Why do you write?
Marc Norman: As to why I write, I used to say it was because I was incapable of anything else, which of course is a description of a compulsion–something that has power over you, something whose reins you don’t hold. But lately, I explain it more along the lines or the “making” stuff I mentioned earlier. I think I like to make worlds and populate them. You’re sort of God, and you’re sort of a miniaturist at the same time. You can make up a world and you can design the door knobs they use. I used to make model airplanes–all of us did when we were kids. Most of my friends threw them together, sloppy, with great globs of glue, and then blew them up with firecrackers. I worked for hours, painstakingly, on mine, getting books of pictures of the airplane or ship or tank in question from the library and adding details, tiny bits of things, rivet heads, all to the purpose of realism, which is another way of saying, the illusion of reality. And I suppose I’m still operating along those lines. I like inventing people and putting them in settings so finely drawn that the viewer, for some short period of time, forgets he or she is yoking at an artifice and thinks it’s real. That’s my performance. That’s my, for lack of a better word, magic.
There was a big spike of interest in science-fiction around the turn of this century. In that incarnation, the themes weren’t galactic battles and aliens–they were ghosts, spiritualism, seances. Somebody asked Joseph Conrad why he didn’t write a book in that genre, since it was so popular with the public. He replied, “Because it would imply that the quotidian was not miraculous.” That’s always rung a bell with me. I find the lives we lead here, in our flawed world, endlessly fascinating.
Source : http://www.elisbergindustries.com/blog/email-interview2
Q: As Michael asks in the film: what is it to be human, to ache?
Charlie Kaufman : I don’t know. It’s hard to be human. I get angry at being human and at humans and I wish there was more kindness and I could be more kind and other people could be more kind. I get very rattled just in traffic. On the road, a certain combination of selfishness and aggression exists. I think it’s analogous to look at people in cars and people online because it is an anonymous situation where you get to act on these impulses without repercussions – unless you’re in an accident – and just to be mean. I just find it so upsetting.
I was driving last night on this quiet road and this person was driving towards me and had their lights on. I flashed them to let him know, not in a rude way, that I couldn’t see. And he or she turned her brights off immediately and then turned them right back on. It was like: ‘Screw you. Don’t tell me what to do. Fuck you.’ I can’t really figure out any other version that makes sense. It just puts all of my cortisol or some sort of adrenalin nightmare stuff coursing through my veins.
The converse is true too. When I see something that’s just kind, I find it the most incredibly moving thing. It just makes me relax and tear up. When someone looks at you warmly for a second as you pass them on the street – rather than just an obligatory nod – it gives you some sort of renewed faith.
Source : https://www.theguardian.com/film/2016/dec/16/charlie-kaufman-anomalisa-interview-donald-trump
Q : The way you describe your job, it just has all these paradoxes, like knowing to follow the rules and when to break them. It seems like each movie is a minefield
Hans Zimmer : Everything is a minefield. Yeah, it really is. I actually taught [composer] John Powell years ago. I mean John Powell said it back when I was struggling in trying to find the tone or whatever and the piece of music was crap [Laughs]. But I knew the idea was good, and I just couldn’t make it into music. In typical John Powell fashion he said, “Hans, you just need to wait a while until you get it under your fingers.” And that just really made sense. You can’t just walk in and come up with a masterpiece. You come up with feces, simple and unordinary and … Of course, that’s not what you want to do. You want to go and try this new idea and be really good at it but it takes a while. Every film you have to learn the language. Especially from scratch.
Source : http://www.slashfilm.com/interview-composer-and-masterclass-teacher-hans-zimmer-on-the-questions-that-drive-him/
Q: Going off of that point about morality, there are a few characters in The Salesman who, in any other film, might be completely vilified or else deprived of the detail and humanity that other characters are afforded. How important is it to you that we feel empathy even for the characters who do despicable things in your movies?
IMAGE SOURCE : internet
AF: This is the most important goal that I have in my films. I was talking with my friends and I told them, “If you want to write something on my grave, it should be ‘empathy.’” I’m always working towards empathy, even with the characters who do wrong. Audiences usually put themselves in the shoes of the good characters. They never put themselves in the shoes of the person who has done something wrong. And there is no challenge when you put yourselves in the shoes of the good people. The films where characters are heroic and do lots of great things are satisfying and comfortable to audiences. But I want audiences to put themselves in the shoes of characters who have done something wrong. In order to do that, I have to create empathy for the character. And [the audience] can then ask themselves, if I were in his shoes would I do the same thing or not? And if I were to do that, what decisions would I make after that? This is kind of an excuse for the audience to make self-realizations. For example, in About Elly, the audience has to ask themselves, If I was one of those people who went on the trip, would I lie to the fiancé as well and say we didn’t know [Elly] had a fiancé? Could I lie like them or not?
Source : http://reverseshot.org/interviews/entry/2306/farhadi