Before becoming a cornerstone of American cinema with Lady Bird and Little Women, the filmmaker delivered a string of remarkable performances in front of Noah Baumbach’s camera in projects like Greenberg and Frances Ha. Her latest film, Ruido de fondo, marks her fourth collaboration with Baumbach and continues a long-running personal and professional partnership, spanning eleven years. The upcoming comedy Barbi e, a long-awaited project centered on a Mattel doll, adds to a catalog that includes a surprisingly faithful adaptation of the 1985 Don DeLillo novel they both co-wrote and directed. In the film, Gerwig portrays Babette, a mother navigating deep-seated fears of death while secretly taking part in an experimental treatment.
In the last six years the focus has largely shifted to directing. Why did she decide to step in front of the camera for Ruido de fondo, the project born from that collaboration with Baumbach?
When Baumbach and his team began shaping the story, the duo found themselves in a locked-down Manhattan apartment. A question arose: who should play Babette? The answer arrived quickly: I will. The moment was driven as much by fear as by a desire to seize one final opportunity to act. Yet there was more to it than impulse. There was a clear vision of the character’s temperament and appearance that could guide the performance.
What was this idea?
Ruido de fondo is a black comedy that plays with archetypes common to 1980s disaster and science fiction films. The mind naturally drifts to characters like those portrayed by Dee Wallace in E.T. The Extraterrestrial or Teri Garr in Close Encounters, mothers who project calm and safety while battling inner demons. Babette presents that same front, but her defenses are extraordinarily fragile due to other pressures.
Did acting call to her again?
Absolutely. Acting is a lifelong fascination. At a young age, she aspired to write stories, yet early drafts often felt flawed. Acting became a doorway into cinema where the ability to memorize lines and convey intent stood in for mastery of writing. The sense of community on set, the shared electricity of collaboration, proved addictive and remains a sustaining force in her craft.
Have directing experiences altered her approach to acting?
They have deepened respect for both crafts and, perhaps most of all, for those who translate ideas into performance. The joy now comes from being on set, seated on the floor near the camera, watching a remarkable ensemble bring a scene to life. It keeps her buoyant behind the lens and in front of it.
One striking aspect of Ruido de fondo is the fidelity to DeLillo’s original novel, which long stood as a barrier to adaptation.
The director first read DeLillo’s book in 2002, at nineteen, just after a watershed moment in world affairs. The margins were crowded with underlines and exclamations, a testament to a text that lingered. The collaboration with Baumbach grew from a shared reverence for that novel and a love of cinema that values dialogue. Their approach respects the long tradition of early twentieth-century auteurs like Preston Sturges, Howard Hawks, and Ernst Lubitsch, whose influence functions as a guiding light for the entire project. Directors often imitate what they love; in this case, that influence anchors the film’s tone and pacing.
Ruido de fondo also grapples with a world unsettled by a toxic cloud that follows the public like a virus, a theme that resonates with the pandemic era. The parallels are perceptible and intentional.
The shoot itself carried surreal moments. In some scenes, the cast wore protective masks, while crew members wore different kinds of safety gear between takes. The production team would remind everyone to switch masks, a small, almost theatrical reminder of the era the film evokes.
Does the fear of death permeate the storyline for those involved?
It does. The project draws on a rich body of mortality literature, including works such as Being Mortal and Remembering When You’re Dead, alongside contemporary reflections on life and meaning. The intention was to confront mortality head-on and to reveal how it can alter one’s outlook. The process underscored a common truth: life is finite, and pretending otherwise is a disservice to the time we have.
Some argue that cinema is a way to defy death, to live forever on the screen. What is the director’s perspective on this idea?
Watching old films often brings a stark realization: the vitality seen on screen exists in characters who are, in fact, mortal. That sense of mortality doesn’t vanish; it lingers, influencing how the director thinks about her work and her own legacy. The belief that art can outlive the person behind it remains a provocative consideration, one that continues to shape her choices and reflections on filmmaking.