Felicity Kendal Mark Lawson Talks To...

Many performers boast long careers,

but Felicity Kendal first appeared on stage as a baby,

in India, in a classical acting troupe run by her parents -

the subject of the film that launched her professional career

at the age of 18, Shakespeare Wallah.

As a stage actress, she's continued to play Shakespeare,

including Much Ado About Nothing,

and new works such as Peter Shaffer's Amadeus,

and eight plays by Sir Tom Stoppard,

including The Real Thing and Arcadia.

Her TV roles include Rosemary And Thyme and, most famously,

The Good Life, in which her performance

as a Surrey housewife green before her time

helped to create a programme

that audiences have been glad to see recycled for four decades.

Because of your family's theatrical background,

it seems inevitable that you would have become an actress,

but was it, or did you ever consider anything else?

It was inevitable because I was trained to do nothing else.

I had very little schooling.

I mean, I had a lot of schooling, but it had no effect whatsoever

because it was scattered over 13 or 14 convents in India,

and I probably went for two or three terms a go,

and then they moved onto the next one.

So, I mean, it was very haphazard,

and I was put to work when I was 12, probably a little bit before,

but certainly by 12, I was working full-time.

I wasn't going to school any more.

So I wasn't qualified to do anything but acting.

I had been trained.

I also the imprint from my father,

who said that the only thing in the world to do is to be an actor.

Never own a house,

have no possessions if you can possibly avoid them,

play the best plays that were ever written.

That was sort of imprinted from a... You know, not just on...

I heard him say this, not just to me,

but it was his sort of mantra - that's what you do.

Shakespeare, Milton and the Bible, the word - that's what's important.

"You are born to be an actress. You're from two acting parents.

"We're training you to do this." So that was already there.

Then I went through a period of thinking it would be awfully nice

to be a secretary and have a short, tight skirt, read magazines and be like Doris Day or something.

And then I eventually got to be a sort of older teenager

and rebelled against this and thought,

"No, I don't want to tour India for the rest of my life

"playing Shakespeare - I've done this since I was a child.

"I've had enough."

At about that time, Ismail Merchant and James Ivory

made their second film, which was Shakespeare Wallah,

with my brother-in-law and my sister, and my father...

And which is, in effect, the story of your family.

Well, it's a sort of bastardised story

because they actually had a great deal of fun,

and the film is slightly nostalgic and beautiful,

and it's about the end of the Raj in India.

We were actually vagabonds.

No way at the end of the Raj we were just having a riotous time,

living the life of gypsies.

So it wasn't actually the story, but there was a similarity.

Good morning.

Good morning.

I hope you weren't too uncomfortable here.

Oh, not at all, it was lovely.

I think you're just being polite.

I'm sure you're used to much better than this.

Much nicer than I can offer you.

Sometimes we go to sleep on station platforms.

When you're tired, you don't mind.

You don't hear the station bell going every time a train comes in

and we don't have a bed.

We just lie down on a stool,

and cows and people and dogs walk all over us.

Don't you believe me?

'I got to the point - I then made the film,'

and was now at point where I thought, "I must go and work in England.

"I must get a job all by myself. I can't just stay here."

I'd never thought of doing anything else -

I was 17 - I thought I would be an actress, or an actor.

And, luckily,

the film went to the Berlin film Festival,

and then onto the Academy in London.

I came to England green, with a slight accent,

and far too much jewellery and dark hair.

And absolutely no qualifications, having not been to drama school.

So, shock horror, "How can you possibly act?"

And your father was horrified?

He was more... He was beyond horrified.

He was insulted, devastated, angry,

heartbroken,

shocked, and...

It was the worst possible idea anybody could have, he thought,

to go back to what he had left,

which was degradation and the dole, you know,

possibly.

And, even worse, maybe doing terrible, terrible plays

in the West End, really bad work, and being famous.

That was also a terrible possibility for him.

So it was a no-win situation.

Anyway, I arrived and stayed with my aunt

in the house I was born in, actually.

Thank goodness for her - she saved my life by giving me somewhere to live.

Cos I had no money and no opportunities and no work.

And I tried to get an agent, and I failed dismally.

I couldn't get an audition, I couldn't get an agent,

I couldn't get a toe in the door

of this wonderful world that I am now part of.

And I then thought, "Well, I have to do something else."

But I didn't know what it could possibly be

because I'm very bad at spelling and I have no qualifications,

and even the jobs that I went for with the...

You know, writing to the Bristol Old Vic, and the Old Vic,

they said, "Send me your CV. Where did you go to drama school?"

"Well, I didn't actually. I was brought up in India,

"travelling with a theatre company playing Shakespeare.

"I have done a lot of work, I have been on stage a lot..."

"Well, if you have no qualifications, you can't get a job."

So at the point of despair -

and it was, after a year, pretty despairing -

Ismail Merchant got me an agent

because he was a wonderful man and people did what he told them,

and he got me an agent.

This question of luck, it amazes me in actors' lives, this,

the way things turn on chance.

In your case, The Good Life, which we'll talk in more detail about later,

but which you recorded in this very studio on Sunday nights...

-Ghosts.

-Yeah.

There is that bit of luck,

being in the right place at the right time.

The first bit of luck I had was with the BBC, actually.

I couldn't get work for love or money,

and my then agent had Sarah Miles,

and she was going to do what was offered -

a two-hander with John Gielgud.

Those were in the good old black and white days.

The thing was that I couldn't get a job,

the agent said, "I tell you what.

