At 35, Jennifer Lawrence has experienced multiple shifts in her Hollywood persona. Her career began with a bang, from her breakout indie role in “Winter’s Bone” to starring in blockbusters like “The Hunger Games” and “X-Men,” and even an Oscar win for “Silver Linings Playbook” — all before turning 23. While critics lauded her work in films such as “Mother!” and “American Hustle,” her candid humor and outspoken nature captivated the public off-screen. Yet, as Lawrence revealed, she was privately anticipating the inevitable backlash. It arrived in waves of negative attention and headlines accusing her of being “too much” – too brash, too unfiltered, or even worse, inauthentic.
In 2018, Lawrence decided to step away from acting, parting ways with her agency to embark on a period of introspection. She married, welcomed two children, and dedicated time to reflection and reading. Today, as I discovered during our conversation, she is noticeably changed. She remains witty and perceptive, but her experiences with the fickle nature of fame have clearly shaped her.
Our discussion touched upon her new film, Lynne Ramsay’s “Die My Love,” where she portrays a young mother grappling with her sanity in rural Montana. Lawrence shared that her character, Grace, evoked complex emotions due to her personal battle with postpartum symptoms after the birth of her second child. We also explored how her early experiences in Hollywood continue to influence her perspective today.
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“Die My Love” was adapted from a book by Ariana Harwicz, and Martin Scorsese specifically wanted you for the role after discussing the book in his club. What did he say when he reached out? He was very complimentary, and I’d be remiss to repeat it. But he strongly suggested I read it. I had just welcomed my first baby, so it felt quite overwhelming. I devoured it in one sitting. Thankfully, I was in a good place in my postpartum recovery; I hadn’t experienced typical postpartum struggles and bonded quickly with my son. This allowed me to explore the darker themes without fear. Had I been in a darker mental space, I would have been too intimidated by its content.
Who else is in Marty Scorsese’s book club? [Laughs] I genuinely don’t know. I suppose I could just ask; the worst he could say is, “I’d rather not tell you.”
To me, the film felt like a protest against the prevailing idealization of domestic life and flawless motherhood as the ultimate female accomplishment. What does it signify for you? It evolves in meaning for me. At its core, it’s about a woman losing her sense of self within motherhood, and the raw anger she feels not just towards her husband, but also at the transformation of her relationship and the very nature of love itself.
How do you interpret Grace’s struggles? I’ve seen reviews attributing her condition to postpartum depression, bipolar disorder, or even psychosis. Does a specific diagnosis matter, and how did you personally understand her experience? For me, it was never one fixed thing; its meaning evolved. I was pregnant with my second child while filming, and there were certain harsh realities I simply couldn’t confront at the time. I consulted a postpartum specialist who informed me that suicide is the leading cause of death for mothers in the first year after childbirth. This stark reality profoundly influenced our approach to the film’s ending, particularly the symbolism of the forest and the fire. What do these elements represent? Do the characters find their way back to each other? What’s the overarching meaning? I personally viewed the forest as a symbol of cleansing.
We should mention that at the film’s conclusion, she walks into a burning forest. Are we allowed to reveal that? Am I going to spoil the movie for everyone?
You mentioned it first! I suppose I just have a bit of “franchise paranoia,” but maybe it’s not an issue here.
I doubt there’ll be a franchise for this film, but who am I to say? [Laughs] I would have to agree with you there.
Regardless, she’s a character who is profoundly… She’s deeply depressed, genuinely unhappy, and incredibly angry. She believes that the intense love for her child means she’s the only one who could possibly harm her baby, or even herself. Watching the film back after my second child, having personally experienced postpartum depression, was a truly unsettling experience.
Could you elaborate on your experience with postpartum depression? What did it feel like for you? I felt as though a tiger was constantly chasing me. The anxiety was immense, and I was plagued by relentless intrusive thoughts that completely controlled me.
