Tilda Swinton reflects on four decades of experimental spirit—and why now is the time to ‘get real’

“You know, Derek was a painter, so he understood solitary work. But he made films for the company—and he sees it as a collective activity, and whenever he wanted more of that communal energy, he would initiate a new film. That gesture of companionship—he empowered all of us.” The creative freedom and absolute trust within the collective, Swinton reflects, proved crucial in shaping the artists they all became. “Most of us were art school kids. We weren’t coming from a world of what I call theatrical cinema. We were coming from somewhere else. We were coming from a sort of sideways side door, and he just gave us responsibility for whatever we were doing.”

The constant financial challenges they faced, Swinton adds, were also crucial in shaping her artistic independence. “First of all, very importantly, we had no money—and we didn’t have any idea of making any money. And I would even go so far as to say we had no interest in making any money. We really wanted our films to be seen. We were self-possessed enough to think that people might want to see Super 8 films blown up to 35 millimetres for 40 years.”

Not surprisingly, Swinton didn’t see herself as a professional actor then, a perspective that has endured throughout her career. “After nine years as a practising artist, I knew this was how I needed to work—not as a professional but as an avowed amateur. I knew I would need to seek out other environments where I could continue working in this way.”

The “other environments” turned out to be the many great directors she then went on to work with. Sally Potter’s adaptation of Orlando (1992) brought the young Swinton into the limelight, Tony Gilroy’s Michael Clayton (2007) won her an Oscar for best supporting actress. David Fincher’s The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008), Luca Guadagnino’s I Am Love (2009), Jim Jarmusch’s Only Lovers Left Alive (2013) and Scott Derrickson’s Doctor Strange (2016) further cemented her status, the Marvel movie officially making her a household name.

The effortless navigation between mainstream productions and indie work has earned Swinton a very special place in contemporary cinema: sprinkling mainstream films with indie credibility while lending indie films mainstream viability. “When the people came to me who wanted me to make their studio films—Francis Lawrence first with Constantine, Andrew Adamson, who wanted to make a Narnia film, and David Fincher … they all felt like experimental filmmakers. They all felt like they were making experimental films. And in a sense, they all were. Those particular projects were adventures for those filmmakers, and that's why I felt comfortable about going there,” says Swinton.

The human factor, Swinton stressed, is one of the most important considerations when deciding whether to take up a role. The question of a production becoming a box-office hit or obscure work for connoisseurs has very little bearing on her decision. “[Derek Jarman] always said it’s the filming, not the films. It’s the process, not the product—enjoying it and letting the outcome be something perhaps different from what we initially planned.”

Forty years after her acting debut and inadvertent rise to global iconhood, Swinton is well aware that today’s creative environment bears little resemblance to the one she first encountered. “One thing I notice about young and emerging artists these days is that there’s a tendency for artists to feel isolated,” says Swinton. “There’s this strange mechanism whereby once you begin to have a profile on the landscape, somehow the culture encourages you to cut yourself off and go solo—even though almost everybody starts out as a collective being. That, I think, is something we have to make sure we support artists in knowing: that it’s not the only way. It really means that people who don’t want to be solo artists can feel they can go on.”

This perhaps explains her involvement across diverse artistic fields, where creative cross-pollination flourishes and fosters a deeper sense of community. Among her most memorable artistic ventures was The Maybe, a 1995 collaboration with British artist Cornelia Parker at the Serpentine Gallery, where Swinton spent eight hours sleeping in a glass box. This pioneering spirit continued into recent years with Olivier Saillard’s performance art piece Embodying Pasolini, which premiered in Rome in 2021 and travelled to Taipei last year.

“We find a lot of joy in this interdisciplinary approach, where architecture, design, moving image, visual art all can come together,” says Swinton. “Collaborations often really have to do with this desire to share and to open yourself up, to take some risks, to let other people into your life, into your project. You can’t fully control it but it will grow into something larger than yourself.”

While her collaborative spirit drives her forward-looking projects, Swinton’s artistic sensibility remains deeply rooted in cinema’s rich history. “I was very privileged last November to be in London at the BFI Film Festival,” Swinton recalls. “There was a retrospective of the great Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, two of my favourite filmmakers, and a silver nitrate print of [1947 film] Black Narcissus was shown. It was so thrilling. It was like there was a tiger in the room—this feeling of danger and fragility and preciousness, coming from the archive but as fresh as the day.”

This reverence for film history informs her expansive view of the medium’s future. She is a firm believer in all approaches to filmmaking, from century-old techniques to digital formats. “There’s talk of certain formats becoming obsolete, but no camera is yet extinct. We can still work with the Bolex [a brand of camera popular from the late 1920s]. We can still work with glass painting [a film technique where artists create painted backgrounds that seamlessly blend with live-action footage to create impossible or cost-prohibitive environments]. We can still work, if we try, with three-strip Technicolor [one of the earliest colourisation processes] if we can find it—nothing needs to actually die. We’re just adding options to the basket, and that I think is really thrilling for anybody who’s interested in the actual process of filmmaking and the grain of filmmaking—it’s just more and more riches.”

A graduate in social and political sciences, it is not surprising that Swinton, asked about the future of film and creativity, offers a perspective that goes beyond artistic concerns. “You know, this is going to sound like a very transgressive thing to say, but I say it today—I think we need to be more sober now,” she reflects. “We have to get real and we have to cherish what’s really important, and I’m exhilarated by that. It’s like there’s no more nonsense. We can’t waste any more time or energy or resources on things that don’t really nourish us. That’s sort of a ponderous thing to say but I really do feel cleansed by that. And I feel I’m not alone.”

She’s definitely hopeful, and particularly inspired by the next generation of creators, including her own children, 27-year-old twins Honor and Xavier. “They are an extraordinary generation. It’s bombastic to talk about a generation like that but they are so equipped and so clear-eyed. I have all faith in them, so I’m looking forward to their new work.”

NOW READ:

Tilda Swinton talks friendship, her connection with Chanel and the themes in ‘The Room Next Door’

Edward Berger on what drew him to shoot Netflix film ‘The Ballad of a Small Player’ in Macau

Ryuichi Sakamoto’s son Neo Sora talks ‘Happyend’ and the flipside of having a famous parent