You wouldn’t say Jim Broadbent is moving too far from his core brand with the upcoming The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. In the adaptation of Rachel Joyce’s Booker-longlisted novel, the busy character actor plays a troubled retiree, married to a frayed Penelope Wilton, who, on a sudden whim, walks the length of England to visit a terminally ill acquaintance. He is a bit dotty. He’s a bit kindly. Who would better suit the role?
That rhetorical question parked, I don’t really see much of Harold in Broadbent himself. Here is a character defined by his inability to live life to the full. In contrast, Broadbent has, over the last 40 years, developed into one of his nation’s busiest and most beloved actors.
He won an Oscar. He has been first-rate for Mike Leigh. He worked with Martin Scorsese, the Wachowskis and Baz Luhrmann. He turned down an OBE because it “didn’t suit” him. No, that doesn’t sound like a life underlived.
There is now a whole different range of characters and stories from ethnically diverse, inner-city backgrounds that would never have been anywhere when I was growing up
“Yeah, I identify with some aspects of Harold’s life,” he says. “I find some benefits from walking on my own – and sometimes longish distances. But, yes, you’re right. He has not lived, as far as we can tell, a fulfilling life. He doesn’t have a good relationship with his wife – not one where they acknowledge their care and love for each other. He’s carrying various heavy burdens. I don’t have any of that. So, you’re right.”
‘Is that your wife? You should be ashamed’: a charity collector’s anti-immigrant hate in south Dublin
Local history: From William Orr and the not-so-united Irishmen to a box of underwear labelled ‘ass sizes’
Owen Doyle: Ireland must ensure Scott Barrett’s claim about Joe McCarthy is not swept under the carpet
Still we all have regrets. Would he admit to any that still dog him in his personal or private life?
“A few jobs I turned down,” he says. “There is a small black book of missed opportunities. Ha, ha! On the whole, no, I don’t have any regrets either professionally or personally really.”
When he mentions those jobs turned down, one inevitably remembers a legend concerning the early days of his career. It is said – and has never been denied – that he was an early candidate for the role of Derek Trotter in Only Fools and Horses. It’s an extraordinary notion. If Broadbent is a droopy basset then David Jason, who played the role for over 20 years, is a snappy Jack Russell. One wonders how that would have worked.
“No, that’s not a regret,” he says. “My CV indicates that I like to do loads of different things. If I had done that I wouldn’t have stuck with it for the decades that David did. I’d have walked away after a couple of series. Which is not to say I’d have been any good anyway. I would have drawn a line under it after a couple of series to do something else. So you’d never have heard of it probably. Ha, ha! My greatest contribution to British culture was being unavailable, so David Jason could create that iconic character.”
Broadbent was born in Holton cum Beckering – a placename you couldn’t better invent for him – in Lincolnshire close to 74 years ago. His mum and dad, both artists, helped found the Holton Players acting troupe in their home village and thus propelled their son towards his chosen profession. Following early education at a Quaker school in Reading, he made his way to art school and then the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art (Lamda).
He was brilliant opposite Patrick Barlow’s pompous actor manager in less-than-epic productions of the imagined National Theatre of Brent such as All the World’s a Globe. He worked at the Royal Court Theatre in the late 1980s – and made guest appearances in Only Fools and Horses as DCI Roy Slater – before properly registering opposite Alison Steadman in Mike Leigh’s Life is Sweet from 1990.
“The whole business is different now,” he says in his amiable, slightly whittery way. This was a few decades after northern talents such as Albert Finney and Tom Courtenay won ground back from the toffs. Actors often argue the business is now less egalitarian than it was from the 1960s to the 1980s. It is harder for those outside the charmed circles to get on.
“It is unrecognisable from when I started,” he says. “I was middle-class, but I had a good grounding from Lincolnshire. I had easy access to a convincing northern accent – coming after the Finney and Courtney generation, as you say.”
Yes, you get a better handle on what the business is about as you get older. You don’t get too over-excited. You could get confused by it otherwise
He goes on to celebrate the mix. Everyone was, he says, on local authority grants at Lamda. Broadbent feels that has “changed hugely”, but he recognises the positives as well.
