Eileen Atkins

You may think of Dame Eileen Atkins as the acclaimed British stage actress that cut her teeth on the classics at the Old Vic and the RSC, or as the four-time Tony nominee that first won notice on the Broadway stage for her performance in The Killing of Sister George, or as a major interpreter both as a performer and a writer of Virginia Woolf. Or perhaps you think of Atkins as the co-creator of the classic British drama Upstairs, Downstairs, or as a memorable presence in dozens of films Inadmissible Evidence, Equus, The Dresser, Cold Comfort Farm, etc.. If you read the British tabloids, you may think of her as part of a splashy story involving a certain playboy of the western world. But no matter how you think of Atkins, it is likely that you consider her home to be the stage. Turns out, so does she. The esteemed actress recently succeeded Cherry Jones as the starchy nun, Sister Aloysius, in John Patrick Shanley's Doubt on Broadway. With her trademark frankness and wit, Dame Eileen chatted openly with us about her thoughts on London transfers, American accents and yes! that certain hunky someone.

Had you ever replaced another actor before?
Never.

And how did you come to the decision to take over the role of Sister Aloysius in Doubt?
Well, I suppose it's because I know it won't work in London. Friends told me about the part. I know Cherry. I sort of knew that she probably wouldn't want to go to London with it. A lot of friends called me up and said. "There's a part—and Cherry is terrific—but there's a part for you as well. You should check it out." So I got someone to send me a script. I read it, and I thought, "This is never going to go in London." I talked to my agent in England, and he read it and he said, "No one's ever going to like this in England." We put it to bed. About three months after that, they suddenly called and said would I like to take over. I did say no at first and my agent said that there can't be any more audience for it; it's been running for nine months! Then we checked, and there was an audience and people were still going. And I did like the part very much. I like the play enormously. But I just knew—along with Wit and I Am My Own Wife—I knew it wasn't a London play.

What about Doubt made you think that the piece wasn't right for London?
I just know. I'm rarely wrong. I can tell you what a New York audience will like and the other way around, too. I've got a pretty good nose for it. I mean I wasn't the only one who said it. Maggie Smith read it and said the same thing. She said, "Pointless in London," when she came to see it here. First of all, we don't have all these kinds of schools. I come out the stage door here and there are all these groups of people saying, "Oh, you're just like the nun I knew when…" We do have Catholic schools [in England], but they're not predominant, and I presume they have had some trouble with priests, but it certainly doesn't make any headlines in England. I thought, "Well, I love New York. I love coming here. What's the skin off your nose to take over for Cherry?" There is a problem, of course, taking over for someone who's got praises all around.

That is a unique challenge. Did it worry you?
It's an act of slight bravery to do it, but I thought, "Oh well, the hell with it. Go and try." The much more difficult thing really is to make people look at it in a new way. To have a new interpretation.

A distinct difference in interpretation is your dialect. The play is specifically set in the Bronx in 1964. How did you and director Doug Hughes come up with how you were going to put your spin on that?
Well, the fact was that when I read it originally, I knew nothing about the production except that it's been a success. I knew nothing about the way Cherry did it. When I read it, I presumed she was Irish. It read to me in Irish. We haven't had to change one word for it to work in Irish. So then I found out that John Patrick Shanley came from an Irish family. The Irish is in him. And, of course, to the British, all nuns are Irish. Certainly I would never ever do an American accent on Broadway. Ever. I'll do it in London; I'll do it in a movie—but I would never do it here. So when Doug first talked to me about it I said, "I'd love to do it, but you must know now that when I read it originally, I thought it was Irish. And I won't do an American accent in America." I think most British people who say they can do an American accent are so bad at it. I find it excruciating. I find it excruciating the other way around, too. They can get away with it in film, but not on stage. That was sort of the ultimatum. Doug didn't want that at first and I said, "You have to talk to John Patrick Shanley, and you have to decide between the two of you whether that's acceptable or not and if it's not then, OK, find somebody else." And then they discussed it and they decided that was fine. Oddly enough, John Patrick Shanley took it more easily to it than Doug did.

Although Shanley is a bit sentimental in his dedication, I think one of the elements that makes the play work is that he doesn't sentimentalize in the play.
Most people come out saying she's mean. It's not what the play's about. I think that forward is to say, "I may have written this play, but nevertheless, I'm terribly grateful to these nuns."

