Juliette Binoche

Juliette Binoche
French actor Juliette Binoche was on stage at BFI Southbank with Geoff Andrew to discuss Kieslowski, painting and the art of embracing the unknown

* guardian.co.uk,
* Tuesday September 02 2008

Geoff Andrew: First, I want to ask you, did you really jump out of that plane?

Juliette Binoche: I jumped twice. The first time I was not frightened, and that's the one you see. The second time I was freezing cold inside. I was really frightened because the first time, when my parachute opened, I thought I was dead because it's so violent, and I thought I had passed to the other side. But then I realised I was not dead and it was all calm and I could hear the the cows mooing. The helicopter came close to film me landing but it was creating so much wind that I started to go so far and I went into the bushes. So when it came time to do it again, I thought, I don't want to live that again. But I had to do it, and by that time I was crying. But it was better the second time.

GA: I chose that clip because it seems remarkably appropriate in summing up your attitude to you art, in that you seem to be a person who's willing to take a jump into the unknown, to take risks, to have an adventure. We're here tonight, not only because of your films, but also because of your paintings, poetry and this extraordinary thing that you're doing at the National Theatre, where you're co-creating and performing in a dance-theatre piece without having really danced before. You must really like taking risks, yes?

JB: I love the unknown. I think because it brings fear, and to embrace fear is the best feeling. It's the jump into another side of us that we discover while we're jumping, so there's an element of trust, of discovering a side of you that you never thought of before you jumped. So imagination helps before you do it, but it doesn't resolve everything, doesn't make it freer. The actual need of physical involvement when it marries the desire - that's wonderful, because it comes to a peak inside us.

GA: You must have felt a bit like that even in your first film role, because you worked with Godard in Hail Mary. What was that like?

JB: It was an earthquake for me. I was used to theatre classes. I studied with my mother; she was a theatre teacher and directed, too, so it was very family-like. Then I studied with a great teacher in Paris, and she was wonderful; she pushed me but she was a warm soul. And all of a sudden, when I got into Godard's film, it was not like that at all. I was like this entity that was bothering him. He was having technical problems or weather problems or emotional problems. He was changing scenes all the time. We would wait in the hotel, not knowing when he was going to shoot. We were a lot of young actors, waiting, and he would change his mind at the last minute. One day he wrote a big monologue and I had to learn it for the next day. I was in panic; I said, "How can I learn a big monologue in just one day?" He said he would give me an earpiece and that he would say my lines to me. And I thought, I've never acted like this. But finally, when I came on the set, he had reduced the whole monologue to three lines and so I was completely frustrated. And it was like that all the time. But I have to say he taught me the best lesson, which is don't expect anything from the director. Just do it yourself. And it really changed my perspective; it was like I was coming into the adult world, no mother, no good warm feelings. Just come with what you want to do and share your vision with the person you're going to work with.

GA: We couldn't include that film in your retrospective, but we did decide to start with André Téchiné's Rendez-vous, which is a bigger role and a livelier character. How did that come about?

JB: I went through a lot of casting for another film with a lot of young actors and it went on and on and on. I went through five tests, it was horrible. When you're a young actor and you go through a lot of tests, it feels like a crucifixion because it's never right. You know you're playing for your life and your future every single time, and when you get a no, it's a no to your faith. And so I did these tests, and in the end I was not chosen for that film. But Téchiné, because he didn't have a lot of money, he saw all these tests and he saw me and wanted me. But the producer didn't want me because I wasn't well known; I had played in few films in small roles. So three days before shooting started, Téchiné said to me that he wanted me, but the producer said no, so I had to go and see the producer. So I remember walking up the street of the production company, and I was crying, thinking to myself that it was horrible and really unfair. And looking like that, I went into his office and sat down, he looked at me and he said, "OK". And that was it and I was chosen. I have to say, André was wonderful. He would whisper in my ear when he was directing me and I felt very close to him. He wanted to know what was going on in a young woman's mind; I think I was 20 when I did the film. It was freezing cold, -20C, and I had nothing on. I had to go to work on the subway, I was in the lead role but I was paid less than the makeup artist, so you learn to be, not tough, but you learn that it is tough work. That's why it's always funny for me when I see those prizes, those golden things, because I tell you, it's not like that at all.

