'Why Drew Barrymore's interview style makes me so uncomfortable.'

I love Drew Barrymore, and I've been loving her for a long time. Like most 80s kids, ET is my first memory of Barrymore: vulnerable, earnest, lispy and adorable. But it was Firestarter that got under my skin and stayed there. What kid doesn't want to see another kid create fire from the sheer power of her rage?

Barrymore is only a few years older than me, and all my favourite performances of hers (from Boys On The Side to The Wedding Singer) portray her as the embodiment of your friend's older sister who doesn't mind you hanging out in her room and rifling through her closet. There is a genuine humanity to Barrymore that I imagine is rare in her cohort: adults who have been famous since they were children, breathing rarified air from birth with the scars to prove it.

So, If I love Drew Barrymore so much, why do I find her interview style so uncomfortable?

On her eponymously titled talk show, Barrymore epitomises the height of our collective emotional progress. This feels rare at a time when we are regressing ever further into our silos, with 'culture wars' and a crisis of trust in the media polarizing us across party lines.

There is almost nothing on the free-to-air mainstream sphere that is innocuous, let alone wholesome, and yet Barrymore is trauma-informed, vulnerable, and endearingly offbeat. She crafts her questions from a place of empathy and in the voice of someone who has clearly done a lot of deep healing inner work.

Take, for example, Barrymore's recent interview with Trans-activist and TikTok sensation Dylan Mulvaney. The interview begins in a more standard fashion; the two sitting on their own chairs while Barrymore proceeds to create space for the necessary vulnerability that comes with Trans stories in the mainstream media at a time of deep divisions and debate.

As a viewer, I'm engaged and curious. As a producer, I'd be over the moon with the rapport and trust that Barrymore is able to cultivate. But, when the conversation turns to the topic of negative self-talk and the hatred that the Trans community is contending with, Mulvaney begins to tell Barrymore that when she looks at her, she can't imagine anyone disliking her, and at this point Barrymore leaves her chair and kneels in front of Mulvaney, taking her by the hand:

DB: Oh please, do you want to know who ironically dislikes me the most sometimes?

DM: Who?

DB: Myself.

DM: Oh, me too.

And at this point, Mulvaney slides off her chair to join Barrymore on the floor in an embrace, and the rest of the interview takes place with the two women, hands clasped, kneeling before each other.

Watch: A snippet of Drew Barrymore's interview with TikTok activist Dylan Mulvaney. Post continues after video.

I should have applauded, but instead, I'm holding my breath, nervous. Barrymore is clearly invested in creating a safe space within the confines of her show. These are principles I champion. These are characteristics I want to see more of in the world. These are the emotional skills I wish we were taught in school.

And, for the record, I loathe small talk. I am far more comfortable going deep than I am discussing the proverbial weather. Give me deep or give me death. So I should be a natural fan of Barrymore's unique approach… so why does it make me want to crawl out of my skin?

Aside from her show, Barrymore's interview style was recently on display to a room of 7,000 Sydneysiders at the 'True North' event she hosted for wellness brand Wanderlust at the ICC Sydney Theatre on Friday. Beginning with a guided meditation the entire audience took part in, Barrymore then burst onto the stage to deliver a personal monologue before welcoming local guests Tones and I, G Flip, Michael Klim, Dannii Minogue and Baker Boy to share the couch with her and be interviewed.

"Barrymore looked around at the audience in utter bemusement, exclaiming that she didn't know so many Australians watched her show. She oozed gratefulness and appreciation for everyone's time and the idea they would give up an evening to spend it with her," an attendee told me.

"And the audience lapped it up. She sat on the corner of the stage legs crossed as though she was in her lounge room, not sitting in front of a theatre full of people hanging on her every word as though it was gospel. These people were worshipping at the altar of Drew Barrymore like it was some sort of cult."

Bit of background: For the last fifteen years I've worked across the media landscape, primarily producing News & Current Affairs and audio series. I've produced countless interviews, and a fair few of them have been with people who have experienced something deeply traumatizing. Because these were interviews intended for an audience, the impulse was to try to be as solemn, focused, and straightforward as we could be — to walk that fine line between allowing someone the space to tell their story while not re-traumatizing them, or making it about ourselves.

It was after the cameras stopped rolling that we let the tears flow, where we embraced, where we had those intimate human moments. And this, I believe, is the bedrock of my discomfort with Barrymore's approach: isn't intimacy supposed to be, well, intimate?

Drew Barrymore with the cast of Daisy Jones and The Six. Image: The Drew Barrymore Show.

Another caveat: my exposure to Barrymore's show is intersecting with a time when I am thinking a lot about the line between entertainment and exploitation. My debut novel, The Shot (Macmillan, 2023), revolves around a Reality TV producer, Mara, and the contestant on her dystopian show, Kristy. The embedded power imbalance between "crew" and "talent" is something I've been pondering for years.

I'm a fervent believer in the power of sharing our stories. But I am also hyper-vigilant about the line between being trauma-informed and peddling trauma for entertainment. And this is why my knee-jerk impulse is to be suspicious of Barrymore's effusive on-screen bonding. Realising this was when the lightbulb went on for me: could my discomfort be cynicism? Do we simply see so little genuine empathy in our media landscape that when I do see it, I don't trust it?

Perhaps more now than in recent years, models of empathy are vital — especially in a society still obsessed with ritual humiliation and tabloid culture that can, and does, cause great harm. And, thankfully, my initial response to Barrymore's style seems to be in the minority. She is holding on to her spot on our screens which is not an easy feat for women. In the last few years we've seen Michelle Wolf, Sarah Silverman and Busy Phillips — all deeply intelligent, experienced women — have their television shows cancelled.

Listen to this episode of The Spill where we talk more about Drew Barrymore. Post continues after podcast.

I don't want to be cynical. In a world that will do its best to make us into cynics, making the deliberate decision to remain open to authentic human connection in the public sphere can feel radical. So, I'm going to choose to embrace what Drew Barrymore is offering because we need more of what she is doing.

To quote another woman who has remained vulnerable and open in a cutthroat industry, Taylor Swift: It's me. Hi, I'm the problem, it's me. Keep doing what you're doing, Drew. I'll catch up.

What do you think about Drew Barrymore's interview style? Tell us in the comments section below.

Learn more about Drew Barrymore:

• Why Hollywood was really so quick to destroy Drew Barrymore.
• Drew Barrymore has a 'painful' relationship with her mum. But she did not 'wish her dead'.
• Drug addiction, emancipation and open relationships: The unexpected life of Drew Barrymore.

Feature image: The Drew Barrymore Show.