JULIAN FELLOWES Historically Speaking

There are plenty of wonderful interviews, but rarely are there conversations as engaging and entertaining as the one this writer had with screenwriter Julian Fellowes on a sunny wintry morning not long ago. The man is a character in his own right, despite the fact he makes his living inventing them. A delightful man, he is reminiscent of many a good-natured Dickens persona, like the jubilant Mr. Fezziwig. Robust and overflowing with enthusiasm, Fezziwig was one of the few people Ebenezer Scrooge was actually thankful for. “He has the power to render us happy or unhappy,” says Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, “…the happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.” The same can be said of Julia Fellowes. When he speaks, the air clears, waiting for his words to settle.

Fellowes is most widely known for winning an Academy Award for his original screenplay, Gosford Park. What most people don’t know, is that Fellowes had been an actor for many years prior to that glorious moment. He worked primarily as a television actor, mostly in supporting roles (though he did portray George the IV as the Prince Regent, and Winston Churchill), as well as playing Kilwillie for thirteen episodes of the BBC’s “Monarch of the Glen.” He even gave Hollywood a whirl in the ’80s, though that didn’t yield the results he was looking for. “I know what it’s like to be in this town, when you are not known to be, at least a little bit successful,” he muses. Fellowes headed back to England, met the love of his life, and, suddenly, his career changed. “I became unpathetic,” says Fellowes, “I no longer smelled like a failure looking for a break. I began to believe in myself.” Since then, he has not only written numerous screenplays, he has worked as a director, a novelist, a children’s book writer, a playwright, and a frequent lecturer. Now he takes on one of the most respected monarchs in British history in The Young Victoria, a turbulent account of the early life of Queen Victoria, a young girl who finds herself just as she becomes Queen of England. Emily Blunt plays the longest-reigning monarch to date, and her intended, Prince Albert, is essayed by Rupert Friend (who bears an uncanny resemblance to the real Prince Albert).

Now, Fellowes is nothing if not busy. At the moment, he has numerous projects in different stages of development, including The Tourist (slated to star Angelina Jolie and Johnny Depp), Greek Fire (the story of Maria Callas and Aristotle Onassis), Emma and Nelson (the story of Lady Hamilton and Lord Nelson), and Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell.

Well aware that Fellowes is not only a masterful storyteller but also a fervent historian, I start our conversation by mentioning my being related to Lady Hamilton. He asks if I know much about my lineage. “Why, yes,” I reply. “My distant relative John Billington came over on the Mayflower, and was the first person ever convicted and hanged in the United States!” “Wonderful,” cries Fellowes with such glee that you’d think I had just told him he’d won a new car. “I too have a relative who was hanged!” Thus was the beginning of the wonderful conversation you are about to read.

Julian Fellowes: I have a relation called Laurence Shirley, the 4th Lord Ferrers, who was hanged in the 1760s for murdering his steward. They sold tickets, and built bleachers around it, because it was so rare for an Earl to be hanged. It was the beginning of the civic unrest in the 18th century, and various delegates were sent to the King of England to stop the hanging of an aristocrat because they thought that would lower the status of the regime. But the advisors of the King said no; for a long time they had maintained the illusion that everyone was equal before the law, so they would hang the occasional middle class, so there would be nice clothes on the gibbets, but they realized that more than that was needed in this instance. They hanged him in his silver-embroidered wedding clothes, and he was taken to his execution at Tyburn in his own coach. Apparently, they used a silk rope as a gesture of respect to his rank. It was a very sensible decision, because it did give the public a sense that no one was above the law.

Kind of like L.A. these days when it comes to celebrities on trial.

Well, when a celebrity — and one doesn’t know all the evidence as one wasn’t involved in the situation — does things like Simpson did, there is a loss of faith in the system when someone seems to get away with a crime that no one else would.

Like in the first Spector trial.

Well, but that’s come right now, hasn’t it.

And we wouldn’t have known about the inner workings of some of these trials, had it not been for Dominick Dunne. I think he really gave us a birdseye view inside the courtroom.

He was so nice about my first book (Snobs). I have him on the front of it. I was really sorry when he died. I was friendly with a very good friend of his, Andrea Reynolds.

Claus Von Bulow’s former girlfriend (Reynolds reached fever-pitch infamy for the photo spread that she and Von Bulow posed for in Vanity Fair that accompanied Dominick Dunne’s article).