GA: What was the appeal of acting for you in the beginning? Was it make-believe, or trying to explore yourself, or finding out what it's like to be other people?

JB: It's a mystery to me in a way. You make your own path as an actor, nobody does it for you, so you have to invent yourself. When I was 17, I directed a play at my school and I played in it. It took a year and we just had one show, and the need of this show was so big, there was so much preparation. At the end, I recognised what I really wanted to do, which was to be in the theatre. I didn't know if it was in set designing - because I loved painting - or acting or directing. It didn't matter to me because I wanted to be in that world, being with other people, sharing with them. I love that. So I got my A levels, then my mother found me this class and it was the movies that took me away from that. Even though the first two years of study were hard, trying to survive, at the end I knew what I really wanted to do.

GA: Watching Mauvais sang, it's clear that the director Léos Carax was extremely taken with you - he shoots you like a movie goddess.

JB: To start with, it was not that easy. The first time I met him, I was in Place du Châtelet. I was having an ice-cream in a round cup, and he said, "You look like an ice-cream, all round." He was quite tough, and as a director, he had the power. He said that I would be in the film, but I wasn't sure, it wasn't concrete. But I invited him over and we had some noodles. And when he came out of my apartment, his red suitcase completely opened and everything fell on the floor. And I just laughed so much, and I think it broke the ice. After that, there was a strong connection.

GA: As I said before, Carax shot you like a movie goddess. You've been renowned as someone who's very beautiful - do you feel that's been a hindrance or a help in your career?

JB: Well, you have to remember that the DP on that film, Jean-Yves Escoffier, was a master at light. Both of them, they were like brothers. But I think his idea of films was nourished by Godard and Anna Karina. I said to him, "You want to be Godard, but I don't want to be Karina." We joked about that. I also said to him, "Je suis sage comme une image" ["I am wise as a picture"]. And that is why afterwards we did Lovers on the Bridge [Les Amants du Pont-Neuf]; I told him, "You've got to go to reality, I want to feel not like this beautiful image, I want to feel real." So he had this idea of being in the street and that was completely different.

GA: It's a very extreme film, not only in its opening scene in a hostel full of down-and-outs, but also the whole mood of the film. It's also the film where you play a painter and it's your paintings that we see in the film. Did you ever think that you might become a painter rather than an actor?

JB: I never thought of becoming anybody, just expressing was enough. With Lovers on the Bridge, we were on vacation when he was writing it and I was painting and drawing him. So that's how he got the idea that I would be a painter in the movie. But I think we have to let go of all the names that we put on our selves and our jobs, because we're just limiting ourselves with words instead of just expressing and being more open and exploring the possibilities we have.

GA: Have you always painted?

JB: I wouldn't say always because it's never that, but when I have a chance, or when I'm pushed a little, actually. A newspaper asked me to do something - it's exciting. Then I think, "OK, let's do it." And the programme for in-i [her upcoming dance-theatre collaboration with Akram Khan at the National Theatre]. So that pushes me. But otherwise, if there's no deadline, I wouldn't do it.

GA: After Les Amants, by that time you were gaining an international reputation. You had made The Unbearable Lightness of Being with Phil Kaufman, which certainly turned you into an international star. Did you feel then that you might go down that Hollywood path, or did you decide you were not interested?

JB: I was not even aware of being interested or not interested. I didn't think that way. I was surprised that I did this film - again, I was chosen at the last minute, about a week before. So I jumped straight into this film, with the Czech accent and I could barely speak English, so it was kind of difficult. But I just thought the role was so beautiful, so I wanted to do it. So I never thought of going away, but I did want to work with different people, different souls, different qualities and ways of seeing the world, of thinking the world, and sharing. So that's why I chose to work with a Japanese director, a Taiwanese director, or English director. I don't choose because of their country, but because of the vision of that person, that director.

GA: That leads us very nicely to our next clip.

