The actor soared to fame in the 90s and 00s in Kill Bill, Charlie’s Angels and Ally McBeal – navigating a notorious time for women on set. Now, she returns to Hollywood in Steven Soderbergh’s Presence – and says she’s still not afraid of standing up for herself
Boredom is not a feeling with which Lucy Liu is familiar. “Sometimes I wouldn’t mind it,” she says with a smile. “But it feels nonstop. I never get bored because I don’t have time.” If there wasn’t so much to do, she says: “I’m sure I could learn a language, you know, learn how to ride a unicycle. I mean, come on, the list is endless. So it never feels, like ‘What’s left?’ It’s ‘Where do we start?’” Liu is not someone who likes to look backwards. “I think my best work is ahead of me,” says the actor who has done blockbusters (2000’s Charlie’s Angels and its sequel), two Quentin Tarantino movies (Kill Bill Vols 1 & 2), performed on Broadway, shared top billing on a hit TV show (Sherlock Holmes update Elementary, playing a female Watson), all after receiving her big break on another, era-defining series (Ally McBeal).
Liu’s latest film is Presence, one of Steven Soderbergh’s more experimental works. Although nominally a horror, it’s weirder than that, being shot from the perspective of a ghost who watches a new family move into a house. “He’s truly an artist, because he’s willing to experiment and not really afraid to fail,” says Liu of the director. She has been a fan of Soderbergh’s since his 1989 breakthrough Sex, Lies, and Videotape. “I feel like it [Presence] is coming from a very clear place of curiosity, which I enjoy, because that is artistic freedom, isn’t it? You’re not doing it for ‘the Man’. It’s something you are curious about so then you just try it. It’s almost childlike.” The film has little dialogue, and little backstory. Liu’s character is the mother of two teenagers, and there is clearly tension within the family, not least because she seems to favour her son over her daughter. Sometimes there are scenes, in the ghost’s watchful presence, where nothing appears to happen, which feels a little destabilising to a modern audience used to fast cuts and spoon-fed exposition. “We’re so used to being told what to look at, what to do or feel,” says Liu.