Well, they quarreled and they fell out because of that story. But I said to her, “It wasn’t a dummy posing in black leather in the pages of Vanity Fair; there was an element of you that had to know what was going on.” But they (she and Dunne) became such good friends, and when he was dying, she called me and said I must ring him up, but I never did because I felt… it was sort of intrusive to have a complete stranger call you because you’ve got weeks to live…and now I rather regret it, because I’m sure we could’ve talked our way round it. He had a real understanding of his own time. He was like Charles Greville, you know, those diarists. There aren’t that many social observers taking that kind of broad view.

Speaking of Greville, have you seen Stephen Poliakoff’s film “Capturing Mary?” It’s very much about the social classes in the 1950s and how people could, on the turn of a dime, be excluded.

I haven’t seen it, but I think a lot of Stephen’s stuff is a personalizing of his own emotions. You know, a very interesting thing about the upper class is not how horrible they are to their immediate social inferiors, it’s that they are indifferent.

Indifferent or apathetic?

No, indifferent. They are only interested in their own kind. They know their own kind, and to be honest, with the exception of one or two removes, they know everyone… so that, if you go to a house of someone you, don’t really know, within twenty minutes, you have four friends in common, and their second cousin’s a great friend of yours in Sussex. It’s a tiny world. And people that want to get into it are constantly frustrated, because to be interesting and witty and clever and charming is not enough. It’s a club you’re supposed to have always belonged to and it is incredibly difficult to get them to take you seriously. And I think that is what a lot of Stephen Poliakoff’s drama is about; the problem was just that they weren’t interested in him, and that drives him crazy. In a way, all creative artists have to be driven crazy by something though, because that’s what keeps the engine going.

You’ve got to be tortured.

Yes, you’ve got to be a bit tortured, and a bit overlooked. I mean, I think in my own life that that wasn’t my problem — my problem was that I was so clearly in my own head, so much more interesting, so much more clever, than all these rather stupid people that were standing around looking gorgeous and I was short and fat and no one wanted to dance with me…and in the end, that makes you very angry, because you think, ‘Why can’t you see who is the interesting person here?’ I think Stephen, whom I both know and admire, needs to feel persecuted in some ways to make him first angry, and then creative. Being an underdog is part of his work method. He is very brilliant though, so he is probably right to stick with it.

One of the things I really like about you is that you have said you were a late bloomer and it was only later in life that you felt you had come into your own. You’ve been an actor, a novelist, a screenwriter, a lecturer…

A director.

I loved your movie, Separate Lies.

I loved that film. I thought the quality of their performances — it was sort of a French film in English, really. It did quite well in France. I got an award from The New York Board of Review for that.

For Best Newcomer.

For Best New Director, actually, and Best Directorial Debut. I’ve just directed a second film — it’s a family movie, called From Time to Time. I took it to the Chicago Film Festival and I won a prize from the adult jury and the kids jury, and I got Best Movie. You know, when you’ve slightly stuck your neck out, and then you get a prize, I can’t tell you how rewarding it is...because it’s like someone telling you, okay, you’re not mad to have done this. It’s a sweet film — a little British ghost story for children.

I’m such a fan of Gosford Park — Helen Mirren, Clive Owen, such a wonderful mélange of actors.

 I think Clive really came into his own. He gave such a nuanced performance that as the revelations of his character came, he hadn’t played them too soon, but he hadn’t made it so it wasn’t believable. And then Helen went on to do The Queen, and the whole thing could have become a cartoonish pastiche anti-monarchist thing. What I thought was terribly sophisticated was Helen didn’t engage in whether there should be a monarchy or shouldn’t be a monarchy, there is a monarchy and this is the woman at the center of this monarchy, and that’s what she played. I felt that more than any other recent award that I can remember, she had earned it, 100%.

Speaking of queens, when you started working on The Young Victoria, it seems a bit of a heavy burden to take on someone who was the longest reigning monarch, and very beloved, and I know a lot of things you wrote about did happen, but you are technically putting words in her mouth.

When you’re writing a film about real events, you have to find a film. I feel you want to be truthful and you don’t want to misrepresent, but you have to shape those events into a film. I was already very interested in the young Victoria, and had been for years.

Nobody knows the young girl, only the dour widow.

