#anime matthias schoenaerts oh yes

[matthiasschoenaertsdaily]

Matthias Schoenaerts full interview for De Morgen Magazine (original in Flemish, translated into English by @matthiasschoenaertsdaily​)

Interview by Els Maes, published on November 28, 2020

Even a global pandemic will not destroy the optimism of actor Matthias Schoenaerts (42). Because he knows from his own experience how much beauty can emerge from the most hopeless situations. "I've had my back against the wall often enough, I'll always find a way out."

A bleak autumn day on a concrete square. There is lukewarm coffee, lukewarm Chimay and rolling tobacco. At dusk we see the silhouettes of fat rats that shoot past our ankles. And yet Matthias Schoenaerts will tell us in a glowing argument that this, here and now, is the very best place to be. That there is so much beauty to discover, he says. Le paradis c'est ici. As long as we want to see it.

"It's strange to say in this unpleasant period, but I've enjoyed the past few months enormously. It's the first time in ten years, since Runskop actually, that I'll be home for a long period of time. This is so beneficial: I am photographing, painting, writing. I can devote time and attention to the very simple things we'd otherwise race past."

"Seriously, look at that," he says, picking a leaf off the ground. "Those colors, that pattern. I can spend hours looking at the pure beauty of the things that surround us."

Above us a pigeon is wreaking havoc between the thinned out foliage. "While you are singing about the wonderful beauty of nature, that animal is going to shit on our heads," I say. "And that too will be a s-p-l-e-n-d-i-d moment," Schoenaerts answers.

Matthias Schoenaerts is Belgium's most successful international film star. But here and now, on a bench in his hometown, he is a technically unemployed actor, an all-round searching artist, but above all: fighter of cynicism. "I refuse to go along with all negativity and fear. The true battle today is cynicism versus courage. And I always choose the latter."

We're on the Oudevaartplaats, the square that everyone knows as the Antwerp Bird Market, and where Schoenaerts' childhood memories are waiting to be picked up. It comes into the conversation just like that: Brando, the cute chow chow that little Matthias got from his mom on this square, when here on the bird market puppies were still sold. "My dogs were my great loves. The home situation was often difficult, and with my dogs I found security. We had three chow chows, those fluffy lion dogs with a blue tongue. Brando was the first, I loved that animal."

"We lived in a small apartment with three dogs, anything but ideal. One day we let them go, to people with a large estate. That was heartbreaking."

There is a beautiful lesson in that, about love and letting go. It would have been selfish to keep your dogs if you could give them a nicer life elsewhere, wouldn't it?

"Absolutely, but I obviously didn't process that departure properly. Brando still appears in my dreams, after all these years. Then he returns home unexpectedly, and am I mad with joy.

"I often dream about my parents too: that reunion is so intensely beautiful and warm. Oh, there you are, finally! Those dreams are true to life, and the awakening is rock-hard."

Is that one of the reasons why you like being here in Antwerp, because here you feel more connected to the people that you loved?

"This is my home, my zero, I can't imagine a place in the world where I would rather live. When my mom was alive, and especially when she got sick, in between filming I tried to be with her as much as possible here in Antwerp. In the meantime I have an apartment here, my first permanent place of my own, but I've hardly been there in recent years. Now I can finally enjoy my home, I find peace, tranquility and inspiration there. I have seen fantastic sunsets on my roof terrace in recent months. So much beauty, and you can just admire it there, every day, for free. As long as you take the time to enjoy it.

"Normally I would have started filming again in April, and left for a hectic ride of at least two years, with projects that would follow each other quickly. I was at my limits, sooner or later I was going to bang my head against the wall. I feel how beneficial it is to slow down for a moment. David Lynch said that: 'Just slow things down and it becomes more beautiful'.

"As an actor you have to work in a big machine, according to a tight schedule. I have now discovered the pleasure of creating things for myself very spontaneously in my own cadence."

Is that work something you ever want to go public with?

"I want to do something with my photography someday, but I'm in no hurry. I'm also writing a film script, I've had an idea for a trilogy for a long time. It's a very personal project, and it takes time for it to crystallize into something very pure and proper. Maybe those films will come within ten years, maybe never.

