Welcome to the Deep Dive. Today we're tackling
a filmmaker who, well, he isn't just telling
stories about life. He's actually using cinema,
fundamentally, to capture the whole messy, ordinary,
relentless act of living itself. We are diving
into the world of Richard Linklater, born July
30, 1960, Houston, Texas. He's become this sort
of unparalleled cartographer of casual but also
really profound time. Yeah, that cartographer
of time idea, that's exactly it. That's what
makes his work so, so unique. I mean, sure, he
engages with suburban culture. We see that. But
his real signature, it's that methodological
obsession, you know, with the effects of time
passing. He's really changed how we think about
narrative structure. He prefers just observing,
letting conversations happen rather than, you
know, relying on traditional plot mechanics.
Absolutely. So our mission today is really to
unpack the career of this American auteur whose
method, I mean, it often is the story, isn't
it? Right. We're going to trace his path from
those super micro -budget indie roots back in
Texas all the way to these sprawling multi -decade
experiments like Boyhood, which landed him on
the 2015 Time 100 list. Pretty influential. He
basically figured out how to film a process,
not just a contained story. And I think if you're
trying to get your head around the Linklater
universe, you've got to hold these two almost
contradictory styles in your head at the same
time. First, there are those huge high concept
time lapse projects, real tests of patience.
We're talking the before trilogy, obviously,
and boyhood using the exact same actors over
years and years. Decades even. And then the second
thing, the other pillar is that other style.
These really philosophical, very loosely structured,
dialogue heavy films that often happen entirely
within a really condensed time frame, like a
single day. Exactly. Like Slacker or Days and
Confused or even something like Tape. Right.
So it feels like two sides of the same coin,
doesn't it? This time coin. In one, he's exploring
time by stretching it out, making you feel every
year. And in the other, he explores the pressure
of time by cramming everything into one day.
We're going to dig into how those two approaches
actually feed off each other. Okay, so let's
unpack this unlikely path that actually led Linklater
to filmmaking because, honestly, it starts miles
away from any film set. Deep in Texas athletics.
It's a really interesting backstory, yeah. He
went to Huntsville High for, what, grades 9 through
11, played football there. He was actually the
backup QB for a team ranked number one in the
state. Wow. Which, you know, right away it tells
you something about a certain kind of focus,
maybe a competitive drive, even if it wasn't
aimed at movies yet. Then he switched to Bel
Air High for senior year. Focused more on baseball.
Kept playing that at Sam Houston State University.
That athletic discipline. I wonder if you can
kind of see a thread there. Looking forward to
the boyhood commitment. You know, that 12 -year
thing. A different kind of endurance test, maybe?
Possibly, yeah. A sustained focus. And interestingly,
even back then during that athletic phase, there
was this little hint of his artistic side. He
won a Scholastic Art and Writing Award as a teenager.
Oh, interesting. But the real pivot, the moment
everything changed direction, was when he dropped
out of Sam Houston State. Right. That's the key
turning point. Definitely. He left college, took
this really tough job working on an offshore
oil rig, Gulf of Mexico. And you can just imagine,
right, the isolation, the sheer repetition. of
that work, it feels like almost the perfect setup
for the kind of philosophical wandering, the
aimlessness you see in his later films. Yeah,
like a strange kind of incubator. And that environment,
it accidentally became the place where his creative
spark really caught fire. Apparently he read
novels constantly out there, just devouring books
to escape the grind. Then when he got back to
shore, that reading habit turned into something
else. He started going to this repertory cinema
in Houston over and over again, fell totally
in love with film. That's the aha moment right
there. The passion shifts from the page to the
screen. He realizes, okay, filmmaking, that's
what I have to do. And crucially, he didn't just
dream about it. No waiting around. No. He took
his savings from the oil rig job, which must
have been pretty decent money, and made a really
strategic move to Austin, Texas. Bought his own
gear, Super 8 camera, projector, editing equipment,
the whole starter kit. And moving to Austin wasn't
just about changing cities, was it? It feels
like a fundamental commitment to doing things
his own way, outside the system. Totally. He
used that money and that location to deliberately
build a support structure outside of Hollywood.
