Cate Blanchett on the Future of Hollywood at Cannes: “The Problem with AI is Consent”

Cate Blanchett arrives at the Cannes Film Festival to meet the press and public. She agreed to be the protagonist of one of the Festival's traditional rendez-vous primarily to give visibility to a project she deeply cares about: the Displacement Film Fund, an initiative created with UNHCR and dedicated to supporting refugee filmmakers or authors who tell stories of forced migration. A project she has helped build over the past few years alongside her work as an actress and producer, appearing here almost more as an ambassador and activist than as a Hollywood star.

But the long conversation organized by the festival soon transforms into something much broader: a reflection on the state of cinema, the cultural industry, and even contemporary public discourse. Dressed entirely in dark attire, with a business woman look and large salmon-framed Seventies-style sunglasses, Blanchett alternates between irony, self-deprecation, and much more serious moments, never shying away from the most delicate questions. From memories of the march she led with Agnès Varda during the Cannes #MeToo movement to the ongoing difficulties for women in the film industry, up to the now inevitable topic of artificial intelligence applied to cinema and creativity. “The central issue is consent,” she says, speaking about AI and the need to regulate its use. Shortly after, she adds a reflection that seems to summarize the entire meeting: “Art must ask questions, not tell people what to think.”

Cate Blanchett Reflects at the Cannes Film Festival

In 2018, you were the president of the Cannes jury. What memories do you have of that experience?

It was an extraordinary experience and also an enormous responsibility. The most interesting thing was to fully immerse myself in the worldviews of other filmmakers. We often talk about cinema as imagination illuminated by the projector's light, but today I believe the real challenge is confronting reality, which is becoming increasingly absurd.

We need stories that help us understand how to feel about what's happening in the world. I don't think cinema should provide answers; rather, I think it should ask questions. Being part of that jury meant precisely this: constantly confronting questions, provocations, and different points of view.

I was also very nervous about chairing the jury. I remember calling Guillermo del Toro for advice, and he told me something very simple: “Make sure you always arrive first and sit in a different spot each time.” It seems trivial, but it completely changes group dynamics. Whoever speaks first often influences everyone else.

You mentioned that some films in competition initially eluded you and that you had to rewatch them. How difficult is it to truly “judge” a film?

It's incredibly difficult. And in fact, I think a jury's task isn't to judge according to personal taste, but to try to understand what the filmmaker is attempting to do. Sometimes you don't immediately grasp a film. You might think: “I didn't really connect with this work.” Then perhaps another jury member tells you: “No, this film is a masterpiece.” And so you go back to watch it the next morning. What I learned is that you have to be willing to listen deeply. You can't enter a discussion with a predefined agenda. You have to be ready to question even your first impression.

That was 2018. That edition of Cannes was also marked by the march you led with Agnès Varda during the #MeToo movement. Almost ten years later, how much has the industry truly changed?

The interesting thing is that the conversation was shut down very quickly. So many people started saying “it happened to me too,” and what emerged was clearly a structural system of abuse, not just in cinema but everywhere. Yet, very soon, that discussion was almost extinguished.

If you don't identify a problem, you can't solve it. And even today, I still walk onto sets and count the people present: often there are ten women and seventy-five men. And I love men, but the point is that an overly homogeneous environment becomes boring for everyone. The same jokes, the same points of view. This inevitably reflects in the stories we tell.

However, I think something is slowly changing. Perhaps too slowly, but there has been a change.

Today, however, the issue of diversity seems to have become much more divisive, especially in the United States.

Why should equality be a trend? When I started my career, it was constantly said that an actress had a “shelf life” of ten years and that a film with a female protagonist was automatically “a women's film,” as if only women could be interested in female characters.

What has truly changed is that today there are more female producers, more women in decision-making positions, and above all, a greater willingness to create networks of mutual support. Opportunities must also be built for those who come after you. And I think this is slowly changing the industry.

How has your approach to acting changed over the years?

When you leave acting school, you think you have to use all the technical tools you've learned. Then you realize you can't control everything. Each project forces you to find a different balance. I think I work better in chaos, in quicksand. You have to figure out how to stand each time. The most important thing I've learned is not to block the flow with technique. If something is happening, you shouldn't stop it by trying to control it. You have to trust the experience, the presence of other actors, the moment.

