and I realized I hadn’t known we were being recorded. Now it’s online. Things used to be different. When I started out, even for a simple Q&A, you had to sign a release if they wanted to film it, and another release if it was going to be posted online. Those agreements just don’t exist anymore.

Speaking of releases, you did some work in reality TV at one point in your career, is that right?

When I was working on Old Joy, I took a job on a reality TV show to raise money for film. I had finished the script and needed funding. My friend Richard had a lot of experience with reality TV – he’d even worked on The People’s Court with Judge Wapner – and he got me a position on America’s Next Top Model. I was hired as a “writer,” which mostly meant listening to hours of arguments between the contestants and organizing it into a specific format. I attempted to deviate from that format, but it didn’t work at all. You really have to follow the formula exactly. Still, it was an interesting experience. At the time, I was teaching as an adjunct professor at NYU, and honestly, I just needed a break for a semester. It was a tough job, and people were actually nicer on the Top Model show.

Have you ever wished you didn’t *have* to work? In the film Showing Up, you get the feeling that Michelle Williams’s character has her job as a college administrator, and it’s simply a part of her routine. However, she also seems a little jealous of her fellow sculptor, Hong Chau, who appears to be completely free to dedicate herself to her artistic passions.

I don’t thrive with a lot of unstructured time. I prefer having daily tasks and the security of health insurance, and while I enjoy the creative process, I don’t want to be fully immersed in production all the time. Similarly, I’m not interested in returning to an adjunct position. Ultimately, I dislike having large blocks of unscheduled time and hadn’t really considered it in that way before.

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2025-10-02 15:58