In other words, Jonathan Demme gets Anne Hathaway to wallow in indie grunginess, and smoke in artistically appropriate ways (because movies are no longer allowed to approve of tobacco use). I bet she gets to indulge in some creative swearing and nudity, too. You know, purely for artistic purposes.
I like Bill Irwin. He made me a dinner of yarn spaghetti once. But that’s a whole other story.