In the Frame

by Helen Mirren

  Andy quickly put the whole thing into action, bringing writer Peter Morgan and director Stephen Frears into the project. The process of getting the script and setting the film up took another year or so, but finally we were set to go. The final draft was a work of art. Spare, intelligent and unexpectedly poetic. It was the scene with the stag that took me by surprise and lifted the story into something more than pure documentary. It also made me sure that I wanted to do this film. Andy had brought Miramax, the distribution company, into partnership, a great move for the ultimate success of the film. Again we were helped by fact that the head of Miramax, Daniel Battsek, was an expatriate Brit.

  When the roles of Elizabeth I and II were first proposed there was no certainty of them being made at all, let alone in the same year, let alone one straight after the other. However, that was the way the cards fell, and I was stunned when I realised this was how it was to be. My research had to be crammed into a two-week break between finishing Elizabeth I and the start of filming on The Queen. I have a funky old farmhouse in the South of France, and I locked myself away there with a suitcase full of tapes about the Queen, and sat for hours in front of the tiny ten-inch TV, studying her. I had already done some work with the dialect coach, Penny Dyer, before going to Lithuania. She is a genius, coming at the voice and accent through psychology. My work with her was invaluable. Though I never actually got the Queen’s voice quite right, that was my inadequacy, not Penny’s. In a way, it didn’t matter.

  Watching those tapes, I found myself drawn more and more to Elizabeth as a girl. I kept coming back to who she was before she had any understanding of the role she was to endure. Of course she was protected and living in a rarefied world; the wealthy daughter of an aristocrat back when those things mattered deeply in Britain. She inhabited the summit of a society that crushed people like my parents, or rather kept them firmly in place. It wasn’t a world I was enamoured with. In the Silver Jubilee year I had had a Sex Pistols attitude to the Royal Family. However, there was such sweetness there in that person, such concern for others, such a sense of being a ‘good’ girl, exercising self-discipline and doing what you had to do, that I basically fell in love with the human. She also had the best of smiles.

  I was still very nervous, unsure of whether I could do it, when I suddenly felt liberated by the idea that all I was doing was a portrait of her, the way a painter might. I had studied portraits of Elizabeth I because that was all I had for a physical reference. So I also looked at paintings of the present queen, to see what different artists may have seen in her. I thought that I did not have to do the most perfect impersonation, just my personal impression, fed by my own perceptions, as a painter does.

  The building blocks of the performance were my work with Penny, my work in France, and then the costume fittings with Consolata Boyle, the costume designer. When I first saw the costumes laid out, my heart dropped. I am a girly woman, who loves dressing up. That has always been one of my greatest pleasures in my profession. On that level, Queen Elizabeth I was my ideal role, with endless big dresses and loads of jewellery. Here were tweed skirts and sensible brown shoes, Hermès and Barbour. I honestly did not think I could get my head around someone who chose of her own free will to wear that stuff, as expensive and beautifully made as it is. I reckoned without the inexplicable enchantment of the personality of Elizabeth. Wearing her clothes, I realised that this is a woman, unlike me, without vanity, and with a sense of practicality in her clothing. I wore a tiny bit of padding, put on those clothes and walked out into our communal garden to show the neighbours. Out of nowhere, or maybe out of the hours of watching tape, or simply out of the effect the clothes had on me, I slipped into her walk and into her head and found it to be the most comfortable place to be. From then on I loved wearing those clothes and shoes, loved being that character that I thought of as the captain of a submarine, deep and in control, but with a kind of simplicity.

  We shot the film mostly in Scotland, where I know the producers had difficulty finding a big estate willing to allow us to shoot. There was a closing of ranks amongst the landowners against these presumptuous film-makers. I think the estate we ultimately shot in was owned by Americans who had no such compunction. The scene with the live stag was shot with the most terrible stuffed thing as my eyeline. It kept being put up and then laid down again with its legs in the air. It was difficult not to giggle. The later scene with the dead stag was shot with a real decapitated animal. It was much easier to be emotional.

  The tone of the film was difficult to pin down, and none of us knew how to end it. Fortunately, we had Stephen’s sense of humour and intelligence both working for us. The final scene had to be both funny and moving, and at the same time believable. I think it was a case of trial and error, with no absolute plan. We did have that great script, however, and a brilliant director. Even so, when the film was finished and edited it became clear to the producers that something was missing. Nothing is easy. Some new scenes were written by Peter, featuring Tony Blair, played with inspiration by Michael Sheen. It was better, but still needed something. That something was a tiny peep into the heart of Elizabeth, a woman who above all hides her feelings. Peter found this scene difficult to write. I sent in my suggestions and together we wrote a scene that was shot six months after the principal photography had wrapped. It was then spliced into the end of the film. The wonderful score by Alexandre Desplat was added, and finally The Queen was finished. As with all films, as we shot it there was no understanding of the impact the film might eventually have.

  After that primary filming schedule I was almost immediately on to Prime Suspect: the Final Act. By then I was very tired, so it was just as well that Jane Tennison had demons to struggle with and could look awful. Again Andy had brought together a new and inspiring team in Philip Martin, the director, and Frank Deasy, the writer. He had previously asked if I would go one more round with this series, and I thought yes, but that this would be the last time.