Do you relate to Sister Aloysius' coldness?
Well, everybody does. Everybody's mean somewhere. The thing is we all have everything in us. When you play a part, you just pull out sometimes. It's more difficult sometimes. Sometimes it's more obvious. I would say in my case, meanness is very obvious. I always enjoy playing mean parts. Always! They're much more fun than playing the good person. The thing is, once you play a part, once you start rehearsing a part, once you decide to play a part, you have to like them. You have to—otherwise you can't play them. I was taught that years ago by Laurence Olivier, who had been taught it by Tyrone Guthrie. [Olivier] said he couldn't play a part, and Guthrie said to him, "You can't play it because you haven't learned to like him." And that is true. So when people say "Is she mean?" I just hold back and say yes, but in my head I say, "No, she's not. She has very good reasons for how she behaves."

I was recently reading an interview with Diana Rigg and she said that she asked you for advice about playing the same part that you played in Honour. And I remember reading another interview with Zoe Caldwell, who also quoted your advice. Is there a sisterhood of actresses that ask you for guidance?
I'm always stunned that anyone asks. I was rather touched by Diana writing me about Honour, actually, because I would never dream of calling up Cherry and saying, "What do you think? Do you think I should take over for you?" Cherry called me and said, "Isn't it great? You'll enjoy it. It's huge fun," and all that kind of thing. But I was very touched Diana wrote me. Siân Phillips did a big tour of The Unexpected Man recently -- and she's a real mate of mine -- and she called up. We're all a lot friendlier than people think.

People think of acting as a competitive field and don't realize how friendly it can be.
People always think we're all jealous of each other. I'm 71, and by the time you've got to your mid-50s, you averagely know where you all stand. You all know who are the good ones, roughly. You might have a moment of, "Oh God, I would have liked to play that part." I think when you're very young, and you're all pushing and climbing, then there's that, "Damn, they got that part, and I could have done it. I could have really shown them on that." But these days, all of us are very friendly. I can't think of an actress—on our level—that I'm not very friendly with.

I read that you said you have a habit of suggesting other actresses for parts. Is that true?
Yes, it's true. I nearly lost my first great break in life, which was The Killing of Sister George, when I was very young, I was only 30. I went in and we did the one reading and they called me back for another one, and I said, "Look, you've got the wrong person. I'm not right for this part." I do tend to do that. I lack in a bit of bravery. I wish I had Judi Dench's. She doesn't even read the script most of the time. She says, "They're all nice people. I'm sure I'll be able to do it." I lack a bit of bravery, though I think I'm being very brave taking over for Cherry.

Knowing and enjoying your long history as an interpreter of Virginia Woolf, it was a delicious irony to see you in The Hours.
I did think that Michael Cunningham's book for The Hours was quite wonderful. He actually said it in one interview, that he had gotten the idea from the book by coming to see me do the role of Vita. When I heard David Hare was doing the script, I thought it would be interesting to see what he does. Then I was actually quite upset, not at the way Nicole Kidman played it, but the way in the end Virginia was presented. Because everything I have tried to do with all the times I've done Virginia Woolf—and the role of Vita in Vita and Virginia and various other things—is to always say to people, "Look, she isn't just a depressive who happened to write books and puts dirt in her pocket and commits suicide!" Then she was developed in such a way in the film script that she came across as a depressive who puts dirt in her pocket and commits suicide—because that's what was necessary for the film. So it sort of upset me.

And yet you chose to appear in the film.
When I was sent the script, I thought, "Oh God." You see, I had just finished a film script of Vita and Virginia. And my script was just about to go, and it was absolutely squashed because of The Hours. It nearly broke my heart. I understood why—The Hours was a much bigger success than anything I had written. I understood, but I just wanted to weep because I thought that was the end of my script for at least 10 years. Nobody would want to do anything about Virginia Woolf. Then when they asked me to do that tiny part, I thought, quite frankly, "This is going to be a good movie; it's probably going to be a great movie. So either you sulk at home or you go in, have a day with Meryl Streep, who you admire enormously. Work with Stephen Daldry, whose work you like, who you've never met. And you're going to be paid. So, what the hell? Go in and do it." I had a very nice day. It was lovely meeting Meryl Streep. There was sort of something very sweet about it because they looked at me like some sort of mascot or something. David Hare was very nervous with me. He sort of kept looking at me.

Do you think he was worried that you knew more about Virginia Woolf than he did?
Yeah, he actually said that. Everyone was so sweet when I finally did it. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I am now, this year, possibly, going to get my script off the ground. But you do have to wait a long time when something like that happens.

In the same way that it's fun to see you in a movie that deals with Virginia Woolf, it was a lot of fun to see you in Gosford Park. There's a little collection of ironic performances for your audiences.
Because of Upstairs, Downstairs? That's funny. You know, [Upstairs, Downstairs co-creator] Jean [Marsh] and I were asked to write Gosford Park, but we were disastrous. We argued all the time about it, and we did a terrible breakdown.

Then you got a role in the end.
There I was in the end and that was really enjoyable, too. It's kind of weird. Things go wrong, at least when you get to my age, but you don't get distraught about anything. You just think, "Oh, well. Things will come around again and something will happen." One's calmer about things.