[clip from Three Colours: Blue]

GA: In this film, you play someone who almost gets visitations of blue, of music. I remember asking the director, Krzysztof Kieslowski, about this and his ideas about creative inspiration, where it came from. In the scene we've just seen, you're playing a character who's just gone through unimaginable grief, with the sudden loss of a daughter and husband. How did you try to find the inspiration for this role?

JB: My true inspiration was actually a friend of mine, Vernice Klier. She had lost her husband and child. I had known her for five years before I made the film. So we spoke about her grief a lot because I met her the year after it happened, so I was a witness to how she rebuilt herself. We shared a lot about her life and what was going on. So this film, to me, is a thank-you to her. It just so happened that I was offered this film, but it was completely related to her and her son.

GA: Did Kieslowski know that you had a friend who'd ...

JB: Yes.

GA: Did he write it with you in mind?

JB: I'm not sure, but I don't think so. Actually, that scene was part of the first day of shooting. I remember I was worried about the costume because we didn't have the clothes and it was the week before shooting. And he said to me, "Don't worry, I'm only interested in your intimacy." I didn't really understand, but those words stayed in my mind. So that first day of shooting, we shot for 24 hours, because we had only one day in the hospital and so many scenes, and we couldn't go back there because we had very little money. So it was when the camera was shooting right in my eye that I thought, "OK, now I get the intimacy." After that, I had no fear, because it went so far that first day, so there was nothing to lose.

GA: You've said you like to be adventurous, but when you're presented with a project, what is it usually that appeals to you first - is it the director, or the script, or your role?

JB: It's not a mental choice. And I think it shouldn't be a mental choice. It's the gut, when you read something and at the end it's like [gasps], the breath you've never breathed before. You're not conscious yet of why you say yes to a project, but I believe there are one or two or three themes in a movie that will trigger something very important that is related to your life and that's very fascinating. I often surprise myself with how I get caught, but I understand my yes afterwards.

GA: You worked very successfully with the late chairman of the BFI, Anthony Minghella, on The English Patient - successful not only because you gave a terrific performance and it was a terrific film, but because you won an Oscar. Did that Oscar represent any sort of turning point in your professional career? Did people start offering you lots of money or anything?

JB: No, not at all. And I don't know why it should. And also, in my country, it's well known that once you've got a prize, you don't get offers anymore because you've got the prize. Maybe you have to wait five more years.

GA: What was it like working with Kieslowski? Was he very demanding? He would put a camera in your eye, but ...

JB: He was not demanding in that sense. He was letting things happen. Like a lot of great directors, they trust the actors and what's inside them. It's more in the way that they listen, or their presence, that makes the difference. The presence of the director next to the camera or next to the monitor - that makes a huge difference, by the way. I could say there are films I have made before TV monitors appeared on set and after, because it changes the relationship with the director. But Kieslowski was very joyful. We were always having philosophical conversations. And there were a lot of laughs on the film - not the first day because the producer was on the phone all the time and he started panicking, but actually it went very well.

GA: I want to ask about your paintings [exhibited in the BFI foyer] - there are 68, they're in pairs and represent 34 films, so there are 34 portraits of directors and 34 portraits of you in character, or how you felt about the character. Can you talk about your approach to painting the directors - with Kieslowski, for instance, what were you trying to convey?

JB: Well, I remember him as very smoky, except for these piercing blue eyes, so that's how I've painted him.

GA: Some of them are almost abstract - the one of Hou Hsiao-hsien, he's almost not there. It's almost like he's narratives, like he's almost not there.

JB: I don't know what to say about them because it happens while I'm doing it. And I like to lose myself in them while I'm doing them. The result I see afterwards, I don't know the result as I'm doing it, and if I did know, I know it's not a good one, so I have to start again. But it was like an adventure because it's going back to sensorial memory. Some I can connect with, so it was a little painful. So I had to go back to some picture and just grab something back, then leave it. And also the choice of shots and takes, it can be a love letter but it can also be a revenge letter. But mainly there's a lot of love. You don't talk about this that much but there's a lot that is shared, about life, about the human heart, about our exploration as human beings. There's a lot unsaid, and it's through each scene that we talk to each other.

GA: We're now going to show a clip from a film by a director with whom you've worked twice - Michael Haneke.

