Onscreen, Asa Butterfield is, by and large, a sweetie pie. An early turn as the protagonist of Martin Scorsese’s big-hearted family epic Hugo propelled the English actor into a bevy of roles as nice young men worth rooting for. With big blue eyes and baby cheeks, he played the lead in the adaptation of the sci-fi classic Ender’s Game and, more unconventionally, the socially awkward son of a liberated therapist in Netflix’s hit TV series Sex Education. Even his name evokes something wholesome, full fat. Then came Our Hero, Balthazar, in which Butterfield, behind thick glasses and patchy facial hair, takes up a new mantle: would-be school shooter.
The movie is a satirical twist on a classic tale of two boys from across the tracks or, rather, the urban/rural divide. A rich New York teen, Balthazar, has designs to end the male loneliness epidemic (or at least score some points with the cute girl at school by pretending to do so) and meets a poor young man from Texas, Solomon, who spends his nights cuddling anime body pillows and an AR-15. Even as Balthazar, who fakes tears on social media and goes through the motions of activism for attention, reveals himself to be just as, if not more sinister than Solomon, Butterfield never quite loses his hair-trigger edge as an isolated man all out of options.
Butterfield worked closely with director Oscar Boyson, a Maine native, to shake off his good boy mannerisms. “Sometimes the things [he] got [me] to do were so outrageous,” he says with a laugh. Yet it was precisely this willingness to defy expectations that drew the actor and director, who previously produced Uncut Gems and Good Time, together. It’s a new era for Butterfield: bad boys only. Below, Boyson and Butterfield unpack their time together on set.
Oscar Boyson: I went to Dallas for the first Texas screening of Our Hero, Balthazar on Saturday. One question people kept asking me was, “How did an English guy become this Texan?” Do you think shooting on location was helpful or did it keep you on your toes? Perhaps some combination of both?
Asa Butterfield: I think it helped me stay in character. There were fewer distractions for me because I was so immersed in Solomon’s world. Being able to ask people questions was really helpful too. Sometimes there were certain things I wasn’t sure of, so I could just ask Mike, our props guy, or any of the crew, “How would you say this?” And they’d have an answer for me right there.
I tried to stay within the accent most of the time once I got to Texas. At that point I’d been working with a dialect coach for a few months and felt sort of confident with it, but I definitely wanted to spend more time on it so it became less tiring—more relaxed and natural. I remember checking into my hotel doing this Southern drawl, and the guy at the front desk sounded like he was from California. So I asked him where he was from, and he said, “Oh, I’m from Dallas.” I thought, How do I sound more Texan than this guy?
It made me realize that the typical Texan accent isn’t what we think it is. It’s become somewhat homogenized into a more global American accent. That was part of what we talked about: wanting him to be Southern, but not become a stereotype. He’s someone who’s spent a lot of time online, so he couldn’t sound so far down that route that he became a caricature.
Boyson: I always think of Pecos Bill, a children’s book character we grew up with in the United States, who says, “Well, you’re as naked as a jaybird, partner.” Kind of a John Wayne-type Texan.
We’ve had so many great responses from young people in the South saying they’ve never felt represented in a movie so authentically. Part of that is because we don’t get as many stories that take place where Solomon lives as we should, but mostly it’s a testament to the performance and all the thought you put into it.
It’s something we don’t talk about enough when we’re telling stories and making movies: Solomon isn’t necessarily a character most audiences aspire to be like, and that doesn’t matter. If you know someone like him, or see a bit of yourself in him, that’s so much better than what most movies designed specifically for young people are offering—movies where you show up and think, What does this have to do with me?
Butterfield: Every time someone says they know a Solomon, I laugh because I’m like, “You’re the 50th person who’s said that.” Everyone in the U.S. feels like they knew a Solomon at some point in their lives. It’s such a specific yet unseen version of a young man in America.
Boyson: Did you feel like you knew that guy before we started working on him?
Butterfield: No, I didn’t know that guy. There’s something very specifically American about Solomon, and I don’t know what our version of that is in the U.K.
Boyson: Have you had that experience before, when you step into a role or read a script and think, Oh, I know this guy?
Butterfield: Definitely. There’ve been auditions where I’ve read a script and been like, Oh, that’s Max, or, That’s whoever it is. You can see those threads, even if they’re from a different country. Then, Otis—the character in Sex Education—there are a lot of Otises when you’re growing up. A lot of young men have anxiety about how they fit in, what’s right, and what’s cool. There’s a lot of familiarity there.