So this is where the Austin Film Society comes
in. Exactly. In 1985, he co -founds the Austin
Film Society. And look who he founded it with.
Shala Foose, a college professor. Charles Ramirez
Berg, another UT professor. Luis Black, who later
founded SXSW. Wow, quite a crew. And Lee Daniel,
who became his longtime cinematographer. This
wasn't just some casual film club. No, it sounds
like laying the groundwork for independence.
Like a statement. We don't need L .A., we can
build it here. Precisely. They created their
own intellectual and practical hub. It gave them
resources, a place to screen those obscure classics
that clearly influenced his early style. And
it built a community financially, creatively,
that let these unconventional ideas actually
happen far from studio pressures. And that independent
hub, that whole Austin scene, it started producing
results pretty quickly. First with some, you
know, experimental shorts and just figuring things
out. Right. His very first feature film kind
of embodies that whole process over product idea,
doesn't it? It's impossible to learn to plow
by reading books from 1988. I mean, the title
alone. Tells you everything. He was shot over
a whole year, then edited for another year, all
on that Super 8 gear he bought. It's a real artifact.
If you're curious, you can actually find it on
the Criterion Collection release of his next
film. Which is Slacker. 1990. And slacker. I
mean, it's not just an indie success. It practically
defined the Gen X indie film movement. Made for
almost nothing. How much was the budget? Just
$23 ,000. Astonishingly low. But the budget wasn't
really the point. It was the film itself. Right.
Tell us about that, because it's not really a
plot in the traditional sense, is it? Not even
close. The structure is the statement. It basically
just follows this meandering, aimless day in
Austin. The camera literally drifts from one
center character to the next, sometimes mid -conversation.
Just eavesdropping on the city. Pretty much.
Long rambling talks about, well, everything.
Destiny, conspiracy theories, the meaning of
Scooby -Doo, the anxiety of just existing. It
just perfectly captured that feeling of a generation
that felt a bit lost but had a lot to say. And
people responded to that. The box office showed
there was an audience hungry for something different.
It grossed over $1 .25 million. Incredible return.
That cemented him, didn't it, as this viable,
low -risk indie filmmaker who could create buzz
just from ideas and dialogue. Yeah. And that's
when he set up his production company, Detour
Film Production. Named after that old film noir,
right? Yeah, Edgar G. Ulmer's 1945 Noir Detour.
A nod to resourceful, low -budget filmmaking
fitting. So he builds on that cult buzz. But
the next one, Dazed and Confused in 93, felt
a bit broader, maybe. Drawing on his own high
school days in Huntsville. Definitely broader
appeal. Yeah. Set on the last day of school in
1976. It's still got that loose conversational
feel, but it's more structured than Slacker.
More recognizable characters and situations.
It didn't exactly explode at the box office initially,
only about $8 million domestically. But then
came VHS. Oh, yeah. VHS turned it into a phenomenon.
It became the 90s movie about the 70s, reached
a massive audience that way. It's less a comedy
and more like a sociological time capsule capturing.
that teenage tribalism, the end of an era feeling.
And you absolutely have to mention Matthew McConaughey
when you talk about Dazed. Cannot forget McConaughey,
his breakout role. Wooderson, apparently those
iconic lines were largely improvised by him.
All right, all right, all right. Exactly. That
role, that laid back kind of philosophical cool
he had, it just clicked with people. Launched
his whole career right there. Fellow Texan too.
So from high school haze, he takes a complete
left turn into romance. 1995, Before Sunrise.
The start of the before trilogy. A total dialogue
masterpiece. And it got him immediate international
attention. Won the Silver Bear for Best Director
at the Berlin Film Festival. He co -wrote that
one with Kim Krasan. Establishing that collaborative
writing style that became so key to the whole
trilogy, right? Bringing actors into it later
on. Absolutely. Feeding their perspectives, their
voices into Jesse and Celine. But yeah, that
first one set the stage. Intense connection forged
purely through conversation. But it wasn't all
smooth sailing in this period. After the indie
success, he sort of flirted with Hollywood more
directly. And it didn't quite work out initially.