Was it fear for your child, or for yourself? It was primarily fear for my child. I constantly imagined every possible worst-case scenario and doubted every decision I made. I was already in therapy, but I tried a medication called Zurzuvae for two weeks, and it provided significant relief. So, if anyone is struggling with postpartum depression, I highly recommend Zurzuvae. I’m not sponsored, but they’re welcome to send me a check!
Aside from postpartum depression, have you faced other mental health challenges that deepened your understanding of the character? I’ve battled anxiety for most of my life, and anxiety often brings its companion, depression. By day’s end, the adrenal burnout leaves you utterly exhausted, leading to a profound sadness. So, yes, I’ve experienced that. What I truly brought to the role, I believe, is the pervasive feeling of never quite getting things right. I’m constantly consumed by guilt: Is this the right breakfast? Are we discussing the right topics on the way home from school? I live in perpetual worry that I’m failing my children. I can usually pull myself out of that spiral by reminding myself that I’m a good mom, my kids are happy, I have a wonderful husband and a strong support system at home—it’s just my mind spinning. But Grace lacks that ability to do a reality check, and she plunges into that darkness completely. It was disturbingly easy for me to trace that descent.
The other thing she deals with is a loss of her creative self. As a mother, you can feel how your child seems to leech all of the energy, all of the motivation out of you. You just give it all to them. Was that something that you were able to connect with? Absolutely. Having children involves sacrifice. While it’s profoundly gratifying, amazing, and rewarding, it is undeniably sacrificial. Before having kids, I never had to decline something I truly wanted to pursue; I could simply go for it. I struggle with the feeling that my deep love for being a creative person is vain and selfish. My children and family are, of course, paramount, but my creative work feels like an equally essential part of me. I wouldn’t feel complete if I couldn’t make movies; it’s that fundamental to my identity.
When my first son was born, I naively thought, “Being an actress is the ideal job for a hands-on mom!” Now I realize that perception was skewed by the unique circumstances of COVID. So now I’m grappling with the question: How much is it acceptable to cherish this career and refuse to let it go? I deeply connect with that internal conflict. Interestingly, I experienced the inverse problem with creativity. The anxiety I felt after my second child’s birth was so intense that my only escape was through stories and books, particularly delving into the American Revolution. I truly immersed myself in those historical ideas, which has always been my way of processing emotions.
The American Revolution? Please, do tell. Well, I devoured an incredible book called “The Revolutionary” by Stacy Schiff, which focuses on Sam Adams. I believe history is the closest thing we have to a crystal ball. With everyone currently debating what it means to be American, I was fascinated by the ideals of the nation’s founders. What were they trying to escape, and what vision were they striving to create?
Listen to the Conversation With Jennifer Lawrence
At only 35, the actress has been through the celebrity wringer. Here’s where she landed.
I’d like to discuss politics, but first, one more question about the film: It features a significant amount of unvarnished nudity. Given our country’s complex relationship with female nudity, what are your thoughts on that? I’m genuinely not bothered by those who are uncomfortable with nudity. They don’t have to watch; they can simply fast-forward. I honestly don’t care about being judged in that respect. There was a surprising sense of freedom from vanity because I was pregnant with my second child. I initially thought, “Oh, I’ll only be four or five months along; I won’t even start showing until six or seven months.” But that’s simply not true with your second pregnancy. I had to completely abandon any notion of vanity. I tried to suck in as much as humanly possible, but I wasn’t going to diet. I was pregnant, I couldn’t exercise, and I was working. So, there was just this profound liberation in that.
Did that feeling of liberation feel good? Yes, it feels quite freeing. Although, I do occasionally have moments where I wonder, “What are the technical differences between me and a prostitute?” But it certainly doesn’t keep me awake at night.
Excuse me? Well, I also don’t believe there’s anything inherently wrong with prostitution.
I wasn’t implying there was. It’s just amusing that your mind went straight to that comparison. Oh, I am exceptionally good at self-criticism. I can analyze every angle. In fact, perhaps I should be conducting this interview myself.
