Rufus Sewell

It's a couple of days before Rufus Sewell's fortieth birthday, and he is feeling good. "This is the age I was meant to be," the darkly handsome star says over tea shortly before an evening performance of Tom Stoppard's Rock 'n' Roll. The actor is certainly in top form as the rock-obsessed Czech dissident Jan in Stoppard's crazy quilt of a play which somehow encompasses Communism, Sappho and Pink Floyd, directed by the surefooted Trevor Nunn. It is a happy reunion between performer, playwright and director—the trio also collaborated on the world premiere of Arcadia in 1993. Since then, Sewell made his Broadway debut in a short-lived 1995 revival of Brian Friel's Translations, became a father and appeared in numerous films—first as the brooding romantic lead in such works as Cold Comfort Farm and Middlemarch and later as the go-to actor for bad guy parts in films like The Legend of Zorro and The Illusionist. Sewell, who won an Olivier Award and an Evening Standard Award for his performance in the London production of Rock 'n' Roll, now seems to be hitting his stride with a wider range of parts, including one of the meatiest roles on the current Broadway stage.

What did you think of Rock 'n' Roll when you first read it?
It's probably less clear to read than to watch. I've said this before, but once I've hit upon an idea that can roundup my thoughts, I stick to it. The advantage for me in doing Stoppard is that I am partially thought-blind.

I've heard you use that term. What do you mean by it?
[Laughs.] I mean I'm a bit stupid. That's what these euphemisms are for, you know? Getting around the point.

You felt that way in reading the play?
It was evident to me that in the big speeches you could follow an argument through, and you were aware that it was brilliantly written and very exciting and witty. The basics of the story—in terms of the real big things that happen to people and the romantic ending—all of those things were clear to me. And yet there was so much I didn't get anywhere near. But I knew from my experience in Arcadia many years ago that there would be a nice man in rehearsals who would explain it to me—or at least help me figure it out. I just don't knock myself on the head with it, and I think that's the thing when watching it, too. You get what you get, and you can't kick yourself about what you missed.

So you had this "nice man" in the form of Trevor Nunn explain the play to you in rehearsal. How did he do that?
Trevor explains in that way that very generous people do as though they are just recapping what you already know. And you find on the way that you have basic facts you've completely missed explained to you. He tends to ask questions that you perhaps might be a little afraid to ask. It's wonderful having someone like Trevor, who will say, "I still don't get it." Because he's Trevor Nunn.

He's confident enough to admit it.
Yes, he has that confidence, whereas there's a point when I sometimes just want to look like I understand. That's the difference I've discovered between being at your best and not being at your best: being brave enough to ask questions.

Were you ever intimidated by Tom Stoppard and Trevor Nunn?
They're intimidating at the thought of them, and then, after all is said and done, they really are intimidating. But in between you've got the cuddly bit—and that's what you work with. They are very encouraging and warm and coaxing. In a way, they are also very manipulative, but it's done so that you don't feel your buttons being pressed, which I'm quite happy with. I only don't like feeling my buttons being pressed, but I'm quite happy to be manipulated.

Tell me more about the cuddly bit.
Stoppard, for example, has so much generosity that you find that you say quite funny and intelligent things when you talk to him—or at least he doesn't stop you from feeling that. He brings that out in you in the same way that on a successful night watching a Stoppard play, you come away feeling, "Oh, I'm not that stupid actually!" Then, of course, by the time you get home, you may feel a bit stupider. And in the morning, when you're asked to explain it, it's fucking hopeless. He kind of loans you that intellect.

Is it the same to play his characters?
In playing this part, I feel like I'm much smarter than I am when I'm on my way home.

It's easy to compare the character of Jan with Stoppard, who was born in Czechoslovakia. How do you avoid thinking of this character as a stand-in for the playwright?
I don't think of it that way because it's not a very useful thought. Then, again, any one of the characters that are in full flight are a stand in for the playwright because it gives them the benefit of his entire understanding and sensitivity. But he started off with an idea—it can't be denied—of a doppelganger. But that doesn't mean I'm playing Tom or thinking, "Oh, how does he scratch his nose?" Occasionally, I start to take a special interest in his cardigans, but beyond that—no.