Right. There were a couple of bumps. Suburbia
in 96, based on an Eric Bogosian play, didn't
really connect critically or commercially. And
then his first big studio picture, The Newton
Boys in 1998. That had a proper budget, right?
Yeah. Twenty seven million dollars. A historical
crime story about Texas outlaws. But it just
tank grossed only about ten point five million
dollars back. Ouch. That feels like a crucial
moment, though, like maybe a confirmation for
him. I think so. It's that classic story. Talented
indie director, tries the studio system, realizes
the demands, traditional plots, marketing needs
just don't fit his style. Linklater's work needs
patience. It needs room for conversation to breathe.
Hollywood doesn't always value those things.
That experience probably just reinforced his
decision to stay rooted in Austin, to keep control.
OK, so moving into the 2000s, Linklater starts
doing something really interesting. He's mixing
more commercial projects with these genuinely
weird, innovative, artistic swings. And this
is where he really gets wider artistic recognition,
partly through the hits, but maybe even more
through pushing technological boundaries. This
is the rotoscope era, right? Using that distinctive
animation style. Exactly. Adult animation, but
not like anything else. It defines two of his
most philosophical and visually striking films.
Waking Life in 2001, and then the Philip K. Dick
adaptation, A Scanner Darkly, in 2006. Can you
just quickly explain rotoscoping again? Because
it's not traditional cartoon animation. Right,
not at all. You shoot the entire film live action
first, real actors, real sets, edit it like a
normal movie. Then artists come in using Bob
Sabiston's RotoShop software and they meticulously
trace over every single frame. Wow, frame by
frame. Frame by frame. It creates this incredible
fluidity, this subjective feeling that traditional
animation or even live action just can't quite
capture. And the results are, well... They're
perfectly suited to the themes he was exploring
in those films, weren't they? Absolutely. For
Waking Life, the animation makes everything feel
like a dream. It's fluid, unstable, constantly
shifting, which is perfect for a film about lucid
dreaming, existentialism, the nature of reality
itself. The visuals are... The philosophy, in
a way. And then for A Scanner Darkly, it serves
a much darker purpose. Totally different vibe.
The rotoscoping there enhances the paranoia,
the identity breakdown that's central to Philip
K. Dick. The world itself looks unstable, constantly
being redrawn, mirroring how the characters are
losing their grip due to drugs and surveillance.
It makes you feel... visually anxious. Roger
Ebert really nailed it when he praised that semi
-real quality. It's this uncanny bridge between
animation and something more like cinema verite.
And it wasn't just a one -off experiment for
him either. He came back to it much later with
Apollo 10 and a Half. A space -age childhood
in 2022 shows he's committed to the technique
when the story demands that kind of subjective
viewpoint. These films really cemented him as
a genuine innovator, not just a dialogue guy.
But critically, while he's doing these arthouse
experiments, he's also having massive mainstream
success. School of Rock in 2003 was enormous.
Huge hit. Huge worldwide hit. It really broadened
his audience, showed he could handle studio material
effectively, especially when it tapped into that
genuine youthful energy he captures so well.
That film made, what, $131 million globally?
Still the biggest commercial success by far.
And I think it works because Linklater is so
good at capturing authentic passion, right? Whether
it's Jack Black's character's love for rock or...
or the kids discovering their talent. It feels
real. Exactly. And he followed that up with the
Bad News Bears remake in 2005. Again, working
within a studio genre framework, but keeping
his observational touch. This period also saw
him digging into more direct social commentary,
didn't it? Yeah. Kind of circling back to the
political undertones of Slacker. Yeah. There
was that HBO pilot in 2003, $5 .15, co -wrote
it with Rodney Rothman, about minimum wage restaurant
workers. You can see the themes brewing there
that came out fully in his next. Which was Fast
Food Nation in 2006, adapting that massive nonfiction
bestseller by Eric Schlosser. Right. A really
ambitious film tackling the whole U .S. fast
food industry machine, weaving together multiple
storylines. It got into Cannes, which was prestigious.
But the reception was a bit mixed. Kind of mixed
reviews when it came out more widely. Maybe audiences
just weren't expecting that kind of sprawling,
almost journalistic approach from the guy who
just did School of Rock. Meanwhile, while all
this is happening, the rotoscoping, the blockbusters,
the social commentary, he's quietly, patiently
building the next stages of the Before trilogy.