"There is this other person I've just taken on the books. Why don't you see her?"

So, yes, I happened to be there and I got it.

If Richard Briers hadn't come to see The Norman Conquest,

we wouldn't have done The Good Life.

-The play with John Gielgud - that was The Mayfly And The Frog.

-Yes.

He was very reluctant to have me,

to start with - I had to go and audition...

Well, not audition, but have lunch.

It was, I think, only the second or third television play,

but he'd always done something he'd done on stage first.

It was the first time he was actually going to create a part,

and he wanted to be surrounded by actors that he trusted and knew,

not some young person from India who he had no idea

if I'd ever been on a stage before.

Anyway, I went and had lunch with him, and he was...

I just fell in love with him. Charm beyond belief.

And we did The Mayfly And The Frog.

I was a little plump.

The director said to me, "Well, you can have this part,

"but you have to lose half a stone and go blonde."

I was quite dark.

So I lost half a stone and went blonde, and that's it!

-The rest is history!

-The rest is history.

Don't worry, you're safe with me.

What about my 25 bob?

I never give money away under any circumstances.

Now I'm going to show you my paintings.

I've already seen your etchings.

Don't be impertinent. I'm going to show you my paintings

because they happen to be just on the way to the front door.

When I interviewed David Dimbleby recently,

who came from a different kind of showbiz dynasty,

he said that in his later years he slightly regretted the inevitability of it -

that he went into his father's profession.

It's as if he never made any decisions about his own life.

Have you ever felt that?

Well, I think...there was a point...

when I wished this hadn't been imposed on me

because I couldn't do it, and I couldn't do anything else,

and I was not qualified, and I was angry.

And round about that time, and I was living with my aunt,

I went to see Timon Of Athens with Paul Scofield...

at Stratford.

I saw a matinee, and then I went back to see the next matinee in the week

because I couldn't believe the wonder

of that performance, and the magic of the theatre.

I had not...

I'd been in plays all my life with my father's touring company,

on desks and in little halls, and all over the place,

and beautiful theatres sometimes, but I hadn't actually seen great acting.

I would say with all honesty that was the week that I knew,

"No, he's right. This is the world I want to belong to."

I just want to be in that space

with this kind of magical world

where you can... For some reason that you can't explain,

one person can control nearly a thousand people.

Amazingly, only about 15 years later,

you were actually acting with Paul Scofield in Amadeus and Othello

-at the National Theatre.

-I know, yes.

-Spooky.

It was a bit spooky. It was spooky.

He was, again, an extraordinary, extraordinary actor to work with on the stage.

He was so incredibly relaxed.

We should talk more about your childhood in India.

It seems... People have seen Shakespeare Wallah,

people have read White Cargo, the memoir...

It seems extraordinary and exotic,

your childhood, but does it seem so to you, or is it just normal to you?

It didn't seem exotic at the time.

I thought it was very normal, and I was a very...

I think my reactions to it were like any child -

sometimes it was fun and sometimes it was boring beyond belief

to have to get up at 5am and get on a train.

I've taken with me an amazing ability to travel - I love that.

I find nothing easier than getting up in the morning and going somewhere else,

with a lot of luggage or with no luggage.

But I didn't realise how magical it was.

I think it was a gift

that was probably almost unique for a child

for many reasons.

One, because I was travelling all over India,

to some of the most beautiful places in the world.

In the evenings, I was listening to Shakespeare, sleeping in the wings.

So I had this incredible education, if you like, of language.

I was then surrounded by a group of completely potty,

mismatched, in some ways,

multicultural, politically incorrect people,

who I was with 24/7, apart from the odd moment when I went to work.

I also travelled with a menagerie of animals,

because that's what I wanted, so they let me.

A cat and dogs,

and mice and birds.

I mean, ridiculous!

But it was free, absolutely free.

Sometimes I'd be out in a field somewhere where they'd be working

and I would be playing with the local goat.

I remember doing things like climbing trees,

eating fruit in the trees because I knew... A guava or something,

because I knew what was there.

So this extraordinary combination of being in touch with nature,

being physically very comfortable as I was always warm,

having very few restrictions, except for the fact that you had to do work.

When I had to work, I had to work, so there were restrictions.

But it was... And then suddenly going overnight on a bouncy bus

all the way up to Simba with a lot of actors getting pissed and screaming and laughing

and singing, and then arriving

and having to do The Merchant Of Venice in the morning.

It was unusual, and I think I was very, very privileged

to have that childhood, though I didn't appreciate it at the time.

You also saw two sides of India because you say in White Cargo,

sometimes first class,

sometimes third class on the train, depending on how the debts were.

The difference between the weeks would be

one week we'd be living with the Maharaja in a palace

and hosted - we were being guests of,

and the next week we'd be in some dark bungalow with cockroaches coming out

and snakes running around in the loo,

and we would have absolutely no money at all,

or there would be suddenly a terrible scourge of influenza

and all the cities and towns would close down, and the schools,

and we'd have no money,

so we'd be stuck in some ghastly little hotel.

You cannot describe how ghastly it could be

unless you've been through that.

But it was... It was gypsy-like, I guess.

Kendal was a theatrical pseudonym. The family name was Bragg.

-Now, a great Cumbrian name, carried on by Lord Melvyn Bragg...

-Absolutely.

-Yes.

-You're not related?

-Yes, we are!

-You are?

-Yes, he found out...

It's quite far back, but certainly there is a connection somewhere.