And you say she was beloved; she was tremendously respected, and people felt that she was England. I remember my grandmother telling me about when Victoria died and she was 19 at the time, and she said it was really as if time had stopped. Because you couldn’t believe there was England without the Queen. But she wasn’t so much loved in her role — she was an austere figure. But I knew at the beginning of her reign she was not like that —she was very passionate and full of emotion and had crushes on opera stars. But I also knew she had survived this horrible childhood. One of the great unanswered mysteries of her life was why she wasn’t destroyed by her youth. Sure, she made mistakes, but in the scheme of things, she came to the throne strong. When she found her own strength, and discovered this incredible partnership with Albert… I mean, there are couples in our lives who are more together than either would have been apart, and that was Victoria and Albert.

From a writer’s point of view, it seems like you were fortunate enough to be in a position a lot of  screenwriters don’t find themselves in — collaborating on set, particularly with Gosford.

In Gosford I was protected by Bob’s (director Robert Altman) desire to get it right. He had a feeling that if you get all the details right, the film will be better. Also, he knew it was a big challenge to make a film about the British class system, and a period piece. He was very vulnerable, so I was on the set the whole time. There’s very little in the film that isn’t scripted, because it’s very complicated. What I think people don’t understand, is you can’t set up 30 or 40 storylines, and ad lib them...everything would fall apart. I think Gosford was Bob’s experimenting in a different filmmaking: his use of the camera, his use of the multilayered sound. Having the writer around can disturb the chain of command a bit.

But now that you’ve directed, I’m sure you can understand...

Well, I had a very compliant writer both times. [laughs]

This is true.

You have to be careful as a writer on the set not to engage the actors in conversations about motivations and why you wrote this scene because by then the director may have a different function for the scene. But in that instance (Gosford), those people speak with a distinctive voice. There is the odd ad-lib line, one of them, which I blush to confess, because it’s one of people’s most favorite lines, is when Maggie Smith says “Difficult color, green,” which was completely Maggie and not me at all. She’san unusual actress in her understanding of those people and so when she does produce a line, it’s perfect.

She had some zingers.

The other zingers though, were mine! [laughs]

But with something like The Young Victoria, there is a certain responsibility to be historically accurate. I mean, one can take creative license, but — what about something like that moment when the King (Jim Broadbent) goes off on his rant?

Several people said to me, ‘That scene must’ve been exaggerated.’ And, in fact,what had happened, was one of  the King’s illegitimate sons asked Charles Greville to give him an account of what happened at that dinner. So Jim’s speech is about two thirds verbatim, and the other third is what he said, compressed. Can you imagine? At a state banquet –

With forty people sitting at this table —

And servants, orchestras... and the King goes off!

How embarrassing!

The only changes, in fact, that I have made to the telling of the story is that I made the bullet graze Albert, instead of miss him, in the assassination attempt. And I was very stupid with the British press, because I made the assumption that they would all know about the assassination attempt of 1840. So I said, “I have altered that scene slightly, making the bullet graze him.” Of course, what they heard was that I had made up the assassination attempt. And if I hadn’t made it up, I had made up the fact that Albert had protected her. But it is all completely true! I felt — and I’m not saying I’m right — that if we made the bullet miss him completely, there was a danger that we would lose his bravery. The bottom line is, he was prepared to die for her. All I altered was the trajectory of the bullet.

What makes writing about real people — Lady Hamilton, Queen Victoria, so seductive?

I suppose there is something intriguing about women who survive and prosper in a society that was, in various ways, loaded against them — unless they were prepared to accept the stereotypical roles of women in a male-dominated world. But there is sometimes more to it than that. For instance, Lady Hamilton rose from the absolute mud floor to become, first, a kind of higher prostitute, then a courtesan, and,n finally, the wife of an extremely prominent diplomat. She was the best friend of the Queen of Naples for years, until she finally figured in one of the greatest love stories of all time on the arm of Britain’s finest Naval hero. This story should be impossible even in fiction, and instead it’s fact. Queen Victoria’s story is less one of dramatic contrasts, but is still, in a different way, a tale of the triumph of the will. I think that’s what we like —people who withstand the influences that, logically, should have crushed them, women who beat the odds.

Do you feel more at home with period pieces?

