Daniel Day-Lewis knows the world is full of questions about him. Who wouldn’t be curious?
This three-time Oscar winner is revered for his intense, fully immersive performances in films like “There Will Be Blood,” “Lincoln,” and “My Left Foot.” Many consider him the greatest living actor. Yet, he has always struggled with the complexities of his profession and the public spotlight that comes with it.
Known for taking long breaks between projects, Day-Lewis made a surprising announcement in 2017, after completing “Phantom Thread,” declaring his retirement from acting. People wondered if he could be persuaded back to the screen, as he had been once before for Martin Scorsese’s “Gangs of New York” (2002), or if this truly marked the end of his illustrious cinematic journey.
In the years that followed, public curiosity about his prolonged absence only intensified. Even Day-Lewis, who remained steadfastly out of the public eye, felt this growing interest.
“People tend to talk in a rather hyperbolic way: The more elusive you may seem to be, the harder they’re going to come after you,” he shared during a recent video call.
We had met to discuss his latest film, “Anemone,” which has, at least for now, ended his retirement. Opening in theaters this Friday, “Anemone” marks the directorial debut of Day-Lewis’s son, Ronan. The 68-year-old actor stars as Ray, a reclusive former soldier living in self-imposed isolation in the northern English woods. After years off the grid, his brother, Jem (played by Sean Bean), finds him, hoping to bring Ray home to confront the estranged son he left behind. However, before any reconciliation can occur, the brothers must first face the deep-seated traumas that continue to haunt them.
Day-Lewis and Ronan began writing the film several years ago, during the height of his retirement. “Knowing that it was quite possible I wouldn’t find my way back to working as an actor, I had kind of an anticipatory sadness that I wouldn’t then work with Ronan when he made films, so I suggested that we just try and cook something up for its own sake,” he recalled.
As the project grew and he committed to starring, Day-Lewis had to confront his feelings about becoming a public figure once more. Even during his peak fame, he rarely engaged with the press, and this conversation was his first solo print interview in nearly a decade. Despite his initial hesitation, I found Day-Lewis to be thoughtful and surprisingly open about the core conflict that has defined his remarkable career.
Here are edited excerpts from our discussion:
Question: You’ve always been cautious about engaging with the press and public. Has it felt any different this time around?
Answer: Not really, no. I suppose after being out of the game for so long, my nerves are a bit frayed. I’ve always loved the actual work – that part has always been like food and drink to me – but I never truly adjusted to the other aspects of life surrounding the work. I still feel a bit like a teenager having to navigate the very unnatural process of being a public figure.
Question: What do you find most unnatural?
Answer: It’s certainly nothing to complain about, as it’s part of the system, but many actors are quite shy individuals. I am definitely a quiet person, and it never occurred to me that by doing this work, you are essentially asking for attention. It always felt rather jarring when that attention bled into everyday life, and I’ve fought hard over the years to keep those worlds separate, with mixed results.
I feel like such an ingrate, but it’s just not natural for me to discuss the work. I have no inclination to talk about it unless I’m actively involved in it.
Question: Is the difference now that you prefer to discuss the work with your collaborators rather than with someone after the fact?
Answer: The interactions you have with your collaborators are very specific. By the time I arrive on set, I hope that most of the talking is done, and you’re fully immersed in the world you’ve tried to create. Talking about it now feels a bit disingenuous because I’m trying to reconstruct an experience I have very little objective understanding of. I will genuinely try my best to answer anything you ask, but I can’t be entirely sure it’s not simply a reimagining in hindsight.
Question: Well, without getting too existential about it, isn’t every memory a reinvention in hindsight?
Answer: Absolutely. Perhaps I’m just seeking excuses for my awkwardness. That could very well be it! But as a young man, I was incredibly shy and never comfortable at parties or in crowds. I always hoped to find my way back to a quiet space, so I still find the public aspect of it challenging. If I go out and a few people start to follow me, it makes me very, very uneasy, to the point where I might discreetly ask them to stop.
Question: I wonder if there’s a connection between your desire for retreat and many of the characters you’ve portrayed who live off the grid, including Ray in “Anemone.”
Answer: That certainly seems to be the case, though it wasn’t a conscious part of our process when we started writing. I don’t live a hermit’s life — I simply live peacefully with my family and friends in what feels like a sanctuary. So, I definitely don’t share Ray’s desire to escape the world. In his case, it’s almost a perpetual act of penance.
Question: “Anemone” was initially conceived as a short film, right?
Answer: Yes, and I was likely deluding myself to some extent. As we began writing, after a few weeks of living with these two characters in a shed, we realized we needed other people in the story. Then suddenly, characters appeared in a city, and we were writing street scenes – we had lost the battle to keep it contained.
Question: Was there any apprehension on your part as the project expanded?
Answer: It became increasingly clear to me that if we allowed this to unfold naturally, it would become a full-fledged production. A certain sense of dread did surface because I wasn’t sure if I was ready to re-enter the public arena.
Question: Artistically, you’ve stated that you only work when your creative passion is rekindled. Despite your aversion to being a public figure, had that artistic fire returned during your hiatus?
