As a director, she intuits how our insides stick to our outsides she understands, as the neighbourhood boys begin to grasp in The Virgin Suicides, “the imprisonment of being a girl. That she starts sentences without quite knowing how she is going to finish them is all part of her appeal.įrom the exquisitely contained teenage tragedy of The Virgin Suicides(1999) to the courtly coming-of-age Marie Antoinette(2006), the chance Tokyo encounter of Lost in Translation (2003), and even her parable of adolescent excess in the age of flip-phones The Bling Ring (2013), Coppola has done much to define the way we see, hear and feel interiorities on screen. ![]() I don’t know.” Coppola’s statements have a habit of trailing off self-reflexively: she doesn’t know, or “It’s hard to say.” Yet the dreaminess is anchored by a very direct gaze, a sense that she’s taking you in even as she herself refuses definite readings. “So much of that (adolescent) age is about daydreaming and fantasising because that’s how you figure out what you want to be, playing out different scenarios in your head. “I don’t think I was ever out of touch with reality,” Coppola explains a little later, pouring a cup of tea (there remains an urge to describe her every move as quiet, as though one could even pour tea loudly). Outside, the director possesses an instant casualness, pointing out different places she is fond of, as well as the direction of the studio where she has lately been holed up finishing edits on The Beguiled, her hotly anticipated new film which premiered at Cannes in May and won her the Best Director award. It’s tempting to think she dwells in the dreamlike vistas she creates, but that would do a disservice to the ways in which her vision sincerely adheres to how women and men make their way through the world. She introduces her first breakfast date (fellow mom and filmmaker, Tamara Jenkins), before strategising another spot to decamp to.Ĭrossing the street with Sofia Coppola feels surreal because her name has come to mean something more abstract, though acutely familiar. “Sorry for all the noise,” she says when we eventually meet, with a tone of genuine bewilderment at the iPhone-toting brunchers that have descended. ![]() Either nobody is aware that she’s here, or everyone is good at pretending. It’s Thursday morning in New York and, after dropping off her kids at school, the director is eating breakfast with a friend. Sofia Coppola is sitting in a very crowded restaurant. You can buy a copy of our latest issue here.
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