The Filmmaker Who Directed Jennifer Lawrences First Oscar-Nominated Role Has a New Star in Leave No Trace

If you have ever taken in a Debra Granik film—from the gritty beauty of Winters Bone, which garnered Jennifer Lawrence her first Oscar nomination, to Vera Farmigas portrayal of drug addiction and single motherhood in Down to the Bone, even the beginning of the directors exploration into P.T.S.D. with the documentary Stray Dog—you wouldnt be surprised to learn that the 55-year-old filmmaker is a contemplative, thoughtful sort, trying like many of us to make sense of the quickening pace of todays world and her place in its culture.

Its confusing to her that while we, as Americans, seem to value social realism, our entertainment is consistently centered on the rich and famous, the Wall Street tycoon, the high-stakes, high-crime stories that are so far afield from everyday life of most people in the United States. Graniks work in contrast feels like a salve to the kinetic blockbuster that fuels much of Hollywoods ecosystem. She explores the stories of those on the margins, people living without safety nets who are struggling to get by. Its a quest she takes very seriously.

“Maybe I was assigned the beat of a different zip code,” she said in a recent interview. “I took that assignment and I feel committed to keep reporting for duty. I bring forward stories from the lives of everyday Americans. Those whose path hasnt been set out on easy street or who havent been given it all, those who are actually forging ahead because of their own personal resources, their moxie, their survival instincts.”

Her latest film, Leave No Trace, out June 29, chronicles the lives of Will and Tom, a father-daughter pair, played by Ben Foster and Thomasin McKenzie, who eschewed modern living for a home in the forests outside Portland, Oregon. Their seemingly idyllic lifestyle is upended when their illegal habitat is discovered, placing a wedge between the tight duo when their futures no longer align. The film explores the themes of American consumerism, veteran P.T.S.D., and the coming of age of a teenage girl. And in true Granik fashion, it gives us a new young talent to get excited about.

Like Lawrence and Farmiga before her, New Zealander McKenzie, 17, is a force of nature, a clear-eyed adventurer youd eagerly follow into the wilds of the Pacific Northwest. Granik discovered her during a Skype audition and couldnt let go, attracted to McKenzies grasp of the material and quest to learn more about her character. Plus, there was no “ick factor” with the actress. “She had no fear of bugs, no weirdness about getting dirty or being active,” said Granik, adding that McKenzie became a pro at feathering sticks, a neat little trick that makes for good kindling. “I love that she was living an ordinary life. She hadnt left school or turned into a full-time Hollywood kid.”

To Graniks producing and writing partner Anne Rosellini, who has worked with the writer-director since her first feature, casting is one of Graniks secret weapons. “Debra wont be swayed by anything other than her gut in casting,” Rosellini said. “Pedigree doesnt matter. . . . For Winters Bone and Leave No Trace, there might have been more obvious choices in young actors. But for Thom, she had a level of innocence and otherworldliness that spoke to Debra, and to us.”

That insight extends to her male characters, too, propelling her to cast Hell or High Water star Foster in the role of Will, the military vet whose demons keep him away from modern civilization. Fosters previous work as a soldier in Oren Movermans The Messenger gave him a leg up for this part. “He had already done a lot of work to talk to vets,” said Granik. “It was something he had already committed to, something he had already delved into. . . . If youve already started to think, read, feel, then hes not strapping that on suddenly. Its in him already.”

Granik shot Leave No Trace in 30 days in Oregon, a luxurious amount of time for the scrappy filmmaker and one aided by a skilled local crew that made working in the beautiful—yet frigid—location more amenable. Granik considers herself an anxious filmmaker, so she took all the help she could get. “Im very not-cocky, you know,” she said with a laugh. “The challenge for me is to make sure Ive done my work. To make sure not every scene is quiet, that other scenes rise up, that theres different tension. . . . I get very caught up in the day-to-day and immersed in the scenes as they unfold. Its harder for me, as Im filming, to see the larger story.”

What is clear is Graniks vision of the entertainment industry. As a female filmmaker whos been toiling in indie film for over two decades, the ubiquity of streaming services like Netflix and Amazon, and their intent on killing the theatrical experience, gives her pause. “Im most concerned about the aggressive stance of the streaming captains,” said Granik, aware that those platforms are often the ones most willing to distribute the kind of movies she makes. “People need meeting places. You need places where ideas get exchanged and you see each others faces once in a while.”

Granik starts getting revved up by what she sees as the very destruction of the business she loves. “All of us need to care about preserving the human attention span,” she said. “I think everyone who has a kid between the ages of 1 and 15 right now has to ask, Would you like your kid to have the ability to watch a 90-minute film without the possibility of switching after 10 minutes? Or watching three other things in between and texting at the same time?”

Granik is actively toggling between two characteristic features. One is a documentary centered on life after incarceration. The second is a theatrical version of Barbara Ehrenreichs nonfiction book, Nickeled and Dimed, an undercover sociological study of living and working on the U.S. minimum wage.

To Rosellini, the “quiet” films that draw Granik, ones with “no sex, and no guns,” are as hard to make as ever. She counts on the growing appreciation of Graniks work to get them into production. Nickeled and Dimed sounds like it will be just that.

Says Granik: “Its an extremely heartfelt love letter to the working people of New Jersey.”

Get Vanity Fairs HWD NewsletterSign up for essential industry and award news from Hollywood.Nicole SperlingNicole Sperling is a Hollywood Correspondent for Vanity Fair.