"The most important thing is to keep busy. You have to look for something, anything, on which you can focus your passion, love and attention. Of course I would like to return to set, and those projects will come back later. But if I can't change anything about a situation, why worry about it?

"From a very young age I learned that there are not many certainties in life, I adapt easily to unexpected circumstances. There is one thing I can't stand, and that is feeling powerless. I never want to be the victim of a situation, I will always think: what can I do myself? Which way can I go? I have often enough stood with my back against the wall, I will always find a way out and take matters into my own hands."

So Schoenaerts decided to use this period to put Zenith - his artist name as a street artist - to hard work. Since the lockdown he has already created nine impressive murals, including one in the courtyard of the Oudenaarde prison, and one at the beginning of this month in the Antwerp Begijnenstraat, on the bare walls that form their furthest horizon for the prisoners. A moving event, he says. Not only by the touching conversations with inmates, and the forty-minute applause with which the prisoners welcomed him. "The mural contains a poem by my father. While I am there painting those beautiful words of my dad on the wall, I suddenly remember that my mom used to give meditation lessons to the prisoners there in the Begijnenstraat. I had completely forgotten about that until I stood there. How beautiful that is. Suddenly I felt my parents very tangible, very close to me."

It's a bit funny: a long time ago you were arrested for graffiti, now they invite you to prison to make a mural.

"I used to tag a lot, but I really don't like the vandalism that sometimes comes with graffiti. Defacing a facade, that's just ridiculous. But trains, bridges, tunnels.... frankly I think that's the max. Soon I'm going to do another oldskool graffiti wall, with some friends, back to the roots. But with permission, yes."

Scary dudes

The problems of the Belgian detention system are well known: outdated infrastructure, overcrowding and a system of pre-trial detention which means that some people are innocently stuck for years. Schoenaerts: "These are human lives that are destroyed by the Belgian state, isn't that scandalous?"

Schoenaerts' engagement started years ago, after meeting Hans Claus, prison director in Oudenaarde, who contacted him when he wanted to organize a screening of Le Fidèle, the film by Michaël R. Roskam starring Schoenaerts. Claus has been fighting for many years for a reform of our detention system, among others with the non-profit organization De Huizen, small-scale centers that are more focused on rehabilitation and reintegration of the detainee. How does Schoenaerts see his role? "Those murals are a kind of lubricant for me, to get attention for this problem. I am not the expert and I am certainly not a politician. This injustice touches me as a human being, and my message is clear: please listen to the people who have been working hard for decades to reform the system from the inside."

In The Mustang, your last feature film to be seen here before the lockdown, you take on the role of a prisoner who learns to tame wild horses and his demons. Has that role changed your vision?

"That rehabilitation program with mustangs really exists, and the chance of recidivism is almost zero percent. I had a conversation in the Begijnenstraat with the minister of Justice Vincent Van Quickenborne (Open Vld, ed.), and he told me that the chance of relapse here is 40 to 50 percent. Isn't that madness?

"That's what fascinates me most of all: what do we do with those detainees while they're stuck? How can we help to break the destructive patterns that put them in prison? Imprisonment is a punishment in itself, but someday we'll send those people back into society, so let's mainly support them in their self-development.

"In preparation for The Mustang, I visited prisons in the U.S., and talked to men who had been detained for 20, 30 years. Heavy guys: Aryan Brotherhood (powerful crime syndicate of neo-Nazis in American prisons, ed.), Mexican gang leaders... real scary dudes. You know what those say to me? That they live in fear every day, but they must not show weakness. Psychological counseling and things like that have their value, but that's often very cerebral. I especially believe in the healing power of art. Imagine that inmates can express all those fucked up emotions through art: I think that there is an enormous potential in this."

I heard you're playing with the idea of giving acting lessons to inmates?

"That's not a concrete plan yet, but I would love it if people from the creative sector would commit themselves to this: musicians, sculptors, dancers. Or writers who help prisoners put their own story into words.

"The cultural sector needs to start sticking its neck out. The sector is lying flat, and that's terrible. But we have to keep moving. We can all do something for the community, without being paid for it. Planting small seeds, doing something good for your fellow man, something beautiful always comes out of it."

Had you been to a prison before The Mustang?