No, my father was born in Kendal

and he was eventually a very young actor who became an actor-manager,

and in those days you had to have a posh name

and Bragg was not a posh name.

There was a point... Even with Maggie Smith,

she was brave at that period not to change her name,

because Maggie and Smith, of course, now it's absolutely magical,

but he thought that Bragg was not,

so he thought, "I need a more romantic name

"if I'm going to be an actor," and he changed his name to Kendal.

And he'd taken a very bold decision. From the account in White Cargo,

he seems to have been be a very bold and determined man. In the 1930s,

in Britain, in the depression, as a young actor with your mother,

he immediately wanted to set up a theatre company.

That was always what he wanted to do.

I think my parents met when they were both working in another company.

They were very, very young and he fell in love with her.

He said she came in in a white coat and a little beret

and he fell in love with her on the spot and that was it.

They were very young and they fell in love

and then they thought they will start their own company.

They toured Redditch and Bath and Hull and everywhere.

And then I think he...

The war eventually came out, and he was a conscientious objector.

He didn't think he wanted to kill anyone or be killed, probably!

More the latter.

And that didn't go down very well so he thought, "All right,

"I can't be a conscientious, they'll put me in jail, so let's join ENSA."

So they went to India with ENSA during the war.

Military entertainment. Every Night Something Awful...

Every Night Something Awful, and I'm sure...

THEY LAUGH They both fell in love with India

and they played the containments and the Army barracks

and some of the public beautiful theatres there.

And so when they came back after the war,

to the depression, if you like,

and cold and gloomy and rationing, and he just thought,

"I can't, we can't do this any more. We've got to go back."

So he went. I was just born after the war and I was a little baby

and he went back for three or four months

and did a little bit of a tour and he had a lot of contacts.

I don't know how, but he was that kind of a guy.

He knew the maharaja, he knew this and he knew that.

So he got a six months tour, thought, that was it, wonderful.

Came back, had another look at England and thought,

"Sod this for a game of dominos. I'm not living here," and went back again.

And then I was, what? Four or five,

and I never came back till I left home, as it were.

From the account in White Cargo, your mother... You suggest quite clearly

that she put your father and acting ahead of the children.

She was a very strong woman.

Didn't look...was pretty small, quite a delicate little creature,

but she was really a little iron lady.

And she had to make...

I think she had to make a decision at one point

when they left to go to India during the war -

my sister was older - and she had to make a decision,

she either went with my father and joined ENSA and spent...

She didn't know then whether it would be three... They didn't know where they were going.

They couldn't ring back and say, "By the way, I'm in Delhi."

They literally went abroad and nobody heard what happened,

because the secret war and all that.

And she had to make a decision between leaving my sister,

who was 12 and leaving my father.

And she chose to go with him.

So I guess Sophie's choice, in a way, but for her, not.

And all her life she did have the...

You absolutely knew that she was his sidekick,

she was his partner. She was going to stand by him, whatever he did.

There's a detail beloved of profile writers, and I can understand why,

that you have almost literally spent your life on stage,

because you did play a part even as a baby, they used you in a production.

I think I was brought on when I was months old as the changeling boy in Midsummer Night's Dream,

the traditional one - you just put it in a basket.

And I had to be somewhere,

my mother was feeding me. So that's what I played.

You learned from Paul Scofield and others you acted with.

Did you learn from your father as an actor?

Did he formally instruct you in things?

I think I learned some things from my father

and I learned some things from my mother.

I think the main thing that he had when I started

was that the whole point is your sound,

the sound you make is your instrument

and that's how you will control your audience, how you will convey

what you feel and my mother was very, very keen on elocution,

so you don't slide down at the end of a line. "I'm coming to tea tomorrow."

"I'm coming to tea tomorrow."

Those sort of little... All little tips and things.

Again, you don't start, if that's the wings -

I mean, this is drama school stuff - but if the wings are there

and you're going to come on, you don't start acting here.

You start way behind so that by the time you're on, you're already way into it.

It is too late to go on and start.

Things like that that are just basic rules.

And as we said, your training as an actor

was being in your parent's company and in India and other places.

Have you ever fantasised about three years of RADA,

four years in weekly rep, that it would've been better?

Or are you satisfied that that was your education?

I'm not sure I've thought about that very often,

but thinking about it now,

I wouldn't have changed the training I got as an apprentice.

I think, in fact, I find it rather sad, the way it's so extreme now,

the only way into the business is through school.

And the apprenticeship,

which used to be there even after drama school and the big companies

where the young actors could go and watch Scofield

and carry a tray and watch Vanessa Redgrave and Maggie Smith

and Peggy Ashcroft and just be on stage with these greats,

and you learn. I mean, you copied

but there's nothing wrong with copying the greats.

And that is not available, that apprenticeship.

So my reaction is no, I was really lucky to have an apprenticeship

of hours and years of learning how to put a wig on,

learning how to make up, learning how to polish the props,

learning how to... I was backstage doing stage management for ever

when I was little, in-between going to school.

After the success of Shakespeare Wallah, you come back to England.

This is your portrait from White Cargo of yourself

at that time when you came back to England. "I had come to India as a tiny child.

"I could eat hot chillies, I spoke fluent Hindi,

"but at 18 I had never been near a pair of stockings,

"owned a coat or worn gloves.

"My history lessons were of Nurjahan and the great Mogul Empire."

-So you were, in effect, an Indian when you came back.

-Oh, absolutely.

