Tatler October 1999
It's full speed ahead for Anna Friel. She got on at Brookside, changed platforms at Broadway and is now bound for Hollywood. Lucy Yeomans spent a weekend with the star in New York. Styled by Harriet Mays Powell as a silver-screen icon. Photographed by Andrew Macpherson
"God, that's a good strawberry daiquiri", grins Anna Friel, as she sinks back into the pink velvet seat of the gondola. "Double shot of rum, I hope ?", she asks the barman, who is hovering attentively at the water's edge. "That's good. Otherwise it tastes like a Slush Puppie".
The gondola is not poised to explore the canals of Venice, but the main lake in New York's vast Central Park. Messing about in boats is evidently a favourite pastime of the 23-year-old British actress who has been starring in the acclaimed Broadway production of Patrick Marber’s Closer for the past nine months. For when the gondolier appears, resplendent in a red and white striped shirt, he and Anna greet each other like old friends, and he asks about the rock-star friend she was with the other day. As we push off from the bank, he adds: ‘I had Bjork in here last week.’ Anna throws back her pretty freckled face and laughs, no doubt reminded of the banter of cabbies back home.
If you had asked anyone in Britain, this time last year, what the likelihood was of Anna Friel ever achieving international fame, the response would have been decidedly lukewarm. Even now, when you mention her name, men habitually say: ‘Wasn’t she that Beth girl in Brookside?’ Then, as their eyes glaze over dreamily: ‘The one who had the lesbian kiss?’ Woman are more likely to think of Anna’s own doomed and well-documented love affairs — with actor Darren Day, who dumped her for another soap starlet and, briefly, Robbie Williams. Or her famous friendships with the Cool Britannia brigade: Kate Moss, Meg Mathews, the Gallagher brothers, Jude Law and Sadie Frost. Even Anna’s recent performances in the World War II film Land Girls and as Nick Leeson’s wife in Rogue Trader, opposite Ewan MacGregor, have done little to alter public perception.But ask anyone in New York about Anna Friel and the answer will be quite different. Her elfin features gaze wistfully out from several prominent Manhattan billboards. A flick through the US glossies yields snaps of her looking every inch the Hollywood star at the New York premiere of The Phantom Menace. Anna has even been immortalised, along with her fellow award-winning cast members from Closer in one of The New Yorker’s celebrated Hirshfeld cartoons., Then there are the tales of all the celebrities who lined up backstage to pay homage to Ms Friel’s talents: Steven Spielberg, Al Pacino and, most famously. Jack Nicholson, who reportedly left the theatre muttering: ‘Until I sleep with her, I just can’t concentrate.’
The day before the interview, Anna is due to be photographed at a Chelsea studio. Peals of hearty laughter and a strident northern accent herald her arrival. She appears in the doorway, followed by her PA, Becca, and her grandmother and her brother, Michael, who are visiting. It’s a mental struggle connecting such a big voice to this pocket-sized figure, with her tiny crop of red hair and exquisite features. As the hairdresser sets to work, Anna entertains us with tales of life in New York — of having ‘tea with Madonna’ and of visiting, with new friend Rupert Everett, a 24-hour massage parlour ‘where people hang from ropes and massage you with their feet’ - all the while sizing up the assembled crew with her huge, silvery-green eyes.