That's the amazing thing. Before Sunset comes
out in 2004. Then Before Midnight in 2013. Both.
Huge critical darlings. Both got him Oscar nominations
for Best Adapted Screenplay. And sharing that
nomination with the actors, Ethan Hawke and Julie
Delpy. That feels so unique to this project.
It really is. It speaks to how authentic those
conversations feel on screen because they were
developed collaboratively over those long gaps
between films. The characters aged, the actors
aged, the perspectives evolved together. The
trilogy really becomes about the weight of time
itself, doesn't it? Using those nine -year gaps
as the actual dramatic engine. showing us what's
gained, what's lost, how relationships weather
the years. And those nine -year gaps, they feel
like the perfect lead -in to the ultimate experiment
in filming time. The absolute peak of his career,
arguably his masterpiece. Boyhood. Yeah, Boyhood.
It almost needs its own genre category, doesn't
it? Released in 2014, it wasn't just filmed over
a long time. It was a genuine 12 -year commitment.
Sporadic filming between 2002 and 2013 with the
exact same cast. Watching the main character,
Mason, literally grow up on screen. From 6 years
old to 18, the sheer audacity, the patience required.
It's hard to even comprehend. It really is. And
the fact that he cast his own daughter, Lorelei
Linklater, as Mason's older sister, Samantha,
that just adds another layer. Yeah, it makes
it even more meta somehow. Totally. It wasn't
stunt casting. It meant the film was capturing
something deeply personal, a version of his own
family's passage of time embedded right there
in the fiction. It elevates it beyond just a
movie into this kind of observational document.
And the critics. They just went wild for it,
didn't they? Unanimous praise doesn't even cover
it. It got that perfect 100 score on Metacritic,
which is incredibly rare. Critics basically ran
out of adjectives trying to describe the commitment,
the emotional impact. The awards just rolled
in after that. Swept the board for directing.
Golden Globe, Critics' Choice, BAFTAs for Best
Director and Best Picture, and crucially, Boyhood
got him his first Oscar nominations for Best
Director, Best Original Screenplay, and Best
Picture. Finally, the Academy recognized this
decades -long independent vision at the highest
level. After hitting that absolute peak of structural
ambition, what does he do next? He immediately
pivots back to his other signature style, the
single -day film. Right back to it. 2016, he
releases Everybody Wants Some. He called it a
spiritual successor to Dazed and Confused. Set
in college this time, right? Baseball players
in the 80s. Yeah, that first weekend of college,
all about hanging out, chasing girls, finding
your place. And this film is such a perfect example
of that critical commercial split in his career.
How so? Critically, it was a home run. Critics
loved it, saw it as a welcome return to that
loose, funny, observational style. Got great
scores, like 88 % on Rotten Tomatoes, 83 % on
Medicare. critic but audiences didn't really
show up nope commercially it just didn't connect
make only 4 .6 million dollars on a 10 million
dollar budget and it really makes you think you
know Why did critics embrace it and the mainstream
ignore it? Maybe because it demands that patience
again. Yeah. It asks you to just enjoy the conversations,
the camaraderie, the slacking off without needing
a big plot. Exactly. It assumes you value just
being with the characters over watching things
happen to them. Maybe only his dedicated fans
were fully on board for that ride this time.
He kept mixing it up after that, though. Yeah.
Last flag flying in 2017, which is connected
to Hal Ashby's The Last Detail. Yeah, sort of
sequel focusing. on older veterans. Then he did
the adaptation Where'd You Go, Bernadette in
2019. And more recently, he had a real critical
hit with Hitman in 2023. That one felt like a
smart blend, didn't it? His dialogue focus, but
wrapped in a more high -concept genre package.
Absolutely. Co -wrote it with the star, Glenn
Powell, an action rom -com, premiered at Venice,
got great buzz, Netflix picked it up. It worked
because the smart talk about identity and deception
was packaged in a way that was really marketable.
And he's not exactly resting on his laurels.