Absolutely. I'd grown up speaking... I can speak, it's not perfect,

but I have no accent, I have a very good accent,

I don't have an English accent when I speak Hindi.

And all the coats and the bits that you need,

I couldn't cope with it.

I just didn't understand it.

I didn't understand the way you had to make an appointment to go and see somebody.

And you didn't just turn up and they say, "Come and have lunch."

That kind of Eastern hospitality that I had grown up with,

I found sorely missing here, to be honest.

I found it was quite a cold country to come to from India.

Although the paradox of this is quite early on, the lazy description

from theatre critics and journalists would be how English you were,

the typically English actress.

I know.

Was there a kind of going into the phone box and transforming moment?

My mother and my father spoke what they called the Queen's English.

Though I had an accent with my friends and in India,

my mother's English was very '40s, I guess.

It was that kind of slightly plummy.

And the big... It really took off in the mid-'70s,

because of that double with Alan Ayckbourn's Norman Conquests

and The Good Life. We talked about luck earlier, but that is simply,

the fact you were offered those two things

and the link between them, that one led to the other,

I mean, it's a classic example of how that luck works.

It worked, yes, it was luck.

It was also... And Penny was in The Norman Conquests as well.

-Penelope Keith, yes.

-Penelope Keith.

But I think it was one of those things that just happened.

And Richard Briers came and then he came back with the director,

and they said, "There's Penny, the next-door neighbour.

"That's absolutely perfect."

And I remember, Richard - Dickie, as I call him -

coming into the dressing room after the show and saying,

"It was very good and I have a script,

"but it's not going to be very successful."

He was, of course, you know, a huge star for the BBC then.

I mean, huge, huge, huge.

And I certainly wasn't and neither was Penny

and Paul Eddington wasn't either.

And it was all hanging on Dickie and he said,

"I just want you to know I don't think it's going to be like my other series - long-running and wonderful.

"Don't get your hopes up, because it's a quirky little idea

"that a very few people might like,

"but I like the scripts, I think it's funny

"so I'm going to send you a script. Would you like to read it?"

And that was how we started,

not thinking - I mean, £100 or something, I got -

not thinking in any way that it would go on.

It was literally for the love of those seven scripts.

And The Good Life, John Esmonde and Bob Larbey, when you read that first script,

did you see her immediately, Barbara?

No, what I saw was I wanted to work with Richard Briers.

I mean, it was as simple as that.

And I thought, "Right, I've seen a lot of the things he's done,"

and I thought to be actually cast opposite him so I can work with him...

It's always been something that's been really, really important to me - not so much the part,

but the writing and who I'm working with.

And all the way through my life, so far,

things have worked out well for me when I've loved the script

and I've worked well with the actors.

And those are the choices that I've made and that was certainly the case.

I thought it was a very good script, very funny, very witty,

very economic, if you like, and I wanted to work with Richard Briers.

It'll be just us.

Doing it for us.

What do you think?

Hey?

What do you think?!

I need to think.

-Garden?

-Yes.

-Right.

'She was outrageously, sickeningly cute,'

but that was a decision to do it like that as opposed to it being...

a sort of realistic representation of how I was.

I mean, it was actually acting.

But hopefully it doesn't look like it,

so then that's where people get confused.

Whereas if you do that performance on the stage

and then you go home and go to the pub, they don't think that was you on stage.

They know you were acting, because there's a great big proscenium,

or curtain, or division.

But they hadn't realised when they cast you, you were perhaps one of the few actresses

-in English Equity who had worked with goats in your childhood.

-No.

-That must have been quite useful.

-That was very useful. And he hated them.

Dickie, two or three things that he hates in his life

and how he managed to put up with The Good Life, I don't know.

It was his idea of hell.

And mud? I mean, it's very funny.

But we did laugh for years all together, it was an amazing, amazing group of people.

But that's the interesting thing because on some series,

particularly in America, there's a jockeying between the actors

and they want more money than the other one.

But it was genuinely tranquil, was it, on The Good Life?

I think one thing that made it tranquil,

we were all theatre actors and there is very much...

there is a democracy in the theatre, there has to be,

because you're reliant on somebody else.

Richard Briers, he had trouble learning the lines, didn't he?

-He did.

-He used to have them written around the set.

He used to have them written in little slips behind the teapot,

or stuck onto a chicken or something.

And... I mean, we did laugh all the time. It was too, too funny.

I say this as a fact rather than a criticism, in sitcom acting,

there isn't a lot of development, is there?

It's clear watching those shows, you, Penelope Keith,

-Paul Eddington, Richard Briers, you had those characters down.

-Well, they did write for...

I mean, Penny, actually, Penelope's character was not in the first, I think, one episode or so,

she only spoke when she said, "Jerry," or something like that.

And the second one, she did a little bit and they suddenly realised, "Gold dust here,

"this is absolutely... It cannot be the Goods

"and then the next-door people. It's got to be equal.

"All four people are as wonderful as each other."

So they did, you know, they did start writing for us.

And then because they're writing for what you do, you do it more easily.

There was... It's hard to believe, but there was a point, I think,

when the two boys in one episode had to get very drunk

on the wine that we'd made, or some kind of stuff,

and that was written into the script

and Penny and I said, "Excuse me, why don't we get pissed as well?"

And, you know, we had to go to the top, top...

Because they said, "No, we can't have two darlings,

"young-ish darlings, on television getting drunk.

"Can't say various words

"and you can't have a woman who is supposed to be not, you know,

"down and out, getting drunk."

