A man of many parts

‘Heroin?’ I say to Simon Russell Beale. ‘Sorry?’ he says. ‘To relax after a show. To come down off the high. You take heroin?’ ‘Oh yes, yes,’ he says. ‘Yes… if only. Well, as you can probably tell from my shape I like my beer. I can’t imagine a performance without a pint or two afterwards.’ ‘Which brand?’ ‘Oh cheap stuff. Stella or Export, yes, cheap as chips, cooking lager.’

The man widely regarded as the finest theatrical talent of his generation has surprisingly simple tastes. Before we met I’d expected an imposing physical presence and some hint of the fierce energies he can unleash on stage, but Simon Russell Beale is small and unobtrusive, rather cuddly looking and very softly spoken.

I find him tucked away in a demure corner of the National Theatre café in a low-visibility overcoat, reading the Guardian. He has a fine mop of ash-grey hair and wears Reggie Kray-style specs with black frames which give him a faint resemblance to Charlie Whelan. He complains of stiffness in the joints. ‘Early morning kick-boxing session with my trainer.’ He has a few rituals on the day of a performance. Mid-afternoon he takes a nap, ‘and it’s a proper nap’, and he starts to prepare at least two hours before curtain up. ‘I need time especially for this part, all that make-up and wig business.’ He’s starring as Sir Harcourt Courtly in Boucicault’s classic farce, London Assurance, one of the funniest shows the National has staged for years. ‘I didn’t expect it to be quite such a gas. And I was a bit trepidatious… I knew of the famous production starring Donald Sinden and Judi Dench. I’ve done quite a few plays that have been done rather better 20 years ago.’ Such as? ‘Michael Hordern in Jumpers,’ he says.