"To visit friends, yes. In Merksplas, Hoogstraten, Hasselt, Dendermonde... We shouldn't talk about that any further. A prison is deep tristesse. Who dares to call that 'a hotel', shame on you."

This summer you painted an impressive mural in Paris in honor of George Floyd, murdered by American officers. And in Ostend last week a new mural was unveiled, with a 'decapitated' Leopold II. Is activism an important part of your street art?

"Graffiti used to be more of a style exercise for me, you want to create things that get noticed within the scene. But gradually I felt like communicating with a wider audience. I like to incorporate a lot of symbolism in my paintings, such as the cracks I photograph all over the world and then magnify them in another place. And the praying hands, a universal image of hope and faith in yourself. Art has the power to speak to our deepest emotions, and that is what binds us to the other. Connectedness, empathy, harmony, solidarity, that's the essence for me."

The corona crisis is one big exercise in empathy and solidarity. Sometimes we seem to lack that.

"I refuse to surrender to cynicism, and I surround myself with positive people who do beautiful things for others. This period would lead us to insights: how do we deal with each other? Do we help each other, or is it every man for himself? A human is such a wonderful creature, but we mess it up so much for ourselves.

"Yeah, I know. Some people who read this will think: this guy is smoking too many joints. (laughs) I don't smoke joints, and I'm not an unworldly idealist. But I will always focus my attention on the good, in spite of everything."

If you always want to see the good in people, are you sometimes disappointed?

"Yes, of course. I'm not a naive brat, I've learned to guard my boundaries. I can't please everyone all the time, and I don't let anyone rush me. I react badly when people put pressure on me because they want things from me. The perception of me that others have of me, I can't control. I don't let myself put out of balance easily anymore."

I saw that on your Instagram Stories you warned about fake profiles on social media, of people pretending to be you. That made you visibly angry.

"Really, that makes me angry. Every day I receive screenshots from people who have been tricked by crooks who approach innocent victims with my name and my pictures. There are stories of fans who have paid thousands of euros because they were promised a meet-and-greet with me. How disgusting is that? One person has transferred 14,000 euros to someone who pretended to be my manager.

"Of course, that raises questions about how gullible some people can be. But I've seen those chat conversations for myself: those criminals are terribly sneaky. They know how to play on the vulnerabilities of their victims in a very cunning way. This is manipulation and swindle of the filthiest kind.

"Really, I get physically unwell when I think about it. How can someone be so mean? If I ever catch these guys, I'm gonna bash their skulls in, I'm not kidding. Sorry."

Or: those crooks get a jail sentence, where you're going to give them acting lessons.

(laughs) "Okay, let it be clear that I think everyone should be punished for their crimes. My commitment to the prison system is not a plea for impunity, and I certainly don't want to romanticize crime.

"But when someone abuses innocent people's trust in such a cunning way, the question is: how did you derail so morally? And above all: how can we initiate a transformation in that person? Surely you can't lock someone up and expect that person to suddenly make better choices years later? First such a person has to take responsibility for his own actions."

Do you have something criminal on your conscience?

"No." (Thinks for a second) "No. Thank God. I couldn't live with that.

"I've probably hurt people in my life, like everybody else. Sometimes we just hurt people because of who we are, or because we can't fulfill what others want from us. But I have never harmed anyone consciously or criminally, no."

As a teenager you sometimes came into contact with the juvenile court, for vandalism. Do you think you could have ended up on the other side of the bars?

"Probably, a life can take strange turns sometimes."

What made you sit here today, and not get on the 'wrong' path?

"Wait... that's a good question. There's the one terrible dramatic event that caused a total turnaround in my life: when my dad went into a coma after a psychosis, and I was told he only had 24 hours left to live.

"I was 21 then, thrown out of school for the umpteenth time. I was doing graffiti and wanted to find my way creatively. But I was messing around, going with friends who... Anyway, there was latent danger, it threatened to go a little bit the wrong way.

"And then I got that phone call: come and say goodbye. Bam. The relationship with my father had been sour for years, we hardly saw each other. Until I stood there at his deathbed in intensive care... I only felt love, a wave of emotions that I had pushed down very deeply. That realization was rock-hard: this was it. My father and I will never get the chance to figure shit out, I thought.