And I always start from not knowing. If I feel I've already perfectly understood what a character or a project will be, then it's probably not interesting enough for me.

You have a reputation for preparing for roles almost obsessively. How important is preparation?

It matters, but only up to a certain point. Nobody wants to see your “homework” on screen. You can study all you want, but at some point, you have to let go. I remember while I was filming Elizabeth: The Golden Age, I kept watching Pennebaker's documentary on Bob Dylan because I knew I would go to the set of I'm Not There immediately after. I thought I didn't have enough time to prepare. In reality, I was already absorbing everything almost unconsciously.

But then you arrive on set, put on the costume, enter the space created by the director, and everything changes. Todd Haynes, for example, creates musical playlists for each actor, constantly shares visual references and atmospheres. That's where the character truly begins to live.

You have worked with some of the greatest directors in film history. What makes a great director?

There are many different types. Some are extraordinary with actors, others with the camera, still others with editing or writing. But increasingly, I think a great director is someone who knows exactly where to put the camera. Sometimes you're on set and you feel something isn't working. Not because the scene is badly acted, but because the point of view is wrong. The camera isn't in the right place. Scorsese often talks about this: knowing where to put the camera.

Other directors, however, work a lot by creating a shared imaginary. Todd Haynes, for example, creates playlists for each actor, shares visual references, films, images, atmospheres. He makes you enter the mental world of the film even before you start shooting. With Scorsese in The Aviator, something similar happened: he would show me screwball comedies like Bringing Up Baby or His Girl Friday because he wanted me to absorb that rhythm, that energy.

And then I believe a director must also know their own limits well. To know what they are strong at and build a team around them that complements what they lack. Cinema is a profoundly collective art.

Woody Allen has a reputation for shooting very few takes. Is that really true?

Absolutely. With Woody Allen, you often had one or two takes and that was it. If it worked, you moved on. Penélope Cruz, however, gave me very useful advice before starting Blue Jasmine. She told me: “If you want to do another take, use the accent as an excuse.” Since Woody didn't speak Spanish, she kept telling him she wanted to redo the scene to fix her accent. So I started doing the same thing. In Blue Jasmine, I was working on a very precise American accent, and every now and then I would say: “Excuse me, can I do it again? I messed up the accent.” And that's how I might get a third take.

But that sense of urgency was also very electric. If you know you have very little time, everyone on set enters an almost theatrical concentration. And when it works, it's an incredible feeling.

You mentioned Carol when talking about representation and diversity. Today it seems like a film perfectly integrated into mainstream cinema, but at the time it was perceived as a “risky” project.

Absolutely. No one wanted to finance that film. And it's absurd to think about it today, because it's a profoundly romantic and universal love story. But at the time, it was considered a risky project simply because it centered on a non-heterosexual relationship.

What was extraordinary about Patricia Highsmith's novel, The Price of Salt, was precisely the fact that it offered a happy ending. That was something very rare for that type of narrative. And I believe the film touched so many people precisely because it didn't ask you to belong to a specific community to be moved.

You didn't have to be gay to recognize yourself in that story. It was a human relationship, full of desire, fear, vulnerability. And I think that over the years, the industry's perception of these stories has also changed. Today, many mainstream festivals host queer stories without treating them as exceptions. It means that the public was hungrier for these narratives than the industry believed.

Is there a character that changed you more than others?

In general, I believe the roles that truly change you are those that surprise you. Those that force you into territories you hadn't imagined for yourself. Even playing Elizabeth I, when I was still a practically unknown Australian actress, was a turning point. Or Blue Jasmine, which I don't think I could have played without the experience accumulated over the years in theater. Everything ends up settling into the work you do afterward.

Recently, probably Tár. The collaboration with Todd Field was very deep. It really felt like going into battle together every day. It was a very vivid, very intense experience.

In Tár, you played a character that many viewers interpreted as a reflection on cancel culture. However, you seem to have a different reading of the film.

