"A lot of Todd Haynes’ “Dark Waters” is shot from a distance. Lots of squared-off rectangular compositions, lots of corners and windows, lots of flat tracking shots. The colors are muted, greenish-gray and black. In contrast to the imagery of other films in the good old American David vs. Goliath tradition, Todd sets his hero’s very human struggle with the giant corporation DuPont in a visual framework that always looks a lot more corporate than human. It’s a really interesting choice. The handheld camera-work and bleached deserts of “Erin Brockovich” are as far away as the lighted ceiling squares and shadowy parking garages of “All The President’s Men” — the two most-famous exemplars of this genre. Instead, “Dark Waters” looks expensive, angular, and soft-edged. Even the interpolated closeups of Mark Ruffalo as he uncovers one terrible secret after another never break or mottle the movie’s palette. If it’s not stretching the point, “Dark Waters” looks a bit like it was shot on, well, Teflon. It’s a chilly, chilling approach to a drawn-out, turbulent, often soul-crushing struggle. But it makes perfect sense, considering the size and character of the corporate culture Mark’s Robert Bilott both works in and pits himself again. He’s not building a lawsuit house by house from behind the wheel of a pickup truck; he’s a corporate lawyer pursuing a huge corporation from expensive corporate offices. And whenever the movie does linger over the human costs he’s trying to redress, the effect is as gruesome as a mutilated body on a slab in a very clean morgue. These choices are a stark reminder that ultimately, even Bilott’s spectacular, hard-won legal victory is a drop in DuPont’s bucket. And it speaks to the pervasive character of the problem (not to mention the chemicals in our drinking water) that even when the good guys gain some ground, the world Todd captures in this movie is one of cold grays, smooth edges and gleaming surfaces to which nothing ever sticks. Not yet, anyway."

"I hadn't actually heard this song one before we played Carnegie Hall last year [for The Music of David Bowie concert featuring the Pixies, Debbie Harry, Cyndi Lauper and Michael Stipe]. We were the house band and had quite a few artists coming on to play, so I had to learn it. For me, it wasn't an obvious one. When I first heard it, I even thought it was a terrible song! Like it wasn't even a song! That was just my first impression of it. But it was only when I started playing it, and trying to do my own version of it, that I realised that it all fit perfectly. It was great to play live. It was just him throwing something together - it's unserious, a totally unpretentious concept, and the music just fits the lyrics so perfectly. You know, the drums are not that tight, and there are drum rolls where you think: 'Wow, that's like a beginner that's just been playing drums for six months!' But then you play it and it actually fits! It's really weird. It fits the idea of always crashing in the same car. If it had been played technically correctly it wouldn't have worked. For me, it was a good example of how everything in the backing of a song has to line up with the message of a song. I think a lot of music these days, gets into this over-produced, too-tight, no feel thing, but you can't fault it. It's correct. The dots are all in the right place, but there is no soul. Or even, there isn't a message to grab a hold of and it all falls down. It's so easy now to put something together in your bedroom on your computer that sounds like a finished record, but if you don't have those same elements there that make a good song, you may as well not bother!"

"I love the scope of the movie; there is something in David Lean that I like very much. He’s always of the macro worlds and the micro worlds; he didn’t only do it in Lawrence of Arabia, but repeated it in Dr. Zhivago and other movies. [In Lawrence of Arabia] he made a movie with enormous scope and events that were known in the world — the Turkish-British War, and at the time, the taking of Akaba — things that were very spectacular and very epic, but in reality he’s talking to us about the homosexuality of one of the characters and something really minimalistic and very precise. He gets into the soul of a man through this spectacular movie and this union of these two worlds. He did it again in Dr. Zhivago as I said before, because in a way he put together the entire Russian revolution, which is also very big, while in reality telling a love story. So this kind of union, joining, he does between the macro world and the micro world is something that I was always interested in, and he was a master of doing the type of job. It’s one of those movies that always remain in your mind. Also, he gave himself permission to do it in a way that probably no studio would buy in our day; just to see a man coming from five miles into the camera for two minutes and a half — no executive producer would allow that to happen! He gave himself permission to do that, and I had the luck of seeing a remastered version of Lawrence of Arabia in a theater in Spain 10 years ago, and it was magnificent because it gave you the possibility of thinking, which is unusual. We also have the performance of first time movie actor Peter O’Toole. That was the first movie that he did, which I didn’t know until I worked with Omar Sharif in a movie that I did years ago called 13th Warrior, and he told me that. At the time, he was a very prominent theater actor in London, but that was the first movie that he did. I will never forget those blue eyes on the big screen. Amazing!"

"She's one of my all-time favourite artists, all-time favourite spirits and one of my all-time favourite voices. I think she's incredibly fragile and I continue to worry for her because I don't think she's being very well taken care of as an artist. There's certain artists need everybody's help to continue to be creative and she's one of them. 

 I'm a tank – I can take care of myself and I don't need anybody's help, but Sinéad O'Connor is a jewel and has a voice like no other – one of the great voices of this century. I worry that we're going to lose her. She has mental health problems and has spoken very openly about them and is really brave and courageous for doing so. She's a great rebellious spirit who was punished for being a rebel in ways that we can barely imagine or conceive of. I have nothing but great admiration for her. 

 She has this extraordinary voice that just does things to my insides. She's a complete iconic gem and touches me in ways that so few can; she's made so many beautiful records. I wish I could sort of throw myself at her feet, because I feel like she finds love, I think, difficult to absorb, and yet she's so deserving of it. This voice comes, again, from a different universe. Its spectacular ability to both emote and communicate. I'm so grateful to her for this record; I just love it and I love hearing her sing so much. She's one of my touchstones, someone I always can rely on to bring magic. 
 When greats die, like when David Bowie died, there's this great outpouring of grief as I know there will be if and when, god forbid, we lose, finally, an artist like Sinéad O'Connor. Yet she's alive now and is capable of producing these spectacular pieces of work, and yet she's treated so brutally by the music industry – an industry who would rather laude in applause an uncreative, stage-schooled kid who's got a great voice but no soul. They'll get more excited about that than they will the possibility of signing a great like Sinéad O'Connor. And therein lies the ludicrousness of the modern music business."