"Long story, the rest is known: after 72 hours my father woke up from a coma against all odds. Like a plant: he could not speak, reacted to nothing or nobody. According to the chief psychiatrist, we had to accept that his condition would never improve. That was without the fighting spirit of my mother and me.

"It's because of that unlikely event that I've changed my whole lifestyle. For eight months, my mother and I went to visit my father every day. We talked to him, but he seemed to look straight through us. For hours we sat with him at the psychiatry department of Stuivenberg, how desperate those first months were also. We continued to fight, taught him to talk, to eat, to walk. A miracle, the doctors called it. Bullshit of course. It was love, dedication and stubbornness. Especially thanks to my mother, the lioness who kept fighting for him. And see how much beauty came out of it. My life then received an entirely different impulse.

"I suddenly think of an anecdote I've never told before. After a while we were allowed to take my father to the cafeteria once in a while, or to the garden. But he was absolutely not allowed to leave the hospital. Fuck it. I hid a bag of clothes for him, secretly dressed him in the toilet and took my father to the city. By bus, because I didn't have a driver's license. I wanted to stimulate his senses, test if any memories would come back. He was fond of Our Lady's Cathedral, so that's where I wanted to take him."

Matthiaske, why am I crying?

He plays it out. The written version here is only a dead script compared to the lived-through performance, right there on that dark square, just around the corner of the Arenbergschouwburg, where Matthias made his stage debut as a 9-year-old boy next to father Julien, as The Little Prince.

Matthias shows how he supported his frail dad, and how they shuffled in small, careful steps towards the cathedral. Dad looking at the ground to be sure not to fall. "I say, 'Dad, look up'. He looks up, and I see the tears rolling down his cheeks. I had never seen my father cry. 'Matthiaske,' he says, 'can you tell me why I'm crying?'

"I had already decided then that I would take my father into my house. Overconfident, yes, at that age, but they have become the most beautiful years of my life. Mom came by every day to help. Suddenly we were a bit of a family again, something we had only been for a short time when I was young."

It was at that time that you decided to become an actor. Why did you decide to become an actor?

"I had always resisted following in my father's footsteps. In my youth I mainly wanted to break away from my father, and seek my own path. I didn't want to have anything to do with him and all those loudmouths around him in the theater world. But most of all I was terrified that compared to the great Julien Schoenaerts I would never be good enough.

"Only now do I understand why I then decided to go to the conservatory. Not to become an actor, but to understand my father. We had so many years together, and now that we had been given a second chance, I wanted to get to know him as well as possible. By acting, maybe I could get closer to him." (pauses)

Sentimental fuss

He banishes the tears. It's one of the many things he has in common with his father, he says: they're both very emotional, but they hate sentimental fuss. "Come on, Matthias: breathe," he commands himself.

"Voilà, see how much beauty can come out of misery. What a chain of beautiful things came out of the fight my mother and I put up in the most hopeless situation. Who knows how differently my life would have turned out?"

"There are so many lessons in that. If we just talked about the rehabilitation of detainees, for example. It takes commitment. Not a workshop of two hours. You have to persevere, even in the event of a setback, with no guarantee of a happy ending. That's why I think it's so important to keep telling that story about my dad. Those are the values I believe in: dedication, stamina, attention, love. You can apply that to everything in life. Love is the fuel."

You often talk about your parents as if you want to keep them alive with your words.

"Because my mom and dad are the people I've loved most. With them I shared the most important moments, built the most beautiful memories. That loss is enormous. Life has been really fucking tough since they've been gone.

"That's what grabs me so much in this period. How many people have died of corona in Belgium?"

According to Google, today, on the day of the interview, the counter stands at almost 14,000 deaths.

"Fourteen thousand! Imagine how many people that has an impact on? How many people have suddenly lost their mother, father, brother, sister, best friend or neighbor? Behind those figures lie tens of thousands of poignant stories, of people who see a loved one torn from their lives. That is a mountain of unresolved grief, and far too little attention is paid to it."

Earlier during our conversation a guy had walked past coughing and maskless. It pissed Schoenaerts off: "And whining about masks or strict measures. Grow some fucking balls. Having to say goodbye to a loved one, that's the worst thing."

