NATASHA RICHARDSON: 1963-2009

Actress Natasha Richardson.


The telephone is the bane of most interviews. Rarely does it allow the interviewer to connect with his or her subject, resulting in a less-than-stellar conversation fit for reproduction. When Venice Magazine Publisher Nancy Bishop asked me in December of 2005 if I'd do "a phoner" with actress Natasha Richardson, I was a bit surprised at how quickly I jumped at the chance. I had interviewed Richardson's sister Joely just two months before and, like many cinefiles, have had a lifelong fascination and admiration for their parents: the late filmmaker Tony Richardson and actress Vanessa Redgrave. Joely proved a charming, bright and engaging conversationalist during our lunch at The Chateau Marmont, with one of the most fascinating topics of conversation being her sister Natasha, their relationship, and their unconventional, albeit loving, upbringing. Needless to say, my appetite was whetted for more.
Natasha's sons with actor Liam Neeson could be heard rough-housing in the background when she picked up the phone at their upstate New York home. Every once in a while she would kindly, but firmly, ask them to keep it down, and each time return to our conversation with a gentle hint of laughter in her voice. Like her mother, Natasha Richardson was a classic beauty, with eyes that belied a fierce intelligence, qualities that served her well in the variety of roles she seemingly morphed into, both on stage (winning a Tony for her turn as Sally Bowles in the revival of "Cabaret") and screen. If there were a single, defining word for Natasha Richardson that carried through her very diverse 35 film appearences, it would be grace. Grace of presence, of movement, of just being. A rare quality that, and one which will be sorely missed. In the words of Carson McCullers "This minute is passing. And it will never come again." Rest in peace, and thank you.

NATASHA RICHARDSON: CHINA DOLL
By Alex Simon

Editor’s note: This article originally appeared in the December 2005/January 2006 issue of Venice Magazine.

Natasha Richardson is the product of cinematic and theatrical royalty: the daughter of legendary director Tony Richardson (Tom Jones, Blue Sky) and actress Vanessa Redgrave (Blow Up, Julia, The Loves of Isadora). Born in London May 11, 1963, Natasha trained at the prestigious Central School of Speech and Drama in London. After cutting her teeth on the stage, Natasha made her screen debut as novelist Mary Shelley in Ken Russell’s Gothic in 1987.

Since then, Natasha has appeared in nearly 30 feature films, most recently in the final Merchant-Ivory production, The White Countess. Natasha gives a masterful performance in the film, set in the mid-1930s, as a former Russian aristocrat whose family has fled to Shanghai, and a life of poverty. Working as a cabaret girl, she meets American businessman Todd Jackson (Ralph Feinnes, also excellent), who was blinded in a tragic accident. Together they decide to open a nightclub that becomes the toast of Shanghai, but are seemingly oblivious to the growing Japanese presence that is encroaching on their doorstep. The Sony Pictures Classics release hits screens December 21.

Natasha Richardson, who lives with her husband, actor Liam Neeson (Schindler’s List), and their two sons in upstate New York, spoke with us recently by phone.

The White Countess is the final Merchant-Ivory production, after Ismail Merchant’s death last May.
Natasha Richardson: It was sort of a gift, really. We shot it last Fall, this time in Shanghai. The summer before I was doing a play in London, which Ismail saw. He came back to my dressing room, handed me this script and said “Here’s this wonderful movie we’re going to make and there’s a great part for you in it.” One part of me was thrilled, but the other part was thinking ‘Oh yeah, right!’ (laughs) as you often do when wonderful things just seem to fall into your lap. Then I still couldn’t believe it when I read it, because it was such a beautiful story and beautiful part. So I feel like it’s a wonderful gift from Ismail and Jim, Ismail in particular. I knew Ismail very well, for many years, so his death was very sad for me.

What was the Merchant-Ivory process like?
I think they were entirely different men. Ismail was very, very outgoing, avuncular and full of life force and Jim is much more reserved, soft-spoken and working with him as a director, he’s not a very talkative director. He’ll basically tell you when he doesn’t like something. I knew to trust him, because my mother had worked with him before and she said “Don’t get put off if Jim doesn’t rush up to you after every take to tell you how great you are. But if he tells you something isn’t right, then listen to him.” One thing I didn’t expect was that he’s very open to your coming up with ideas, improvising bits of dialogue and business, things like that. I expected him to be much more committed to getting every bit of punctuation from the script onto the screen. I think that the big thing with Jim is his aesthetic eye. His eye for detail is just uncanny. We used to joke that in a huge crowd scene, Jim would notice an extra on edge of frame whose belt buckle isn’t right. (laughs)

How long were you in China?
For just over three months, and it was pretty overwhelming, I must say. I didn’t get to see a lot of the country, because we were always working. It was incredibly difficult for everyone involved, particularly Ismail. The cultural and language barriers and making such a big scale film on a low budget was really a struggle. The crew, which was partly British and partly Chinese, I think the British crew was really in shock. They were the kind of people who had shot all over the world, but never encountered the sort of difficulties that they did in China. The conditions were very basic, to say the least. There weren’t the usual amenities. Also, Shanghai is a very modern city now, and there’s very little of old Shanghai left, which also created difficulties in terms of locations, which makes the achievement of the film that much more phenomenal.