“There is now a whole different range of characters and stories from ethnically diverse, inner-city backgrounds that would never have been anywhere when I was growing up,” he says.
Broadbent was busy from the start, but he didn’t have to negotiate proper fame until comfortably into his 40s. Life is Sweet was followed by Enchanted April – more of a hit in the US than at home – in 1992 and Woody Allen’s Bullets Over Broadway in 1994. Thereafter, he carved out a career as a warm-voiced personality with a penchant for mid-speed eccentricity. Was he happy that fame came late? (Not that one can imagine him going off the rails and tumbling out of West Hollywood night clubs.)
“I think so,” he says. “Yes, you get a better handle on what the business is about as you get older. You don’t get too over-excited. You could get confused by it otherwise.”
Harold Fry doesn’t much enjoy the attention he attracts as the media pick up on his informal pilgrimage. I would guess Broadbent isn’t fame-hungry either.
“I’ve never had any problem,” he says, sunnily. “There are days like today – with a bit of red carpet at the film’s premiere – I don’t particularly enjoy that aspect of it. But, generally in life, it doesn’t affect me at all. People are pleasant, and I don’t get any bad vibes. I can go about my life normally on the tube and the buses and walking around.”
That Oscar triumph for Richard Eyre’s Iris in 2002 knocked him up another level. It is often suggested that his win in best supporting actor – against supposed favourites Ian McKellen for Lord of the Rings and Ben Kingsley for Sexy Beast – was a major upset, but he had already won the equivalent gong at the Golden Globes. So he wasn’t entirely unprepared.
I don’t understand the American psyche in the way that I understand the British psyche. A lot of the American stuff is coming from a different place. And I like being at home
“I knew it was possible, but it was still extraordinary,” he says with an embarrassed chuckle. “It was a very, very weird time. It did preoccupy my brain for a while afterwards – coming to terms with it. Because it was such a strange, iconic thing to happen. It had been sort of a fantasy, but not a serious fantasy. You don’t actually dream of it or plan for it. When it happens it is a huge shock. But great. The benefits are huge. I don’t have to worry any more. I don’t have to think about my position.”
Every person who has won an Oscar has said the same to me. Just being nominated can have that effect. I am sure it opened Broadbent up to American offers, but that is an avenue down which he rarely chooses to turn. No angry bosses to Keanu Reeves’s harried detective. No evil masterminds in Transformers sequels. He’s too busy digging spuds with Ruth Sheen in Mike Leigh’s Another Year. He’s too busy playing kindly Mr Gruber in the Paddington films.
“I’ve been able to do a few American things,” he says. “But I don’t really understand the roles, because I don’t understand Americans fundamentally. And I can only imagine some American actor of my age being far more suitable for it. That’s an uncomfortable feeling – thinking I’m not ideal for this part, thinking there are people who would be more at ease. I generally like to do things where I think: I can be as good as anyone in this. I don’t understand the American psyche in the way that I understand the British psyche. A lot of the American stuff is coming from a different place. And I like being at home.”
Fair point. Broadbent, married to theatre designer Anastasia Lewis since 1987, has, over the years, never seemed out of his depth or up an inconvenient alley. Which is not to suggest he plays it safe either. He was happy to bellow out mutated pop hits for Baz Luhrmann in Moulin Rouge. He took on an array of roles for the Wachowskis in Cloud Atlas. But he seems to understand that he belongs among the great tradition of British character actors. He is up there with Alastair Sim, Margaret Rutherford, Raymond Huntley, Charles Laughton and the rest of that distinguished legion.
“I’ve been doing it from the word go,” he says. “A lot of actors get to a certain age and – maybe not consciously – think: I’ll have to consider character roles. But I have a head start on that. I have always been doing that.”
So, he never longed to be Tom Cruise (or his Lincolnshire equivalent)? Not even when younger? The romantic lead never appealed?
“Ha, ha! Well, I certainly don’t have a problem with losing my looks.”
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry is in cinemas from April 28th
