When it comes to portrayals of Princess Diana in pop culture, we haven’t been deprived. The life of the late princess has been parsed in books, films, TV series both prestige and mass market, podcasts, documentaries, and—as of this week, finally!—on the Broadway stage. But Spencer, the new film (in theaters now) from Jackie director Pablo Larrain does something different than audiences might have seen before.
The dreamy, haunting film follows Diana (played, with well-deserved awards buzz, by Kristen Stewart) over three painful days during the Christmas season at Sandringham House. She’s watched relentlessly by staff and relations, she’s held at arm’s length by her husband and his mother, she’s haunted, among other things, by the gift of a necklace that Prince Charles also gave to his mistress. It’s a fictionalized version of what might have happened, but based in enough fact—yes, the royal family does apparently enjoy being weighed upon their arrival—to have something meaningful to say about isolation, mental health, and walking away from everything you’ve ever wanted.
Pablo, how did the idea of making a film about Diana come about?
Pablo Larrain: There was a fascination with Diana as a person and a character. It might have come from seeing my mother among the millions mourning her after she died in 1997. Diana was an enigmatic, mysterious person who went through a lot of things that feel far from our reality but are actually very close to the things we struggle with today. The truest answer is that it just felt right. She had an amazing story and a fascinating life, so I wanted to make a movie about her.
You made Jackie, about Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, and then this film. Do you keep a file of interesting people who could be great subjects?
PL: It’s a slow process. It’s scary at the beginning, but eventually you get used to an idea. It always comes down to asking why not.
Tell me about the first time you two met to discuss the project. How did that go?
Kristen Stewart: Our first discussion wasn’t the most articulate, it really was about a feeling. I think the reason we’re so curious about Diana is that you can really feel the weight of the questions that are immediately implied—imagine making a movie about this life! We all have this shared fascination with this person, and mine was no more developed than I was 7 when she passed away and I remember how people were so rocked by losing her. I hadn’t seen the documentaries or followed the story, but it didn’t matter. When Pablo said her name, I was like ooph, this is going to be a lot.
Pablo’s love for her was apparent so I was curious to know why. I knew he was an incredible filmmaker, so if he’s on a trail, I want to know where that’s going, especially if it’s about understanding this unknowable figure. I said yes to Pablo and to Diana, without thinking about much else, and also the idea that he wasn’t trying to cover every base or regurgitate what we know about her, but to live in these in-between moments when she’s actually breathing. It’s a fever dream. We could talk in circles all day; she’s a fascinating woman but we still don’t know her.
Some of the strangest things about the story aren’t the fictionalized moments but things that are based in fact, like the royal family being weighed—and enjoying it—upon their arrival at Sandringham. How did those things sit with you?
KS: The weighing thing is real. Our story is a total jailbreak movie, it’s a story about liberation—and there wasn’t nothing to run from—and being born with this cyclical mindset and realizing that everything you were raised on just isn’t true. There are all these immovable rituals that feel bad, and I think it’s a question of breaking cycles. Apparently, they really enjoy that custom, and I don’t have specific feelings about that, but I’m glad she got out because she wanted to. She walked out a door that wasn’t locked, and that’s where my head is at.
Did any of those truths about her life in that family surprise you?
PL: I’ll repeat what I’ve heard from [screenwriter] Steve Knight, who did very extensive research. He’s said that most of the things that feel real aren’t in the movie because they’d seem unbelievable.
KS: To a normal person it might seem so ridiculous that we’re making fun of them.
PL: There are so many years of protocols and traditions, that if you put them on camera for people living a contemporary life, they might feel absurd, like we’re making a dark comedy.
KS: And that’s treacherous ground. It’s also just not how we feel.
PL: If you push it a little bit, it feels like a parody. If you push it a lot, it’s a Saturday Night Live sketch, and we tried to avoid that. We stayed with Diana’s perception, and when a person like that lets you in, you see her and what she’s seeing. That was more relevant. There are also things that happened when the doors were closed that we’ll never know.
There are elements of horror in this film, moments that lean into the nightmarish nature of her situation.
PL: You have a character who’s going through difficult times and is having a mental-health crisis that becomes an eating disorder, and she can eventually see things that aren’t real. We also see everything through her; there are scenes in which we’re seeing what she’s seeing, and whatever she’s feeling becomes real for the audience. In the language of cinema, I understand that we need to put things in boxes; “this is psychological terror” lets us understand one another.
KS: It’s so satisfying to call something by its name, we all instinctively want to do that.
PL: But it’s not exactly my motivation. I want to be with her and see what she’s seeing. Certain things that are an illusion—extensions of her memory or mental distress—can be taken as psychological terror. And I’m not saying that it isn’t.
KS: It’s fucking scary, Pablo! People’s inner lives are so incommunicable, and one thing that movies allow us to do is translate that in a way that does feel reflective of a true experience. They’re a real family, and I am sure there’s love and warmth. I’m a total outsider here and I’m not trying to be presumptive, but we do have reflections right from the horse’s mouth, so it’s an attempt to take someone and turn them inside out. It’s not literal, but it’s true.
The film ends with her leaving the weekend somewhat triumphant. It’s a joyful moment instead of the tragic ending we’re used to. Did that feel important to give her?
PL: It’s healing, I think, more than anything. She’s ready to move on—and she did. She left that family and realized that her time in that institution was done. One of the most interesting things about people living that life, is sometimes they just want to be normal. There are people who want to have her life, but the paradox is she might want to try theirs. We found [the Mike + the Mechanics song] “All I Need is a Miracle” [to play over the scene] and it was just so beautiful.
KS: I love how literal it is. That song completes the story; it’s playing, and she’s with her kids and you’re just [groans]. It’s an emotional Heimlich maneuver, and she finally choked up what she needed to to become who she was. She finally gets out, she’s feeling triumphant, and by the end of the movie we don’t have to slam into what happened—we all know—but we can remind you that she accomplished what she wanted to accomplish. And then the movie ends, and you’re left with that unarticulated loss. I’ve seen the movie three times, and each time for hours after, I’m devastated.
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