You get to work with your mother and your aunt for the first time in this film, and in very close proximity. How was that?
I loved it. I just wish we’d had more to do together. I think we all felt we were up against it a bit, so there was a wonderful sense of camaraderie. We have the same vocabulary and the same sense of humor, so the few weeks they were there it was so lovely to be together and work together, then go back to the hotel at the end of the day and eat Chinese food and drink wine and talk about the next day’s work.

You and Ralph Fiennes obviously had a great connection. Tell us a bit about working with him.
We did. We have a sense of mutual respect and love for each other. We’ve been very close friends for some time and have talked about working together that entire time. It was a very special experience. It was difficult for me at first, because what I hadn’t bargained for with Ralph playing blind was that I was so used to connecting with another actor through one another’s eyes, and he wouldn’t look in my eyes! (laughs) So there was a sense of loneliness that set into the relationship because I think Sophia is a very lonely person.

Let’s talk about your dad, who’s one of my heroes.
Oh, thank you. He’s still one of mine.

You actually helped get his autobiography (The Long Distance Runner) published posthumously, right?
Yes, exactly. I used to watch him write it out longhand on these yellow legal pads at his house in L.A. When I asked him what it was, he said “Oh, just memoirs. Nobody will give a shit and they’ll never get published.” After he died, we found them in the back of his closet, along with his Oscars. (laughs) It was quite amazing going through all those pages, really getting to know my dad again. It was a real gift. And then, of course, the book ends with this message to his daughters to carry through life. I get choked up even talking about it now, actually.

I know you and your sister both spent a lot of time on your parents’ sets growing up. What did you learn from watching your dad work?
A lot. As an actress I suppose it was like being in training from year one. Number one, always serve your director and always trust him, that was drummed into me from the beginning. I suppose also a professional ethic and a love of being on movie sets: the different departments working together, the art department and the carpentry department, and the lighting cameraman. It gave a wonderful sense of a sort of traveling circus, of a family being together, with a very charismatic leader in the sense of my dad. I think he always created a great sense of family when he worked, and a great sense of fun, as well as hard work, like you were doing something wonderful. When he first came to see me in the theater, in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in London, he’d just come in for the night and was flying into L.A. the next day. So he came backstage, just kind of patted me on the back and smiled and I thought ‘Ooh, he hasn’t said anything…’ Then he said “I’d like you to pick me up in the morning and drive me to the airport.” And I’m thinking to myself ‘Oh my God! First he doesn’t compliment me on my opening night, and now I have to get up at the crack of dawn to take him to the airport?!’ So I pick him up, and he said “You’ve got a lovely voice and a lovely quality on stage, but that isn’t good enough. You haven’t been thought about x, y and z in this part, and I’m going to mark up a copy of the script, which I want you to read, think about, and get to work.” And I was just devastated. I thought, ‘How cruel can you be.’ In retrospect, it was the kindest, best thing anyone had ever done for me. I did study his notes, and by the end of the run, my performance was entirely different. When he came to see me again in something else, The Seagull, a couple years later, he was just sort of beaming afterwards, and so effusive in his praise that I knew it was really meant, coming not only from a father that I loved, but a director whom I totally respected. You know, when you look at the body of my father’s work, not all of his films were great, but some were downright brilliant, and almost always, the performances were top-notch. John Gielgud credited my dad with teaching him to act on screen.

What did you learn from your mother’s work?
Well, she’s just totally inspiring because she’s one of the greatest actresses that’s ever lived. Her absolute dedication to the pursuit of truth and her emotional life and her transparency. I learned an approach to work through her, which helped me, which was reading Stanislavsky for the first time, which was the key that opened the door for me. So I owe her an enormous amount, which is a very brief answer! (laughs)

Was it tough for you and your sister to carve out your own identities as actors with two parents who were such legends in the business?
I think it was particularly difficult in terms of my mom, because of other people’s perceptions when I was starting out, because you want to quietly work away and make your own name and place for yourself. Having a famous parent can sometimes result in a level of attention you feel that you don’t deserve and you don’t want and comparisons, so it was carrying a card around your neck for a while, but that time has passed.

Do you think either one of your sons is interested in carrying on the family tradition?
I hope not! (laughs) I do think that acting’s a vocation. It’s something you don’t have a choice in. When I hear people say “I want to be an actor,” I always think ‘Well, if you are one, you will be.’