In Sofia Coppola’s eighth feature, Priscilla, she shoots tail-finned Cadillacs as lovingly as she does her latest extraordinary lead actress (Cailee Spaeny as Priscilla Presley), capturing the beauty and hidden darkness inside Graceland — and in America writ large. Along the way, Coppola tells her most haunting coming-of-age tale since her exquisite directorial debut, 1999’s The Virgin Suicides. This time, it’s the true story of a teenager drawn into the all-consuming world of Elvis Presley (Euphoria’s Jacob Elordi, taller and scarier than Austin Butler) at the height of his fame, a scenario most modern viewers will inevitably find horrific.
Priscilla feels like the culmination of Coppola’s two and a half decades of filmmaking so far, and the latest confirmation that she’s one of Gen X’s greatest auteurs. But she seems most proud that she’s reaching a new generation of fans, who keep turning up as she promotes a new career-retrospective coffee-table book, Sofia Coppola Archive.
“We just had a book signing at Barnes & Noble in L.A.,” she says over breakfast at a West Village spot not far from her home, “and I met all these kids that were wearing Virgin Suicides T-shirts, and talking about that and Marie Antoinette. It makes me so happy that they’re connecting to them and appreciate them, because I made them for young people.”
Priscilla really does feel like a summation of your work so far, touching on things you’ve done, but in a really fresh way.
It really felt like a combination of stuff I’ve done before, but I hope not in a redundant way. Sometimes I felt like, “Oh, yeah, this shot reminds me of something from Marie Antoinette,” or something else, but I was into it. It felt like I had my tool kit of all my things, and it was fun to put them all together. I think making the book made me stand back and look at them all together, which I never did. And I was like, “Oh, I can see how they all fit together.”
If John Ford can make a million Westerns, why can’t you make as many films as you want in your area?
Yeah, sometimes I just feel like I’m doing the same thing over and over again, but then I think about artists I admire, and they do the same. You’re always trying to figure something out.
There’s a moment when a woman in Elvis’ entourage whispers about how young Priscilla was, which I took as a deliberate echo of a near-identical moment in Marie Antoinette.
Oh, I didn’t even think of that, yeah! I didn’t even notice that. Oh, I just thought when we were shooting the bedroom scenes of Elvis and Priscilla in bed and he’s rejecting her. I was like, oh my God, it’s the same.
Have you figured out what draws you to stories about young people?
I’m always interested in stories about identity and how people become who they are. To me, a transformation is interesting. It would be boring to do something about someone who isn’t going through something.
You said that being a parent to teenagers makes you feel like you’re the villain character now.
It’s just funny to find myself the mother of teenagers and that I’m the one they’re pushing against. Usually in my work, I’m on their side, but now I have to be on another side of it. It’s just funny to find myself living in this teen world as a parent.
Most people would now see a relationship that started when Elvis Presley was 24 years old and Priscilla was 14 as grooming and exploitation. But in Priscilla Presley’s memoir and in interviews, she makes it clear that to this day she sees it as a romance. How did you navigate portraying her perspective while also understanding that almost no one else is going to see it that way?
It was tricky. I kept coming back to her perspective and her point of view. And I try not to be judgmental of any of the characters and really be as sympathetic as I can to each of them. And I’m really focused on her perspective, but even with the parents, you’re like, “How can anybody let their kid go live with Elvis that young?”
There seems to be an increasing desire from some audiences for art that makes overt judgments.
Yeah. And I even feel that people are trying to get me to say that in this film, and I feel it’s only my job to show what her experience is like, and I think you present things to an audience for them to think about and make their own decisions. She ultimately left and found her identity outside of men, which I thought must have taken so much strength at that time. It was a big deal to have no income and divorce a powerful man. I know what a big deal that was at that time. So I was impressed that she had the strength to do that, to leave after her whole life being shaped by that.
It does feel like you withheld judgment in Marie Antoinette in a similar way, which may have confused critics at the time, as much as that movie is beloved now.
Yeah, I wanted to show the human side. In Antonia Fraser’s book, she showed her as a human, not just a vilified woman in history. To me, it made a big impression — a 14-year-old girl put in this position.
You’re not at all afraid to shatter some of the Elvis mythology in Priscilla. He comes off as a distant, volatile, emotionally abusive drug addict.
I never want to, like, take someone down and disrespect them. I think it’s sympathetic to see his struggles and the human side, but definitely there’s so much folklore of him as this god. There was someone that was trying to get me to take out all the dark stuff.
I never want to, like, take someone down and disrespect them. I think it’s sympathetic to see his struggles and the human side, but definitely there’s so much folklore of him as this god. There was someone that was trying to get me to take out all the dark stuff.