I wouldn’t say that actually. Bette Davis once said, “The actor who isn’t typecast, doesn’t work.” I think it’s easier if they can identify you as being associated with one or two things. That way, they feel the material will be safe in his or her hands, and that is helpful. Then, though, it’s up to you — you have to prove yourself. Of course, Separate Lies was contemporary, but it was about privileged people

But maybe it goes back to what you said: “Write what you know.”

I think it’s safer if you stick to — how can I say this and not sound pretentious — you’ve got to stick with people you understand. The life of privilege, from the outside, seems very uncomplicated, but from inside, it’s just as complicated as any other life.

Well, that’s what we saw in Gosford Park, whether you lived upstairs, or downstairs, it was messy.

It was messy! In one family you get every possible type. I think one of the sadnesses of the European constant encouragement to class warfare, indulged in by politicians, to polarize, is so unconstructive because, when you know people, you know they’re just trying to get through it like everyone else is. And I suppose, in a sense, I suppose I feel that is something I can do — I can take people who are Queens, or whatever, and make you understand their predicament. At least, that’s what I hope I can do. I’m one of the writers on a contemporary thriller at the moment, so I wouldn’t say I have to do period… but again, I don’t want to complain, because I feel I’m bloody lucky, to be perfectly honest. I got to that age when you think it’s never going to happen. I was quite a busy television character actor, so I’m not complaining. Nevertheless, you do, at a certain age, think this is probably as good as it’s going to get. And instead, my career moved into a completely different place and onto a much more interesting level.

So what changed? I know you attribute a lot to meeting your wife, but what changed that resulted in your going into this next phase?

My marriage did make a great change to me. When I married, I sort of became unpathetic, which is quite difficult to describe; there’s something about being a man trudging through his late 30s on his own that is almost a little bit sad. (Once I married) this became a very happy time in my life; we had a baby almost immediately, and I think I became less desperate. You know how you can, particularly in showbiz, become over eager, and over desperate. You can try too hard.

And it shows.

Completely. You’ve got to try to keep working but somehow you’ve got to just keep it in check. Certainly long before Gosford, I went for an audition with Danny Boyle for a mini-series and it was for a leading part, and I got it. That was an absolute instruction that things were going to be different now; I began to get a different kind of work. I smelt different.

How so?

I no longer smelled like a failure looking for a break. I began to believe in myself. I also think my personality suited being 40 better than 30. My looks were better for parts for men in their 40s as opposed to their 20s and 30s; I was never pretty. Through my 40s I did various films, with Louis Malle and so on. It all seemed to change when I got married and became a grownup. Before, I hadn’t got what I wanted and I felt a little uneasy about that. Then when I was 49, I was asked to write Gosford, and went into the next phase of my life.

What prompted you to start writing novels? I just adore your latest, Past Imperfect. I had a constant smile on my face as I read it.

What happened, which was again tremendously lucky, I was called one day and asked if I’d like to publish a book. And I had written this book (Snobs) a couple of years before and couldn’t get anyone interested in it. One guy, an agent, said to me, “My advice is to put this in the dustbin and write something grown up.” I can tell you my pleasure in the fact that it’s been a best-seller in 27 countries. [laughs] At one point I went to my publisher and said, “Look, I think I ought to pay back the advance, and get a royalty from the first copy.” That way, if it wasn’t a success it would be my fault and no harm. But it was a success, and I was asked to write a second. The wonderful thing about writing a book, is it is just you and the editor. Then if the book fails, it’s your failure; and if it’s a success, it is completely your success. People are hearing your voice; it is a lot more personal. It is also rather indulgent,because it is an opportunity to get things off your chest [laughs] but what I rather loved about Past Imperfect is that so many of my contemporaries feel the same anger about things. There is something very engaging about that and you realize you’re not mad, you’re part of a group that is being stifled! We have the same fears and the same longings; it’s not the obvious things, it’s the way we treat each other that has changed. It’s fun to be the voice of the silent majority, to a certain extent.

I am so thrilled you are writing Emma and Nelson; it’s such a fascinating story.

I think honestly, it’s one of the best scripts I’ve ever written. Fortunately or unfortunately, a rather big star was going to do it…then he couldn’t do it and then he was going to do it…

You have to tell me who it is.

Oh, I’ve been called out so many times!

I promise I won’t tell.

[Fellowes then points to my recorder] Only if you turn that off. ▼