On opening night of Rock 'n' Roll at the Royal Court in London, you had Vaclav Havel, David Gilmour and Mick Jagger in attendance. Did you know they would be there? Were you nervous?
I was more worried about whether or not my wig would stay on [laughs]. You hear rumors, but you can't be thinking about the audience at all when you are in the moment. There are so many things to worry about, but if I had known that Havel and Mick Jagger and the Plastic People of the Universe and half of Pink Floyd were going to be there, I wouldn't have been able to get the words out.

What was it like at the party afterward?
It was kind of hallucinogenic. It was strange because most nights I'm just going home to Hammersmith on the District Line. Then suddenly there's this ridiculous event. But it was wonderful because it felt like they were really into what we were doing. It didn't feel just like a social gathering; it felt like we had gotten an enormous reaction.

It's amazing to me that here's this playwright with a great reputation for being an intellectual, and then when you least expect it, you realize he's quoting Pink Floyd.
He's a rocker!

He looks like one.
He does. He's into his record collection, and there's something fantastic about that. He is also a scholar and an intellectual, but he likes his rock 'n' roll. When we were in rehearsals in London, he took us to see the Rolling Stones. We all went like a school trip.

Wow. Did you go backstage?
I think there was a possibility of it, but we nixed it. It was just rocking out with Tom Stoppard.

Some people might think the play has a misleading title.
Oh, yes. Towards the end of the run in London—because We Will Rock You is on the other side of town—we would occasionally be met at the stage door by disgruntled East German mullet-headed fans, who didn't feel that the ratio of Queen songs per act were up to what they had come to expect.

Are you happy to be back in New York?
I love it. It's great! When I did Translations, I loved the experience. It wasn't a great hit, but I still had a fantastic time. I've wanted to come back to New York ever since.

What do you love about it—that the subways run all night?
Oh, indeed. The subways run all night. That's it! That and the tacos.

It was announced in 2005 that you would star on Broadway in Conor McPherson's Shining City, but it never materialized. What happened?
I don't know. All I know is I came out here, put my money on an apartment and then got a call saying, "Oh, it's not happening." I came out of it quite badly, but I'm really glad that it didn't happen because now I'm doing this, and who knows how it would have worked out. It was a huge disappointment for me, and no one really explained what happened.

Is it true that [Shining City and Chicago producer] Barry Weissler offered you a stint in Chicago as compensation?
He did. I didn't return that call. He called to say, "Rufus, I've had the most amazing idea!" But I didn't respond.

Have you ever been in a musical?
They're not my cup of tea. I don't like them. As soon as they start singing, I think, "Oh, fuck off." There was a period when musicals had a kind of innocence. When you see Guys and Dolls or something like that—there was a wonderful, irreverent wit to the rhyme and a cheek and a panache. But from basically the '60s onwards, I don't have time for them.

How did you become an actor? Was it something you had always wanted to do? It was something I wanted to do as a child—among other things. I mean, I wanted to be a drummer, too. I went off acting for a while. I stopped doing it in school because I didn't like the school's little drama society. They would do musicals for the parents. It was all the most popular kids and none of them were any good. And I wanted to be doing Berkoff or something. I ended up joining a drama group outside school when I was about 16 and that got me seriously back into it.

What happened with Judi Dench?
We were ships in the night! [Laughs] Um, no. She came to give us a talk in school because we had this "face to face" thing that Mark Wing-Davey, who was running our school at the time, had organized where he had actors he knew come and talk to us eager little toads. At one point Ben Browder, who is now in a series called Farscape, put his hand up and said the unsayable, "Will you come and direct us?"