And we said, "But it's going to be fun and we've got to do it."

So, God bless him,

the director, John Howard Davies, said, "No, we're going to film it like this

"and we can edit it out if you don't like it."

And it was one of the funniest things.

SLURRED: Gerry...

..I'm a married woman.

Well, so am I.

I still fancy you.

SHE GIGGLES

Gerry, you mustn't stir things up.

It's very flattering, but you mustn't say things like that.

-Of course, one reads about it in the papers.

-What?

Wife swapping.

-It does happen, you know.

-SHE GIGGLES

To give people a sense, who don't recall how big The Good Life was,

on one occasion you had to leave studio six,

which we're in now, and go to the biggest of the BBC studios.

It seems astonishing now, but it's all recorded on film.

The Queen attended a recording of it.

Yes. There was... The BBC did a special thing where they said

the Queen was going to attend, Her Majesty was going to attend

with Prince Philip, was going to attend a live recording.

And they chose - I'm not quite sure who chose -

but they chose The Good Life

as being the one they were going to come and see.

-It's said that the Palace asked for The Good Life.

-Well, I don't know.

'Probably if it's said, then it may be true.

'So we were told, "You're going to actually be in a bigger studio,"

'and not only that, "You're going to have to perform for the Queen," which, of course, I quite liked,

'because my father absolutely was in his element.

'He thought it was wonderful.'

And the little corridors and the whole entrance of the BBC,

that week, all you could see were men in white overalls painting and polishing,

there were red carpets laid,

the studio had sort of leather seats and bunting, if you please!

And flowers everywhere.

We couldn't, we didn't know where we were. We'd never seen anything like it.

And, of course, an invited audience that was going to be polite

and if they weren't polite, they were terrified,

because they could see, in the front row,

Her Majesty there in full tiara and evening dress.

I mean, the works.

And we were there with our goats in our wellies.

And it was a complete opposite of the audience that went, "Wow!"

when he, Dickie forgot his lines or make silly, rude jokes

about the other actor falling in the bucket.

We couldn't do that because we were so afraid that we would say a rude swearword,

or something would happen, so we were all slightly stilted.

However, once it started, it was a great, great show.

But it wasn't raucous in that way.

But it was an extraordinary thing to have done those recordings

in the studio with a wonderful, you know, anoraked audience in front of you,

random people picking their noses and laughing

and then, suddenly, all you can see are jewels and bunting. It was surreal.

TV fame, it's an extraordinary thing.

If you're in one of those really hit TV shows such as The Good Life,

people will recognise you for ever, essentially, but that's something you had to adjust to,

the level of public recognition after that.

Yes, it came very quickly, quite early.

I think in one sense, it wasn't too obtrusive

because they loved the characters.

So instead of being aggressive, or yeah, yeah, yeah,

it was all the same, endlessly, remarks. "I thought you made your own soup.

"I thought you grew your own cabbages.

"Why are you buying a chicken?"

It was always the same line and you just got used to it. It was banter.

But that was quite, quite sudden that happened to me

and you don't get that kind of recognition

unless you're on television every week.

And I think probably the thing that's unusual about The Good Life

is that it's still being shown. So that continues.

Mind you, somebody did asked me the other day, "Are you still working?" MARK LAUGHS

Yes. SHE LAUGHS

Have you ever become irritated by the durability of The Good Life?

I think I went through a phase where I was, but it was about a week.

And I'm not quite sure why, but it was like... Oh, I know what it was,

I'd just done something which I was incredibly proud of,

which was two plays in a row over two years and it was good work.

And I did an interview and nobody wanted to know about it

and all they wanted to talk about was The Good Life. I thought, "Come on,

"get up to date, that was then and I'm not like that.

"I'm not sweet and funny and milking goats any more."

So, yes, it lasted a week and then after that it sort of turned,

because I thought, "How extraordinary to have done some work

"that people are still watching."

And also when I flick it on sometimes,

which I don't, I don't think I've ever watched an episode right through,

but you're scrolling down, saying, "What fun can I have tonight?"

And there it is, The Good Life and I thought, "I'll have a quick peek,"

and I'm thinking it's going to be embarrassing, and it's extraordinary,

the scripts are so good.

And the other three... I mean, I hate myself, but I always did.

And the other three are so...

And it's very, very well done.

So how nice is that, that it's still there?

-So you do hate watching yourself?

-Oh, I do.

I don't watch, I probably should have, it's too late now.

THEY LAUGH

How are we doing?

Well, sure we don't get much leisure time these days, but who needs it?

I mean, take Margo and Jerry. Right now, they're probably lolling about in their Swedish armchairs,

-sipping martinis, vegetating in front of their colour telly.

-HE CHUCKLES

I mean, who'd swap for that?

I bloody would!

Of the roles that followed The Good Life -

we've talked about Amadeus and Othello at the National Theatre with Paul Scofield -

-Clouds, Michael Frayn's play with Tom Courtenay in the West End...

-Yes.

..which was significant, because, directed by Michael Rudman, that's where you met him

and then you've subsequently... You've effectively been married twice.

-I'm now not married.

-But...

-I call him my boyfriend.

SHE LAUGHS

He's been your husband, followed by a gap and now your boyfriend.

I can't remember how the offer came,

but probably just through Michael Codron...

-Who's a theatre producer.

-Who's a theatre producer.

And I love Michael Frayn's play, and this had been done in Hampstead,

and they said Tom Courtenay. I thought, "Wow, what a combination."