[clip from Code Unknown]

GA: That's a truly great piece of acting, I think, especially when we discover later that you were playing someone who was acting. Creepy scene if you don't know what's happening. Does acting give you as much pleasure now as when you were starting out?

JB: Yes, if you talk about pleasure, it's like being in front of a nice meal. Do you have the same pleasure now? Yes.

GA: Do you think you've changed your approach towards acting over the years?

JB: Yes, I think so. At the beginning, I was trying too much to please, to be loved, to be the good little soldier and obey and be perfect. And sometimes, perfection does not help you. Being true is different from being perfect, because when you're true, you're perfect, but if you try to be perfect, then you're not always true. So I think it helps me to understand and to let go of the bullshit and just go for it. For me, acting goes to a special place, it's almost mystical. You have to let go of what you think is good, it's a jump into trust, and trying to reach without wanting too much.

GA: Do you think that you get caught up in a role when you're making a film, and is it difficult to get out of character sometimes?

JB: On Lovers on the Bridge, yes, because I lived outside with the homeless, and I went to the places where they were treated, the hospitals. I needed to go through that experience to somehow give respect to them, I felt I needed to know what it meant to live on the street. But I had to be aware of how far can I go - I think I could kill myself in a movie, I didn't mind. When you want to give yourself, there's no boundary. So when I almost killed myself, then I decided to live. Then I thought life is more important. And so it doesn't mean that I involve myself less, but it's in a better way.

GA: Both Code Unknown and Les Amants du Pont-Neuf have a political and moral dimension, and you've talked about how you encouraged Carax to get more real. Is the ethical or political side of a film important to you? For instance, are there things that you wouldn't do because you disagreed with them or found them troubling?

JB: Yes. There are some scripts I've read, when it's too Manichean, I can't stand it, because I think life is more complicated. But it's true, I like to see the human side. When I chose to do John Boorman's film, In My Country [Country of My Skull], I felt he had a different point of view and I felt that this film was necessary for us westerners to understand what South Africa had been through. Because we don't know enough, and the news is not teaching us enough. Documentary is a wonderful medium in order for us to understand, but we don't go to see them because our lives are so busy. So I thought it was necessary to do this film.

GA: You famously turned down Jurassic Park to make Blue, wasn't it?

[Audience applauds]

JB: I said to Steven Spielberg, if you want me to play a dinosaur, I'll be happy to do it. He laughed.

GA: Are there any films you turned down that you regret?

JB: I have no regrets. My life is full.

GA: Haneke's way of directing always strikes me as so precise. Is he that way when he's directing? Are you allowed to say, "No, I don't want to say that."?

JB: I think, with him, it's best to do it than talk about it. So if you don't agree, just do it, and if he comes back and says, "You didn't do this, or that", you can say, "Oh, yeah, I forgot." So there's no discussion.

GA: That scene we saw, that was one shot - a remarkable scene.

JB: That was the first take, actually.

GA: And did he let you get on with it?

JB: Yes, absolutely. The only thing I asked for that scene, which is a De Niro thing, was a black curtain. I heard from some engineers and people that I'd worked with that De Niro would ask for that. I would never have thought of that, because I thought you just use your imagination. So here I was supposed to be alone and feeling frightened but there were 30 people looking at me, so I asked for a black curtain. It was late in the day, and we only had two hours of to do that scene, but they did it.

GA: I imagine his approach to film-making is slightly different from that of the director of this clip we're showing next, Hou Hsiao-hsien.

[clip of piano movers scene from Flight of the Red Balloon]

GA: Another scene in one take. I wanted to show that, partly because it's so delightful, but also because while you're acting in it, these were real piano movers. Was this scene scripted?

JB: In the synopsis, it was written that these two piano movers would bring the piano into the apartment, and that was it. So there was nothing else written. And actually they hired those two movers to come, but we had to wait for them to come and do this one take because they had other jobs to do. It was a little crazy, when you know that a day of shooting is very expensive. But it was all improvised. And when I asked them if they want a drink, I didn't know if we had orange juice or water. And thank God, Hou Hsiao-hsien had thought about it because that was what he was taking time with. He was not interested in writing the script or telling you to go here or go there - it was completely free. But he was very keen on knowing exactly where things were, or that in the fridge we had this, that. So he would prepare it and in that way, somehow write the scene, just being there and thinking.

