‘It’s Nice to Be in a Hit Every Once in a While’

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If you attended the cinema this winter, among the movies The Brutalist, Kraven the Hunter, and The Room Next Door, it was Alessandro Nivola’s face that caught your attention. Over nearly three decades of consistent acting work, Nivola has graced films spanning various genres: he played Nicolas Cage’s brother in Face/Off, collaborated with his future spouse, Emily Mortimer, on Love’s Labour’s Lost, and left queer community fans displeased for portraying a role that kept Rachel Weisz and Rachel McAdams apart in Disobedience. The winter trilogy of films, combined with his co-starring role in the spring’s Apple TV+ miniseries The Big Cigar, showcase the fruits of all that labor — a series of projects that highlight Nivola’s vibrant range, compact physique, and “oh, I know him” charm.

Nivola excels at portraying men who carry a sense of burden or unfulfilled desire for respect or affection. He has a knack for moving effortlessly between various emotional landscapes. His compelling performances as the self-deprecating Attila, relative to the gifted architect László Tóth (Adrien Brody), in the critically acclaimed film “The Brutalist“, and his captivating portrayal of the antagonist Rhino in “Kraven the Hunter” showcase the extremes of his versatile acting range. In real life, he comes across as humble and talkative.

How has your awards season been unfolding? Are you planning on attending the Oscars?

Over the past month, I’ve been commuting between here and L.A. quite frequently due to various commitments. However, due to recent events, it remains uncertain what the next few weeks will look like in Los Angeles. I hope this situation resolves soon as it has certainly disrupted everyone‘s predictions and excitement surrounding awards season. If things improve and LA doesn’t become a no-fly zone, then yes, I might be attending the Oscars. It’s exhilarating because even good films don’t always receive such widespread attention. The factors that determine which film gets noticed can seem quite arbitrary at times. When it’s a film made by kind and dedicated people who truly care about their work, it’s certainly worth celebrating. And of course, being part of a successful project is always a pleasure. [Laughs.]

In discussing The Brutalist film with director Brady Corbet, one topic of great interest to me was the dynamic between László and Attila, which seemed almost like a standalone short film within the larger movie. This initial segment, about 45 minutes long, serves as a prologue and provides a thematic roadmap for the rest of the movie. The relationship has a definite beginning, middle, and end, yet in our early conversations, we focused more on broader themes in the film and my familiarity with the world depicted due to familial connections. My grandfather was close friends with Le Corbusier, often considered the pioneer of Brutalism. Growing up, I had two large murals painted by him in our Long Island home, which I didn’t fully appreciate until later. In my family, he was a well-known figure, but I was unaware of his significance at the time.

Besides, the war saw many Europeans relocating and an influx of bohemian European artist-intellectuals settling in New York during the 40s, which bore a striking resemblance to my grandparents’ experiences. My grandmother was a well-to-do German Jew and my grandfather hailed from a mason family in Sardinia – an unlikely pairing, yet they met at an art school in Milan amidst a thriving artistic and intellectual community resisting fascism. This era represented a time of creative exploration and daring, but when they moved to New York, they found themselves working as hospital janitors and nannies. Despite their rich cultural heritage, they were unexpectedly plunged into the heart of this bustling city where their past achievements went unnoticed. This theme resonates deeply in the story, as it mirrors Harrison Van Buren’s surprise at László’s impressive background before arriving in America.

In Attila’s Miller and Sons furniture store scene, when you mention your Catholic faith to László, that pause wasn’t scripted. The dialogue delivery in this and other scenes wasn’t rehearsed or practiced beforehand. Instead, it was a moment filled with underlying tension, stemming from the complex relationship between them as cousins who grew up like siblings. László exudes an air of genius and arrogance that irritates Attila, but also something he envies and aspires to possess himself. In this situation, Attila is trying to prove his wisdom and worthiness to Lászlo before he does, and show him that he has managed to outsmart the system in a way that László might learn from or take advantage of his generosity. The long pause and your facial expression during the ash-knocking action symbolize this internal turmoil and struggle.

In my perspective, the film’s protagonist, Attila, bears an unshakeable burden – the stigma of surviving the camps. Arriving a decade prior, he managed to skirt the unspeakable horrors that László, a newcomer, has endured. This disparity in experiences leaves Attila feeling diminished and ashamed. László, who has witnessed unimaginable suffering and miraculously survived, seems hardened yet stronger.

Attila yearns to project an image of success in America, offering help as a means to validate his existence. However, László sees through this façade, keenly aware of Attila’s shabby furnishings, humble abode, and the meager storeroom he offers as living quarters. Every encounter between them strips Attila bare, revealing him as nothing more than a hollow pretender.