Boyson: It didn’t cross my mind at all when I sent you the script, but now I think that if I had cast someone who was actually from Texas, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to deal with somebody who immediately had a totally different—and probably superior—authority over the character. Like, I’m from here. I know how this works and you don’t.
Butterfield: A lot of that was us finding him together. Especially that first week, rehearsing with Ricky [Camilleri, the co-writer and producer]. I had the accent, but a lot of his real specificities were something we discovered as we went. I hadn’t thought about it before, but the fact that I was so personally removed from Solomon’s experience allowed us to really search for him. We were never 100 percent sure. It was a gradual process.
Boyson: Exactly. Then you’re becoming more of a technical consultant than an instrument of behavior and emotion, right?
Butterfield: Yeah. Did you have actors in mind when you and Ricky were first figuring out all these characters?
Boyson: No, once you know who it is, then it’s hard to imagine anybody else.
Butterfield: When I read scripts, sometimes if I have a really clear image of a character, I’ll attach actors or faces to them as I’m reading. I’ve never written before, so I’m curious—as a writer, do you go through that same process?
Boyson: Ricky and I have a lot of the same references. We’ve known each other since we were 17, so there’s a long list of movies we might reference. We’ll say, Think about Ben Braddock in The Graduate, or, Think about Dirk Diggler or Scotty in Boogie Nights.
But you’ve got to be careful, because it sucks if you imagine somebody in a role and then you can’t get them. I always want to be open to a better idea and something that might emerge while we’re working, scouting, and casting. If you keep seeing it the same way, though, it can be really hard to shake. Similarly, if you keep hearing a line you wrote one way in your head, there’s something interesting about having that level of command over rhythm and pace. But telling an actor to read it the way you hear it in your head is the least interesting direction you can possibly give. You’re closing off whole branches in the tree of what’s possible with an actor.
Butterfield: Was there a moment on set where you realized that? Or was it more of a process of reflecting on your films after you’d made them?
Boyson: I remember getting frustrated on one short film because it wasn’t sounding the way I wanted it to sound. I kept saying, “Let’s go again.” Then the actress was like, “Just give me a line reading.” And I was like, “You say it like this.” Then she did it. In the next short film, I was talking to the actor and I said, “I’ll never do that. I’ll never give you a line reading.” I was aware of how I was messing things up. Then I did it anyway. He just started laughing, and I was like, “I’ve got to get rid of that habit.”
The thing is, if you find a different way of giving a note—or creating the space for something new to emerge—it’s so much better than anything you could come up with on your own. A lot of rehearsing with you and Jaeden [Martell, who plays Balthazar] was all about that, right?
Butterfield: Yeah, I remember seeing you and Ricky on set having these little discussions about a moment, and then I’d see one of you giggle about an idea the other had. Often it was Ricky who’d come and whisper a note in either mine or Jaeden’s ear. Sometimes the things you got us to do were so outrageous. But we were always down because we could see where it was coming from. I really appreciated that—the license to go past where another film might stop, just to see if something works, to see if it lands, to see if it’s funny.
Boyson: We like big performances. I feel like it used to be more accepted for actors to take a part and say, “I’m going to make a choice here.” Sometimes it’s the wrong choice, but we remember those performances. They stand out because they’re doing something. I find that even if the movie doesn’t necessarily hold up, a lot of those performances stay with me. It doesn’t have to be Jim Carrey in The Mask, but it used to be more expected that you came to play. Now it often feels like there’s this emphasis on tone and keeping everybody in the same wavelength or register. It’s not as fun.
Butterfield: That’s one of the things I really liked about our movie. I felt like we all had a lot of control over what we could bring to it. It never felt like we had to stay within a certain zone. These characters are naturally quite big, and we were free to really explore that—not just the big elements, but also the silence, the quiet. It always felt like we could surprise the audience and surprise ourselves with these scenes beyond what was already written.
Boyson: When you got the script for Our Hero, Balthazar, did it feel like a risk?
Butterfield: It didn’t feel like a risk. I’ve done tiny-budget movies, and I’ve done films that don’t guarantee distribution. What all of those films had—and Our Hero, Balthazar included—was a real love of the script and a belief in the team making it. What Balthazar also had was a chance to really push myself as an actor and step into a role I’d never done before, that people hadn’t seen me do before.