GA: And getting you, to some extent, to become a co-creator if not a co-director, because you're asking them questions and they're responding. It's typical of Hou Hsiao-hsien's innovative approach to directing, and very different to Haneke, and also rather similar to the work of Abbas Kiarostami in some respects, with whom you're working on your next film. These directors you approached yourself?

JB: Abbas, yes. I met him several times at festivals, and once he said to come to Iran. So when I had time, I went, and we got along very well. So he told me this story, which is the story he wrote in the script. And at the end of the story, he asked me, "Do you believe me?" I said yes and he said, "It's not true." But I believed it was his story. And I laughed so much that at the end he thought it would be a good film to be made.

GA: So you didn't approach Hou Hsiao-hsien yourself?

JB: No, it was a publicist, actually, Mathilde Incerti, who also introduced me to Haneke - I didn't know his work, so she gave me videotapes of his work. And I phoned him and told him I'd love to work with him and that he was a wonderful director. He came to London to see me, I was doing Naked [at the Almeida Theatre] at the time. And then he started writing Code.

GA: So it seems to me that what you've done over the years is put yourself in a position where you're exploring new ways of working that go beyond acting, in the way you're really collaborating with film-makers.

JB: Yes, more and more. And great artists, great directors, they're willing to share their creative lives. And it becomes passionate. With Amos Gitai, too, we had a very strong connection, because they allow life in. Hou Hsiao-hsien, too. By withdrawing themselves from what they're doing, they allow life to be more spontaneous and true. The actor can be a creator, writer, director because he's in the middle of it, and I felt that Hou Hsiao-hsien, he let me live that.

GA: Have you ever been tempted to direct a film yourself?

JB: I feel in my collaborations with directors in some way I'm very much directing. I'm not in the editing room, that's for sure, but otherwise, on set, where else can you be more in the centre than as an actor? That's where it happens. I remember Mike Figgis telling me - Kieslowski said this, too - "It's so frustrating, the shooting time, because I'm the director in the editing room, but not on set because there the actors have all the power." But in a good way.

GA: Which brings us to in-i, the National Theatre production, where you're co-creating, co-directing and performing with Akram Khan, with both of you writing. And you're still improvising and changing it, even now. And you've, probably wisely, been very secretive about what you're doing because it sounds like a real adventure. But can you tell us how it came about and what you wanted to do?

JB: Certainly. I wanted to get close to a real artist, sharing something I've never done before. And Akram Khan was wonderful in that way. He is a virtuoso kathak and contemporary dancer, and he wanted to explore another part of himself. He was open to having an unknown experience, as I was. I think our common denominator is our fire to go for the new. Getting to know each other took a while, so we didn't know which theme we were going to go for. But by the end of February, man and woman, Adam and Eve, the big questions about how we dare to love, what is love, how far do we love - these came to us. We didn't see each other for two months, and we wrote, and then we came back together at the beginning of May and it all sort of came together somehow. So even though the expression of it can be very different from scene to scene, there's a sort of impulse that is common to the whole. I think it's terrifying - he's terrified as I am, but at the same time the need to be on stage and saying it all is so strong, stronger than the fear. We also have Anish Kapoor with us, who is so talented and has such a great vision and is a wonderful artist, along with Michael Hulls, who's doing the lighting. So we're in the middle of doing it at the National, and it's breathtaking.

GA: And it's going around the world?

JB: Yes.

GA: So painting, acting, writing, poems..

JB: Vacuuming, cooking, babysitting...

GA: How do you find the time?

JB: I go to bed very tired, I have to say. And I wake up and think, "How am I going to get through the day?" But the end of each day is an accomplishment because I'm living my life. Life is passing through me.

GA: Well, you're going to go to bed a little more tired because I'm now going to welcome some questions from the audience.

Q1: When you play a character, do you play yourself in your character?