Did you all cringe?
Yes, we were all like, "Oh, Ben! Gosh! Don't be so brash!" And then she said, "Yeah, OK." And she came back and directed Macbeth. I was extremely peeved to be cast as the Porter, but I did all I could with it. She got her agent to come, and a friend of hers who was running a theater company, Tim Pigott-Smith, also came and gave me a job. I only realized later it was because she had gone to them and said, "There's this whippersnapper you should go and see. If you can get him to turn up on time, he might be something." She was very helpful, but you could never say thank you to her.

Has being a parent [Sewell has a five-year-old son] shaped how you make choices as an actor?
I don't know, and I don't like people talking about that because it tends to be the kind of thing for which people generate responses for. It's too easy to turn anything into a cliche. I'm sure it's affected me a great deal, but I'm not going to go on with, "It's grounded me, blah, blah, blah."

The reason I ask is because I read that you turned down a part in The Pillowman because you were thinking of your son and thought the play was too dark.
No, that was the level of understanding that the person I was speaking to chose to turn it into. You only really ever have the level of sensitivity of the person you are speaking to. So they hear it and go, "In other words…" And you're like, "No!" But that's what goes down anyway. So as for the The Pillowman, I thought it was incredibly dark and very brilliant, but I just didn't feel like doing it. And of course it had to do with other stuff that was offered me at the time. But there was nothing so straightforward and pat as "Because I had a child, I didn't want to do it."

In the beginning of your film career—with Middlemarch, for example—it seems you were typecast as the romantic lead, and then as things progressed, it seems you were always the bad guy. I know you were frustrated with being pigeonholed in the past. Is that still the case?
I haven't been typecast in a long time, so I am no longer dealing with that. It's not something I carry into a room. The only problem I've had relatively recently is that they do continue to offer me bad guys in films. I've got nothing against bad guys, nothing against romantic leads, nothing against anything. I've just got something against playing the same kind of role over and over because it's boring. But right now, for example, the idea of playing a romantic lead? Love to do that. It feels quite alien. I feel like people don't think I could do it, so it becomes quite fun again. By the same token, in five years, people will say things like, "I don't really see you as a bad guy." The whole joy of it for me is about changing and doing different things.

At least you get to play a wide range in this play.
Yes, but if it were a film, on the trailer they'd just show a bit of me shouting or something, and people would go, "Why are you playing another bad guy?" I love to do films. I love to do television. I love to do anything; I'm not grand about it. But sometimes it seems that if I want to play things that aren't a character you can describe with one line in between brackets like "angry prince" or "smarmy duke," there's more chance for me to do that on stage.

On the other hand, you've just finished two very different films: Vinyan and Downloading Nancy.
They're both like festival films, which is all I ever wanted to do. Who knows what kind of presence they'll have, but I'm very proud of them. It seems that with the exclusion of these two films coming my way, I've been offered big-budget kind of things.

Like your last film before them, The Holiday with Kate Winslet and Cameron Diaz?
Yeah, but that was the only job I could do. There wasn't another job. But I've since decided that if there's no other job, then I'll just do no job. I'll just keep waiting—or that old word "resting." Of course, I might decide to do something that might sound like what I wouldn't do. It's my choice in the end.

Yes, go ahead and play a superhero if you want.
Exactly. Or perhaps superheroes only. Anything with a cape. And that does include Elvis.

Are you more famous here in New York or in London?
Here. It's always been that way, though I'm not famous anyplace. Lots of things I've done have been much more successful here. They're very snitty about certain things in England. The Illusionist was crapped on in England, and Amazing Grace was certainly crapped on in England. Tristan and Isolde was shat on from a height in England. All of these things that maybe appeared in the cinema for a day in England and were terribly dismissed actually played here. People saw them.

What film are you most recognized for?
Gladiator, unfortunately.

Were you in Gladiator?
No, Joaquin Phoenix was. But I just take the compliment and move on.

See Rufus Sewell in Rock 'n' Roll at the Jacobs Theatre.