‘Dead Ringers’ Star Rachel Weisz on Playing Twins: “I Was Stretched Way Beyond the Limit”
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Of all of the intellectual property to mine for a contemporary reboot, David Cronenberg’s 1988 thriller Dead Ringers could not have been at the top of many people’s lists. Inspired by a true story of twin gynecologists who died mysteriously in a filthy Manhattan apartment, the film (doubly) stars Jeremy Irons as Beverly and Elliot Mantle, and is a stylish and gruesome look (complete with mutant genitalia and metallurgical instruments) at two devoted brothers whose codependency leads them to ruin — particularly after a beguiling woman (played by Geneviève Bujold) comes between them.
Oscar-winning actress Rachel Weisz says she’s always been a fan of Cronenberg’s film and identified it as a possible project to develop for herself. In collaboration with playwright and Succession scribe Alice Birch, as well as directors including Sean Durkin and Karyn Kusama, the resulting reboot is a gender-swapped interpretation of Cronenberg’s Toronto-set tale, moved to New York and expanded into a six-part Prime Video limited series.
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Weisz delivers an astounding dual performance as obstetricians Beverly and Elliot Mantle — two geniuses in their field with dueling personalities. Elliot is a thrill seeker who sometimes poses as her sister in order to deliver Beverly her objects of desire. Beverly, on the other hand, is more meek and passive and often scared of Elliot’s outward persona, secretly hoping that one day she will find a partner who can take her away from her twin’s strong psychological hold.
Weisz spoke with THR, delving into the series’ development process, the complex filmmaking that pulled off her double performance, and the many layers of the ominous and brooding series.
I know that you were the person who brought this idea to the table, to develop the show. What about the original film stuck with you and made it something that you wanted to pursue as a project for yourself to star in?
I love the film. I love the strangeness of this codependent relationship — siblings who work together, play together, share everything. I love the fact that the patient that comes between them, played by Geneviève Bujold in the film … I wanted it to work out between her and Beverly. I wanted [the twins] to be broken apart. I was really rooting for that. I think maybe other people root for them staying together. There was this psychology of the central performances that really intrigued me, of an Englishman in New York. I just had a daydream one day: What if you had two female gynecologists living in Manhattan? What if you got that story and told it in a different form? The movie is perfect and iconic — I personally wouldn’t want to [just] remake it.
How did you find your collaborators in showrunner Alice Birch and director Sean Durkin, who helmed the first two episodes?
I am a fan of Alice’s film Lady Macbeth and her plays, particularly one called Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again., which I highly recommend. I approached Alice, and she and I really connected. She loved the aspects of the film — like the fact that these brothers are having such a good time, until everything goes pear-shaped. But until then, there was a girl on their arms and a martini, and they wore these beautiful suits and had this aspirational life in New York. Alice was really drawn to that. And the idea that a doctor, particularly an obstetrician … She heard a doctor saying that they thought of themselves as God, that they decide when life begins. She’s a very psychological writer. Early on, we sent the pilot to Sean Durkin. He was someone that we both wanted to work with for a long time, since Martha Marcy May Marlene. I had lunch with him in New York a few times, and I was very clear: “I’m desperate to work with you.” He read the pilot and loved it, and then as a threesome we went about meeting other directors.
Karyn Kusama directed my favorite episode of the series. When her name flashed in the credits I said, “Damn. Of course that was her.”
She’s something else. Episode five is almost like a stand-alone film — Southern Gothic horror. … It’s just so operatic.
You were in the writers room. Did that help you when you got on set and had to perform these roles?
Once you’re on set, it’s too late — for me — to do any thinking. It has to come totally unconsciously. All the work and the thinking happened very early on in the writers room. Acting is about using your imagination, and believing that you are that character. You know what they would do in any given situation. I’d been working on them from the early conversations with Alice, when we decided the broad brushstrokes. It was a couple of years of living with them. But then you get the scripts, and that’s a whole other thing.
From a technical standpoint, how did you play the twins?
You have to physically go from one to the other — it was mind-bending. We learned to start with Elliot; she sets the pace because she’s faster, and she’s bossy. (Laughs.) I would work with my scene partner, Kitty Hawthorne. She would say Beverly’s lines [and I would be Elliot], and then I would go to hair and makeup and [change] costumes and become Beverly. She would sit on the other side of the screen as Elliot, but she [didn’t] speak. I had an earwig in my ear of the lines that I’d laid down as Elliot. I would hear myself as Elliot in my ear, and respond as Beverly while looking at Kitty. I had the other twin in my ear as I was being the other twin. They will sit inside each other all the time. It was a learning process and challenging. I was stretched way beyond the limit of what I thought was possible.
Were there moments while filming when you were lost, when you didn’t know which twin you were?
No, there was never any confusion about them. I’d done so much preparation in terms of imagining all the events that happened since their childhood, but from both points of view. They were just as different from each other as you and I are different from each other — I mean, maybe we’re similar, I don’t know you yet.