In essence, Attila is desperate to help László, to be in a position of power, contrasting the roles they played during their harrowing experiences. Yet, László’s keen insight leaves Attila exposed and vulnerable. This initial phase of their relationship is fraught with tension and hidden intentions.

I completely agree with your sentiment about Attila! The character of Attila represents a tragic struggle for assimilation that ultimately leads to cruelty and abuse. For me, when I ask László to leave, it’s because he has ruined a significant opportunity for me in America through his arrogance and disrespect. He may have also tried to hurt my wife, taken advantage of my generosity, and made me feel compromised. Attila lacks the strength to maintain his identity amidst discrimination, which is a common struggle many Americans face.

In our discussion, it was revealed that Attila’s suspicion towards László, stemming from his belief that László made a pass at his wife, connects to the scene where the three of them are dancing together. When creating this dance sequence, I collaborated with Brady in Budapest, arranging for us to have a swing-dance lesson with Emma Laird and an instructor before filming began. The purpose wasn’t to meticulously choreograph every move but rather to understand how couples danced during that era in such social settings. Our session with the instructor helped me grasp the humorous, improvisational nature of swing dancing, which resembles the chicken dance and other self-consciously comical dances.

As a film aficionado, I seized the chance to create an electrifying, slightly chaotic, yet captivating ambiance in that scene, serving as a foundation for the complex emotions of confusion, aggression, love, and admiration to unfold. The dance, the dialogue, even the pretense of being a woman with the apron, it all emerged spontaneously in the heat of the moment. The underlying plot was simple: We were celebrating our remarkable triumph, we were drunk, and I harbored a subtle jealousy towards László, sensing his fascination might pose a threat to my marriage. So, I subtly goaded him, pushing him to do the very thing that scared me the most.

In a shift from one scene to another, the cinematography style adopted by Brady and cinematographer Lol Crowley varied significantly. The dancing scene was characterized by handheld shots, with minimal artificial lighting in the room, allowing for maximum flexibility in capturing any part of the room without rigid setup constraints beyond an overhead lamp, a corner lamp, and natural light coming through the window. In contrast, during the final goodbye between Attila and László, the camera focused on your silhouette due to heavy shadows, suggesting a fixed, more formal blocking that couldn’t be altered easily, unlike in the dancing scene. This time, you were almost hidden in the darkness, only visible as a shadowy outline.

The scenes you’ll see are the raw takes we require. In this particular sequence, I’ll only be speaking to Adrien while the camera zeroes in on the record player’s needle or similar objects. [Laughs.] This final scene, let’s call it that, was a unique circumstance where everything was very formally arranged. However, I must confess that I had no clue about the lighting setup. I occasionally peek at the monitor to familiarize myself with the framing before we start shooting, but I don’t typically rewatch my own takes. Some actors do this frequently, and it makes me uncomfortable as it brings self-awareness, which I try to avoid. We filmed multiple takes for this scene. As we progressed, the line that gained significant importance was, “I know what you’ve been through.” In that moment, I felt compelled to ask him to leave, but I also felt a sense of disgust towards myself for doing so. The weight of the Holocaust seemed overwhelming in that instant as I instructed him to depart. Over time, this performance aspect became increasingly defining for the scene.

In this scene, Attila’s actions towards László exude an ominous atmosphere, similar to an interrogation. Meanwhile, the contrast between my character, who seems mysterious and shadowy while Adrien is more prominent, adds a sense of power to the overall depiction.

In a previous project, you were part of Kraven the Hunter alongside director J.C. Chandor and co-star Christopher Abbott, which could be seen as a reunion for us. It seems that there’s quite a buzz about your tennis attire from A Most Violent Year online, specifically focusing on it. Are you aware of this? As it happens, I received some sort of digital media, maybe a GIF or a meme, featuring that scene where I wore those short tennis shorts and my backside was the focus. I assumed someone had shared it, but I didn’t realize it had gained such a broad following. [Laughs.] However, I couldn’t be happier about it!

It’s terrific that you’re aware of the situation. Has J.C. contacted you regarding taking on the Rhino character? I assume there were discussions and preparations prior to him extending an offer, but when he asked if I’d be interested in reuniting the team for this project with Sony and the producers, I was immediately on board. The role seemed like a fantastic chance to portray a complex character that was both humorous and intimidating. In films like this, villains often provide the most enjoyable aspects.

How did you develop the character you portrayed?
My wife is producing a film about her teenage years spent in Moscow. There, she knew a poet named Philip Nikolayev. As she researched for her movie, Philip frequently visited our house. He’s an amazing, intelligent, funny, and eccentric individual. As I began contemplating my role as Aleksei Sytsevich, I felt drawn to embodying him rather than a typical Russian gangster stereotype.

