Charlotte Gainsbourg explains how Jane By Charlotte helped her reconcile family relationships

Charlotte Gainsbourg is one of the world’s most talented and acclaimed actors—even if she will tell you that she thinks she’s not good. She’s appeared in Franco Zeffirelli’s 1996 adaptation of Jane Eyre, Alejandro Gonzalez-Inarrutu’s 21 Grams, Lars Von Trier’s Antichrist, Melancholia, and Nymphomaniac, and the French comedy My Dog Stupid, cowritten and directed by her husband Yvan Attal. She’s also the daughter of Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg, heir to and shepherd for their legacies as fixtures of the art, music, and culture scenes in France from the 1960s on.

Serge passed away in 1991 after a very public life of tremendously influential achievements, and it’s in part his absence that fueled Charlotte’s decision to make Jane By Charlotte, a documentary where she explores and more carefully examines her relationship with her equally famous mother. Gainsbourg spoke with The A.V. Club about the film, an intimate and revealing look at her mother, herself, and her complex family history. In addition to talking about the inspirations for making Jane By Charlotte, she revealed some of the questions that she had long wanted to ask (perhaps even more than to get answers), and finally reflected on the path she’s taken to generate her own accomplishments, and in the process come to terms with the relationships that shaped her.

Charlotte Gainsbourg: Now that I think of it, sure. Because when I did this record, I wrote lyrics for the first time not caring if they would be mediocre in comparison to my father’s—and until then it had been blocking me completely. So yeah, for the first time I was writing, I was taking pictures drawing, expressing myself in different ways, thanks to New York. It was really very helpful to be here and well, to be anonymous and people not really caring. So that was a real freedom that I experienced.

And then with Rest, I was able to do my videos, but that was not thanks to New York. That was thanks to Lars Von Trier because I asked him to direct the first single. And he said “I can’t, I don’t have the time, but this is what you’ll do.” And he gave me a list like a dogma of how to do this video. And so I followed him religiously and that was my first experience with the camera. And it was very liberating because I then continued doing other videos.

I’m sure that I didn’t consciously go to my mother and say, “Now that I’ve done this, I want to shoot you.” But I must have authorized it myself because of the small experience that I had had. But it was also seeing her perform these shows that were called “Symphonique,” and it was with a philharmonic, all my father’s songs re-orchestrated so beautifully, that I was so moved by her approach to these shows that it was my first impulse to ask her if I could follow her on her next date, which was Tokyo.

AVC: We probably all wish we could understand our parents better, but yours obviously spent so much time in the public eye. Were there any burning questions from child to parent that you wanted to ask that you maybe not had the opportunity or been afraid to ask before?

CG: Absolutely. That was really the starting point. When I was in Tokyo, I had organized different locations that meant something to me or to my mother, or even in regards to Kate, my sister who adored Japan [who died in 2013]. So I sort of organized these different locations, and one location was a hotel where Ozu had written his scripts. So it was a nice place to go film.

That’s where we did our first interview, and I think my mother thought that I was going to ask professional questions about her career and everything—and I started with this very personal, intimate question. I don’t have any regrets now that I started like that, because the film wouldn’t be the same if I hadn’t started that way, but it was violent for her. It wasn’t for me. And I didn’t intend to shock her, but I did start by saying, “Why do I feel that you don’t treat me the same way? Why do you not kiss me the same way as you do my sisters?” And she was really unprepared and thought that it was going to be a load of accusations and that I was going to go back on our lives and wanting her to justify herself and it was so far away from what I had intended. I cherished her, so I didn’t want her to suffer all.

So of course we stopped, because then when I said I wanted to continue filming her in New York, she said, “No, I’m done, it was horrible.” So I realized that my questions had been too abrupt. And then two years later, we, she understood what I really wanted and saw the footage and then realized that it wasn’t as shocking, and that in a way it was so personal that that was what made it a bit more interesting. That was a question I had never asked, and then I sort of regretted.

But then all the questions I had, especially when we were in the second part of the shoot in France, and I went through very heavy depression at the time, I had no filters and I realized that I asked every kind of question about her suffering, the disease, the grieving, aging, anything that I was very curious about and really wanted her insight. And because she saw me in such a bad state, she really was so helpful and she had no barrier anymore.

It was a very interesting moment of her. And she explained it afterwards that she knows how to deal with sick people. She knows how to help. She knows how to be a nurse. That’s when she feels useful. So it was a timing where we both found a different dynamic between us that was really very interesting. But then once the shoot was finished and I was normal again and in a better state then we went back to our old selves of being shy and a bit distant. And so we have our personalities; that hasn’t changed.

AVC: There’s that conversation at the beginning of the film about you and Jane sharing that need for tactile contact, and then later on she has these confessions about drug use when you were pregnant—and then later on says, “I was not being honest, that that wasn’t really happening.” When you hear her tell you these things, what does it tell you about yourself and what has it told you about her that maybe you didn’t know?

CG: I don’t think her answers surprised me. I wanted to have them on camera, but I knew them. I know her. And I didn’t want to go into secrets and things that we haven’t talked about. If I’m perfectly honest, sometimes my questions was more important for me than her answers. Because I knew her answer; I just wanted to make sure that she had heard me. So sometimes that was the case.

I guess that the real surprise for me was hearing her doing interviews after the film was done. And she said, “Well, until now I had no idea what she thought of me. I had no idea that I meant something for her. I thought that it was only about her father.” And it’s true. I only talked about my father. I missed him so much, and because he died when I was 19, it was all about him and the grieving, the loss, and so it was a surprise to understand that she didn’t realize how important she was to me. And I guess for her, I think she said that what she learned was exactly the same thing. She understood that doing this film was of course doing a portrait of her, but also finding my place inside the family, with the three daughters where I’m in the middle, and three different fathers, trying to understand a bit more what I meant for her.

