Hopkins: I've never been so happy

10 April 2012

Every Saturday morning when he's not filming, Sir Anthony Hopkins heads for a warehouse near Santa Monica airport, Los Angeles, which houses The Ruskin School of Acting. And there he stays for most of the day, teaching a group of wide-eyed students who can't quite believe their luck. His only remuneration? Coffee. And don't assume Hopkins (who tells the students to call him Tony) is doing any of this for altruistic "giving something back" reasons.

"Oh, that's far too Mother Teresa," he half-laughs. "I do it because it's interesting and they seem to get something out of it and they seem to enjoy it. I had become slightly cynical. So when a friend of mine asked if I'd like to go to her acting class and give a talk, I told her, 'I'm not a teacher'.

"She said that was fine, so I went and they asked me questions: How did I do this part or that part. And I said, 'I learned my lines and I did it'.

"They'd say, 'Is that all'? And I'd say 'Yes'. They insisted there had to be more to it. And I said, 'Maybe there is, but that's all I do'."

The biggest problem with his students, he says, is: "They want to do too much. They attempt to complicate it. I learned very early on that it's much simpler than people make it. I let the students do a scene and have their round of applause, which is good because it's affirming. But then I'll say, 'Let's break it down, let's get rid of the furniture unless you need it'. I just try to bring them to a place where they are relaxed, without fear, without anxiety."

Do his big-name co-stars complicate it too? "I have worked with people who complicate it, yes. So I just wait in the dressing room until they're ready to do the scene." Are there any potential stars in his class? "One at least. This young actor was so good that I recommended my agent to go and see him. I haven't seen him since but I heard he had an interview with one of the studios. He just held his space and waited for them all to settle down. He reminded me of Russell Crowe a bit. He had that kind of power. I told him he should be working. I'm not there to try and help them out with their careers, not at all. But I recommended him to some people."

The 64-year-old Hopkins has just completed filming on his latest film The Human Stain opposite Nicole Kidman. There are, he says, some raunchy scenes, though he declines to elaborate. Word is, he is not only naked in it, but naked with Kidman. But he doesn't really want to talk about that. Hopkins, it seems, does not want to talk about much.

IT is not that he is a curmudgeon, though many of his answers point to this being the case. He seems amiable enough when he arrives in the LA hotel room, dressed in a yellow shirt, khaki trousers and tweed jacket, hair cut very short. He drinks the tea made black for him by a publicity girl who doesn't know how he takes it. He eats the biscuits provided, and offers me some. But there is nothing in his manner which suggests he is remotely interested in conversing on any topic. I have been forewarned by another publicist that questions about his recently finalised divorce from Jennifer, his wife of 29 years, or US citizenship are off-limits.

And there's certainly a perceptible sigh when he hears my English accent. He doesn't quite say it but he left England to get away from the English, and from "everyone taking about the thee-etter".

He's not big on actors of any nationality, it seems. "All actors ever want to do is talk about acting." Hopkins has no interest in a discourse on acting, nor his current film.

Ask him what on earth he is doing starring in an comedy-action thriller with famous black American comedian Chris Rock - his new film Bad Company - and he replies: "My agent thought it was a good idea. And Chris happens to be a very good comic and I happened to be a not very bad actor. That's the only difference between us. He showed up on time. I showed up on time. He did his stuff and I did mine. It's as simple as that."

He declines to mention whether he has subsequently decided Bad Company was not a good idea - the film's US reviews have been abysmal and its box office less than impressive.

He presumably banked a decent pay cheque, but won't discuss money either. "I'm not Tom Cruise. I don't make $20 million a picture. I'm not in that category, not in that class at all." Suggest he's considered a powerhouse actor and he snorts: "That's just Hollywood jargon."

What does he spend his money on? "I have a Steinway piano. That cost a bit. And good shoes. I'd buy a private plane if I could afford to, with someone to fly it for me. Smoked salmon on a private plane. That's not bad."

The impression Hopkins conveys is one of utter boredom, yet when he talks about his life, he insists it was never better. "I wish I was having as much fun 20 years ago as I am now. I'm as happy as I can be. It's nice here.

''That's why I came here. There's no reason for anything. I thought 'This is a very pleasant climate' and then life takes you on its course. You just make your decisions and go along with them." He has his problems with LA, nonetheless.

"Years ago, I would drink anything, I could chew. Now, no one drinks, smokes or eats carbohydrates. Everyone has to wear sunblock. We live in a weird world which is being destroyed by political correctness."

Hopkins does a poor impersonation of someone having fun, but perhaps he does at home in Pacific Palisades - an almost beach-side community which recently topped Beverly Hills as the Los Angeles area boasting the highest home prices.

How does he spend his down time? "I love to walk, especially on the beach. I love the mountains, the sea. And I love to read, usually about five books at a time." Recent books by his bed include August 1914 by Solzhenitsyn and Seven Lessons From Chaos.

"That's a long essay on the nature of life and chaos. Not heavy stuff." He laughs to himself. He likes to ruminate on life and the chaos of same. Pragmatism, it seems, is not his bag. "Embrace the chaos and disorder and have fun with it. I just do what other people do. Walk, read, have breakfast." He breakfasts at local coffee shops where he orders pancakes, and loves to potter in his garden. He reportedly has a thing for roses, but admits to planting only "Californian flowers".

He used to love long drives and I ask if he still does. "You've been reading the papers," he says in a slightly accusatory tone, as if reading up on him is an invasion of privacy in itself. "I do like to drive still, but not so far. I have one of those cars, I don't even know what it's called (Toyota Prius) that's half-gas, half-electric. It does 50 miles to the gallon. Very nice. If you're in a traffic jam and everyone is blowing their horn and you happen to be stuck outside a cemetery, I just think, 'I'm in my car. I'm not there'." And he laughs harder than he has since I arrived.

"This is really nice. What's blowing my horn going to do? It's not going to get me through this traffic. You've just got to go 'Oh!'(And he

pauses, very deliberately.) That's what it's about. You get out and smell the flowers and drink the coffee. We're in LA-LA-land and that's just part of life."

It's not too shallow for him? "I'm all shallow. Everything is shallow. Nothing is for real."

Playing and composing music remain enduring passions. "I have a computer keyboard and make music, but I have no idea if it's good or bad. I'm going to start

working with a music teacher next week, going back to basics. I'm going to ask him about composing, and if I might take a course in composition. I don't know. Everything is flexible, everything is fluid. maybe next year I'll be conducting or composing. I have no plans."

Does he worry about getting older? "You face certain things as you get older and think, 'Well, time is running out'. But all the thinking in the world isn't going to get you closer to the truth. There is no truth either. There are no answers. We either shore ourselves up with religion or whatever to stave off the terrible inevitable, which is mortality. But finally, it's all mean-ingless. I do like to keep the brain working. I learn poetry for that. And playing the piano is a good mental and physical exercise in co-ordination."

Does he ever play for anybody else? "No, only on my own." Never for his friends? "I have very few friends. I live my life according to my principles and I'm free." There is no mention of his rumoured girlfriend, nor it seems much room for one in what passes for a terminally single life.

He admits that he became an actor because he "wanted to be rich and famous like Richard Burton".

Was it worth it? "I don't know. I've arrived I suppose, whatever status it is I'm supposed to have. But the rude awakening is that nothing really changes. I can eat only one meal at a time. I can sleep in only one bed at a time. It's all a laugh. It's a joke really."

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