What questions would you ask yourself? Oh, my goodness, it would be utterly depressing. [Lawrence’s publicist enters the room, asking her to adjust her jacket.] Oh no, that means she disapproved of something. What did I say? [Lawrence pauses and then resumes the interview.]
Is everything alright? Yes. I wasn’t scolded; I just needed to use the restroom. I staunchly believe in freedom of the press.
And I believe in freedom of the press, too, dammit! It reminds me of “One Battle After Another.” Talk about freedom!
Your public persona was sometimes criticized for being “too loud” or “too much.” Looking back, how do you reflect on your early career perception? Now that I’m in my 30s and a mother, I recognize how young I truly was. When I encounter a 23-year-old today, they seem like children. While I’m sometimes mortified by past actions—like an old, cringe-worthy interview—I understand it. I was young, nervous, defensive, and awkward. I recall being nominated for “Silver Linings Playbook” and someone asking, “Everyone loves you! What does that feel like?” My response was, “It feels precarious. It’s inevitably going to come crashing down.” That’s just the natural order of things. Then, I fell while accepting my Oscar, and the following year, I tripped over a cone while waving to fans. I remember thinking, “Damn it, that’s it. No one will believe I genuinely fell two years in a row.”
Because after your Oscar fall, people accused you of faking it. Yes. I didn’t. But everyone seemed to interpret that as all my actions being fabricated, merely a performance. That’s how it felt to me—like I had been exposed as a fraud.
You once mentioned feeling that others had grown tired of you, and that you yourself had grown tired of yourself. What did you mean by being sick of yourself? I was simply exhausted by the whole process. Conducting interviews is genuinely frightening. I am incredibly blessed, fortunate, and grateful, but it’s still terrifying. You finish an interview or prepare for a film release, and you’re essentially presenting yourself to be dissected. I was utterly weary of being quoted, of people dissecting those quotes, and tired of seeing myself reflected in that way. I needed a respite from it, and honestly, the public needed a break from me too. It felt like a mutual breakup.
What did you do during that period when you stepped back from the limelight? I stayed with my cousin for a while—shout out to my cousin! We watched a lot of TV, and I took my dog to Central Park. Then, I fell in love.
I observed you at a press conference in Spain, and you appeared notably more reserved—more cautious and thoughtful than in the past. Is this a conscious change? I’ve also matured significantly. And yes, I’m much more apprehensive about anything I say publicly. I don’t want to give an interview that devolves into a series of sound bites and meaningless jargon. I find that uninteresting and it would feel inauthentic to my purpose. So, I’m constantly striving to find that balance.
I’d like to inquire about your relationships with directors, particularly those known for being challenging. For instance, while filming “Mother!” with Darren Aronofsky, you hyperventilated, tore your diaphragm, and required medical attention. He then asked you to reshoot the scene upon your return. How do you manage working with directors who make such demands? I maintain a certain detachment. David O. Russell truly taught me this. Because of David, the director’s specific methodology has never really mattered to me.
Amy Adams, your co-star in Russell’s “American Hustle,” once remarked, “Jennifer doesn’t take any of it on. She’s Teflon.” I didn’t, but I genuinely felt that with David, it was his way of communicating without any pretense. I never perceived him as demeaning or yelling at me. If he disapproved of something, he would simply say, “That was terrible. Looked like [expletive]. Do it better.” And for me, that was a very productive exchange. I’m not sensitive. I don’t see how one could be in this industry and be sensitive.
However, Amy Adams mentioned crying on set, and that despite your “Teflon” nature, she found it difficult. Perhaps he was tougher on her than he was on me. I honestly don’t know. I mean, yes, of course I’m sensitive. I’m actually very sensitive. I’m not sure why I just said that.