JB: Well, you use yourself for the character - you use your voice, your experience, your imagination, your hands, your feet. So yes, it's you, and yet, it's "le plus que nécessaire", the more than necessary. That's what makes the artist for me. It's going into a world where you need to expand yourself to reach another self - it's coming from a very intimate place, but coming into an expansiveness. That's why movement is so fascinating for me, in painting, or dancing or acting, there is movement towards others. To expose yourself and daring to expose yourself, because a lot of actors are actually very shy. But I think that there is something that pushes them to go beyond - probably something that happened in childhood, something that needs to be said or hasn't been explored, that it goes beyond yourself. So yes, it's me, but it's many "me"s.

GA: It's interesting what you say about the physicality of painting and dancing, because if you look at the Carax films, there are scenes that are almost dance-like, especially in Les Amants, going across the bridge with Denis Lavant, which is sort of running and dancing and very physical.

Q2: You've spoken powerfully about taking risks, but how have you moved on or coped when those risks have not come off as you expected, ie when you've failed?

JB: I think failures are completely necessary and you have to learn from them. And if you allow them as something positive, then you transform them. But if you stay with the conflict, then the failure will only hurt. That I think is real failure. But if you take it as something to learn from, then it's a great mountain from which to get another view, a different perspective, like on ways of working with others. On Damage, for example, it was very difficult to work with Jeremy Irons, and we talked about it. Now we're able to talk about, so the failure became something that is, I'd say, friendship now. Also, there are so many emotions on a set, because you take risks and expose yourself so much, and feel things that you didn't expect to feel. So these emotions, they're a wonderful tool to know who you are, but they can also be mischievous and horrible if you're not careful. If you know they're your friends but you can also keep them at a distance, then it's not failure anymore.

Q3: You spoke about the difference before and after monitors appeared on set - what other changes have you experienced in film-making since you started?

JB: I think there are different styles. I did that Hou Hsiao-hsien film that you saw a clip of, then just afterwards I made Dan in Real Life, which was a Disney film. I've never done a Disney film, so all of a sudden, there were four different TV monitors, four different producers and four different frames and angles - it was all so multiplied. Whereas with Hou Hsiao-hsien, it was one take, one shot, one sequence and you were free. It's really different worlds. But the actor has to learn to adapt - that's the key - and try to find the most interesting thing in any kind of style, so that you're not feeling frustrated. So you take every second as a possibility of creation, because it is so easy to whine and say, "We don't have this and that, why this or that." We all want to be the best and work with the best, but you have to make the best, try and trigger something.

GA: It is quite extraordinary that in the period before you embarked on in-i, you worked with Hou Hsiao-hsien, Amos Gitai, Peter Hedges, Olivier Assayas - all quite different film-makers and very different films. It's not just that you're choosing very different projects, but what comes across is your immense versatility. Is that quite important to you to explore so many different types of characters?

JB: Well, in 25 years, you have time to explore many characters.

GA: One thing we haven't really talked about is comedy. You haven't done much comedy, but when you have, you've often been very good. Something like The Unbearable Lightness of Being, some of your playing there is very funny. Do you regret not doing more comedy?

JB: Well, it's like when I was painting, Léos Carax told me that I was more a painter than an actor. I'm neither of them, or both of them - it doesn't matter to me. As an actor, it happened that I did more dramas, but there would be comedy moments. Jet Lag is more a comedy, Dan in Real Life, too. My nature is pretty happy, but pretty tragic, too. And I don't hide it. I love laughing but I can cry in a second. Making a comedy without being too heavy is more difficult - that's probably why I refuse a lot of comedies, because when I see a bad comedy, it makes me very sad. I find it very difficult to find a good comedy, so when I do, I jump on it.

Q4: What is the difference when the director stays next to the camera or next to the monitor?