The output is still relentless. Two films already
done for 2025. Yeah. Blue Moon about Loren's
heart and the opening night of Oklahoma and Nouvelle
Vague about the making of Godard's Breathless.
Plus, he did that episode for the HBO doc series
God Save Texas last year, focusing on the prison
system in Huntsville. Back to his roots again.
But the real follow -up to the ambition of Boyhood,
the big ongoing project, that's the Sondheim
musical adaptation Merrily We Roll Along. That's
the one. This is his current most mind -bogglingly
ambitious project. Like Boyhood, it's being filmed
over many years, but this time it's presented
in reverse chronology, just like the musical.
Following a character's life backwards, from
disillusioned failure to youthful idealism. Exactly.
And the time frame here? It's potentially even
longer than boyhood. Filming is planned to continue
sporadically until at least 2042. 2042. That's
nearly two decades from now. It's staggering.
He's committing the next phase of his working
life to watching this cast age backwards on screen.
It solidifies him as maybe the most patient filmmaker
alive today. So if we try to sort of synthesize
Linklater's signature style, his core ideas.
Beyond just the long term projects, the main
theme is always time, isn't it? The passage of
time, how memory works, how relationships evolve,
how conversation itself marks time. And we talked
about the duality. Yeah. The super long time
lapse films versus the compressed single day
films. Yeah. How do you see those two working
together thematically? I think they reinforce
the exact same core idea, actually, which is
the sort of simultaneous banality and profundity
of just everyday life. The single day films like
Slacker or Deez or Before Sunrise. They capture
that pressure cooker feeling. Decisions need
to be made or conversations have to happen now
before the day ends. Time feels limited. Exactly.
Then the time -lapse projects, Boyhood, the Before
Trilogy, they show you the long -term consequences
of those single days, those conversations years
down the line. They give weight and meaning to
all that talk by showing how it shapes a life
over the long haul. And underpinning both is
that focus on human interaction, on conversation,
on mood, rather than strict plot. The structure
feels like it emerges from life itself, not from
some screenwriting formula. Definitely not three
-act structure most of the time. And if you want
to understand where that comes from stylistically,
you have to look at his influences, especially
classic international cinema. He's mentioned
seeing Scorsese's Raging Bull as being a key
moment, right? Saying it brought her to a boil,
made him realize film could be this immediate
intellectual outlet. Yeah, that was a catalyst.
But his deeper influences, the ones you really
see in the texture of his films, it's a who's
who of patient, thoughtful world cinema. Like
who? We're talking Robert Brisson with his austerity
and precision. Yasujiro Ozu, the master of observing
family life with that calm, still camera, just
letting moments unfold. You can really see Ozu
in boyhood, can't you? That quiet observation
of domestic life, the marriage slowly dissolving,
the kids growing up, without big dramatic events
necessarily. Absolutely. And then, of course,
the French New Wave looms large, especially directors
like Eric Romer and Francois Truffaut. Romer
makes perfect sense. All those films that are
basically just long intellectual conversations,
people debating ethics and romance for. 90 minutes.
That's the before trilogy right there. Jesse
and Celine's entire relationship is built on
their talk, their philosophical back and forth,
very Romer -esque. And tying all this together,
all these influences and styles, is that fierce
commitment to independence. Staying in Austin,
refusing to really live or work in Hollywood
long term. That Austin base isn't just geography.
It's part of his method. It keeps him insulated,
gives him the creative control he needs for these
unconventional, time -heavy projects. Could boyhood
have happened if he was constantly dealing with
studio notes in L .A.? Probably not. No way.
You need that distance to maintain that kind
of long -term vision, keep the cast available
for over a decade without interference. And just
briefly on the personal side, which kind of reflects
that sustained philosophy, he's been with his
partner, Christina Arison, since the 90s. Yeah,
long -term relationship. They have three kids,
including Lorelai, who is in boyhood. And just
as a small detail that sort of underlines his
consistency, he's a parent. been a vegetarian
since his early 20s. It's just another example
of a sustained conscious choice mirroring the
commitment you see in his art. Okay, let's crunch
the numbers a bit because the data, the critical
reception versus the box office, it really tells
the story of a career built on different priorities
than mainstream Hollywood. He succeeds. but very
much on his own terms. His critical standing
is remarkably consistent, especially when you
think about how many different kinds of films
he's made. His average Rotten Tomatoes score
is, what, 81 %? Metacritic average is 75? That's
incredibly high over such a long career. And
the peaks are just stratospheric. Boyhood with
97 % RT, that perfect 100 on Metacritic. The
later before films, Midnight and Sunset, both
scoring way up in the 90s on Metacritic too.