And then I met Michael Rudman and Tom Courtenay one evening

and I didn't think much of Michael,

because I thought he was rather American.

I sort of slightly fell for him during that.

But he wouldn't ask me out, which was rather cross-making,

because I was in the play that he'd directed

and he didn't think that was right. Anyway.

But when it finished, we went out

and that was...that was the next...

terrible chapter in my life.

-Terrible?

-No, no, no.

Most of the... I mean, in the end,

most people meet their partner at work or at university.

Those are the two places. But is it more likely in show business?

I think it is.

I mean, my first husband I met doing a two-hander

and I think one of the things is you meet somebody

and you have to become very intimate with them very, very quickly.

So a lot of barriers go

and if you do get on, you get on sort of double quick.

It's like the glue sets faster.

And some people have done it but it is quite unusual to divorce someone

and end up with them again later.

Yes, I don't quite know what happened there.

I think we divorced very badly,

because it didn't take, so it didn't work.

We actually went out to dinner the night we divorced. It was...

something that maybe, you know, luck and whatever,

maybe we need not have done that,

but because those bonds were still there later on,

they just... I just ended up back where I started, in this case.

The playwright in whose plays you've most often appeared -

apart from Shakespeare - Tom Stoppard, almost 20 years of work.

On The Razzle, which was an adaptation, The Real Thing,

Hapgood, the radio play, In The Native State,

which then became the stage play Indian Ink, revival of Jumpers.

During that long period, was he actually writing parts for you?

No. Well, not at the beginning, no.

And then Michael Codron again, my champion producer

when I was much younger, did Tom's next play which was The Real Thing,

which people think, or I've read, was something to do with me.

It had absolutely nothing to do with me, he wrote it before I hardly knew him...

-He's made that clear. It was a play about a playwright, who...

-A playwright and an actress.

It would be nice to think that's art mirroring reality,

but it wasn't. Maybe reality mirroring art later.

But certainly not, that was not the case.

I think he then... I would say the play that he wrote for me was Indian Ink...

..because that really was related to India. He grew up in India,

it's to do with sisters, and that was definitely...

It was actually, as you say, a radio play.

-In The Native State.

-In The Native State.

And we did it with Peggy Ashcroft, it was amazing.

And funny story about that. We did it and there's a scene, you know,

when she takes off all her clothes because it's hot. And...

There are two instances in accepting a play that I hadn't thought through.

One was I'd done the radio play, so when it came to going to the Aldwych in the theatre,

I thought, "I've done it, of course I want to do it,"

and only after having the thing, I thought,

"She takes her clothes off," which of course on radio is no problemo.

It doesn't matter what you do on radio.

You don't have to take them off, unless people think you do, you really don't.

And that time, In The Native State, when you were doing that in radio,

that was the time when the gossip columns were going mad.

It is said there were tabloid reporters outside Broadcasting House

-when you were recording that play because they were on the trail.

-Yes.

-That is true?

-That was.

-I was actually in Hidden Laughter, which was a Simon Gray play.

-Simon Gray, yes.

And that was a time when, yes, you had to...

It was all that flashing stuff going on a lot.

It was... I mean, I think anybody that's been through that...

You know, I with everyone else reads the tabloids and reads the thing,

and having a haircut and there I am saying, "Oh, look at that.

"Can you believe what she's wearing?" and all that, it is natural.

But it's pretty uncomfortable when you're going through it.

But, as I say, you know, if you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.

You can't...

I haven't been burnt in the way that a lot of people in this business have.

But also it's interesting,

because at the time there's the whole enquiry into privacy and the press going on.

You and Tom Stoppard tried to keep it as private as possible.

Neither of you wanted to be in the papers with it,

but, in the end, it's impossible, isn't it?

I think any kind of friendship like that,

I mean, the thing is that the combination of what people write

and what is the truth - somewhere in the middle is actually the truth,

and a lot of it is a waste of space trying to say, "Excuse me,

"the real truth is this and this."

Because people may not believe it,

and, anyway, if something else is written, it's written.

I mean, we were incredibly close friends for a very, very long time

and I think it's because I divorced, that's when it all became...

Which had actually got nothing to do with the friendship with Tom.

And it is, you know, it is what it is.

You can't go back and say, "Yes, it was exactly like that."

It isn't something that I talk about a lot,

basically because it's a period

where there was a lot of unhappiness with a lot of people,

for all sorts of natural reasons, which we were going through.

I'd just had a little boy

and I was being very unhappy about all sorts of things I had no reason to be unhappy about,

so there was conflict at home which ended in a divorce.

And I think the fact that he was there as a friend,

then everyone jumped to conclusions very quickly. Um...

and we continued being very close

for quite a few years and he wrote... We worked very well together indeed.

But neither of us are the kind of people who say,

"Actually, this is actually how I feel and this is what happened."

We tend to both be quite secretive about certain areas.

-Would you work together again?

-Oh, absolutely. Absolutely.

You haven't for quite some time

but that's because the roles weren't there.

I think it isn't. I think it's because, you know,

he wrote for different people at different times.

I would be...

I would be quite surprised if we didn't work together again.

That would be a surprise to me.

1989, Best Actress Award from the Evening Standard. Now, your father would have approved of this,

Much Ado About Nothing and Ivanov, Chekhov and Shakespeare double.

That's the kind of thing he wanted you to do, isn't it?

Absolutely. I mean, that to him was... That's exactly what he wanted.