"Isn't that what this period teaches us? That our time here is limited? And what really counts in life: sharing moments of beauty with the people you hold most dear. All the rest is wallpaper. Having success, making movies, that's all fun. But the day you lie on your deathbed, you really don't think about the professional successes on your resume. No way."

[mrmichaelchadler]

Sundance 2019: Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre on The Mustang

Years before the premiere of her feature debut, “The Mustang,” director Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre found a subject so complex, she studied it for years. She became intrigued by the rehabilitating powers of animal therapy in prison, which lead to her first short, “Rabbit.” The basis for her early project set the stage for “The Mustang,” which follows a violent and antisocial prisoner, Roman Coleman (Matthias Schoenaerts), as he begins his healing process with the help of a horse training program. “The Mustang” cast also includes Bruce Dern, Jason Mitchell and Connie Britton, but it’s Schoenaerts’ intuitive performance with his four-legged co-star that leave the biggest impression. 

RogerEbert.com spoke with Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre at Sundance ahead of the premiere of her first feature about her movie’s subject, filming an active prison and what has she learned in researching the U.S. prison system.

This is a bit of a homecoming Sundance for you. What was your previous experience like? 

I went to the labs with “The Mustang,” so the project was born here. It was the best gift to have this premiere back at home. My short film, “Rabbit,” talks about the same subject. It was about a rabbit and a female prisoner. I explored this theme of animal therapy in prison about 5 years ago.

I found out about this [animal therapy] program in Nevada. So, I wrote the first draft with my co-writer, and we were selected to send in the story for the Sundance labs for like 6 months. I was doing screenwriting and directing lab. I did all the labs after that. It allowed me to do my research on prisons as well. It was a nice moment for me to be surrounded and supported by experienced advisors at Sundance and also be able to hit the story with authentic details and elements in Nevada and California prisons. 

What was the research process like? Did you go into prisons, observe the programs and talk to prisoners? 

The first time, I met this therapist who was a prison consultant. She was the head of the health department in prison in California, and she also a horse owner so she became a good friend. We started our research together in 2014. She got me access to San Quintin prison because she said she thought I needed to understand violence and anger and meet the men who had huge anger issues. Also, I went into this prison in Nevada where the program started years ago, and I could observe all the different steps between the connection between horse and man. From day one to the auction when they had to say goodbye to the horse, which was very emotional.

I could see the realness of this man being completely humbled by the horse after being scared and all those different emotions that seem like being packed. It is a lot of body language. There are no words, there's no judgment. It is just two creatures trying to figure out a way to get along, to build eventual trust and respect. It was beautiful to witness. I spent a lot of time there. 

Matthias, I think in a very personal way, was very involved in his character's story. It was a gift because he came with me to prison. He wanted to absorb and listen and absorb as much as possible and through this process, we got really good friends. We trusted each other to really go through this adventure. And yes, he is a wonderful partner and a wonderful collaborator.

The character Matthias plays is so inaccessible and prickly. He's difficult to empathize with. How did you develop the character of Roman?

I met a lot of men who were very closed off and needed a why to unfold themselves. I felt I needed to see, I wanted to see a man in this numbness. How the drops by drops, he would unfold himself with the animal, be able to express his crime, to be forgiven, to ask for forgiveness and to liberate himself from his physiological prison. In order to go through this heart, I needed to study this darkness, this darkness of antisocial behavior. That is where it felt it was most impactful to unfold. Obviously, I needed to depart from that place. It was very important for me.

It was urgent to follow this tragic story as the character is discovering it. I didn't want the audience to be behind or ahead of the character's understanding. I needed them to be in sync with them. This is also challenging the audience's empathy after following this tragic terrain. Then you discover his crime at the end. It is like, “Oh I kind of like this person. What do I do with them? Do I give a second chance?” That was exactly the position I was when I was in prison and I was meeting those really charming and smart men. After a while, they were like yeah, I killed my wife.

I'm here sitting with them, and I actually get along with them. I have no judgment. I know now that I have all the information. What do I do with that? This is exactly what I wanted the audience to experience. Do I give a second chance? Do I don't give a second chance? I think it is very interesting to kind of think about it. Personally, every man deserves respect, whatever he did, whatever the past was. You give what you get. And at some point, if you take the time to reflect on yourself, in those program, helping those men to resurrect. 

