In a candid New York Times conversation that peels back layers of Hollywood’s entrenched biases, Kristen Stewart, 35, launches a fierce assault on the industry’s idolization of so-called “brilliant male actors.”
The Twilight alumna-turned-director argues that the pedestal reserved for brooding male icons like Marlon Brando perpetuates a toxic double standard, one that undermines women and marginalized creators at every turn. “We need a full system break,” Stewart declares, urging filmmakers to “steal our movies” to shatter capitalist barriers stifling authentic storytelling.
Kristen Stewart’s revelations come amid buzz for her directorial debut, The Chronology of Water, a raw adaptation of Lidia Yuknavitch’s memoir chronicling a swimmer’s turbulent path through trauma, addiction, and self-reclamation. After nearly a decade in development, the film—starring Imogen Poots and a ensemble of bold talents—embraces the “messy, pathetic” essence of women’s lived experiences. Stewart was captivated not by Yuknavitch’s specifics but by her unapologetic voice: the way diaristic narratives by women get dismissed as “selfish and narcissistic.” Her goal? Craft something “exuberant and encouraging” that invites audiences, particularly women, to overlay their own scars. Vivid scenes, like blood seeping into grout, evoke universal intimacies without pandering.
Reflecting on her evolution from teen idol to indie provocateur, Stewart rejects self-editing in art or life. “I don’t self-censor,” she insists, crediting public humiliations—like tabloid frenzies over her personal life—for building resilience. “A nice healthy amount of humiliation is really humbling… After that first scratch, you go: OK, crash the car. We can fix it.” Now married to screenwriter Dylan Meyer and a queer trailblazer since her 2017 coming out, she views her public image as a shared myth: “You do know me now, and that belongs to you… no one’s wrong.”
Yet, it’s Hollywood’s underbelly that ignites her fury. Drawing on Brando’s infamous Superman flub—mangling “Krypton” to safeguard his vulnerability—Stewart exposes performance’s gendered perils. “Men are aggrandized for retaining self. Brando sounds like a hero, doesn’t he?” Women, she notes, face scorn for similar quirks; one male colleague dismissed “method actresses” as “crazy” outright. Her stint in the 2019 *Charlie’s Angels* reboot, meant as a nod to director Elizabeth Banks, soured her on studio machinations. Test screenings, male-driven tweaks to queer portrayals, and “demoralizing” committees drained the project’s soul: “I hate signing onto something with potential life and seeing it destroyed… It’s misogynistic, and it sucks the color out.”
The fix, per Stewart? Ditch the “committee process” for guerrilla creativity, especially for women and people of color blocked by “capitalist hell.” Twilight’s windfall freed her from financial chains—”I’ve been so lucky to not scrape the bottom”—but she warns of broader inequities. On inspiration, she shuns substances, preferring clearheaded instinct, and nods to queer filmmaker Barbara Hammer’s *Multiple Orgasm* for its organic take on female desire.
As The Chronology of Water eyes release, Stewart poses a provocative challenge: “If you want to know anything about me… watch my movie first.” In an era craving unfiltered voices, her words signal a reckoning—Hollywood’s male myths be damned.