Finney: A star who made light of his fame
ALBERT FINNEY, who died last week aged 82, was one of those rare actors who was as captivating on screen as he was on stage.
He was also one of my alltime favourite interviewees, and for all his theatrical flourishes — calling me ‘dear’, for example — he was refreshingly free of actorly pretension.
He was nominated five times for an Oscar, but never bothered to turn up to the ceremony. ‘It’s a long way to go to sit for four hours without a drink or a smoke, dear,’ he told me.
He declined a knighthood more than once, and never forgot his humble roots, as the son of an illegal backstreet bookmaker, also called Albert Finney, who operated out of a window in a Salford cellar.
He told me a sweet story about his father, dating from 1960, when he made his debut on the West End stage as the lead in Keith Waterhouse’s play Billy Liar.
Finney wasn’t yet well- known but during the run, Karel Reisz’s classic film Saturday Night And Sunday Morning came out, turning him into a star practically overnight. The producer of the play promptly had his name put above the title.
The following Saturday, his parents came down to see a Billy Liar matinee because Albert Finney Snr needed to be back by evening to do the reckoning.
‘I met them at the station,’ Finney told me, ‘and we took a cab to the stage door, where they left their bits and pieces, then we went off for a spot of lunch.
‘We went up the side of the Cambridge Theatre, crossed Seven Dials, and when we got across the road I said: “Look.” And there it was, “Albert Finney in Billy Liar”.
‘I said: “Right, come on, let’s go and get some lunch”, and my mother and I strolled on. But my father just stood there, looking up.
‘I went back and said: “Come on Dad, I haven’t got much time.” But he just stayed there, gawping. “Do you know what,” he said. “I never thought I’d ever see my name in lights.” ’