The cinematography of “The Mustang” is really quite impressive. What were you thinking of when you were coming up with the film’s visual style? 

I needed to have very light equipment in order to go move beside the horse. It was very important to have a cinematographer who had a very immersive camera that could really adapt and follow the dancing with the horse and Matthias. It was a choreography between the horse, the horse trainer, the camera — Ruben Impens, the amazing cinematographer, and Matthias. And that was actually very important for me in the choice of the cinematographer. Ruben was this person, I knew that he felt, that he was enveloped emotionally by the story. He actually was capturing a handout of virility inside this connection.

We had 2 cameras. We needed to make sure that we could grab as much as possible in this very tight schedule that we had. I needed to have much more static, rich moment inside the prison versus the wideness, loose camera following the movement of the men. I think this goes like the agility of the inside and outside. It gives this kind of roughness, vertigo even. This is what I really needed to build the dimensions of these two worlds, were kind of like overlaid into each other.

I’m also really intrigued by the use of color in “The Mustang” as well. It’s desaturated, almost dusty looking in a western kind of way. 

The choice of the location was very important. It was were I started my research. Usually, the contrast was very strong. Those Rocky Mountains changed the light. A lot of changing colors and this business was nested in this Rocky Mountains. So to have the position of the barb wires behind this explosive nature was very important. And also the dust was there. It was the quality of the air, the dryness of the deserted mountains. We didn't add more, we had so much dust. We couldn't breathe at the end of the day. We were like swallowing sand and dust all the time. Especially around the horses.

The orange, the blue, there was something composed. I wanted to highlight this scale of different. I loved those colors into the landscape. The landscape was more exaggerated but you had the fluid orange. In prison, this is like a code of color. They all have the same color. Even though they have the same outfit, they want to be different. They want to have something to make them different. So maybe it's a haircut, or it's glasses, or it's bandana or it's just something that makes them not part of a union.

You also recreate the western motif when they're riding. There’s even one scene where they are all riding in a line like “The Magnificent Seven.” Were you thinking about those moments when you were setting up the shots?

Obviously, I thought about it. I wanted to have this moment of freedom. This moment of surreal freedom.

You had to get the horses used to nature, trailing and to ride them outside of the prison. So when I heard of that, I was like oh wow, that gives an amazing opportunity to have this big space to get out of the prison. Even though it's kind of cruel because you still have the “Department of Correction” on your back, to remind them that you are still a prisoner. But you have this amazing freedom of learning and riding your horse. When we go back to the prison we were very meditative, poetic, almost religious moment.

Did you film the movie in an active prison? 

Both, an active one and an abandoned prison. The abandoned one was really close to the active one so there are some shots that come from the active one—a few of them because I was not allowed to shoot because of the inmates. Then we went to the abandoned one, and we created all the pens and the farm. It was shut down 10 years ago. So you can still feel like the walls are very alive. We had four inmates who were acting the film and those one of them were incarcerated in this prison. We also had guards in the prison that were actually extras in the films. We had all these people that had a past—a very strong past in this location.

In doing so much research in the prison industry, what is your overall feeling about the way the American system works.

We know that it's a must incarcerated country in the world. Incarceration is out of control, and they need to have to keep those inmates busy and they have to come up with programs. I think they need to explore more of the sentences are so long, if they keep them forever, they will be crazy and riot.

The worst country in the world for prison found out the most beautiful programs for the inmates. In Europe, you have some programs, but you don't have the animal program. It's not popular as in America. In Europe, because the sentences are shorter, they have therapy, they have verbal therapy but they don't have as much as the inmates in the U.S. It's still a huge issue. I've been in a lot of prisons here, and it is unbelievable.

It is so much loss. It's like stealing $40 and losing your life of freedom. Things are disproportionate. Going through these depths of field, I hope this [movie] brings an inquisitive message and raises awareness. A lot of those men shouldn't be in prison right now. A lot of them are redeemed, let them work on themselves. Whatever they did in the past shouldn't crystallize them forever. They can have hope, they can have a future. Most of them did their mistake when they were 16 or 17 or 18 years old. There is a lot to think about. I hope that prison can try to help the men instead of beat them up. Educate them, rather than incarcerate them. This is what I feel should be a response of the justice system. Why would you punish just to punish? What's the sense of punishment?

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