Did you enjoy the physicality of one versus the other? I feel like Elliot may have been the more fun to play.
Oh, yeah. Elliot’s all pleasure. She’s just a pleasure seeker. She’s got the most uncomplicated relationships with pleasure of any character I’d come across. She eats what she wants, she has sex with who she wants. She’s got an insatiable appetite. And she’s unruly and mischievous. She was a lot of fun. Beverly is much more serious and earnest. Life is difficult for her. She wants to get away from Elliot, and she feels terrible about that.
The names are fascinating. In the film, one of the male twins has a typically female name; in the show, a female twin has a male name. Beverly, in both, takes the passive role. Was there ever a thought about changing the names?
It gives as much to both genders, doesn’t it? We always [planned] to keep them the same — because of what you just said. And Geneviève, Britne Oldford’s character [whom Beverly falls in love with], is an homage to Geneviève Bujold in the original film. I just think it’s one of the great screen performances, an incredible portrait of damage. But I rooted for her so much — I so wanted her to be with Beverly.
In the film, the twins are gynecologists. In the show, they’re obstetricians. Did that come naturally from the gender-swapped premise?
It was very early on that Alice and I said they should also deliver babies, yes. The Mantle twins in the film … They wouldn’t be into [delivering babies]. We felt that that would just open up so much more story, which of course it does — you get all these different patients, women who want to have babies, women with different kinds of deliveries. It just seemed very rich.
I’ve never seen pregnancy, and childbirth, depicted onscreen this way before. The first episode really sets the tone with a montage of childbirth. You’re almost saying to the audience: “Get comfortable with this because it’s going to go deeper and more gnarly.”
Alice and Sean, who spoke very vividly about being present for the birth of his children, were just very interested in it — maybe because it’s something we haven’t seen much before. The pilot has close-up shots of babies being delivered, and it was always going to be there. There was never a conversation about what people might think, or if it set them up for what’s to come. It was just always: That’s it. That’s how it will begin. This is a day in their life. They deliver so many babies. I was just thinking of it more as we’re in their point of view. But I hear you — it’s not often done.
Is it taboo, do you think? Do you think it makes people uncomfortable — particularly men?
There are some people — men and women — who don’t like blood. I wasn’t thinking of it like that, but I do think we are incredibly used to seeing blood in relation to violence. There are so many different kinds of cinematic languages for violence and gore and murder. There are the fabulous Coen brothers movies, where legs get put into meat grinders, and it’s comical. Or serial killer movies, where unspeakable things happen to women’s bodies. Not cute little babies coming out — really horrific things.
The birthing center that the twins open is fascinating. They don’t pathologize pregnancy — they see it as a natural part of life and create an institution where it can be as comfortable of a process as possible. Yet the way it’s stylized is a little unsettling — we see those red scrubs, a reference to the film. It’s very moody. Was that a deliberate dichotomy? Or was it supposed to feel like the twins’ world is uncomfortable?
You’re right, it is a dichotomy and even a paradox — I’ve never thought of it until this second. Here I am saying, “It’s just a beautiful baby coming out.” But you’re right, in terms of the tonal layering and the tonal lens on the whole show … I mean, Sean does something where he puts the camera right there, and there’s just a feeling of disquiet — foreboding and something eerie. There’s a bit of dark humor, and a love story. Cronenberg had a dark humor, as well.
I want to ask about body horror, which is Cronenberg’s signature. I think of it as pushing the body to its limits, its extremes. That’s not how the show depicts pregnancy for the most part, but we see it veer in that direction when the twins deliver quadruplets in a particularly ominous scene in episode five. Was “body horror” a phrase thrown around in the writers room?
It is really fascinating what you’re talking about. I don’t think of the pregnant body as being horrific. I don’t think of birth as being “body horror.” But definitely by the time we get to episode five, directed by Karyn Kusama … She made Jennifer’s Body, so she’s really into it. She really took that concept and went all the way with it. I didn’t think of this as a horror [series], but after episode five, is it now horror? What you just said is so eloquent — it’s almost maybe testing the viewer.
It’s definitely pushing the viewer’s comfort level by that point. But maybe the horror of pregnancy comes from the sense that you no longer have agency over your body — it’s hosting another human. And there’s always the possibility that something can go wrong.
Brilliant. I think you’ve just taken it apart. The most natural, actual thing in the world, which is how every single human being got here, that happens every second, and it’s banal in a way … But the way you just said the definition of body horror is that you don’t have control over your body — it’s the disquieting psychological side of pregnancy. I’ve never had this conversation with anyone, so I don’t have ready answers. I think you’re right.
I know you sent the show to Cronenberg, but have you heard from him since?
No. I think he’s making a movie. I would love to know what he thought.
Interview edited for length and clarity.
This story first appeared in a June stand-alone issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.
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