I remember after our Zoom call, speaking with Tracy and Jane [Butterfield’s agents] afterwards. Neither of them ever said, “This is too small,” or, “I’m not sure if this is the right step for you.” They loved the script. And they said that if I liked it and felt this was the kind of character I wanted to push myself toward, they were totally game.
It’s nice to do things like this. Going back to what you said before, when you make these small-budget movies, you might not have the resources you do on a Netflix show or a studio film. But what you get back is so much more control as an actor—over what you want to deliver and what the film ends up being. That’s a really nice thing to have.
Boyson: Have you felt that combination of taking a chance on a project—the risk involved in having more responsibility and more control—and then feeling that pay off? I’m sure you put a lot of thought and work into every character, but to play somebody your fans don’t know you as, somebody you haven’t had the experience of playing before, a character that’s further from what you’ve done, and then to see the response to it… what’s that like?
Butterfield: I was nervous. I remember working on this with my acting coach for a while, and she loved it and was really excited about it. But she also understood, like I did, that this character required a lot from me. It required me to go to places I hadn’t been before. To really make it work—to make it feel lived-in and authentic to the time and place—it required a certain amount of work: thinking, feeling, being. I was up for the challenge, clearly, but it wasn’t easy. It required me to think about aspects of myself I hadn’t really thought about before.
I know there are emotions and aspects of my personality that I find harder to access, and I’ve found them difficult to access in auditions too. Sometimes it’s the reason I don’t feel right for a part, because I don’t feel like I can be whatever that thing is. And there were certain aspects of Solomon that didn’t come naturally to me. They required me to go a bit deeper into myself and figure out why, and then allow myself to feel comfortable being in those spaces. But all of those challenges—which were part of the reason I did the film—make it that much more rewarding when people really connect to it and really get it.
Seeing people empathize with Solomon, feel the tragedy of this character, and be shocked that the guy from Sex Education or Hugo took a step and did something so totally different—that’s so exciting, rewarding, and affirming as an actor. Because we do this to entertain and to offer something to people. And I really want people to watch Balthazar. I’m really proud of this movie.
Boyson: Do you feel like that process of finding parts of yourself you haven’t explored before—is it more about leaving your personal self behind when we call action or when you show up? Or is it more about accessing those things, finding them, and bringing them out?
Butterfield: I think the traits are already there, so it’s about letting things come to the surface, as opposed to trying to create something totally new.
Boyson: So what do you want to do next? How are you different after working on an Oscar Boyson film? How has the experience changed you?
Butterfield: I want to do something that I can be really proud of. It’s such a nice feeling, making something and being really excited to share it with people. You don’t always get to have that feeling in this industry. Finding another role that feels like a step in another direction. Encouraging emotions that aren’t as accessible to me to come to the surface.
For me, it’s so much about the writing and the connection with the script. I don’t look for a particular genre or a particular character. I just try to find something I haven’t done or seen before—something that feels like there’s enough there in the script that I can trust the writer and the director to know what they’re doing.
Boyson: I also want to ask: what does an Oscar Boyson production and a Martin Scorsese film have in common?
Butterfield: A very charming director.
Boyson: Ah, okay, I’ll take it! I’m curious because you were working on those bigger productions in your adolescent and teenage years. Do you ever look at your life in a big-picture and think about how those experiences shaped your approach to acting and characters?
Butterfield: My biggest takeaways from those bigger productions were the actors I worked with—seeing people who could work really well with the entire team. They were team players, who supported the people around them, rather than needing X, Y, and Z to do their job. I’d look at them and think, Oh, that’s actually what this film needs: someone who can make other people’s jobs easier.
I don’t think I always knew that. When you’re a kid, you don’t necessarily see it. But as you get older, you take a step back and think, That’s what people really appreciate—and often what they really remember too.
Boyson: Totally. I’ve been working in this field for 15 years-plus, and you see a lot of people—I might put a friend in a small part, a day player in something I’m working on—and they get the bug.
They think, Ooh, I like this. Maybe I could be an actor. Then they quickly realize, I actually can’t deal with not being the star of the show. I can’t deal with not nailing an audition. I can’t deal with the heartbreak of thinking I had a part and then not getting it.
You realize that so much of having a sustainable career is really about mastering the time in between. And being able to be the actor you were just describing as often as you’re the one with all the attention on you.
What was the most embarrassing part of playing Solomon?
Butterfield: Well, it would’ve been that goddamn rap you’d written for me. Thankfully, took it out of the film—not before I’d had to do it in our table read. That was the most embarrassing thing… “Everything is death. Everything is black.”
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