I was just going to point out that we’ve spent this entire conversation discussing how sensitive you are! I am so sensitive. I can’t believe I just said that. It reminds me of a conversation I had the other night. A girl mentioned, “Oh, I’m the middle child with two brothers.” And I enthusiastically responded, “I’m the middle child with two brothers!” We passionately discussed it for five minutes before I had to admit, “Actually, I’m the youngest. My apologies.” [Laughs] I suppose I don’t always mean everything I say. Do you still wish to continue this interview?
Absolutely. Okay.
Perhaps your sensitivity doesn’t extend to acting? Yes, I’m not sensitive about acting, nor am I competitive in that sphere. My husband is always astonished because I am intensely competitive in almost everything else. When we play tennis, I’ll throw my racket, scream, and rage. I can’t even complete a puzzle without frustration. Sometimes I’ll even make eye contact with him while brushing our teeth, subtly signaling, “I brushed a little longer than you did, did you notice?” So he finds it fascinating that I’m not competitive with acting. But I believe that’s because I feel secure in my abilities. Why would I need to be competitive? When it comes to a director, you need a true visionary, and I think it simply comes down to collaborating with an artist I can genuinely trust.
You’re slated to work on a film with Martin Scorsese. I’m not sure if I trust him yet. He’ll certainly have to prove himself to me.
How do you typically prepare before working with a director of Scorsese’s caliber? My usual process involves a cycle of panic, then attempting to connect with an acting teacher, meeting them once, and then never seeing them again. That’s essentially my preparation.
I’ll immerse myself in reading, ensuring I’m prepared and have everything memorized. Leonardo DiCaprio, who is also in the upcoming Scorsese film and with whom I worked on “Don’t Look Up,” is someone who knows intimate details like when his character was born and even their preferred cologne. Leo’s commitment in “One Battle After Another” is incredibly serious, which paradoxically makes it hilarious. While working with him, I felt compelled to match his dedication. Christian Bale also significantly influenced me during “American Hustle.” At 23, I was very self-conscious about being embarrassed in front of the crew, finding the act of acting itself awkward. I made it a point not to ‘act’ until the very last moment, at “action.” But then I observed Christian. As the crew and lights prepared, and it became clear we were about to roll, he would slowly begin to immerse himself. I remember thinking, “That seems like a smart approach, and I should adopt it when I’m more mature and can handle people judging me with a ‘Pshh, she’s acting’ attitude.”
You brought up “One Battle After Another.” Oh, my goodness. I saw it last night in 70-millimeter IMAX, precisely as God intended. It is, without a doubt, the most incredible movie I have ever seen in my entire life.
It’s also a film that resonates with our current political climate in a very interesting and significant way. And it presents a compelling idea. It’s certainly not a bad idea.
What do you mean by that? A revolution.
You’ve been politically outspoken in the past, particularly during the first Trump administration. I’m curious about your current feelings on speaking out. I genuinely question whether I should. During the first Trump administration, I felt like I was frantically running around, headless. But as we’ve consistently seen, election after election, celebrities have absolutely no impact on who people choose to vote for. So, what purpose am I serving? I’m merely expressing my opinion on an issue that will only further ignite a divisive fire tearing our country apart.
I find myself in a complex period of recalibration, largely because I am also an artist. I don’t want my political views to alienate audiences from films and art that have the potential to shift consciousness or even change the world. My priority is to protect my craft, ensuring that people can still lose themselves in my work. Furthermore, if I can’t contribute something that fosters peace, de-escalates tensions, or offers a genuine solution, then I don’t want to inadvertently become part of the problem or exacerbate it.
Do you regret how you handled those situations in the past? Probably? I honestly regret everything I’ve ever done or said. I’m seriously going to remove the zip drives from all these cameras when I leave. This second term feels different. It’s because he explicitly stated his intentions, and we witnessed his actions for four years. His message was clear, and that’s what was chosen.
This interview has been edited and condensed. Listen to and follow “The Interview” on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, iHeartRadio or Amazon Music.
Video by Tre Cassetta and Nickolai Hammar