INTERVIEW: Simon Russell Beale, 64, reflects on his career as he makes a long-awaited return to the RSC - in Titus Andronicus - where it all began in his 20s
Known as a great Shakespearean actor, Simon Russell Beale, 64, admits nothing was ever planned in his career, as he makes a long-awaited return to the RSC where it all began for him in his 20s. He tells Gill Sutherland about starring in the much-applauded new production of Titus Andronicus, on until 7th June.
IT’S been nine years since you played Prospero in The Tempest, what tempted you back to the RSC?
I was here as a young man and then 25 years break and then did The Tempest, for Greg [Doran]. I remember because the first performance of The Tempest was the night that Donald Trump was elected. And the last night was the night that he was inaugurated.
It’s a funny thing about Stratford, and I’m not saying this because you write for the Herald, but when you start somewhere in your 20s, it stays, so a large part of my heart is here.
So happy memories?
Yes, my family came and saw Titus on Saturday – my brother and sister and their families, they visited me back in the day and they were saying it brought back such happy memories. My little brother is 30 and over in Australia, he’d visited me as a teenager, and he’d come and camp out in one of the digs, happy days.
There is a lot of heart to this place.
What was it like when you first arrived back then?
In my 20s? Oh, God. Well, I hadn’t really sort of done much. I’d done some very straight things, but I’d been in a play at the Royal Court, and the RSC picked me up and said ‘come in’.
They used to have a category called Players’ Cast in the company, which is basically what we used to call spear-carriers.
I was doing interesting parts, but not big parts. I was doing four plays simultaneously, and understudied one of them. So basically five parts, and we had absolutely no time off.
I remember in my first season, we had 5th December off. And Imelda Staunton and Penny Downie and I went off to see Top Gun. I still remember it because it was the only day off in the whole year.
Looking back then, what were your favourite productions and your biggest influences?
It was the first time I’d worked with Sam Mendes, so that obviously was a very formative moment. And I hope for him as well.
Terry Hands was in charge and he introduced us – I didn’t realise that until after he died and Sam told me.
Sam did a production of Troilus and Cressida. which I look back at now and think that was pretty well worth it. It was Sam’s debut and an amazing production, with an incredible cast – Ciaran Hinds and Parson Joseph and Ralph Fiennes. It was just beautiful. Sam was a young man, but not showing off, just very clever.
The Tempest is another; and Chekhov’s The Seagull, with Terry Hands, which sort of changed my life – it was the first time I’d ever seen anything like that.
You were put in the ‘clown’ category in the casting office I understand - where literally there was a chart with actors classed by the type of player they thought they were. But you ended up cast as Konstantin - often likened to Hamlet - who spotted your potential?
Terry – I think. My very first Shakespeare play I did at the RSC was The Winter’s Tale, I was the young shepherd, directed by Terry. I remember him rather puzzlingly saying, ‘oh, this part is always played by future Hamlets’. I always remembered it. There was a famous portrait, I think it’s in the museum here in Stratford, of Paul Schofield as the young shepherd.
Did that give you a frisson of excitement at the idea you were playing a jumping off point for Hamlet?
Well, I mean, I was puzzled. Then two years later, Terry was giving me Konstantin, Katie Mitchell was giving me Oswald [in Ghosts], which is another Hamlet part. And then, of course, finally at the National Theatre, Hamlet himself, directed by John Caird.
I think I was just puzzled. Nothing’s been planned. I never intended to become a sort of Shakespearean. The generation below me, or even below that, I think are much cleverer than we were. Although I think the Hamlet thing probably did grow in my own head. I would be lying if it hadn't occurred to me by the time I’d done Konstantin.
Growing up when did the notion that you might become an actor occur?
I loved acting at school, but it didn’t occur to me then. My family were not literary – both my parents were doctors – they were all musical.
Dad, who’s still alive, was a great amateur musician. And he and I were both choristers. We were both trained to be practicing musicians.
And I went to university as a musician. It was only in my early 20s, when I thought, actually, I’m in the wrong place. I phoned up my dad and said, I want to be an actor.
He said, ‘oh, thank God for that, because we knew that’s what you were going to do’.