JB: Before, everybody was staying near the camera, so the director was very present. The face of the director and the camera, it's the same. Now, it's not, because they're hidden in a corner somewhere - so they focus as much on the frame as on the acting, maybe the lighting. But somehow they're far away. So as an actor you don't receive the same thing because the presence is far away. Sometimes I get a little pissed off with some directors and I say, "You're not seeing what's happening, you're not being with us at the crucial time." Sometimes it can be very difficult and you need a human being with you. Actually, John Boorman was amazing and the relationship we had was just wonderful. At the beginning, he would do two takes maybe, and at the end of the day, even though I had worked and prepared, I felt that I hadn't really done what I'd wanted to do. So at the end of the week, I was thinking, "Oh never mind, I'll be good on the next movie, I'll be shit and I don't mind." And actually, Peggy Plessas, my English coach, she was there and she told me, "No, you have to talk to John Boorman and you tell him how shit you feel and you make things change." And so I did. I had dinner with him and I said, "You know John, I'm not being the actor I can be." And he was appalled. He said, "But it's your film, I want you to be the best." And so he started opening up to doing another take - he'd ask me if I wanted another one, and I'd feel a little guilty and say yes. But it was wonderful because he allowed me to. And by the end of film, he was close to the camera, and it was so touching.

GA: Do you have a preference for doing lots of takes?

JB: Afterwards, with John, what happened was there was a difficult scene - there were many difficult scenes in that film - and I went as far as I could, I didn't want to do anymore, but he said, "I think you can do better. I think you can do one more." And that took me by surprise, because he never asked for another one. With Kieslowski, Blue we did in just one take or two takes.

GA: Just as well you didn't work with Kubrick.

Q5: When you did The English Patient, you had the writer, Michael Ondaatje, on set. Did you feel extra pressure with him around?

JB: No, he was not there in that way. He came with the full happiness of being there - he loved the crew, he loved everyone on the set, so he was just happy to be there.

GA: Had you read the book?

JB: Of course.

GA: Because the film is an amazing adaptation - you wonder how Anthony got the film out of that book - it's so different.

Q5: You have worked for the most visionary directors but do you have a wish list of directors that you'd like to work with in the future?

JB: I've never had a wish list. No, I don't think that way. It happens or it doesn't. When I meet with a director I love, I say, "One day I'd love to work with you." But then I forget the next minute because I don't think about it.

Q6: Could you name some movie actresses that have influenced you, or films of theirs?

JB: To start with, I was taken by actors in the theatre because that's where I belonged more when I was a teenager. I discovered movies later, with Léos Carax, and when I visited Paris in the summertime and my mother would recommend films for me to see, and that's how I saw Tarkovsky at 14 or 15 and Dreyer and all that. So I was inspired more by directors, their visions. But now, I get inspired by many many different actors.

Q7: You've talked about the power that you have on set, when you're performing, but not in the editing suite. Have you ever seen a final cut and been surprised at your performance, that it was different from your expectations? And has that changed with the director now working from a monitor, because he's now seeing the frame rather than your performance?

JB: It's not seeing the performance, it's being with the actor that's different. That way he's participating in the creation. It's not about watching me, it's about making it happen together.

GA: But there have been some films where you've been surprised by the final cut.

JB: Yes. [grimaces]

GA: Have you seen yourself in all your films?

JB: Yes.

Q9: Do you think you create your own luck? Can you explain how you've been able to meet so many great artists?

JB: It's a mystery. To a certain extent, I think you create your own luck, you invent yourself, but it's a lot of work. But work, work, work only [makes a fist] doesn't make it - you have to release the hand. If it's too tight, then nothing can get through. So it's work, but an open hand at the same time. It's an equilibrium to be found between strength and force and will. It's like a boat - you have to allow the wind to take you. But you've got to be so alert - you have to have cunning eyes. You have to be on the edge.

Shout from audience member: So it's like surfing.

JB: Yes!

GA: If you want a remarkable example of alertness, watch André Téchiné's Rendez-vous. It's an extraordinary performance by somebody so young and very alert.

Q10: In 25 years' time, what do you foresee in terms of your artistic career - will that involve singing?

JB: Singing? [breaks into The Man I Love to applause] Actually, I'm singing that song at the National. I don't know. I can only think of my children. If you were to tell me that I would not be acting anymore, I'd be fine. I don't want to hang on to anything. I have a wish, and that is to meet the man of my life soon.

Shout from audience member: Here!

[laughter all round]

JB: But the rest it doesn't matter.

GA: Please thank Juliette Binoche for a wonderful evening.