Who was that?
Someone kind of involved who was thinking about the perception of Elvis in the film. But I really wanted the ups and downs. You can’t have a complex relationship with just the good side.
It does feel like an advantage for this movie that Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis allowed a new generation to kind of fall in love with his iconography, which should really help younger people understand Priscilla more viscerally.
I thought it could be a counterpoint. I knew that Baz was making his movie while I was working on this one. Someone was like, “Oh, is that gonna deter you?” And I said, “No, I think it’s even cooler that he’s in the culture and people are thinking of him and we can show the other side. She’s barely a character [in Elvis].
There were moments when Priscilla is being seduced into this lifestyle where I was reminded of Goodfellas, which I bet was deliberate.
Oh, when they go to Vegas, I was thinking of that! I love Goodfellas, so hopefully it was an homage.
You were denied the right to use Elvis’ music in the film. What had you been hoping to use if you had gotten permission?
In our early cut, I had a few Elvis songs, but only two or three — to give some impression of him. But I always knew they might not give us permission, so I tried not to be too attached. I love “Pocketful of Rainbows.” My husband played it for me and I listened to it a lot when we were shooting, so I really wanted to use that song. And then when he first leaves for Germany, and there’s a long sad-in-Germany montage, we had him singing “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” and it was really like the voice of Elvis while she was left behind. Anyway, we couldn’t use him, so Phoenix did the instrumental, and I’m really happy with the way the music turned out.
You’ve used pop music masterfully in your films. Was there ever a moment when you were interested in being a musician yourself?
I don’t have any talent for it, but there’s a lot of music in my family genetics, so maybe I got some gene that couldn’t express itself. My cousin Jason [Schwartzman] is a musical prodigy — he can play anything — and there were a lot of musicians on my dad’s side. His father [who contributed music to The Godfather] and his uncle, they’re all musicians. Growing up, my brother, Roman, always played cool music for me. I felt like, “How does anyone know about music without a cool older brother?”
You’ve talked about despairing a bit about the state of Hollywood. It does seem like with the success of Oppenheimer in particular that the fever for franchises above all could be breaking.
Yeah, I’m so happy that there’s movies that aren’t superheroes. I mean, no offense [to those movies]. I’m just happy that people are going to the theaters again.
You mentioned you saw Barbie. What did you think of the movie?
I’m glad that it was so successful and made for an audience of girls and women.
One of the hallmarks of a lot of your movies is taking the feelings and experiences of young women seriously, and I’ve seen people draw parallels to Taylor Swift’s work. Is that an artist you have any feelings about?
I know my kids do, and I respect that, but I never really… it’s not my generation. But I like it when someone’s writing their own material. I think it’s much more interesting than a team. I think that’s admirable.
It’s so obvious now that Marie Antoinette was a classic movie — every frame is so gorgeous. I have a hard time understanding its mixed reception at the time.
Thank you. People were so weird about the [modern] music. To me, it made sense. My brother showed me Lisztomania, the Ken Russell movie, and I thought it was so cool to do something historical without being precious about it… The whole thing about being booed at Cannes, that was exaggerated. I was a little disappointed [with the reception] but more just for Kirsten [Dunst], because I thought she did a great job and we were so proud of the movie. But anyway, I’m glad people are enjoying it now.
You once said you thought you were done with directing after that movie. What was that about?
I had a great time with Kirsten [Dunst] and Jason [Schwartzman], being in Versailles and in Paris at that time. But it was a lot to manage so many people. I was just worn out, and I was just like, “Oh, I don’t want to do this anymore.” And then, when I met [cinematographer] Harris Savides and we talked about minimal filmmaking, I got inspired to try to make Somewhere and go back to two people in a hotel room, and focus on the action and the story. [Marie Antoinette] was just a hard shoot, and then I was just over it for a minute. My daughter was born, and I was trying to take a pause. But there’s something kind of addictive about making movies. You get an idea, and it bugs you until you do it.
Your dad is currently making a large-scale opus at age 84, and it does seem like you share some of that relentlessness.
He’s been talking about that story for 40 years. I went to CalArts, and I was studying painting, and I remember my art teacher showing us the clip from Close Encounters when he’s making the mountain out of mashed potatoes as a thing to show what artists go through. I think all creative people, you get something in your head, and then you have to figure out how to express it. And I feel like that’s the best way to understand what it’s like to be an artist.
Your dad also finally re-edited Godfather Part III into a new version, which I really enjoyed. Is there a film of your own you’d do that with?