At one point I thought of being a merchant banker – it was the Thatcher years, but that lasted about five minutes. Acting became obvious.
Like your dad, an army doctor, you were knighted, which I’m sure made him very pleased – but I wonder when they were most proud of you?
I remember getting a letter from Dad. He never wrote letters. Although when he did, they were always rather good.
But he wrote me two letters in my life. One was for my degree [in English from Cambridge], but the other one was for my performance of King Lear in school. And I remember him writing me a letter, and it was such an unusual event.
I can’t even remember what he said, but it gave the implication that this was something to be thought of in the future. So perhaps then, I don’t know.
I was asked to do Hamlet at the National, which Mum knew about, and then died before she could see it. But she realised the significance of doing that part.
They were very good parents, neither pushed any of us into a particular direction, but equally were very, very supportive of all of us. It wasn’t that they lavished us with praise, but they just spent, they were very enthusiastic if things went well.
Well, they sound great.
They were great, actually, it’s nice to be able to say that. I look back and recall there was never any pop music. I don't think it was deliberate. When I go into a house now, there are kids and adults dance together in the kitchen or wherever, I think it’s weird. They were strict but I never felt restricted.
Moving on to Titus – a great production, but it’s a troublesome play, though, isn’t it?
At first I thought some of the writing’s really dodgy, but Shakespeare was only 22. And occasionally, something shines through, and you think, oh, this is the man who he’ll go on to be.
The puzzling thing about it, is that it might not be a good play, but it’s good theatre, isn’t it? I mean, the moment when my daughter appears mutilated, there’s a sort of extraordinary sense of the play lurching into a different point, a different space. And every time I see it, because I’m off stage, she’s dragged on with blood. And it’s horrific.
And you think, up until then, there’s a sort of element of comedy – ghastly people doing ghastly things. And then suddenly this woman comes on, and it goes into a different moment. The scene where Titus sees her is for me profoundly moving. He’s a man who hasn’t really thought that deeply about anything, and has to face the fact of this mutilated creature that he suddenly realises he loves.
Why do you think Shakespeare wrote it? Or was he just copying other things?
Well, he always copies other things and there must have been a very popular genre. The characters are not so interior, they state what they think, what they feel, and then they do something about it. But you can see Shakespeare sniffing around. What is it like for a father to see his daughter in such a terrible state? What’s it like to feel responsible? What’s it like to feel an overwhelming sense of love?
As always with Shakespeare, a lot of the madness is not so much madness as extreme grief, or extreme love, or extreme sadness. And Titus could be defined as mad. He’s a man who is taking responsibility for this awful event, and it turns his mind.
As director Max [Webster] said after the revelation of the ridiculous abuse [of Lavinia], he sort of loses his mind, and then the whole play loses its mind. It’s almost hallucinogenic. Including that weird scene with revenge coming for him.
Whose idea was it for you to be Titus?
I think it was my agent. Someone else’s! Big generals are not my type of role, but the idea sort of gradually coalesced. I thought it’d be pretty interesting to do that. So my Titus is a retired general – like those big American generals who haven’t been on active service for very many years.
And had you worked with director Max Webster before?
No, we met and sort of auditioned each other. We talked about the racial angles, of course, is extremely important. And also how you define the Andronicus family versus the Goths, and I think I had a clear idea of the sort of people I think the Andronici are – imperious, Socratic… I’ve been around them, and with an absolute assurance that the way they do things is right, and makes sense, and so we’re going to sacrifice a human being, because that's required and no questions asked at all.
I always think it’s interesting that Lavinia is the one with the most racist attitude. She's not some little, fragile victim at that point. She’s a girl from a powerful family, and has been brought up to assume that she'll grow up to be powerful, and I think that's very Shakespearean.
There’s a lot of violence in the play… almost ridiculous.
The thing about the violence in the play, and I’m sure this has always been the case with Titus, is it’s real too. I saw this article in the Guardian about a woman in Gaza hose child had three of his limbs blown off. We fool ourselves, don’t we? But it happens every day – that grotesque and obscene violence is a reality.
Before you go, as you’ve been enjoying your time back at Stratford, hopefully it won’t be another nine years or 25 years before you return?
Well, who shall see. Who knows?