Philip has a unique accent since he learned English from an English speaker, giving it a refined sound. I didn’t want to portray the usual Russian gangster image; instead, I found his voice to be more intellectual, which seemed contrary to the conventional notions of what a gangster should sound like. This realization sparked the whole idea.

I had Philip record my entire script onto my iPhone, and I mimicked his performance. J.C. appreciated the concept, finding it fitting for the character, who was an oddball with social difficulties. In the movie’s early scenes, particularly during the exchange with Russell Crowe, you get a sense that my character has been humiliated by powerful oligarchs. To make him believable as someone struggling with health and fitting in issues, I needed to create a character who had those problems.

After we started filming, there were endless chances for humor. I aimed to create a balance between funny scenes and tense ones, without any smooth transition. I had cultivated a unique bond with Aleksei’s Rottweiler, Raja, which I encouraged the crew to embrace, although only a small part of it appeared in the final movie, not enough for my liking. To me, that relationship symbolized how I interacted with everyone. I craved the dog’s affection, admiration, and respect, considering it a friend, but when it didn’t grant me enough power, I displayed aggressive cruelty towards it. J.C. gave me creative freedom to explore this, and I improvised some of those scenes. Not everything made it into the final cut, but some parts did.

In the scene where the film shows you appearing to scream silently, I actually mimed gripping a table and making a silent scream. The camera then focuses on me as my henchman delivers some bad news, and I react with this silent scream. Although there might have been the slightest sound, it was mostly silent. The intention was for the henchman to be unaware of my reaction, while the audience sees that I’m having a breakdown. I improvised several takes of this scene, which amused everyone on set. Later, during post-production, J.C. asked me to add more vocalization to the scream, creating a caught-in-my-throat kind of sound. Some viewers believe it sounds like a birdcall, but for me, it symbolizes the powerlessness and anger of someone who has been oppressed all their life and cannot express their rage. This scene also reflects my character’s need to medicate himself to maintain a weakened state.

As a movie reviewer diving into Pedro Almodóvar’s first fully-English film, “The Room Next Door,” I found myself captivated by the surreal and fantastical world that Almodóvar crafted – a realm where my character, the suspicious New York cop, was tasked with grounding the story. This felt like an unusual yet fascinating responsibility within Almodóvar’s filmography.

To immerse myself in this role, I drew upon my roots and familiarity with the distinctive accent and speech pattern found in upstate New York State, having grown up in rural Vermont near Lake Champlain. For me, understanding a character begins with their voice, as each person’s accent and speech patterns offer a glimpse into their life experiences.

The dialogue in the film was rich yet elevated compared to everyday American vernacular. Balancing this heightened language with my regional accent presented challenges, but I was prepared to adapt on set if necessary. I approached the role with meticulous preparation, ready to discard it all if Almodóvar requested changes. The key, for me, is always maintaining a sense of spontaneity and authenticity in the moment.

In a single take, he only uttered “It was excellent!” after watching the entire scene, but it’s uncertain if he fully comprehended my vocal nuances. I aimed to infuse a casual, everyday atmosphere into a scripted confrontational scene. Wearing a pink shirt and tie, I shared numerous online images of detectives in interrogations with Pedro for reference. As I displayed the pictures on my phone, every detective wore the same black polo with khaki pants. Remarkably, when I arrived to film the scene, he had prepared an identical outfit for me. This detail was his way of incorporating realism, devoid of any color.

Were there any memorable moments or anecdotes you experienced while working with Jeff Baena on the dark comedy “Spin Me Round,” which was one of his last films before he passed away?
Absolutely! While we weren’t close friends, our collaboration was enjoyable and I maintained contact with him afterward. He had a unique blend of gentleness and dry wit, surrounded by a group of artists who cherished working with him. I feel fortunate to have joined this nomadic troupe of actors that included Aubrey [Plaza], Alison [Brie], Molly Shannon, Fred Armisen, Lauren Weedman, Debby Ryan, Tim Heidecker – they had been working together for multiple films.

Jeff possessed a precise comedic sensibility and understood what was funny and what wasn’t. Technically speaking, he knew how to achieve humor, but he never came across as pretentious. His approach to filmmaking was relaxed, and he emphasized making the set a fun environment for everyone. One reason we filmed in Tuscany was because of his preference for shooting in places that were enjoyable. He was an independent individual who didn’t express himself openly, but he had a subtle, wry smile that spoke volumes.

The exact line in the film is “I know you’ve been through a lot.”

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2025-01-30 23:55