In the world of filmmaking, there are few personalities as mythic as Francis Ford Coppola, the auteur behind The Godfather, The Godfather: Part II, The Conversation, and Apocalypse Now, a quartet of films arguably as great as any ever made. After a ten-year sabbatical — during which the 68-year-old artist focused on building a winemaking empire and developing three lush resorts in Central America — Coppola has returned with Youth Without Youth, a movie crackling with intellectual vigor and operatic emotions. Here, he discusses his career and what he hopes to achieve with his newest films.

Here’s a comment you’ve only heard ten thousand times: It’s been a long time since the last film….
Well, normally film directors make a film, and then there’s a three-year period where you figure out what’s next — unless you’re one of those film directors who is in the business of business. They always have three or four scripts being written for them, and then they choose the best one for themselves and just produce the other ones. But I kind of do a more handmade thing.

Also, at this point in my career, now that I’m older, I didn’t want to make movies just to make movies or just to be in the business. I wanted to try to make movies that are like literature or that are like the movies I saw when I was younger — the movies that made me want to make films, the ones that inspired me, the ones that made me say, “I’ve never seen that before.” So many films you see today, it’s all so familiar — the kid is kidnapped, the man is haunted, the wife is anguished. It’s all just formula that’s designed to please the audience and make a lot of dough. But sometimes you don’t please the audience and make a lot of dough, even when you’re doing that kind of film. So you might as well make a film that means something to you. It might not please the audience or make a lot of dough, either — at least not at first. But films like that tend to stick around a little bit more.

That has been the case with a number of your films.
When Apocalypse Now came out, people didn’t know what to make of it, but that only means that there came a time when the public did know what to make of it. And not only that, but then other films started to sort of copy it.

Youth Without Youth is a deeply personal film for you. Many critics have pointed out that it’s a return to form for you.
I only want to make deeply personal films at this point. It’s so hard to make a film. You might as well make a film that asks questions you want to know the answers to. If not, what are you doing it for?

You took a lot of heat for making films in the 1980s and ’90s that seemed more calculated to perform well commercially rather than artistically.
Well, people know my story. I had made One From the Heart and lost a lot of money, and then I had a big debt and I almost went bankrupt. I took 15 years and made a film every year so I could pay off the debt. I needed a job every year. It’s that simple. But I tried with the films I chose to always find something about them that I found intriguing. I also learned a lot, because I was making films as different as The Outsiders and Peggy Sue Got Married. Rumble Fish was quite a personal film for me, and I think one of my better films. It was made in that period of time you’re talking about. All those films were interesting to me, but it wasn’t until Dracula that I got out of debt.

By that time, I was older and I had to ask: How am I going to use this time I have left, now that I’m liberated from this financial issue? I didn’t want to be just a regular director, making films that open on Friday and are a hit or a bomb by Sunday afternoon. I didn’t want jobs — I wanted to make films. I needed to find my way back to writing my own stories, which I had done on The Rain People and The Conversation, and that’s what I’m doing on the film Tetro that I’m doing now in Argentina. In a way, Youth Without Youth was a good bridge for me getting back into a kind of personal filmmaking at a budget I could afford to pay myself.

The triumphs and calamities of your life and career have been well publicized and much discussed. How conscious are you of being observed, and what type of impact, if any, does it have on your art?
When I was younger, I took a lot more flak. Now, because I’m older and we like having a few older icons around, the people of my generation are all we’ve got anymore. Ernest Hemingway is long gone, so who are we going to lionize? People are very kind to me, even if they might not like my films. They couch their criticism in very indirect ways. They might write their true feelings, but people are much more courteous and respectful of me today than I recall them being during that period when I made so many films they are now very respectful of. [Laughs.] It’s hard to really puzzle through that.

How does that affect or influence your creative choices?
It can’t. The verdict on a film like Youth Without Youth won’t really be in for 15 years. Will I even be alive when they decide if it’s a good film? I try to make movies the same way I cook for people. I’ve never cooked a meal thinking, “Whether they like it or not, that’s the meal I’m giving them.” I’ve never made a meal full of stuff I knew people would hate. I care.

How have your intentions or objectives as an artist changed over the decades?
The best thing I can hope for now is some artistic fulfillment for myself. Let’s face it. We’re all inspired by certain people when we begin. I’d love to be held in the same regard as Fellini or Tennessee Williams or Kurosawa. It’s hard to be in that league, but the fact is that I’m trying as hard as I can to reach for it. Even if I fail, I’ve tried, and I’m okay with that. It’s a mistake to lack ambition. People will often call you pretentious — “Who does he think he is?” The truth is, I don’t know who I am, but I would like to be as good as the best.

People consider the 1970s to be a golden age of filmmaking, citing your films and those of Scorsese, De Palma, Spielberg, and many others as proof. Do you feel your generation lived up to its promise?
Well, it’s easy to say we don’t make movies as good now as we used to. But no one ever says that we didn’t know then how good the movies we were making actually were. [Laughs.] We made a lot of great movies, but there are probably a lot of great movies made in any generation. Today, we have an especially exciting generation of filmmakers, and they’re going through the same thing. Look at Wes Anderson or David O. Russell or Paul Thomas Anderson or even my daughter, Sofia. They’re being taken to task for being who they are: real artists. What concerns me most is how difficult it is for these artists to make films at all, when it’s more about money than it’s ever been. Every picture can’t make money. Some are going to be home runs, but you have to be willing to lay down your bunts to get to second sometimes.

You once said, “I probably have genius. But no talent.”
[Laughs.] I never felt I had the talent that I wished to have. What I meant is that I have good imagination, a lot of energy, and I’m very enthusiastic. And that’s probably made up for that God-given talent that some people have to draw beautiful pictures or compose a symphony or write poetry or dance. I don’t have that. I’ve done it the hard way. I’ve kept trying with everything I’ve got. This is my talent. I can come up with a creative solution to any problem. But that’s not genius. Mozart — that’s genius. I don’t have that.

You adapted The Great Gatsby more than 30 years ago. What do you think of Fitzgerald’s remark that there are no second acts in American lives?
Here’s the story: This young guy becomes a famous movie-maker. He buys a movie studio. He loses all his money. That’s a good opening to become Phil Spector or something. [Laughs.] But then he goes off to Napa and makes a bigger fortune in the wine business. That is unusual. Then he uses that to go back and make movies again! [Laughs.] That’s a good story. It’s nice to have your life be a good story.

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J. Rentilly writes about film, music, literature, and pop culture. He lives in Los Angeles.

Photography by Zoetrope.