In “Magic Hour,” filmmaker and actor Katie Aselton returns to the intimate, emotionally raw storytelling that first defined her career. Premiering last year at the South by Southwest film festival, the film follows Erin (Katie Aselton) and Charlie (Daveed Diggs) as they retreat to the desert to navigate an unexpected and difficult new chapter in their relationship. Written by Aselton and her husband and longtime collaborator Mark Duplass, the project began as a voice memo recorded during a road trip home from Big Sur in 2020.
In her director’s statement, Aselton described the film as “one of the most incredible creative experiences” of her life. Wanting to challenge herself both as an actor and director after making “Mack & Rita,” she found herself longing for a return to the emotional honesty and creative freedom that shaped “The Puffy Chair,” with a film that shows “the connection of two soulmates, the goofy quirks between two best friends, the devastation at the thought of losing that,” she wrote of the film’s origins. “It was us, but it wasn’t us; it was the idea of us.”
Starring opposite Daveed Diggs, Aselton crafts a deeply personal meditation on love, grief, and the emotional imprint relationships leave behind. She spoke with Cinema Femme about the film’s beginnings, collaborating with Diggs, the spiritual pull of Joshua Tree, and working with cinematographer Sarah Whelden to create the film’s dreamlike emotional landscape.
“Magic Hour” opens at select theaters May 15th, and will be screening at the Music Box Theatre on May 29th, featuring a post-film Q&A with Katie Aselton.
In your director’s statement, you mentioned that the idea for this film came from a road-trip voice memo with your partner, Mark Duplass. Can you talk about the beginnings of this story?
Mark and I try to take a trip every year after the holidays—just to recenter and stabilize, because the holidays are always chaotic with kids, relatives, and family. We had taken a trip up to Big Sur, and on the drive back he asked me that classic New Year’s question: What do you want this year to look like for you?
I had just come off making “Mack & Rita,” which was a phenomenal experience. Working with Diane Keaton was life-changing, and I honestly had such a blast making that movie. But it was the first time I’d made something that wasn’t mine. It wasn’t my script, it wasn’t my project, and I didn’t produce it. I was truly a hired hand, serving the team—and I was happy to do that. But afterward I realized I wanted to make something that felt personal again.
Mark and I were so lucky to have “The Puffy Chair” happen so early in our careers because it established this sense of creative freedom and autonomy for us. It became a touchstone. We’ve gotten to do projects of all sizes since then, but when the pendulum swings too far in one direction, it’s nice to swing it back and return to the way we like to work.
So we started talking, and as we often do when we collaborate, we found ourselves pulling from our own lives. A lot of the things we create together have pieces of us in them. We started dissecting our relationship, and one theme we kept coming back to was codependency.
We are extremely codependent, which is funny because the word has such a negative connotation. But when you really think about what people want in relationships, isn’t the idea of depending on someone deeply actually kind of beautiful? Having someone you rely on so much you can’t imagine life without them—that’s amazing, but also terrifying when you think about how fragile life and relationships are.
So we dove into that idea. This movie isn’t about me and Mark, but it’s also not not about us. It definitely reflects our feelings about each other. It became a really interesting way to explore a hypothetical emotional scenario.
I still have the entire voice memo on my phone. We used voice-to-text in my Notes app, and honestly, it’s basically the movie. We made some changes, but most of it was there from the beginning.
I really loved when you were talking about codependency—and even referencing “Say Anything”—I thought, That’s exactly how I feel about my husband. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in what we’re doing that we forget relationships are a kind of success too.
Exactly. If you look at codependency in a positive light, it’s impossible to do anything entirely on our own. We’re constantly told, You’re not an island. Ask for help. Lean on your support system. That’s what a good relationship is—being able to depend on your partner.
What interested me was exploring what happens when relationships end and that love disappears. It could be romantic, a friendship, or even family. But when someone leaves your life, there’s still a shadow of them that remains. You sit with it and wonder: How long do I let that shadow stay? How long do I allow that person to continue occupying space in my life emotionally?
And is it healthy to hold onto that space for a long time? If you push it away too quickly, can you ever get it back? Every relationship leaves an imprint on us. I don’t want to call it a scar because that sounds too negative, but we’re changed by the people we love.
