Willem Dafoe reflects on some of the most memorable roles of his career • Journal • A Magazine • , Life in canada

When I go back to thinking about making anything, it’s like you’re bringing these things into a frame or you’re making a world. You make the world, and if the world is good, it tells you what to do, and then you proceed and something happens, and I have less feeling for choices or ideas. It’s about the level of submission and understanding—and the desire to be in a world, to find your place in it, where you serve what’s going on. What’s really going on? What’s your part in it? How do you participate? How do you lie back? How do you step on the gas? That’s what it’s about. Sure, you learn some tricks. Sure, you get some go-to stuff that you like to do. But basically, in the best situations, it’s like a little kid playing cops and robbers.

I want to make sure we discuss your films with Paul Schrader, as that’s some of my very favorite work you’ve done, starting back with your first collaboration on Light Sleeper. You’re playing one of his classic lonely men, writing in his journal with his lamp on. How did you and Paul discuss that character and the transient lifestyle he has? He’s almost like a ghost wandering through this world, while wanting to remove himself from it at the same time.

There was very little discussion. That’s always the case with Paul. I think he’s got such pride and confidence in his writing and his casting that he’s like, “It’s there. I chose you because you’re the guy to do it. Now do it.” He’s almost embarrassed to overwork things too much. He’s not closed off to inspiration, but he’s very direct. In fact, I remember halfway through Light Sleeper, I thought, “God, this guy. Wow, this guy doesn’t say anything.” We’re going up in an elevator to one of the locations—by that time, we were friends, but I didn’t know him very well—and we’re sitting there, and we’re going up in the elevator, and there is silence. Then he says, “If you’re wondering why I don’t say anything, it’s because you’re doing fine,” and then the doors open and we walk out. [Laughs]

People talk about these conferences off to the side, talking about motivation and psychology. In my experience, that almost never has happened. Very seldom do directors ask you about that or tell you what to think. They’re more practical than people think. In the best situations, they give you the setup and give you the place to do something, and you do it. Then, something happens, and then you pick up the pieces and carry on.

The other thing about Light Sleeper—and it’s worth talking about in relation to Late Fame—is that they’re both New York movies. New York is a big part of my life. Not always do I feel, “If my life was different, I would be this guy,” but this character felt like it could be me. You had none of those things to help you not feel like yourself, like some physical [aspect] or a costume. That could’ve been me. That’s always haunting, because it puts you in a place where everything floats. You aren’t decisive, so that adds attention that is sort of essential in most performances, even if it’s very naturalistic, but you’ve got to keep questioning. You’ve got to keep listening. You’ve got to always be thinking, “What’s that about? What do I do?” When it’s close to you, it lands with a different kind of authority.