"Our Responsibility to Engage": John Early Discusses the Roman Empire, Paul Verhoeven, and Maddie's Hidden Truth

      Comedian John Early has been eager for audiences to experience his film. Having debuted at TIFF last fall, Early’s first venture as a director is a remarkable comedy that also transforms into a poignant drama about a woman grappling with a resurfaced eating disorder. Maddie’s Secret, which Early both wrote and stars in, has the feel of a TV movie from the 1980s. However, its corny, awkward dialogue serves as a strength. The film's successful blend of humor and drama feels entirely deliberate, presenting a rich tapestry of cultural references and inspirations. It’s wildly absurd yet delivers an emotional impact. Early has crafted a narrative that operates on two distinct yet cohesive levels.

      In the cast, Early has enlisted the help of friends, including his comedy partner Kate Berlant, along with Connor O’Malley, Vanessa Bayer, and Eric Rahill. The story follows Maddie, who unexpectedly becomes a sensation in the food media world, creating content for GourMaybe and possibly consulting on a popular TV show called The Boar. Early isn’t shying away from boldness in his debut feature; he embraces the concept wholeheartedly. He and his cast lean into the absurdity of the narrative just as much as its serious undertones, resulting in both an endearing and overwhelming experience throughout its 101 minutes.

      Ahead of the film's theatrical release on Friday, we spoke with Early about his inspirations for Maddie’s Secret, his commitment to every scene, and his own fascination with food content.

      The Film Stage: How do you feel about the film nearly a year after its initial TIFF premiere?

      John Early: I spent several months under the impression that I was creating a high-style piece—almost like a fairy tale, far removed from my own experiences—and now, in hindsight, I’m left thinking, “Wow, John.” In a more poetic and mysterious sense, it feels quite revealing, which initially frightened me. Around the time of TIFF, I was anxious about it, but now I’m feeling more affectionate and forgiving towards it. In fact, I'm somewhat impressed—not by myself, but by the process of making something and how it can express unconscious emotions without one realizing it. I thought I had control over the work, but in reality, I didn’t at all.

      Do you believe this is purely subconscious, or do you think there's always a portion of yourself reflected in your work?

      When you feel a strong drive to create something—as I did in this case—I think we inevitably unravel parts of ourselves in the process. If we encounter something we dislike, we often feel compelled to reach out to the creator. Even if you see a play you don't enjoy, it’s human nature to communicate your thoughts. Despite having the distance to be untruthful and elevate your response, even a simple text reveals something about you…

      You might end up giving a sort of backhanded compliment.

      It’s astounding, really. I find it surprising when I catch myself doing that—thinking, “John, just tell a fib,” but I believe that even if this were some forced project from the studio that I wasn’t invested in, I’d still end up unintentionally revealing something personal.

      Where do you think our collective intrigue with food originates, and how does this connect to the film? Is it exposing something about us?

      This film stems, among other things, from my own obsessive engagement with food content on my phone. Something that piqued my interest concerning bulimia symbolically relates to its associations with the Roman Empire—like the notion of intentional vomiting being commonplace. Mythologically, it’s linked to the decadence prior to a civilization’s downfall, where binging leads to purging. At times, I wonder if our obsession with food content and its excessiveness signifies a collective indulgence before an impending collapse. Food is a necessity for survival, and there’s a shared anxiety about ecological collapse and our ability to provide for everyone. Already, people are starving, and it feels like we’re teetering on the brink of something significant. It makes sense that we have this frenetic consumption of food content—as if it’s a race against time before it disappears. I acknowledge this may sound grandiose and that I wasn’t explicitly writing the film with these themes in mind, but they do play a symbolic role in the movie.

      There seems to be an element of gluttony.

      That’s precisely the term! It embodies gluttony.

      And it feels like Bon Appétit transitioned into Chef’s Table, which then evolved into countless TikTok videos that I scroll past.

      Exactly. Before, it felt like we hadn’t unveiled the floodgates; the dam hadn’t broken. The Bon Appétit phenomenon is intriguing to me because there was this fleeting moment when the videos had an elegant quality, almost like a documentary. They were gentle, had a documentary style, and the presentation wasn’t overly aggressive or grating—it simply showcased someone skilled at their craft