"Northam Star"
written by Emily
Bearn
Cast opposite Cate Blanchett, Gwyneth Paltrow and
Sharon Stone, adored by women around the world, Jeremy
Northam is a matinee idol. He is also a diffident British
Bloke. Emily Bearn meets him in north London.
The degree of enthusiasm that Jeremy Northam is
capable of engendering among his female viewers can be
gauged by visiting one of his internet fan-sites. Among
the more sophisticated of these is the 'Jeremy
Northam Theatre' where – after scrolling through some
photographs of the actor modelling designer clothes –
visitors are invited to leave him messages on the site's
discussion board. His most verbose admirers are Anna and
Verena from Germany who, in a letter punctuated by reams
of German poetry, beseech Northam to advise them as
to what songs he sings in the shower, whether he is
allergic to dust and the colour of his lavatory seat. The
site also has a counselling page, offering reassurance
to those who feel that their pre-occupation with
Northam is adversely affecting their lives. "Contrary to
what the nay-sayers would have you believe," we are
advised, "being a Northam-aholic means belonging, kinship,
understanding. It's a beautiful thing." Over the next few
months, the fervour of Northam's followers is likely to
be enhanced by the release of his two most recent
films, The Winslow Boy, directed by David Mamet, and
Happy Texas, an American comedy in which he is cast as
an escaped convict.
When I turn up to meet
him at his home in north London (a two bedroom flat
in one of the less genteel parts of Finsbury Park),
Northam is padding around his kitchen in open toed
sandals, his flawless features partially shrouded by a
beard. "I'm shooting a film where I'm playing an
Italian," he explains, handing me a mug of instant coffee,
"and he's got a beard." The first thing that strikes
you about Northam is that he is exceedingly handsome,
a fact about which - if he had visited one of his
on-line fansites – he would by now be aware. "I don't
have a computer so I don't know what goes on on the
internet," he says. "But I do get the odd letter." What's it
like to be adored? "It's nice when people are
appreciative. But what I want them to appreciate is my acting."
Jeremy Northam's rise has not
been meteoric. He was born in 1962 in Cambridge, where
his father was a don, his mother a teacher. When he
was ten the family moved to Bristol, where Jeremy was
introduced to the joys of drama by Oliver Neville, a former
head of Rada. "He and his wife lived down the road,"
he says. "They were the first actors I met – I
became mystified by the whole process." After reading
English Literature at Bedford College, London ("I was
probably the worst-read English graduate I've ever met")
he trained at the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School.
There followed a year of repertory theatre in Salisbury
("I did a lot of pantomimes – I must have been the
unfunniest thing that had hit Salisbury in many a
generation") after which he joined the National Theatre. His
break came in 1989 when he took over the role of Hamlet
from Daniel Day-Lewis who had a breakdown, so the
story goes, after receiving an unexpected visitation
from the ghost of his father on stage. "I can't speak
for Daniel, but I was pretty nervous," says Northam.
"Acting makes you peculiarly vulnerable. Criticism of
your work becomes criticism of you directly."
In Northam's case, the criticism was largely
favourable and, a few years later, he was making his
fledging steps as a matinee idol. In Wuthering Heights
(1992) he acted alongside Juliette Binoche; in
Carrington (1995) he was cast as the lover of Emma Thompson
(a role which seemed to require him to have one hand
permanently fixed to the tiller of a sailing boat); in Emma
(1996) he played opposite Gwyneth Paltrow; in Mimic
(1997) he teamed up with Mira Sovino to save New York
from giant cockroaches; this year in Gloria he was
cast opposite Sharon Stone; in An Ideal Husband
opposite Cate Blanchett. As to the merits of his female
co-stars, Northam is less than forthcoming. Paltrow was
'relaxed'; Thompson was 'lovely'; Sorvino was 'great'; Stone
was 'wonderful'; Blanchett was 'really wonderful'.
The women in his own life appear to be less abundant.
"I'm single and I'm getting increasingly broody," he
says. "Acting is a good life but I'm 37 now and I'm
finding it harder. Not because I'm getting older but
because I don't have a family and I don't have a partner.
Sometimes I think, 'Oh, God. Will I be doing it when I'm
50?'" It would be reasonable to assume that he will.
Since landing in Hollywood in 1995 – when he played
opposite Sandra Bullock in The Net – Northam has won a
steady stream of American roles and, although he has
refused to move to Los Angeles ("I don't want to live
somewhere where the focus is all on movies"), his
popularity in the States shows little sign of abating. In
Happy Texas, due to be released in December, Northam is
actually cast as an American. I ask for a demonstration of
his accent. "I'd rather not," he says. "You'd laugh
at me."
Does he miss the theatre? "I
just love acting, anywhere. But I still do some
theatre. I did a play earlier this year at the Almeida
called Certain Young Men. I played a homosexual." Was
that tricky? "Why should it be? Why should it be any
harder than playing a politician when you're not a
politician or a soldier when you're not a soldier?" Does he
find acting difficult? "It can be nerve-racking if you
haven't got the part in your grasp. I try not to be an
actorly actor – I don't want to be the sort of actor who
relishes showing what he is doing to the audience." Are
there parts he wouldn't play? "If I thought the story
was really disgusting I'd turn it down. I always try
to find a connection between myself and the
character I'm playing. As an actor you sometimes wrestle
with yourself in the middle of the night thinking, 'Is
my soul going to be exposed by the camera?'"
In The Winslow Boy, an adaptation of Terence
Rattigan's play which opens on Friday, Northam plays Sir
Robert Morton, a barrister charged with defending a
13-year-old naval cadet who has been wrongly accused of
stealing a postal order. "I related to Morton's sense of
emotional isolation," says Northam, "and the way in which
his awkwardness with women was hidden by a terrible
arrogance." Arrogance is not a quality with which Northam
appears to be over-endowed. He says that he revels in
being able to walk down the road unrecognised (a
privilege he may not enjoy for long) and his conversation
is peppered with self-deprecations (he describes
himself as unfunny, impractical and badly read). I
suggest that in the acting profession he must encounter
some rather larger egos than his own. "Not really," he
says. "The only prima donna I've ever worked with is
myself."
By now its lunch-time and Jeremy, by way of
refreshment, produces a tin of sunflower seeds (during the
course of the interview he has subsisted on a diet of
coffee and nicotine). I ask for a tour of the flat but
he is reluctant ("it looks like a bomb-site"), so I
leave, unable to assuage the curiosity of his German
admirers as to the colour of his lavatory seat.