He's just maintained this incredibly high artistic
standard for decades. Commercially, though, it's
not a steady climb. It's more like peaks and
valleys on an indie road trip. You've got the
massive outlier, School of Rock, making $131
million worldwide. Proof he can play the studio
game successfully when the project fits. Absolutely.
But then you have the other extreme, Slacker.
costing $23 ,000, making $1 .25 million. The
percentage return on that is probably better
than most blockbusters dream of. It shows the
power of a killer concept and minimal overhead.
And then there are the films that brought him
all the awards prestige but weren't huge moneymakers
in theaters, like Boyhood. Cost $4 million, won
Oscars and Golden Globes, but grossed only $48
million worldwide. Which is a fantastic return
on a $4 million investment, but it's tiny compared
to other Best Picture nominees or winners. And
that's the key, isn't it? Yeah. The financial
data shows he operates outside Hollywood's scale
obsession. He doesn't need a $100 million gross
to validate his work or fund the next project.
A $48 million return is a huge success on his
terms, giving him the freedom for the next personal,
time -consuming film. Right, compare that to
the outright commercial flops like the Newton
Boys, which lost money despite studio backing.
Or even Everybody Wants Some, which critics loved
but didn't recoup its $10 million budget. His
career shows that critical acclaim and cultural
impact don't always track with box office numbers.
Not at all. And looking at the major awards,
the pattern is clear. He's highly decorated,
yes, but especially for writing and directing,
reflecting that core focus on dialogue, observation,
and vision. Five Oscar nominations, total screenplay,
directing, picture. And those wins often reflect
that early international recognition, like the
silver bear for Before Sunrise way back in the
Berlin film. festival. Exactly. That early credibility
probably gave him the leverage he needed to go
back to Texas and say, look, I need independents
to do things like boyhood. The later wins the
Golden Globes, the BAFTAs for boyhood. They felt
like a validation of that entire patient, independent
career path. So as we wrap up this deep dive,
it feels like we've mapped out the journey of
a truly singular American filmmaker. Richard
Linklater uses Texas independence, that love
for real conversation, and just unbelievable
cinematic patience to make the passage of time
itself his great subject. Yeah, what really stands
out is how he blends these deep... philosophical
ideas, you know, the weight of choices, the way
potential fades with narratives that feel incredibly
accessible and conversational, whether it's Jesse
and Celine talking for 18 years or watching Mason
grow up for 12. The feeling you get as a viewer
is recognition. Like you're not watching some
contrived drama. You're actually watching life
unfold, much like your own life is unfolding
while you watch. And that leaves us with a pretty
fascinating, maybe even unsettling final thought
to leave you with. It centers on that ongoing,
nearly two -decade commitment to filming barely
we roll along. Yeah, just think about the sheer
difficulty, logistically, ethically, artistically,
of locking in a cast and crew for a 20 -year
project, filmed in reverse, scheduled to run
until at least 2042. When a filmmaker invests
that much of his own life and the lives of everyone
involved into one single narrative, filming the
actors aging in real time, what does that even
mean for the final film? It starts to feel less
like telling a story with an ending and more
like capturing the inescapable reality of time
itself. The finished film becomes almost a historical
document, a relic of actual time past. It stops
being just a movie. It becomes a life's work,
yeah. An exercise in temporal commitment that
might just be unprecedented. For Linklater, the
film set isn't just a place to shoot scenes.
It's become a kind of measuring stick for decades
of his own life, marking not just his actor's
growth, but his own journey, too. It really makes
you wonder. What will those conversations be
like on set in, say, 2040? How will those older
actors grapple with these idealistic younger
selves they filmed 20 years before?