I never saw it as a story about cancel culture. For me, it was primarily a meditation on power and the brutality of the creative process. Lydia Tár is an extremely harsh person with herself even before she is with others. And I believe that inner harshness inevitably externalizes itself.

Artistic creation often also involves destruction. These are two energies that coexist continuously. There is no clear separation between the two. And I think the film works precisely on that tension. What interested me was observing what happens when a person who has always lived in a state of absolute control suddenly loses that control. When the flow stops. It's a situation that I find very fascinating artistically.

You have played very different characters, from Elizabeth I to Bob Dylan to Lydia Tár. How important is it to keep surprising yourself?

It's probably the only thing that truly interests me. I love roles that are offered to me when I think: “I never imagined I could do this.” Playing Elizabeth I when I was still practically unknown was a huge shock. As was, later, playing Bob Dylan in I'm Not There. These are characters that force you to completely rethink your way of working.

Then there are also very practical motivations. I have four children, a very full life outside of cinema, and I often choose projects based on how much space they occupy in my existence. That's why I've done very big films and tiny parts in the same period of my career. I like the idea of being able to enter a project for just a few weeks, contribute something, and then disappear again.

You have said many times that you don't want to “judge” the characters you play. Is that really possible?

I think it's fundamental. I don't want to tell the audience what to think of a character or a situation. Our job is not to provide moral answers, but to ask questions.

Politics is about solutions, declarations, programs. Art, on the other hand, should be a space for inquiry. You have to try to understand what the character is hiding from themselves, what they are avoiding, but without turning it into an already closed thesis. If you play someone with too much judgment, you also block the viewer's access to the character's complexity. And complexity is the most interesting part.

Today there is a lot of talk about AI and how it could change cinema. You seem to have a rather clear stance on the issue.

For me, the central issue is consent. Artificial intelligence is a powerful and inevitable tool, but at the moment there are no sufficiently clear rules. I am working with a group called RSL Media that has developed a machine-readable standard to identify consent. It's a very simple system: red means consent has not been given, yellow means it can be requested through certain channels, green means the use of someone's image, voice, or work has been authorized.

The problem is that today AI is not able to automatically recognize human consent. And yet it should be the basis of everything. Innovation must be able to coexist with human work, not erase it. I am not a person who uses AI in everyday life. I prefer to read a book or go for a walk. However, it is clear that it will be part of our lives. Precisely for this reason, the issue must be addressed transparently and responsibly.

Many young actors, however, fear that AI could replace them.

I find the idea of a homogeneous world incredibly depressing. And I think people will always continue to seek human contact.

One of the things that makes me most optimistic is seeing the rebirth of small theaters and independent cinemas. Because cinema is not just watching a film: it's leaving the theater, having a drink, talking to others about what you've just seen. It's a collective experience.

I believe the problem is not so much the existence of AI, but the lack of clarity. The public must know what is real and what is not. When this distinction disappears, then we enter very problematic territory. And then I think we will always need the human touch. Even in the most technological art possible.

Is there greater solidarity among actresses and female filmmakers today than when you started?

Much more. When I started, there was this narrative that women were inevitably rivals. It was a toxic and very limiting construct. Now I see so many actresses producing films, directing, creating opportunities for other women, supporting new female directors or screenwriters. And I believe my generation feels very clearly the responsibility not to replicate the environment in which it grew up.

For years, screenplays written by women certainly existed, they simply didn't reach actresses or were produced with ridiculous budgets and without any distribution support. This has changed. I think today there is a much more visible network of mutual support. The most beautiful part is also the dialogue between generations. My son works in the industry and keeps introducing me to filmmakers, musicians, and artists I didn't know. That continuous exchange between generations is one of the most stimulating things that exist.

After all these years, can you still watch a film simply as a spectator?

Absolutely. In fact, I think I enjoy it even more. At the beginning of my career, I watched films trying to understand how they were constructed, what each department did, what had been cut in editing. I was constantly dismantling the mechanism.

Now I can much more easily let myself be carried away. I still cry, laugh, get scared. I'm an excellent spectator. I think it's important to preserve that capacity for wonder. If you lose that, then perhaps you shouldn't be doing this job anymore.