I remember I did something which got very good reviews

and it was some series a very long time ago and he said,

"This is not how you're going, is it?"

And then I auditioned for a film, which was a Bond film,

which I didn't get and he said, "Thank Christ for that."

-Which Bond film?

-I can't remember. It was quite a long time ago.

It was for one of the dolly birds, which I was completely not right for.

And he said, "That's fantastic!" I said, "Are you crazy?"

But, yes. That was his idea -

do Shakespeare and do it well.

The problem The Good Life gave you was following it on TV,

and there were various attempts. When you look at it now,

-you worked through all the possible relationships a woman could have.

-Yes.

There were the two Carla Lane shows,

there was Solo, in which a woman, her boyfriend cheats on her, she's on her own,

there was The Mistress, in which she's having an adulterous relationship and then,

which wasn't Carla Lane, it was Michael Aitkens, Honey For Tea, in which you were playing a widow.

-Were you conscious you were going through the variations?

-I think I was.

I think, in a way, they were all too similar,

even though they were different stories.

I think, looking back on it, what was wrong

was that I was very successful at being slightly kooky.

But I think what happened was when a script was written for me,

they still tried to use some of the same ingredients in it.

And because I wasn't playing that part, it didn't quite work.

And I think I would have been much cleverer to go for something

a little bit... something more extremely different.

And I think that was what was wrong.

They were still quite cute little women,

and as the years went on,

people wanted something a little bit more challenging.

Oh, you're back, are you?

How do I feel? I feel fine, just fine.

I attended to all my enemies. Gave up my job.

Got three others, left them, and fell off my bike.

I've completely confused my mother. She thinks I'm a lesbian.

How do I feel?

How do I feel?

I feel frightened.

It's also the bad side of TV fame, isn't it? I am told by the BBC

that some of the audience reaction to The Mistress was,

"Barbara Good is having an affair. We can't..."

Oh, they didn't like that at all. They really didn't like that.

In fact, I got quite a lot of rude letters, saying "How can you play this kind of woman?"

as if I was letting Barbara Good down.

But, as I say, even so, it was still quite funny and sweet,

whereas if that character had been edgy and aggressive,

it would have removed itself from Barbara so much they wouldn't have objected, if that makes sense.

-I thought we'd take a weekend.

-Don't say anything.

Don't try and make up to me, don't say a thing.

-When?

-Soon.

-Where?

-Anywhere.

-How?

-Somehow.

It's not my fault we're in this mess.

You could have ignored me that first day.

You gave me the come-on.

Oh, yes, I go to bed with everybody who comes into the shop to buy flowers for his wife.

The question of feminism, because when we look back,

you were Rear of the Year at one point, at the peak of your...

-More than once.

-More than once.

-How many years?

-I think two.

Did you ever have feminist qualms about that kind of stuff?

The qualms I had were two things, one after another.

They said "You've won this Rear of the Year."

I thought, "Well, that's nice." "And you get 70 pairs of jeans."

I thought, "I wear nothing but jeans, bring them on, send them round."

"OK, we're sending them round tomorrow and we're sending a photographer with them.

"So when you try all the jeans on, three pairs,

"please have some photographs taken looking at your butt in these jeans."

I said, "No, I'll get the award, but I'm not going to have my photograph taken looking at my butt,

"but send the jeans, by all means."

And I never got the jeans. So that was my take on that.

In other words, no, you can't photograph my butt because you give me an award.

It's an astonishingly sexist idea, isn't it?

Yes, so that was my reaction to that.

And I think also, thinking about it,

even though I was playing fluffy Barbara,

I've always done exactly as I wanted on my own terms,

and I think that is what we are trying to fight for.

Having said that, in our business it is a little more equal than in a lot of businesses.

You do go in there as an actor on a par, maybe not the same money, but that comes later.

But more equal than in your early days, because in the early days of your career

there was blatant sexism and indeed sexual harassment, wasn't there, in showbiz?

I think there was, and I think that's why I considered myself a feminist,

and I never considered myself to be a little woman

who wanted to please anyone unless it was on my own terms.

When I went into the business, early on in the auditioning days,

it was absolutely the norm to hear or experience

that one was chased round the desk,

and you would get the job if you went out to lunch,

dinner and maybe a few more things.

Certainly in films, certainly with agents.

There was a couple of famous people who only took young girls on

if they were very, very sweet to them.

Things like that. And I have to say,

that kind of thing I immediately just would have nothing to do with.

Not out of an idea that... in a moral sense,

just because... No! SHE LAUGHS

Looking at the roles you played in theatre -

new plays such as Humble Boy by Charlotte Jones,

Vortex by Noel Coward, a revival -

have you generally just waited to see what you were offered,

or do you go out and seek roles?

I usually wait and see, and I think the plays that excite me,

like Humble Boy, it is writing, it's new writing,

which is odd, because I was told, "Do the old stuff."

I have been asked now and again if I can think of something to do

and I really invariably can't.

I can think of 100 wonderful parts to play, 100 wonderful plays to be in,

but I've never got the courage ever to be one of those people to say,

"Let's put this on, I'll be good in this, I'll make you money back."

There are certain types of roles that have recurred.

You've played a lot of drunks and a significant number of male roles,

so you played the principle boy, as it were, in On The Razzle,

and then Simon Gray, or one of the Simon Grays, in The Last Cigarette,

his final play he wrote with Hugh Whitemore.

So we can talk about why that is. Why so many drunks?