  I had imagined that I would be very sad to be playing this iconic role for the last time, but in reality I felt strongly that it was the right time to end. Whenever I had played Jane in the past, I had slipped into her like putting on an old and comfortable coat, worn around the edges and utterly familiar. This time was no different. I was pleased that, thanks to Andy, we could finish the story of Jane Tennison in a realistic and complete way. All along the series had fought towards realism and relevance, and the last episode was no different. The last day was shot as my last day on the force. By then, after eleven weeks of a hard schedule, I think we were all too tired to think of the implications, but Philip with his great sense of humour made it a good day and an easy one to get through.

  So Prime Suspect ended, and with it my brilliant year. Then began the crazy year when all these projects were launched on the public.

  Film stills from Shadowboxer.

  I began my brilliant year as a criminal and ended it as the person who would have tracked me down, the redoubtable Jane Tennison. It was hard to step away from this role that had been in my life since 1991. However, I felt it was time. I was also very tired by then, having done ‘Elizabeth I’ and ‘The Queen’ back to back. You can see it on my face here. Luckily I did not have to look good, as Jane was struggling with alcohol by now.

  Left: In costume. Below left: Pete, our miraculous cameraman.

  Below: A make-up test. Opposite: Learning lines.

  Overleaf: Elizabeth I.

  This is how I looked any time I was not actually filming on ‘Elizabeth I’. I did not have time to get back to my trailer, so would find a quiet corner and try to get Nigel Williams’ great words into my brain. The most difficult lines to learn were Elizabeth’s own words which Nigel had masterfully incorporated into the text. He was rightfully nominated for an Emmy for his work.

  I don’t think I have ever felt so comfortable playing a character as I did with Elizabeth II. This is strange, because we have nothing much in common, either in background or in
interests. I think the comfort came from a love for and respect for all the people of her generation, no matter what their status. It is my parents’ generation. In the sixties I wanted to get away from that generation as much as anyone else. I wanted to overturn and throw out what I saw as the restrictions and narrow-mindedness of the fifties. Now I see that generation in particular as heroes who gave up their youth for a better world. Also I must confess I loved the corgis.

  The two sides of the red carpet…

  When ‘The Queen’ premiered at the Venice Film Festival it was the first time it had been shown to an audience. The film-makers are seated right at the top of a flight of stairs that bisects the auditorium. It is a very exposed position if the film does not go down well - impossible to beat a hasty and anonymous retreat. Likewise, if the film goes well, you must sit or stand and accept the applause, not such a hardship. If an Italian audience likes a film, they give it a standing ovation. At the end of ‘The Queen’ the audience stood and applauded for what seemed like a long time. Then, overwhelmed by the moment, I raised my arms like an opera star. Actually, as I did it, I thought to myself ‘What the hell are you doing, Helen - playing Evita?’ As soon as I could, I put my arms down again, very embarrassed. My husband now can easily bring me down a peg or two by quietly humming ‘Don’t cry for me, Argentina’ …

  Here is another side of the work of an actress – and it is work.

  You win some and you lose some. That’s how Robert Allan Ackerman, director of ‘The Roman Spring of Mrs Stone’, and I felt on losing the Emmy to ‘Angels’ in America. Felicity Huffman, so proud that ‘Door to Door’, produced by and starring her husband Bill Macy, won three Emmys. Everyone won but me. That night I had been nominated for two Emmys, for ‘Door to Door’ and ‘The Roman Spring of Mrs Stone’, but I didn’t win anything.

  One of the most romantic things I can think of is to have a private vaporetto in Venice to ferry you around. Here are my husband and my friend and assistant Sandy at the time of the screening of ‘The Queen’.

  Smile and answer the same question ten thousand times as if for the first time. And then do it all again for another project, and another…

  With Natasha, my nephew Simon’s daughter, at the BAFTAs, 2007.

  Of all the many treats and luxuries I was spoilt with was at last the ability to have a shoe that fitted each foot, one being half a size bigger than the other. This meant two pairs of shoes.

  This was the first (and probably the last) time I have had a real couture dress made for me. Christian Lacroix designed it and his lovely team of talented ladies came to London and fitted the dress, and then on to LA to make sure that all was in order. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, as gorgeous inside as out. I felt so comfortable and, at the same time, so glamorous.

  Left: With Kate on the red carpet. Below: The family get to touch my little gold man.

  Oscar Acceptance Speech Thank you Academy, thank you so much. A huge honour. You know my sister told me that all kids love to get gold stars and this is the biggest and the best gold star that I have ever had in my life. I want to share my gold star with my fellow nominees, those brilliant, brilliant actresses who gave such amazing performances this year. I also share my gold star with the film-makers, with Stephen Frears, with Peter Morgan, with Andy Harries and all the producers and all the film-makers and the cast. Thank you. Now you know for fifty years and more Elizabeth Windsor has maintained her dignity, her sense of duty and her hair style. She’s had her feet planted firmly on the ground, her hat on her head, her handbag on her arm and she’s weathered many, many storms and I salute her courage and her consistency and I thank her because if it wasn’t for her I most, most certainly would not be here. Ladies and Gentlemen I give you the Queen! Thank you, thank you very much.

