As we talk about Don’t Worry Darling-and the demands on someone who’s acting in, directing, and producing a movie-there’s a nice irony to the fact that she’s blissed out and making a bowl. (When we’ve parted for the day, Wilde texts me a photo she took of me looking bemused at the wheel, along with the winking caption, “Master of her craft.”) Wilde herself is warm, serene, and engaged at the wheel. Our instructor is an artist named Freya, who serves us tea in proper cups and encourages us with phrases like “just squidge it up.” If Freya or Wilde is appalled by my interpretation of an ancient art form, they do not show it. My entire Instagram feed is just, like, people throwing pots.” Soon we’re each seated at pottery wheels with mounds of clay. This is the one thing that I feel completely zen about. “I’ll go to a Pilates class or dance class and get really competitive. “Everything else in my life, I want to be very good at: work, parenting, friendships, exercise,” she tells me.
Wilde is a perfectionist-she ends up being on time-but pottery puts her at ease. Tube strike made getting a car a bit of a clusterfuck but I will be with you by 11:05. She’s running very slightly late, so she texts: “Julie! Hi it’s Olivia! I’m on my way. I asked if we could start our interviews somewhere other than a restaurant, and Wilde gamely suggested this. We talk at a pottery class in North London. If Mirren had known what Wilde went through to make the movie-let alone the nasty surprise that awaited her when she walked on the stage moments later, or the wind tunnel of gossip in store at the Venice International Film Festival in September-she’d have hugged her even harder.
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