Pauline Collins: "Sometimes you’re chosen for your flaws"

This article was first published in Radio Times magazine in October 1996 to promote Screen Two drama Flowers of the Forest.

She is indelibly "mumsy" and probably always has been, a robust woman even though only 5ft 2in, slightly wary and a bit defensive at times, so it was no surprise when she wagged a finger at me and warned, "If you use the words ‘nutty’ or ‘wacky’ I shall be very cross." We had escaped temporarily from the rigorous subject of her first television performance for four years — as an expert in the satanic ritual abuse of children — to a more comforting although abstruse discussion of radionics, a form of healing based on the theory that every organ of the body gives out vibrations that can be diagnosed.

Ho hum, I think, as she says sternly, "I have found that it works. It’s been used on horses for years. It used to be called ‘putting your horse on the box’. They take a piece of hair, or clipping from a hoof, put it in a box and send it to the practitioner who ‘douses’ it to find out what’s wrong. The same process works with humans. If you go to a practitioner in person, he puts a metal plate on the stomach and uses a machine in order to get vibrations through his fingertips."

It sounds very "alternative", I suggest. "You are scoffing, Sir," she replies. "I knew you would. Why are you scoffing?" We are at her home in Hampstead, the notorious north London epicentre of nutty… sorry, avant garde ideas. "There are lots of alternative things," she continues. "Chinese medicine has been going for a million years and now they agree it works. Why are people so suspicious? Most men have a sceptical nature. John [Alderton, her husband] has. I think we should be far more sceptical about putting all those chemicals and antibiotics into our bodies. I’ve used homeopathy since I was 40. Nothing specific was wrong, but I felt tired, like a car that needed a good service."

She hoped to keep her mind in equal trim by studying physics, but this was doomed. "It was hard for me to get my brain around it." Recently, though, she dipped into one of her son’s science books and learnt about Erwin Schrödinger’s cat, an experiment to do with observation. "Does the cat exist inside a box when we’re not looking at it? Does matter exist at all, or is it only in our minds? I came to the conclusion, on my own, that time goes in little peaks and troughs. My son told me if I’d been born 100 years ago I’d have been a genius for working it out. I’m a bit late for that and I can’t understand what I’m saying — I can only picture it in my mind — so you won’t understand either. You’ll have to read the book." Before that enthralling experience there is this interview to conduct in real time and real space, and she is helpful and giggly, although never flamboyant. She puts herself down a lot, particularly her looks: "You have to be realistic about yourself. I have limitations which would prevent me playing Helen of Troy. Most people don’t think they’re beautiful, including some of the most stunning women in the world, like Michelle Pfeiffer. Do you think you are beautiful?" Now it is her turn to scoff, albeit without hauteur. "You notice your faults rather than strong points, which makes it particularly difficult to be an actor, except sometimes you’re chosen for your flaws. I’m sure I’ve been hired for being round with short legs. All my reviews say ‘cuddly’, ‘plump’ or ‘cosy’. I was perfect for Shirley Valentine, my favourite part. It’s a hard act to follow." She was nominated for an Oscar for the 1989 film.

"Lots of actors are extremely normal. Who have you met who isn’t?" I mention a few names but she dismisses them as being foreign. "I suppose it’s something to do with the nature of England that we are not encouraged to be over-theatrical. This country likes its actors to be low key. Most of our lives are rejection. We get a few wonderful bouquets, but it’s an odd profession that bases itself on people saying ‘no’ to you. I take reviews with a pinch of salt. If you believe the bad ones you have to believe the good ones as well. I like applause — it’s our way of finding out whether we’re successful — but you’re never quite so amazingly fantastic as some people say, or quite so terribly bad as others think."

She and John, whom she met when they were both in Emergency Ward 10, a sixties soap, and married in 1969, are so "normal" she became irritated by their image as "that sweet couple who never fight. Sickening, isn’t it?" she says. There’s been less of that since they stopped working together after their last series, Evergreen. "I’m sure we’ll find something in the future that we’d both love to do. The good thing about being married to an actor," she adds, "is he understands — and forgives — your problems."

But sometimes, perhaps, two competing egos may become too oppressive even for a large Hampstead house? She looks disdainful. "Who have you found like that? Journalists love to think all actors are bitchy and jealous. Name me one who is." I suggest several but they don’t count, she says, because they’re American. Even if there were such a thing, it seems unwise to suggest an English actor who might suffer the teeniest pangs of envy. "We’re all supportive and spend so much time touching because we have to get to know each other in ten minutes. You can meet an actor in the morning and be in bed with him in the afternoon, professionally speaking. And then there’s that ‘luvvie’ word. We’re so bored with it. You’ve got to find another one to describe actors."