  Taylor and My Family Today

  One wedding and a very happy clan

  For some reason, even though my parents had a happy and successful marriage, I had no desire or ambition for marriage or children. I love children. I find them funny and inspiring. And I think people like my parents, who sacrifice personal freedom and economic wealth for the well-being and happiness of their children, are the true heroes of our society. But I just did not want that. I loved my life of freedom, and of work.

  I also loved the men I had the good fortune to share my life with. They educated me about boxing and rock and roll and fell walking and dry-stone wall building and photography and sailing and gardening, and above all about how to love. They made me laugh and I think they loved me and I will forever be grateful for that. However I did not want to marry them.

  I don’t mean to be flippant, but I think a part of that was that I did not need to wear the dress. Maybe a lot of women get married because they are longing to wear that big white dress and the beautiful tiara, look lovely and get their make-up done. They crave to be the centre of attention for a day at least.

  I had had the opportunity to experience all that by being an actress. I had beautiful dresses handmade for me, make-up done on me, people looking at me and so forth as a part of my profession. So that particular reason for getting married was not pertinent. I was also happy not to be particularly responsible to anyone or for anyone except my work and myself.

  As soon as I was in my thirties, while giving interviews to promote a piece of work I had done, I found myself being asked about my marital status. It seemed a sexist question to me, as I don’t think male actors were asked the same thing. I would always respond that I had nothing against marriage, it just wasn’t for me. It was not that I didn’t agree with marriage; but that, without being Catholic, I didn’t agree with divorce. What I meant was that I simply could not see the point of being married if there was the remotest possibility of being divorced. I mean, what was the point? It was so easy and pleasurable to live together, and obviously such a pain to divorce. Besides, at that time marriage never seemed such a good deal for the woman involved.

  In fact I had a recurring nightmare about getting married. I would be walking down the aisle, big dress, veil, church full of well-dressed people, knowing that in some hotel there was a vast, expensive banquet arranged, knowing it was a horrible mistake but not being brave enough to say so.

  All my relationships took second place to my work, the fun of it and the intensity of it and my ambitions within it. I continued merrily along this path, having a series of relationships that had all the requirements of passion and lust and domesticity and tears and laughter and love, until I met Taylor. We met, as I have described, on the film White Nights. I was in my late thirties by then and he just a few months older.

  It was certainly not love at first sight. After that meeting in Los Angeles, I would have taken a hefty bet against it if someone had suggested that this was the man I would complete my life with.

  Firstly I had never had a relationship with a director in all my years of work. Somehow that was off limits to me. I could not see how to work properly under those conditions.

  Also, more importantly, Taylor was married, with two children from two different marriages.

  Visiting Taylor on the set.

  But as soon as the film started, and then as it progressed, our attraction to each other became a clear and unavoidable force. Taylor’s strength, which he shares with many film directors, is his positive nature, and his ability to press forward against all odds. One of his faults, albeit usually a charming one, is his precipitous nature. After a separation of six months or so, when I returned to Britain in the hope of putting some distance between the two of us, Taylor turned up in London. With much pain, he had separated from his wife. My fate was sealed.

  My first years in Los Angeles as Taylor’s partner were very difficult for me. Once he had made that complicated decision to take me on board, I felt that for the first time in my life I should put my relationship before my work. It was the least I could do. The geographical distance between our two homes and families meant something had to give if this was going to succe
ed, and I did not want yet another wonderful-but-only-four-years-long relationship.

  Taylor had made major changes in his life for me, and I thought I should do the same. So I arrived in LA, was driven to our new, rented home in the Hollywood Hills, in which we were to live with Taylor’s older son Rio, who was fifteen at the time, and then I was introduced to the very equitable Californian concept of joint custody as far as his second son Alex was concerned.

  It was a whole new world for me, utterly alien and fraught with difficulty. I had no experience with children and I had absolutely no profile in Hollywood as an actress. In spite of my appearance in two Hollywood films, I was not even C list – if anything, I was Y list.

  When Taylor took me to my first big ‘studio head’-type Hollywood party, the tattoo on my left hand was suddenly a serious embarrassment. I told people I’d got it in prison when I was running with a bad crowd. They were suitably horrified that a risen star of Hollywood film-making had hooked up with such a creature. Nowadays of course they all have tattoos, but then it was a sign of total depravity.

  The people who ultimately got me through the anxiety, the embarrassment and my feelings of awful displacement were Taylor’s sons, Alex and Rio. They were always kind to me, and ultimately loving. They had grown up in a world I knew nothing about. They lived a life so very different from anything I had experienced as a child or even as an adult. My arrival in their world had caused upheaval and pain. Yet they gave me sympathy and courtesy from the beginning, and I loved them.

  I also loved Taylor for putting his sons above me. I loved a man whose primary concern in life was his responsibility towards his children.