ANNA: Hattie is not at all like me. She’s focused, dedicated, daring,
passionate, fun and quite febrile; she’s very like my husband. I’m dizzy,
crazy, loving and naughty. My husband is always saying to me: “For goodness’
sake, grow up!” But I have a childish streak, whereas Hattie is responsible
— like a grown-up!
I loved having my children. We were always playing together. Hattie was
imaginative and adventurous and I often found her doing something unusual or
different. I’d find her reading up a tree or in a corner. Some children need
to be with others all the time, but Hattie often wanted her own space.
I wanted my children’s childhood to be different from mine. My parents were
abroad for years because my dad was in the army. Once a year I went to join
them, but the rest of the time I was farmed out to grannies and aunts, and I
was very affected by that. I think that’s part of what fired me up to be an
actress. Acting is to do with wanting attention and winning love and
approval. I remember at a school concert I sat next to a girl who peed on
the floor, and I offered to sit on it to hide it! I’d do anything to get
attention and love and thanks and all that.
I wanted so much for my own children to feel loved and I went too far. I was
too affectionate and demonstrative and I gave them too many presents and I
think I held on for far too long. After a certain time you’ve got to have
the confidence to let your children lead their own lives. I came back from
New York after doing An Ideal Husband in 1996 feeling so guilty that I’d
been away. But the children weren’t even living at home any more! And that
weekend I was fussing: “Do you have any washing?” “For goodness’ sake, Mum,”
they said, “you’ve been away for six months.”
At times I was over the top, high, because I suffer from manic depression. My
grandmother and mother suffered from it too. In my mother’s day, suffering
from depression was like having leprosy; you didn’t talk about it.
Nowadays people like Stephen Fry talking about his depression have made
things much easier. When I got high I didn’t sleep; I talked without
stopping. It must have driven my husband nuts. When you’re high you’re so
confident, but when you’re low you have to force yourself to get out of bed.
I honestly don’t know what all that was like for Hattie and her sister, Becca.
We’ve never talked about it. But now they know instantly what state I’m in
by the tone of my voice. If I’m low I talk in this detached voice. But
acting has helped me, because it’s like it’s not you out there on stage or
screen; it’s this other person and you’re hidden behind them. My
over-the-top love for my children probably did have to do with being high.
Certainly it took me a long time to own up that I had manic depression. I’d
make excuses and say I was tired. Finally my sister and my husband,
Christopher, said I should see a specialist. Which I did. More than
anything, I didn’t want Hattie and her sister to suffer from it.
I still worry, because I didn’t admit I suffered from depression until I was
in my thirties. But I look at Hattie now and she seems very calm and in
charge of her life. She was always funny and attractive and she wore unusual
clothes. She was never conventional.
She wanted to go to Newcastle University, but Christopher said: “No, if you
get in you’ve got to go to Cambridge.” And in retrospect I think he was
right. After Cambridge, Hattie said she wanted to be an actress and I did
think she was good. I feel tremendous pride when I see her on stage: she has
this integrity; she never does anything for effect or for laughs. I often
think: “Oh, I wouldn’t have thought of doing that.” When she played
Elinor in Sense and Sensibility on TV last year on New Year’s Day she was
worried she’d be compared with Emma Thompson who’d played it in the film,
but she was very different.
I was quite nervous about rehearsing together in The Family Reunion at the
Donmar.
I worried about embarrassing her. But it all fell into place, and I didn’t
feel any self-consciousness. And I don’t think she does either.
Her fiancé is Blake Ritson, and frankly, if you were to audition someone to be
the ideal son-in-law he would win hands down. He’s good-looking, a brilliant
actor, he cooks, he writes and directs his own films — and he loves my
daughter! Una Stubbs calls me a “grannabe”, because I’m dying for Hattie to
have children. But you mustn’t tell her!
HATTIE: My mother was always so loving and giving that I can’t remember
a single time when she was cross with me. She and my father would say: “You
have to stay at the table until you’ve finished your green beans.” But in
the end Mum just couldn’t bear it, so she’d say: “Oh, don’t worry, darling.”
When I was about five, I remember having to do little performances, playing
our mothers, for a school assembly. Most girls were pretending to be their mothers
baking cakes, but I was being Mum, saying: “Bye, darling, I’m off to work!”
Of course, poor Mum sat there watching and thinking: “What am I doing to my
children?” But I remember Mum working as an exciting thing. We’d go to
Laurence Olivier’s summer parties, and Mum was recognised by people in the
street when she did this big TV police series called Juliet Bravo. When she
came back from filming she’d bring lots of presents — which I now realise
meant she felt very guilty.
I don’t remember ever actually being told that Mum suffered from manic
depression. As a child you take it for granted when there’s something
different about someone close to you, and Mum never, ever burdens anyone in
the family with her problems. I think I was more aware of it when I was a
teenager. But it’s like I have two mums. They each bring out different
aspects of her personality, and I know them both equally well. One is a very
sociable and outgoing, life-and-soul-of-the-party mum; the other is this
worried, down person.
Mum says that when she’s high she gets through sorting out stuff in no time,
and I’ll say: “Gosh, I feel quite jealous!” But when she’s down she really
worries a lot. But only those who know her well know if she’s high or very
low. And when she’s performing it’s only we, her family, who can tell
whether she’s on fire and absolutely loving it or whether it’s the last
thing she feels like doing and she’s just soldiering on. She’s on some
medication these days, but it can have side-effects, so it’s a constant
balancing state.
Mum went to boarding school aged six, because her parents were abroad. I’m
sure she would have felt: “I must make myself popular and likable and
entertain everybody.” You either retreat or you survive. She’s told me and
my sister that she used to make up stories about her life. And that’s
probably led to her being like she is today.
Mum has a complete gift for friendship. She totally collects people, in a way
that is wonderful. She’s very open and giving and her every spare moment is
spent writing cards to friends.
Today in every acting job I do I meet actors who say: “I love your mum. How is
she?” But I’m not like her. I enjoy being with people, but after
a bit I need to be on my own. I’m much more like my dad. I’m rational and
analytical, whereas Mum is innately artistic and emotionally intelligent and
responsive with her feelings. Mum has a chip on her shoulder about not going
to university, and she was very keen that Becca and I went to Cambridge.
After Cambridge I said to her and my dad: “Give me a year to act.” And I
haven’t really stopped working.
For a long time I played emotionally unstable parts which weren’t really me.
Playing Elinor in Sense and Sensibility was going to the other extreme — and
more like me, although I’m not as controlled as Elinor.
I think it’s quite good that Mum and I don’t live together now, because we’re
quite different creatures. When I’m at home, helping with cooking, we begin
bickering. She’s very slapdash and she’ll put something on the stove and
then run off to make a phone call and forget about it. Things start burning
and I turn into this control freak, which I’m not normally.
Mum just keeps on acting, which is lovely. She’ll tell you she’s never going
to work again but then she’ll do three plays and two films in a year, and
I’m like “Hmmm… not sure I’m going to believe you next time!”
In the summer, when we were both working in different plays at the National,
it was a bit like Take Your Mum to Work Day! She’d call to me from her
dressing room: “Hello, darling! I’ll make you a cup of tea!” And now we’re
doing The Family Reunion together at the Donmar, which is just lovely. In
rehearsals
I saw how we work in very different ways. She’s instinctive, whereas I’m more
analytical. And of course she keeps saying: “Oh, I don’t want to embarrass
you.” And I say: “Mum; I’m not 16 any more.”