The offer of lunch is met with a cheery refusal: ‘No thanks. My nan cooked me bacon and eggs this
morning.’ She starts to rifle through the rail of evening gowns. '£20,000 for that’?’ she gasps. But she needs no coaxing to slip into a black floor-length Dior number, complete with ermine stole. ‘My nan’ll die when she sees me in this,’ she giggles, as she sashays out of the dressing room, swaying sexily to a Billie Holiday track. ‘Look at me now,’ she squeals, grabbing her grandmother and waltzing around the room. ‘You should have seen the way my nan and granddad used to dance,’ she shouts over her shoulder. ‘They’d take us down to Blackpool to watch them. They were brilliant. Then we’d go to Blackpool Tower for a glass ol’ milk. It was the best glass of milk ever.’Anna later explains that her grandfather died two weeks ago, and that she insisted her grandmother should come to New York immediately. ‘When I heard he had died, I thought, "I can’t go on stage
tonight, I just can’t." And then my nan got on the phone and said "You will go on. That’s what your granddad would have wanted. Do it for him." I was crying when I went on stage, but when the curtain went up I saw that there was a spare seat in the front row, which was very unusual. And I knew he was watching me.’ Closer was Anna’s first stage appearance. ‘It was terrifying at first,’ she admits. ‘I’d never had any dramatic training. My agent always said to me, "You must do theatre." But I wasn’t going to do it just so I could say, "I’m a real actress now." But then casting began for the London run of Marber’s gripping tale of love, sex and betrayal between two opposites. Anna auditioned but was told ‘to go away and live a bit’. Then, last winter, she was cast in the Broadway production, alongside Natasha Richardson, Rupert Graves and Ciaran Hinds. 'I never realised I’d learn so much, or have so much fun,’ she smiles, stepping into silver Valentino for the cover photo. ‘Natasha’s a great friend. I do miss her now [Richardson left the production a few months ago], but I still go and spend weekends with her, Liam and the children.’That evening, I go to see Closer
. Her performance as the troubled runaway Alice is powerful. Her delivery is quieter than that of the other actors, but this just infuses the character with an added fragility. Upstairs in her dressing room after the show, Anna is hosting a small but lively party. Becca and her brother are there, along with two of the show’s producers and a few of us from the shoot. ‘This has practically been my home for the past nine months,’ she smiles, as she shows me an assortment of snapshots - Anna with her family, with Natasha, with Kate — stuck on the mirror, which is framed with tiny white lights, in true Broadway fashion. Messages of congratulation are wedged under the light fittings: ‘Great to see you the other night... love Tom and Nicole’, ‘Much love... Ewan... Judi Dench... David Rocksavage...’As she stabs at her face with a piece of cotton wool, removing the last vestiges of stage make up, she asks me: ‘So, did you think I was any good? Tell me straight. I need you to be honest with me.’ Before I can reply, she swivels round to face me and says: I’d much rather someone was horrible to me than faked being nice. I can’t stand bulishit. It makes me feel worthless. I want to be the best 1 can. I really do.’ Later. after a few glasses of wine, Anna talks about the difficulties of achieving overall happiness. Her face clouds over and she is suddenly a picture of vulnerability. ‘It’ll be the men who’ll screw my life up,’ she says sadly.
Later, at the Paramount hotel, Anna orders margaritas for everyone. ‘Right,’ she says, like a commander preparing the troops for battle. ‘Everyone must take two sips, and then it’s time for a slammer. And I mean everyone.’ Tequila shots are dutifully downed and the conversa tion turns to boys once again. Anna creases up in hysterics. ‘Shall I tell you the unsexiest thing that I do?’ she giggles, wiping her eyes. ‘I wear earplugs. Every night. Even after sex, I’m like, "That was great, but excuse me. I’ve got to put my earplugs in." The laughter goes on until her mobile rings, just after one o’clock. ‘It’s my nan,’ she says. ‘She’s woken up and discovered that there’s no one in the apartment. I’ve told her we’re all here, and she seems OK, but I’d better get back all the same.’ She hugs us all goodbye, gathers up Becca and Michael and giggles: ‘Granny Friel — that’s what Meg and Kate always call me. I’m the biggest worrier of all.’
The next day I meet up with Anna in’ Central Park after her matinee. ‘I love New York,’ she says, glancing up at the silvery skyscrapers, as we step into the waiting gondola. ‘I think it was two months into closer that I suddenly looked out of the window and thought, "God, I’m in New York. I’m on Broadway."‘I was scared when I first got here,’ she says of her daunting move to Broadway at the tender age of 22. ‘But it was great, because it was as if the Brits had taken over: there was Natasha, Rupert and Ciaran, of course, and Judi Dench in Amy’s View and Toby Stephens. I didn’t know everyone personally at first, but we’d all meet up after our shows. That’s how I met Judi, who is just the most won derful woman and a great mentor. She’d call me in my dressing room and give me little notes. I felt I could talk to her really openly.’
But wasn’t she just the tiniest bit fazed by all the attention she was receiving from folk like Spielberg and the Cruises? ‘It takes a lot for me to be impressed,’ she says, without even a hint of arrogance. ‘Maybe it’s because I’ve been sur rounded by famous people for so long now and I know it doesn’t mean anything. Of course, there’s the odd person who’ll say, "I think you’re amazing", and I’ll be thinking, "I can’t believe you’re saying that." I mean, when I met Al Pacino, I just couldn’t stop thinking, "How can he see me and think I’m any good?"
Surely she must be proud of having achieved success in a city with a reputation for being particularly tough. ‘No one knew anything about me, which was great, because the only thing I could be judged on was my performance. They’d never seen Brookside, they didn’t know about my ex-boyfriends... it was very liberating. There’s too much competition here for people to say you’re good if they don’t think you are.’
