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Rhys Ifans: 'I'm a bloody good actor' He has been a serial scene-stealer in other people's films. Now Rhys Ifans has the part of his life: the notorious drug-dealer Howard MarksIt's two hours until the Welsh premiere of Mr Nice. That's a bigger deal than it might sound. For Rhys Ifans, anyway. "I am fucking spooked out for the first time ever," he says. "Before, I've just gone in like the cavalry, saving famous people's arses. Here, I'm the main man. I feel a huge responsibility for the film. And I could get fucking skinned alive. It's in Cardiff, and every hooligan I know is coming tonight and if they don't like me they'll fucking beat me up. They won't even tell me it's shit, they'll just kick my head in."They didn't, in fact. Whatever they made of Bernard Rose's rompish biopic of dope mogul Howard Marks, any threat to its star was mild, at best. Even he admits to being treated "like royalty" (though that's partly a setup for the caveat "because every single Welshman or woman is royal"). Gawps mark his progress through the bar at the Cardiff Hilton. "I'm not washing for a week!" says a middle-aged woman who'd asked for his autograph and came away with a couple of kisses. A rock star's reception awaits Ifans in his homeland. He dresses accordingly.And if he was truly spooked, well, I'd love to see him relaxed. Speaking to Ifans at teatime, over a small glass of pinot grigio, is to be instantly beamed to the fag-end of a fairly energetic party. His eyes are the kind you rarely see earlier than 3am, post-pub, post-club, maybe even post-coital. A Pizza Hut box containing a half-eaten American Hot cools by his side. He fixes you with the kind of frank hooded gaze that's less come-to-bed than already in bed, moments from passing out. His hair would recall Peter Stringfellow (a comparison he suggests) if someone were to take a comb to it. He talks slowly, with great, rolling Welsh relish, peppered with giggles. He both looms – he's 6ft 2in and curiously beautiful – and slumps, crumpling into the chair with a slow-breaking grin.Yet whatever the cause of his wooziness, one thing is clear: Ifans is a high-functioning hedonist. Save for one jabbery passage in which he explains why all drugs should be legalised (no more wars in Mexico; they're a way of expanding human evolution; they're really just like coffee or masturbation), he's fluent and eloquent. Small wonder everyone seems to want to hang out with him – not only is he far more charming in the flesh than boorish tabloid snaps might lead you to suspect, he also seems to be enjoying his own personal party 24/7.Holding hands and sobbing As he told Howard Marks the first time they met: "I'm an actor, a bloody good one, even when I'm pissed." They were backstage at a Super Furry Animals gig in Pontypridd 15 years ago; Marks was fresh out of prison and making a video with the band, which Ifans briefly fronted after training at the Guildhall School of Speech and Drama (they teamed up again a year ago with a new group, the Peth). He asked Marks to sign a packet of Rizlas, and if he could play him in any film of his life. They shook on it and stayed friends.When he played another hero, Peter Cook, on TV six years ago (for which he won a Bafta), Ifans "rigorously studied everything that he'd ever done to try and arrive at a place of artistic osmosis. With Howard all I did was wear a fucking wig. My way into it was just the timbre of his voice and the confidence of his writing. He's such a beautiful man; he's made such warm light of the injustices he's had to suffer. He's been so gently brave."Did he worry his friendship made him too partial? He ducks the question. "I think the way Howard reclaimed his life means the film has a Grecian arc to it, narratively. It's an odyssey. It's Robin Hood with cars – that's the kind of frequency the film plays at. Of course in real terms it's far more complex and delicate. But [the film] is a celebration of a good story."He first saw the film with Marks, ending up "holding hands and sobbing" after the scene when Marks is arrested for the final time to an extended soundtrack of the wails of his four young children. I confess this was the moment I struggled with most: why did Marks risk dealing again if being with his family meant so much to him? Ifans smiles and stalls. "I think that's not something I can afford to struggle with as an actor. I'm not Judge Judy."Marks's devotion to his wife and children is the most superficially striking difference between the two men – Ifans's reputation as a snog-happy ladykiller precedes him. But even here they're not so different deep down: lovers not fighters, gregarious rather than egocentric – Ifans's promiscuity is much more benign than, say, Russell Brand's. His public upset when dumped by fiancee Sienna Miller was testimony to a soft centre.Mr Nice should, then, be a landmark performance: the part of his life (he's on screen constantly, even playing Marks aged 14). Till now, Ifans's stock-in-trade has been the scene-stealing sidekick; his breakthrough, as Spike, Hugh Grant's grubby flatmate in 1994's Notting Hill – thrilled when the paps hoping for a shot of Julia Roberts make do with him in old pants instead – worked as a corrective to the central romance. He often projects a kind of complicity with the audience, a sly little side glance, even as Daniel Craig's benign(ish) stalker in Enduring Love, or Ben Stiller's hip chum in Greenberg."I do do that, yes," he says. "But I'm getting bored of it. I'm becoming more indulgent and less giving as an actor as I get older. I'm immersing myself more in roles emotionally." Few roles could be more emotionally immersed than this, yet somehow Marks seems already a part of his past: the role he may have always wanted to play, yet probably not the one for which he'll be remembered.Since shooting – almost two years ago – Ifans has apparently undergone something of a change. He feels, he says, as if he's developed "a palette that's an adult one. I'm in a whole new fucking place. And it's changed my acting markedly." He's seems increasingly conscious of his responsibilities, too; perhaps, even, of his legacy – he's donated £1m to improve drama facilities in Ruthin, his hometown."The older I get I'm really reminded how important the arts are to our wellbeing as a society. When you're young, you know it's important, but you don't quite understand why. But now I'm 42 and it's fucking vital. And if you have a government that can't understand the importance of that, that doesn't have the spiritual aesthetic to arrive at that place, that is so morally bereft that it has to punish what it thinks is not useful, that is very disturbing. That is why I would like the government to be fucking shot at dawn and filmed."He sighs. "Every time the Tories get a bit of power they rip off all the things I love." Like what? "The mining industry. Milk."'My ego has gone on holiday'Right now, he's enjoying ageing; hoping to do so with more gravitas than he might have mustered a few years back. "I've given my time some authority. Before it was tick tock, tick tock. Now it's dong ... dong ... I love that."And how does it make him feel? "Everything is pleasantly silly. I just don't take myself as seriously anymore. But as a result of that I am taking myself more seriously. My ego has gone on holiday and it can't get a flight back home." Where's it gone? "Fucking Iceland or somewhere."So he feels life is calmer these days? "Yeah. It's beautiful" (he lovingly separates the syllables). When was young I was in a hurry to live. And now I'm just not in a hurry. And I don't care what anyone gets fucking wrong about me. Because the people I love are the people I love and the people I love love me. Job done. Know what I mean?" He grins: a scarecrow, lolling against an apple tree, friendly even to the hawks. "The world's too big. Yeah."Catherine Shoardguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds guardian.co.uk |
Critic's Notebook: Hype-Week Patter as the Oscars Near Hollywood's magical ball is Sunday night, and all week television personalities have been fretting and squealing about it, expecting us to watch in supportive awe, like Cinderella. nytimes.com |