Michael Winterbottom has been making films since 1990 but it wasn’t until 2010’s The Trip that international audiences pivoted their heads towards his product. Sure, 2007’s A Mighty Heart marked a turning point for Angelina Jolie‘s career – with Winterbottom’s somewhat acclaimed film demanding the actress be taken more seriously than her resume of late – and 24 Hour Party People, though not quite deserving of the title, is cult-like in its reach, what with career-beginning performances from Steve Coogan and Andy Serkis.

But no, I content that ’twas The Trip – and last year’s even better The Trip to Italy – that cemented Winterbottom’s talent. Truly, I could watch Coogan and Rob Brydon wine and dine on an infinite loop. With The Face of an Angel though, Winterbottom has reached for new, bold, experimental material – the furthest reach from the grounded, earthly touches of his Trip series. Speaking with Michael, he revealed how the heady idea for the film was born, honoring Amanda Knox’s story, Dante, the “Truth”, his wonderful relationship with cinematography, and whether we can expect to see another Trip movie in the near future.

I found that the film is quite interesting in the way that it approaches the topic. Going into this, one might assume, you’re going to see the narrative from a more traditional standpoint; and then you take us down this very meta rabbit hole. Can you talk about your approach to that, and how that was decided to go down that route?

Michael Winterbottom: At first I wanted to ask, for the film, why do we watch these sort of stories? Why do we spend so much time reading about or watching these kinds of stories? And connected to that: what can you say about them? What is legitimate to say about them? In a sense, that’s what we’re grappling with within the film—these stories are important, in a way, but what’s appropriate, what’s the right thing to say or do. Within the film, we’re trying to have that with shape in the film, that rather than it be a coherent shape, where that is a question that’s being asked within the body of the film, the story of the film, we should try and keep shifting. So it starts—you have ten minutes thinking about the investigation; you have ten minutes about the trial; you have ten minutes about the person of the journalist. And then you start to see how that pivots—you have ten minutes with some monologue. And that somehow within the narrative of the film, we keep shifting what it keeps being about—that that would connect to the crystal of the film is what we’re aiming for. And again, hopefully, from my point of view, as you get to the end, the journalist, trying to find the right angle. Well, actually, the girl is killed. In our film, the real story: she’s obviously absent, she’s dead. Actually, when we were thinking about a murder case, like the original one or like the first one in our film: we were thinking it should be a very simple: someone lost their daughter or their sister, or whatever. And that absence should be that jab, the edge, is what we should be trying to think about.

As I’m watching it, I’m wondering whether Thomas, this main character, is you; or is this more the screenwriter, Paul, or is it an amalgamation of the both of you guys? How much did you collaborate on this particular character?

MW: We collaborated a lot. It’s neither me nor Paul. Initially, we were both aware of the coverage and press of the real trial, then I read a book by Barbie [Latza]. So I went out and met Barbie, and then met the other journalist through her. Then I asked Paul if he could work on the script. So it was a close collaboration. For me, dealing with the journalism in the film, everything had already been written. Obviously, you have the people covering the case, and what they write. Implied in that, is we’re all watching them. It’s also about what we want to watch for. It’s also about what we should say in general, what we should think about these sorts of stories. Different layers and the struggle to find what is an appropriate response to this sort of story. But also, because the film might seem to be a film criticizing journalists or TV newspapers about how they sensationalize and cover these sorts of stories. I wanted to sort of create a moral high ground, but often, what the journalists create is, like politicians, like the journalism themselves often ignores the fact that these pieces and parts don’t necessarily add up to a coherent whole. Filmmaking and journalism can be thought of then as the same thing. They can actually talk to you about what’s going on.

In all of your films, there’s this through line of really strong cinematography, and that is most certainly the case here: it’s a picturesque-looking film. How active are you in cinematography and making sure that’s well represented in your films, these really strong, bold shots?

MW: I don’t know. Obviously, you make a film, you collaborate with everyone: the writer, actors, the crew and there’s separate elements there. Let’s look at what the actors are doing, and then we check on how we shoot it. Cinematography isn’t a separate element. You try to work out the relationship the camera has with the actors. Make sure the actors have enough freedom to do what’s right for the camera. And then what is the best to capture that. In this case, there was quite a lot of cinematic opportunities as there are in different types of stories. So you have the nightmares, the scenes in Siena. We wanted the real appeal of that. We had a lot of footage from that. Those different textures come, I hope, from the concept. You shouldn’t have separate elements; you should respond to each element, and be guided by that. Then, at the end of the film, we’d been locked up in this peaceful, medieval, enclosed Italian hill town, for weeks; and we wanted the end of the film to be getting out and seeing the color, to remedy—that kind of story.

What drew you to the character of Melanie? As Thomas’s guide to the underworld of Siena, do you think there’s a parallel that can be drawn between her and Virgil, who served as Dante’s guide through hell, as the film is very much structurally reminiscent of Dante’s “Inferno”?

MW: Not really. For me, what we were talking about originally—it was more like Simone can be like Virgil, because Virgil can take Dante through hell and purgatory, but when he finally comes out of that, he’s guided through heaven. So, like what we were talking about originally, Simone is a journalist who is a guide to the trial, the case, Italy, in a way. Her life is one of a journalist—challenging, separated from her husband and two children. Thomas is separate from his child, his wife. That captivation, in a sense, comparing himself to Virgil, that element is emotional. With Melanie, she does something else: she’s connected to Thomas’s daughter, originally in the story. She reminds him of his daughter, what’s important about life. Also, reminds him or makes him think of the embodiment of the girl who’s been killed. Melanie is a stand-in for other people who are absent from the film. The film deals with that: absence. We get to a point where the central thing is the girl’s disappeared; the girl’s been killed, separated from the world and the people who love her. That sense of loss of someone who’s not there. Melanie is an innocent, a symbol of all the people who are being loved but who aren’t in this film.

Do you believe there’s this binary distinction: as Eduardo says in the film, that there is the truth, and there is the rest? Do you think that in a case like this, the truth is only relative, and any definitive “true” account is hazy at the very, very best?

MW: One of the things I wanted was a series of conversations. When you hear the conversations, it’s not that the journalist did the right thing. When the journalist talks to Thomas, it should feel like there are bits of what each of them says. Eduardo, Thomas and Simone. When they have these disagreements, it’s not clear what is the right thing, the correct thing, and what isn’t. Something Eduardo says, “That’s true, but then other things are wrong.” So for me, no; what I want the film to do that is actually quite uncommon to know what is the right view. From the beginning, we knew we’re never gonna know what’s true. Now I find the real case: four verdicts. It’s clear talking to journalists, through the process of the film, it would never be clear what the truth was. One of the things I aim to say in this film is that, when you accept that, in the Italian and British and American system, you have a group of people on the jury who are gonna just, in a sense, “vote” about what is right or wrong—you can’t know for sure what happened.

As you said, it’s a popularity contest more than anything. I have to bring up the fact that, in the film, we see multiple occasions of the characters either a) driving around in a car through some lovely scenery; or b.) sitting around a dining table. Obviously, this reminds me of The Trip films you’ve made. Do you have any plans to return to that wonderful series?

MW: Thank you. I was researching and writing on both films at the same time, The Trip and The Face of an Angel—might be why you asked that question. I don’t know. I saw Steve and Rob a couple days ago. They were being nostalgic about being together. So who knows? Maybe one day.

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