I think it's wonderful that you continually come back to the stage. You could just be a film actress at this point and not have to do eight shows a week.
It's two separate animals. Somebody said it to me the other night in the dressing room, "How do you bear it eight times a week?" It was somebody who did a TV series who said it. I said, "How do you bear it playing the same part for five years?" That to me would be the most difficult thing in the world. That's what I couldn't bear. The interesting thing to me is, first of all, getting the character. In film, it's done so quickly you're expected almost to arrive with the character and then there's the camera and then you do it. Sometimes it's a lot of fun because you're with good people and it's enjoyable to do and you get some marvelous places. But the actual process of this—even taking over with all the difficultness of [co-star] Ron [Eldard] and I trying to do something new—is a terribly interesting process. It's really exciting to do four weeks rehearsal and then to get it in front of an audience and say, "Are you going to accept this?" And this one is not too heavy. I did find Retreat from Moscow very heavy going eight times a week.

Yes, that was such an emotional piece. It was one of those plays that stayed with me for a long time, as was The Unexpected Man.
I loved doing that! I begged to come and do that here. I miss [late co-star] Alan [Bates] terribly. But I just thoroughly enjoyed doing that piece. There's always a moment, about half past five or six, when you just feel, "Oh, I really have to go to the theater?" And then you get in there and the atmosphere is wonderful. There is wonderful atmosphere at the Walter Kerr, too. Everything backstage is lovely. I like all the actors to do with it. I enjoy their company. If you get a wonderful atmosphere backstage as well, then once you go through that stage door, there's a sort of a lift and a kick and you're off.

Have you seen your Indiscretions castmate Cynthia Nixon in Rabbit Hole?
No, I haven't. I saw one or two things while I was in rehearsal, but she wasn't on. I've seen Cynthia since I worked with her, and I'm thrilled she's had such massive success and is enjoying it.

Back in 1995, having Cynthia Nixon and Jude Law in a play certainly made for good theater, but they weren't huge stars yet. It must be fun to watch the trajectory of certain actors.
Oh, yeah! Jude is quite a power now! It's extraordinary watching his career. It's lovely to watch [Doubt co-star] Jena [Malone] in this. She's wonderful. If you knew how that girl has moved from the first reading to where she is now—she's an extraordinary, interesting girl. I like her enormously. It's lovely.

Dame Eileen, I'd feel remiss if I didn't ask you about Colin Farrell. This was the proposition heard 'round the world.
[Huge laugh and then coyly…] What do you want to ask about Colin Farrell?

Were you surprised by all of the press that came with that?
Yes. I couldn't believe it. I never mentioned his name, and I just did it to liven up an afternoon talk show.

How did it come out?
There was a talk show about sex without strings, and when I came on they were all sort of mealy-mouthed. I said, "Oh, let's not talk about my career. Let's go back to talking about sex without strings!"

And then you shared your own story of a certain offer?
Yes, I said I was thrilled to be offered sex without strings three weeks before my 70th birthday by a gorgeous young 28 year old. I never thought anyone would be even interested in looking up to see who it was. Everyone went on the Internet, and everyone found out. I felt awful for Colin. I felt truly as if I let him down. They said awful things about it. All the men were horrified that a sexy young man should find a woman of that age attractive, and all the women horrified that I hadn't gone to bed with him. He's a terrific young man. The thing I most like about him is that he doesn't care. I was mortified, but he didn't care. I think that's exactly what a young man of his age should feel. He shouldn't care. He's a brilliant actor and an enchanting young man.

He seems pretty carefree. Are you aware that a sex tape of him has circulated?
No, I didn't know that! He presumably didn't put it out for public use. Someone has got hold of it and made some money out of it, right? That's his private business if he wanted to make a tape of something. I have to say, I've never made a sex tape—even when I was gorgeous and young.

These are things I never thought I'd be discussing with you, but your name is linked to his now, so every interviewer like me feels she has to bring it up. I apologize for that.
There were awful things in the English papers. They're much worse than your papers. One day I thought, "It's 10 days after it happened, so I must be able to buy a paper without being shocked." I bought a paper at the Waterloo Station on my way to do The Birthday Party—the Harold Pinter play—I opened the paper and we were the center spread: a picture of him looking gorgeous and a picture of me looking like hell. Right across the top it said, "It's Time He Got Off the Atkins Diet!" I just threw it in a bin. I thought most intelligent people wouldn't bother with that. [Playwright] Tom Stoppard was the nicest. He said, "God, you livened up the British election." And I suppose he's right, though I certainly didn't mean to.

See Eileen Atkins in Doubt at the Walter Kerr Theatre, 219 West 48th Street. Click for tickets and more information.