But while Hollywood has woken up to Anna’s extraordinary talent she’s just accepted a role in a new Robert Altman film, alongside Richard Gere and Helen Hunt, and is in negotiation with Miramax to star in a big romantic comedy - the press back home remains more concerned with her private life than her new-found success.’ I went back to England for the premiere of Rogue Trader, and all those old questions came up. I thought, "I’ve not missed this. Have I got to live in America to get away from all this?"
Perhaps her upcoming role as Hermia in a screen adaptation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, co-starring Michelle Pfeiffer, Rupert Everett, Kevin Kline and Calista Flockhart will put the final nail in Beth Jordache’s coffin.
" I’d not studied Shakespeare,’ says Anna, matter-of-factly. ‘Well, apart from GCSEs. I wasn’t sure how to do it, but in my meeting with the director, I just said, "All I can do is read the play, and any words I don’t understand, I’ll look up." Anna takes her lines seriously, and insists on regaling me with a lengthy explana tion of the way in which she tackled the role. She takes a deep breath and breaks into Shake spearian verse: ‘"Now I perceive she hath made compare/between our statures. She hath urged her height/and with her personage, her tall personage/her height. forsooth, she has prevail’d with him." Now, that doesn’t make all that much sense, does it’ she proclaims, in an alarmingly school-marmish tone (both her parents are teachers). ‘But then you translate it into normal English and you get: "You think that because you’re taller than me, because I’m a little dwarf, that what you say makes sense, do you? And you think you can just run off with my man’?" Then she concludes, evangelically: ‘People did speak a different language, but that doesn’t mean they never slouched their shoulders, that they never wanted for sex or weren’t jealous.’
At this point, the gondolier inadvertently steers us into the shade and Anna asks if he can possibly take us back into the sunshine. ‘Such a demanding Brit,’ she jokes, to which the gondolier replies: ‘Wow, she really is going to be a star, this one.’ Anna buries her head in her hands and wails: ‘Oh my God, if that’s what it takes to be a star, then I don’t want to be one.’We swing back into the bright New York sunshine and Anna and I shout thanks to the gondolier in unison. ‘Jinx!’ yells Anna with playground enthusiasm. ‘We get a wish now; we both said "thanks" at the same time.’ She stares at me conspiratorially, links her little finger with mine, says ‘One, two, three’, and then tells me to make a wish. ‘Did you wish about a boy?’ she asks, gleefully. ‘You can’t wish for them. They either come along or they don’t,’ she teases, before whining, semi-playfully, ‘God, I want a boyfriend.’
It is clear that Anna, who has been single for a while now, wants to fall in love. She admits, albeit with her customary northern pragnia tism, to being an incurable romantic. ‘The best feeling in the world is being in love,’ she enthuses. ‘My aim in life is to have as much fun and feel as much love as I can. But it’s hard. To do that, you have to be accessible and open — you can’t be that guarded. And in this business, you need to be guarded. And I’m not, which means I’m open to a lot of hurt.’
With her legs now cradled in her arms and her eyes peeking out over her knees, I suddenly realise who Anna Friel reminds me of — a young Edith Piaf. Like the French singer, Anna presents a startling paradox. On the one hand, there’s a fun-loving, intelligent, fearless and determined character. On the other, there’s a fragile, emotional creature, who cares more about love than success. ‘I don’t regret any thing I’ve done in my life,’ she says quietly. ‘I’ve always had incredible dri’ve, ever since I was a little girl. And I’m desperately trying to make sure that by the time I die I’ll have made the best of every single thing I’ve had and learned a whole lot more, too. If I were to have an epitaph on my gravestone, I would like it to read, quite simply "She was enough."
As the gondola pulls up at the bank, Anna uncurls her body and glances at her watch. ‘Oh my God, it’s 715pm — I’m on stage in 45 minutes.’ She skips out ‘of the boat, locates a waiting Becca and hurries out of the park. Suddenly she spies an empty taxi in the dis tance, ‘Quick, we’ve got to get that one,’ she cries, as she sprints off teetering precariously in her high heels and overtaking a couple, of astonished rollerbladers. Becca smiles ruefully. ‘She always does this. I’m like, "Anna, there are a hundred cabs we can take", but she only wants the one she’s seen.’ We finally catch up with the actress, smiling triumphantly by the taxi. Anna Friel got the cab she wanted. With her drive and talent, there’s no doubt she’ll get most things in life she wants. Let’s just hope they bring her happiness.