You liked playing those?

I don't know. I just...

It isn't it's so many drunks, quite so many drunks.

In Amy's View, I got her drunker than I think she should have been,

because I like doing it.

And I'm reasonably good at it.

It's quite a challenge to be pissed but not completely drunk.

And it's just something I enjoy doing.

Also it means you can drink all the way through the evening,

which is awfully nice on a hot summer's evening in the theatre,

to know you can go and pour another gin and tonic that's water, and go like that.

I don't know, it's very physically liberating as well, to be drunk,

and maybe I just know what it feels like. SHE LAUGHS

And playing the male roles -

you've got an unusually deep voice for a woman.

-Have I?

-You've got that register.

-I can go...

-It goes deeper than most women.

-Yes.

Well, I grew up playing boys, didn't I? So I suppose it's also that.

I'm very comfortable being a man, that's how I started,

with Puck and all those Balthazars.

Oh, my goodness, yes, exactly.

When the reviews of Shakespeare Wallah came out, we might have thought

that you would have a more significant cinematic career than you have.

Have you regretted that?

Yes, in that I'm greedy.

If I have something I really do think I could have curbed by now...

I always want more of everything that's going.

And I suppose now I wish I'd had more of a career in films,

but then I go back to what I said earlier on -

it's that one thing leads to another,

and I very definitely chose to always choose theatre or a play

against something maybe more lucrative or further afield.

I always chose not to go to Broadway, which...for all sorts of reasons,

usually do with a child.

One could say it was a mistake now,

but it was my choice, and I had the time with the children.

So I can't say now honestly I don't, but on the other hand,

I wouldn't have had, which I have had, the line of new plays,

one after another after another,

with these wonderful, wonderful modern writers,

which I think in itself cancels out any regret.

Strictly Come Dancing -

some people remain snobbish about these TV talent shows.

Did you have any qualms about accepting?

Well, I'm a bit of a groupie. I love that show, anyway.

For me, I don't see that as a reality show in the same way,

because the things that I think are slightly insulting

is making a tit of yourself, you know, in public,

or putting yourself up to be made to look an idiot or a fool.

And that, I think, is degrading,

and, you know, don't take the money, don't do it.

So you're talking about things such as Celebrity Wife Swap, and...

-Yes, things like that.

-..I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here.

Where potentially you're going to fail looking like a complete prat.

You know, the worst of your nature is going to be shown to a lot of people that don't know you,

and your family may be very embarrassed, but that's the possibility.

The thing about Strictly that's different is you're learning a craft,

you're learning something with professional people,

not just people filming you, but professional teachers.

So that was something that I immediately wanted to do when they offered it.

A lot of people said, "Are you insane?"

I didn't regret a minute of it.

I loved it.

And you get so fit!

BOTH LAUGH

White Cargo, which you wrote while your father was dying,

it only takes your life up to the late '70s.

Will you ever write the other half of the memoir?

SHE SIGHS

Do you know, probably not. Because I don't think it's that interesting.

It's boring to me to write it down, because I've done it already,

so why do I want to write it down and bore everybody else?

-But they want the relationships, don't they?

-Yes, exactly.

I always said no, because it's not interesting to me to write about relationships,

because I'm interested in the one I'm in now.

But then what happened was my father died,

and various things to do with the history of India,

and the extraordinary life that I lived as a young woman, young child

learning to act on the stage, in Shakespeare in India...

I thought what he did was interesting, and he was dying,

so I wrote White Cargo for him.

It was actually an autobiography but it was about his bringing me

into the world of the theatre. It was not about my relationships.

Very impertinent question, have you had or would you have cosmetic help?

I think it's too late.

I think if I was in films, I think there is absolutely no question.

I don't think you have a choice. It's the same way as you do with teeth.

You can't... I mean, you either do it or you stop working.

But I think if you're an actress in the theatre,

I think it's probably a mistake.

So, no.

-You never have and you never would?

-No.

No, I think because my career relies on me playing parts

that I'm the right age for,

so why would I try and have a bit of me that looked younger?

Unless you could start at the bottom and lift, which you can, of course -

but then you don't look like anybody - and lift everything up,

it never would match.

Few people like getting older, but you're in a profession

where there is this very cruel gaze, particularly at women,

looking for signs of ageing, counting wrinkles and so on.

-Do you inevitably become neurotic about it as an actress?

-I think you do.

I think you do as a woman.

I think the female thing is, "Oh, gosh, here we go,

"this ten years, now I am here."

But I think when I was 50,

I was less happy to be 50.

Now I'm...52... MARK LAUGHS

..I'm very happy to be here,

because I'm sort of, in a sense, I'm a very good version of it.

Touch wood. Where's the wood? MARK LAUGHS

I'm very fit for my age,

and you do get very... you get quite brave about things.

Things don't worry you in the same way.

And I also, I think...

Another thing about regretting being in films,

I think if you're in films, it must be horrendous,

because you really do have a sell-by date,

and otherwise you are playing grannies,

and only grannies, because of the number of lines you've got on your face.

So that must be very hard to take, because you still want to work,

and you can only work in a restricted way.

But I think in the theatre that doesn't happen.

So I think, you know, I flick on The Good Life

and I think, "My goodness, that's a very a smooth little face."

But then I also think "You haven't had the experience I've had,

"and you haven't done all the wonderful things I've done,

"and you're not as brave as I am now, so..."

-Felicity Kendal, thank you very much.

-Thank you.

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