AVC: You have long been a steward of your father’s legacy and your mother’s; immediately I wanted a tour of your father’s house when you two were walking through it. But do you feel like they’ve cast a heavy shadow over your identity, or has there been a moment for you when you achieved something, whether it was personal or professional that you felt defined you or separated you from that?

CG: Oh, God, it’s such an important question because I was lucky enough, because I started when I was 12, I didn’t have any of those questions. I didn’t realize who my parents were, and I just dived into films as a child adoring shoots, film crews, I mean, it was another world. It was like my second family.

It’s funny because with my children, we never share the films that we do, or we’re a bit embarrassed. So we tend to talk about different things. Of course we take them to premieres sometimes, but it’s not part of the center of our lives. Whereas when I was a child and an adolescent, my father’s music, my mother’s music, her voice, it was really part of my world. It made my world. Maybe less her films, because she was a bit more like I am, not sharing, being a bit embarrassed and thinking that she’s not that good. And it’s not a question of boasting, because my father, well, he did boast, which was quite funny. But at the same time, he always said that he did a minor art in comparison to classical music or paintings. He never felt that he was a genius. Anyway, it didn’t cast a shadow. It was just the world I loved the most.

And then he died, and it’s true that from then on, I couldn’t listen to his music. I couldn’t hear his voice. I couldn’t see any footage of him because it was so painful, but I completely put him on a pedestal. He was a god. He became a god. And so of course it meant that I couldn’t write lyrics myself. I wanted to go back to music, but it took me 20 years to do 5:55 and to dare go in a studio again and say that I wanted to do more music. But I needed Air. I needed Nigel Godrich to help me feel that they had the talent. So, yeah, of course it’s been very, very hard for me to position myself having the father I have. But recently when I did Rest the pain of losing my sister was so strong that I didn’t care if the lyrics were not [good]. I didn’t care about the comparison. It was just necessary for me to do what I did which is the best way, I guess, to work, because it’s completely authentic.

With my mother, it was different because, yes, I can compare my voice to hers and feel that hers has more charm. I mean, I’m always diminishing myself. So the main thing also with my mother was that I understood straight away that I didn’t have her beauty. And it was very hard to grow up in a family where the aesthetics were so important. My father used to tell me what position I should have when I was in front of a camera for the fingers to look longer, you had to close those two fingers. You shouldn’t stare at the camera. All of these little intentions that I had to follow. I mean, he didn’t force me to follow them, but I was just trusting him. I was going to do anything he told me to do.

But also because he studied painting he knew exactly what a face should look like to be perfect. And he knew what the perfect body, or perfect woman’s body should look like. So of course it was extremely embarrassing to understand that, for me, I was really the ugly duckling. Because my grandmother was super beautiful. She was more of a Hollywood beauty. And then Bambou, who was my father’s last wife, was half-Chinese, half-German, so beautiful. She was incredible. So I was surrounded by beauties, and my mother cut my hair short and I was sort of a tomboy. So I felt that I wasn’t where I wanted to be.

AVC: This is also the story of you making your first documentary. What did you learn in front of the camera that helped you chronicle the conversations that you had with your mother, and then what sense of accomplishment or catharsis maybe did you achieve from making this film? Does it make you want to make more?

CG: I’d love to make more, because it’s like biting into an apple; I’m sort of hooked a little bit. But at the same time, I don’t know how to approach another project because I don’t have another project. And I believe that I can only do very personal things in music, but now in films too. When it’s being an actress, it’s completely different because I’m a tool for someone, and I love being a tool, being manipulated. But when it’s my own things, then it has to be genuine, because I haven’t been taught how to use a camera, what is a good light? What is a good frame? How do you tell a story? All of that happened by accident while I was doing this documentary, of course, without a script and using every tool I could. That was the advice of a friend of mine who said, just try everything—do Polaroids, video, super 16 millimeter, everything I could. So it seemed like a big patchwork, going in every direction. And then it’s really in the editing room that I understood the film I was doing. I understood that it was very much looking for my mother, and that step by step sort of accomplishment or getting as close as I could. And then for it being a love declaration, of course, at the end.

But it’s things that I wasn’t in control with. And I think I do my best work when I’m not in control. Maybe it’s also a way of not being very sure of myself, because if I remember, when I started singing with my father, he was the one who was in control. He was directing me. I remember he was with me. I was behind the microphone, but he was just in front of me showing me signs of keep quiet, stronger, smile. I was a puppet—and loved that. But it makes you believe that you work better when you are not in control. And it’s the same thing I experienced as an actress, especially with Lars Von Trier, who I did a few films with. He was really looking for these accidents, looking for the moments where there were cracks. And my father was the same. He was looking for cracks. He didn’t like a perfect voice. For him, he didn’t like singers. He liked actors that had wounds. And so when you are brought up that way, it’s hard, because I want to be in control, because I want to be empowered. I want to know what I’m doing. And at the same time I want things to happen magically.

AVC: Well, it could be empowering to choose to give that power over to other people.

CG: Yeah. And I think very often I know how to have people around me secure the work. So this editor who I loved, she was very much organizing my speech; I mean, not giving me questions, but understanding that I was going to go for that theme. And so she put all those themes together and so she was great. Then the director of photography was great, my friend who really pushed me. I have very solid bases all around me, it’s true. That helps.