My dad loves to recut his movies, and he’s always saying, “You can do that!” I don’t have any desire to. I feel like they are what they are, even with their baby fat and awkwardness, that’s what I was thinking about at that time.
There’s a cultural obsession with the “nepo baby” idea, and obviously coming from a family of filmmakers has its advantages, but I know that your lineage also meant that you had to fight to be taken as seriously as you deserved.
I think people forget that because now they just think I have a career, but I worked really, really hard to be taken seriously. And so for me to be flippant about it kind of goes against everything I worked so hard for. For me, it was hard to get past that.
The dreamy opening of Priscilla, where you see her putting on her eyelashes, reminded me a little of the beginning of Lost in Translation. Where did that penchant for setting the mood that way come from?
I love Wong Kar-wai, and the idea that movies can be a mood piece. I always start with these reference images and mood boards. With Lost in Translation, it’s an impression — she’s this young woman waiting around. It’s an abstract mood. With Priscilla, it was having glimpses or impressions of Priscilla as we know her and then starting this story at the beginning of how she became that.
I rewatched Lost in Translation for the millionth time the other day, and the karaoke scene is still so powerful emotionally. What do you feel when you see it?
It’s so romantic, and Bill [Murray] is so touching and he puts so much heart into it. There’s that longing and the romantic melancholy when you connect with someone but you’re not going to be with them. It’s that bittersweet feeling you get from certain music, romantic and melancholy at the same time.
In your mind, do Scarlet and Bill’s characters ever see each other again after the end of the movie?
That’s so funny. I never thought that they did. I feel like they’ve run off back to their lives.
So many people love Bill Murray, and at the same time, more than one person, including several actresses, have had what they say are bad experiences with him. What do you make of that, and how do you reconcile the side of Bill you know with his apparent dark side?
He’s always been so respectful and helpful to me, a great collaborator, but I know he’s clashed with some people. I think he has different sides, like anyone, and he’s not for everyone.
In general, post-#MeToo, there’s been a reassessment of some men, and a lot of that same balancing act for some of reconciling their own perceptions with others’ experiences with people they knew. Do you have any broader thoughts on that?
I think it’s important to listen to women’s experiences.
You’ve had some brushes with big studios, including a meeting about directing the final Twilight movie way back. What happened with that?
We had one meeting, and it never went anywhere. I thought the whole imprinting-werewolf thing was weird. The baby. Too weird! But part of the earlier Twilight could be done in an interesting way. I thought it’d be fun to do a teen-vampire romance, but the last one gets really far out.
The idea of you doing a genre movie like that, whether its horror or something else, is really interesting.
I think it’d be fun to do sci-fi and I think it’d be fun to do, not like gory, but I like gothic horror. I don’t have an idea, though.
You also got pretty deep into a live-action Little Mermaid movie for Universal. Was there a particular breaking point on that?
Yes, there was. I was in a boardroom and some development guy said, “What’s gonna get the 35-year-old man in the audience?” And I just didn’t know what to say. I just was not in my element. I feel like I was naive, and then I felt a lot like the character in the story, trying to do something out of my element, and it was a funny parallel of the story for me.
Have you hit that wall of incomprehension often?
It happens a lot because usually the people financing things are straight men. So it’s not the same point of view, but you’re trying to explain, like, “People, not everyone’s gonna be into what you’re into,” but I just wanted to make things that appeal to me and express that.
You share a birthday with George Lucas, and I guess you’ve known him your whole life. You even had a small part in The Phantom Menace as one of Padmé’s handmaidens.
[Laughs.] I forgot about that!
Obviously, you are two very, very different filmmakers, but I was curious what you’ve taken away from that association.
When I heard he was doing a Star Wars movie, since I was so little the first time, I said, “I want to come hang out.” So they said I could be in it, and that was the best way to be on set. That was such a funny experience — I was actually writing the script for Virgin Suicides while I was doing it! But I love George like an uncle, and I’m proud to share a birthday with him. There was a birthday book where you look up everyone’s birthday and it said “the day of the forward thinker,” and I like to align myself with him that way. He made a short film about race cars going around a track [1966’s 1:42.08] and that actually inspired the opening scene in Somewhere. George is very sincere about what he does, and I love it.
Some artists start feeling like they have so many projects they want to do and start wondering if they’ll have time for them all. Is that where your head is at all?
[After] making the book, I feel like I’ve done a lot of stuff. I don’t feel in a hurry to make more stuff. If I didn’t make anything else, I would feel like I made enough stuff.
Is it possible you only feel that way because you just finished a movie?
I’m sure. When I was finishing Priscilla, I said to my husband, “I don’t want to do this again.” And he said, “You say that every time.”