This is a tricky movie to talk about without giving too much away, but ultimately it’s about dealing with the space left behind when someone important is no longer there.
I couldn’t help but think of “The Puffy Chair” while watching this—there’s such a rawness to it. Daveed Diggs is incredible. How did he come to the project?
Honestly, I’m not a particularly woo-woo person, but this really felt like fate.
When we were first writing the script, Mark and I were at the SAG Awards. Daveed was sitting at our table with my manager, and I leaned over to Mark and said, “That’s Daveed Diggs from Hamilton. He would be an incredible Charlie.”
So I texted my manager right there at the table. She agreed, but at the time he was shooting Snowpiercer in Vancouver, and it was one of those old-school television schedules—20 episodes, nonstop—so he was basically unavailable.
I remember the 14% challenge, when all these major male actors were publicly saying, “I’m going to work with a female director.” And then… most of them didn’t. I’d genuinely like to know — Matt Damon, after making such a big public commitment, how many female directors have you actually worked with since then? I don’t mean that in a petty way, but it’s hard not to notice the disconnect between what people say and what they actually do.
At the same time, while we were putting out casting offers, I don’t even think I fully realized what I was doing. Looking back, I was almost trying to cast my soulmate. A lot of those decisions were coming from a place where I felt emotionally and creatively drained — kind of soul-sick, honestly.
Then, completely out of the blue, after the ICM/CAA merger, an agent we knew called Mark and said, “I just joined Daveed’s team. He just wrapped Snowpiercer. I feel like he should do a Duplass movie.”
We sent him the script, and I met with him first. He said something I’ll never forget: “When a script is right, all the hair on my left arm stands up. And it’s happening right now while we’re talking.”
I walked away thinking, He’s amazing.
Then the four of us had dinner together, and Mark later joked, “I knew he was the one because I felt threatened by your chemistry.”
Daveed brought so much to the role. In the script, there was just a line that said, “Charlie hums along to the radio.” But once Daveed was cast, I thought, Well, if I have Diggs, we’re definitely putting him in a convertible and letting him sing.
That scene was wonderful, especially with the actress playing your mother—Susan Sullivan.
She’s incredible. I actually had another actress attached originally, but she dropped out at the last minute and I was devastated.
Then Mel Eslyn from Duplass Brothers Productions suggested Susan Sullivan. She had worked with them before and said, “She’s such a team player and so lovely.”
The moment we got on Zoom together, I was stunned. We were staring at each other and realizing we had the exact same bone structure. It honestly felt like I had a face filter on. It was eerie in the best way.
And she’s so funny. That antique store scene still kills me.
I also loved the advice her character gives—about getting excited for the future beyond grief.
Totally. It’s ill-timed advice, which is exactly how mothers operate. You’re like, No, absolutely not, and then later you realize they were right.
Talk about the landscapes in the film. The desert feels so emotionally tied to the story.
It’s definitely a pretty heavy-handed metaphor for where she is emotionally. The desert feels surreal, lonely, desolate—almost lifeless. But at the same time, there’s so much life there.
When you’re out in Joshua Tree, it can feel like you’re standing on the surface of the moon. The horizon is so severe: sky and land, light and dark, life and death. Everything feels starkly divided.
It’s one of those places where you could sit for hours unpacking all the metaphors connected to what she’s going through.
And honestly, there’s a reason people go to Joshua Tree looking for some kind of spiritual experience. There’s something wild about that place. People talk about the energy vortexes from the underground rivers, and the wind there is unlike anything else—it comes from every direction at once. It’s emotionally destabilizing in a fascinating way.
It would have been a completely different movie if we’d shot anywhere else.
You also collaborated with cinematographer Sarah Whelden, whose visual work really elevates the emotional atmosphere of the film.
She also shot my most recent feature, and she’s incredible. I really believe the relationship between a director and cinematographer is all about chemistry.
Sarah and I just understand each other instinctively. We share such similar aesthetics and visual instincts that I can describe something emotionally—even if I’m not speaking in technical lens language—and she immediately gets it. We genuinely speak the same creative language, and she can translate what I’m imagining so effortlessly.
She’s extraordinary.
What do you hope audiences take away from the film?
I hope they see a little bit of themselves in it. I hope they connect with something personally and deeply, because for me, that’s the best way to experience a movie—when you feel emotionally connected to the characters.
