Mary Wakefield talks to Tom Hollander

Glutton for punishment

M leafs through the pile of cuttings again, finds one from the Evening Standard and reads: ‘Tom Hollander and his girlfriend are at number three in our list of London’s most desirable dinner party guest couples.’ Just one place beneath David and Samantha Cameron. Fancy.

T: Hello, again.

M: Hi. So what happens after the props and the introducing?

T: The actors all go away and basically get a good night’s sleep, and then the writers begin an awful, ghastly version of the school playground team-picking. It’s like gypsy horse-trading basically: ‘I’ll give you Rufus Sewell if you’ll give me Greta Scacchi. Please, I don’t want Joe Fiennes, does anyone want Joe Fiennes?’ Then when

all the writers have the characters they want, they stay up all night writing plays.

M: And the actors don’t appear again until next morning?

T: Actually, one person last year didn’t turn up. Right at the last minute. That was very, very bad. Unbelievable, actually.

M: Who was that?

A three-second silence.

T (in a dramatic whisper): I can’t tell you! So, anyway, then you turn up to learn your lines, and hope and pray that the writer hasn’t given you a long speech.

M: What did you think when you saw your part last year?

T: I thought: ‘Oh, no, I’m gay again.’ I’ve played a lot of gay men. But it’s my fault. I should have known better than to bring a gourd and mention my mother. Next time I’m going to bring a...lion, which I’ve just killed and dragged down the road.

M (excited): Yes, or maybe an axe!

T (deadpan): No. A lion is better.

M: Oh. OK. So, as an actor, you’ve only really got six hours to learn and rehearse, not 24.

T: Yes, and it’s quite refreshing, actually. You pass through that anxiety which normally takes a fortnight — thinking, oh, no, my part’s too small! Oh, no, my part’s too big! I can’t believe they see me in that way — and you rush straight on to the ‘can I remember my lines or not?’ bit.

M: When you’re watching the other actors’ plays, do you slightly hope someone fluffs it, so as to take the pressure off you?