All my reviews say ‘cuddly’ or ‘cosy’. I was perfect for Shirley Valentine. It’s a hard act to follow

In the last few years she has turned down many parts. "It’s not difficult to get good work," she explains. "But it’s hard to get magic work. I’m a bit off the theatre at the moment. It requires a huge investment of energy and, unless it’s perfect, you’re stuck with it night after night. It’s sad there aren’t that many new plays. I’m not very drawn to the classics or revivals. There should be a moratorium placed on Shakespeare for ten years because he’s been done to death. There’s an awful lot spent on a playwright who’s been dead 500 years when young writers could do with the money. I know Shakespeare’s our heritage and tourist industry, but he plays too large a part."

Flowers of the Forest was the first TV script she’d been shown for a long time that she felt impelled to do. She plays a Welsh child abuse expert, Aileen Matthews, trained by an evangelical American organisation called the New Morning Trust, which believes there is a worldwide conspiracy of SRA — satanic ritual abuse. It is based in part on real-life cases in which children have been removed forcibly from their parents after similar suspicions had been aroused, and shows how easy it is for doubters to be convinced by a fervent conspiracy theorist like Aileen.

"Her training is based on therapy sessions that include regression. It’s a difficult subject, and dangerous to assume people are not telling the truth — especially children — but I suppose really anyone can be made to ‘remember’ anything. Obviously abuse has gone on for years and years. There is collusion within families and the child feels guilty. Equally, though, it is possible to create situations in the mind that haven’t happened. I would never say someone is not telling the truth, but if you’re faced with the abuser and the abused you can usually tell by instinct whether the person has perpetrated the crime or not. True innocence shines out of someone." Zealous social workers don’t always see it that way, particularly in child abuse cases, which are the most tricky to handle. Occasionally paranoia creeps in: there is a scene in the film of a father innocently drying his daughter after swimming that could be open to misinterpretation by a suspicious social worker. "There are times when fathers can’t even put their arms around their daughters without worrying," she says. "It’s sad that the relationship between parent and child, or teacher and child, should become suspect. Perhaps these days we just have to be careful.

"I had a wonderful childhood myself and was never abused. Perhaps I’m in the minority. I haven’t had counselling, although friends have. At times everyone needs help. In the old days it came from the priest but as society becomes less religious we look for different helpers. I was raised a Catholic but I’m not a good example. I believe it would be best if all religions joined together rather than remained separate. I probably used to have Catholic guilt [she once said she’d felt guilty all her life], particularly about working when the children were young, but I don’t any more. I decided it wasn’t a good thing."

Following in the family tradition — her father was head of a junior school and both her mother and sister taught — she trained as a teacher, even though she’d wanted to be an actress since she was eight, after her mother put her in a school play. "I suppose I always thought that if I needed money I could be a supply teacher, and I was on many occasions. But it’s terrible to teach for money. You should have a real love. I was a good teacher but not one with heart. I decided that if I couldn’t earn a teacher’s wage within five years I’d give up acting. I just about made it but didn’t really have any success until I was 30, in Upstairs, Downstairs [where she played Sarah the maid, after Eileen Atkins had to withdraw for another commitment], which isn’t that young. I’ve always been a slow starter. Films came to my life very late and now I’m 56 there aren’t that many leading roles. Lately I’ve been offered parts in some extremely violent films which I don’t belong in. I’m not a Pollyanna character but I don’t think certain types of violence are good for us.

Still, there’s violence in life, so is it reflecting art or is art reflecting life? Who knows? "I persevere and would like to continue but, as you grow older, there’s a natural falling off of your desire to work so much. My ambition is to be the female version of Denholm Elliot. He found himself a wonderful niche. I also want to smell the roses and travel. I went to Indonesia earlier this year with my youngest son, Richard, who’s 19. He was doing his round-the-world gap year and didn’t have a companion for the first bit so asked me to go with him. I was surprised, but we get on tremendously well." Their daughter Kate is an actress and their other son, Nick, is a writer and director — "much more difficult than acting". She should know.

She has written a book, the story of a daughter she had at 23 ("Don’t let’s discuss that. It will only be a rehash"), and now plans a novel. "I have three mapped out in my head but I’m a terrible procrastinator." I find that difficult to believe. She seems very organised, happy and content. "Not too content, I hope. I like a bit of discontent. You need something you haven’t achieved to stop you becoming complacent. But it’s also nice to have a few highs amid the load of lows."

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