Answer: Yes, I’m glad you made that distinction. It was definitely there.
Question: So, how did you feel on your first day back on a film set?
Answer: One of the peculiar things about filmmaking is the immense amount of equipment and large crew it requires, even for a relatively small production. I have to find a way to ignore all that paraphernalia, but the sight of caravans, cables, and gear certainly makes my heart skip a beat or two.
However, if the preparatory work has been done thoroughly in the months leading up to our first day on set, I hope it feels like a seamless continuation of what’s already in motion. It should never feel like a “Day 1.” The work is already happening; you just keep going.
Question: Your father, the poet Cecil Day-Lewis, passed away when you were 15. You’ve said that you regret not having achieved anything of artistic significance that he could have witnessed.
Answer: Of any kind of significance, yes.
Question: So, I imagine being able to watch your son embark on his most significant artistic project to date, and doing it alongside him, must be immensely fulfilling.
Answer: That’s a beautiful observation, truly. It was quite beneficial to me, and unique. We were both astonished that we were given this chance to do something like this. That quiet sense of joy permeated the entire period, sharing that precious time with Ronan. It was incredibly special.
Question: When you were young, what did acting mean to you?
Answer: At a very young age, it felt not just like there was a good chance I’d pursue a career as an actor, but that I needed to pursue that career to survive in the world. Theater, which I discovered in boarding school, truly became a sanctuary. Inside that illuminated box, I felt relatively safe from what otherwise seemed like a hostile and cruel environment.
Question: Yet, as a young man, you considered abandoning acting to become a cabinetmaker, and even later in life, you paused your acting career to work as a cobbler. What drew you to those alternative paths?
Answer: The craft aspect almost felt like an alternative, largely because it’s tangible. In performance arts, we’re dancing with shadows, and it’s subjective: You might like a face or not. But if you’re making shoes, a piece of furniture, or a musical instrument, the quality is undeniably tangible. To me, it was an antidote to the unknown.
Question: Do you consider acting a craft as well?
Answer: I don’t particularly like thinking of acting in terms of craft at all. Of course, there are techniques to learn, and I know the Method has become an easy target these days. I’m a bit annoyed to hear people casually using phrases like “gone full Method,” which seems to imply someone is behaving like a lunatic in an extreme way.
Everyone tends to focus on the less important details of the work, and these details often involve some form of self-punishment or an experience that inflicts severe discomfort or mental instability. But, naturally, in an actor’s life, it primarily has to be about the internal work.
Question: When did these doubts about your chosen profession first begin to surface?
Answer: Well, at 15, I was encouraged to audition for the National Youth Theater, which was a significant institution in the U.K. at the time. It was run by Michael Croft, and I was accepted, which made me tremendously proud and pleased. Then, we were all gathered in a large hall, and Michael Croft gave a speech to all these young, idealistic people, describing the sleaze of professional theater, the corruption that awaited us. He strongly believed in the purity of amateur theater.
I was 15, chain-smoking, trying to process this somber, pessimistic vision he painted for us. From that day forward, I began to have doubts. Not about the acting itself, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but about whether I was suited for this kind of life. And that’s when I started to think, maybe I shouldn’t be an actor.
I had two cabinetmaking teachers, both excellent, and the younger one was closer to my age. I announced to him that I planned to get an apprenticeship as a furniture maker just down the road from my boarding school. He told me, “You don’t have the temperament for it.” He knew I had a wild streak. I wanted to be like them, but I wasn’t.
Question: You mentioned once thinking of acting as a sanctuary. Do you still feel that way?
Answer: The need for sanctuary remains; nothing has changed. When I made that foolish statement, saying I wouldn’t work as an actor anymore — and believe me, family and friends advised against it — I was at a very low point. Not because of the work I had just completed, but because of those lingering doubts about my ability to exist in that public world, which felt more intense than ever. So, I thought, “I need to make a statement to myself.” I was truly talking to myself: “Don’t do this again.”
It sounds like privileged complaining, and I can see why. I do feel immensely privileged to be able to do my work as an actor, and I understand the unspoken contract you sign when you agree to this profession: you participate in everything it entails. But I have never yet found a way to comfortably live with the public aspects of it.
Question: You released that statement shortly after finishing “Phantom Thread,” months before its release. You hadn’t even begun the public promotion for that film yet.
Answer: It was in anticipation of it. I knew it was coming, and I knew how terrible I felt. I thought, for everyone’s sake, I should simply disappear after this. But of course, what’s expected of you is to quietly fade away, and I should have done that. I brought the scorn and derision for my return upon myself.
However, I would still rather face that criticism than deny myself the chance to work with my son. To return to your initial question, you are absolutely right: my appetite for the work is the same. It always has been; I’ve never worked without that intense desire. That never went away.
Question: So, how do things stand for you now?
Answer: I’m proud to have had this time with my son to create this work. It’s his debut in this field, so his nerves are frayed, and mine are frayed for different reasons. But we will navigate this part of the process together with immense gratitude because I am truly delighted we were given this opportunity. And I know that in a few months, I’ll be seeking my quiet place once more.