‘I never wanted fame. It’s the downside to a job I love’
She’s portrayed the most famous woman in the world, but being a celebrity herself was not something Olivia Colman ever imagined.
At the age of 16, future Oscar-winner Olivia Colman was enrolled at Norwich High School for Girls, in England’s picturesque East Anglia. The school’s motto? “Do thy best and rejoice with those who do better.”
It was there that she took to the stage in her first role, as schoolteacher Jean Brodie in a production of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.
In the play, Miss Brodie is a free-spirited, politically provocative teacher who instructs her pupils to meet the world with an open mind and to challenge convention but is also accused of promoting fascism.
“The thing is, I didn’t understand Jean Brodie when I was 16, I couldn’t have understood all the politics involved, and the nuances, and being a woman of the world,” Colman, now 50, says. “I don’t know if there’s a recording of it, but I bet I did a pretty awful job!”
Despite the intervening years, she adds, “I think I’m not too far different to that person. I have more to draw on now, I suppose. I still feel things very deeply, as all humans do, but I’m able to access those feelings. I don’t know if I’ve really changed over the years.”
Colman’s latest role, Edith Swan in Wicked Little Letters, is a wild departure from both the politically provocative world of Miss Jean Brodie and the rarefied world ofQueen Elizabeth II in The Crown, the role for which Colman is perhaps best known.
Wicked Little Letters, directed by Thea Sharrock and set in 1920s England, is a wild romp through a little seaside town torn apart by obscene letters.
As the correspondence begins to fill letterboxes, the town is ripped open, accusations fly, and Edith’s neighbour Rose Gooding (Jessie Buckley) finds herself accused of the crime. PC Gladys Moss (Anjana Vasan) is not so certain that poor Rose is the one wot-dun-it, and sets out to uncover the truth.
It’s based on a true event, the so-called “Littlehampton Letters”.
“I couldn’t believe I’d never heard of it,” Colman says of the story, unearthed by screenwriter Jonny Sweet. “It was discussed [at the time] in Parliament and all the newspapers covered it. Everyone was gripped.”
It might be news to younger people in the 21st century, because we likely think we invented swearing, trolling and hate mail. “My mum said that every generation thinks they invented sex,” Colman says, laughing. “And it’s funny because we think, ‘Oh god, we’re awful now’. I mean, that was trolling, but trolling now is on a world scale.
“I wish we hadn’t got worse, but it is nice to know that people were doing that back then. And it’s amazing that this story has been hidden. But then, so much is hidden – women being flawed, fallible, foul-mouthed.
“We all know that women’s history is often not talked about, particularly if you are non-white.
“History does get changed,” she goes on. “The history of the Second World War is different if you learn about it in Sweden. In different countries, even around Europe, it’s all told slightly differently. Same with any story. You might remember a moment back in your 20s with a friend, and you’ll both talk about it later and you’ll go, ‘No, it wasn’t like that, it was a Wednesday’.”
At first glance, Wicked Little Letters is a simple story about fame and scandal.
But the more you dig into it, the more you realise it’s the story of how women inhabited the frameworks created for them.
This is equally true whether it is Edith, the target of the letters, suffering silently under the heel of her father, or Moss, struggling to function as a female police officer in an era unaccustomed to such a thing.
“It’s repression, and if you try to keep something down, it’s going to come out,” Colman says. “I’ve likened it to wearing Spanx – the bit in the middle might look good, but it’s going to come out somewhere else. You get a fat armpit or a fat knee. The body can’t be repressed like that. And neither can you.
“Edith is in her late 40s and still living under the rule of her horrible, coercive, controlling father. And society is constantly looking at Rose, as they still do with women, saying you must look a certain way, behave a certain way.
“It’s still happening – 70% of rape cases don’t even get to trial. And why are we still fighting it 100 years on?”
At the heart of the film is a lot of bad language, some of which might even make a 21st century audience blush.
“I love a swear, I’ve grown up with swearing,” Colman says. “My very sweet mum, who worked for the National Health Service for 40 years, was an incredible nurse and a kind carer, and she swears like a docker. But it’s never in anger with her. It’s ‘Oh, f..., I’ve left the oven on.’ Or, ‘Should we have a cup of tea? Yeah, f... it’.
“I’ve always had that language in my life but I’m still shocked if I hear someone swearing in proper anger. And sometimes, when you bang your head or drop something on your finger, saying f... is a great release, especially if you do it through gritted teeth. It’s good. It’s cathartic. Like anger management.”
As the film’s mystery unravels and Edith’s neighbour Rose finds herself on trial, Edith herself begins to derive great satisfaction from her fame and the perception the town has of her as the victim of such a heinous crime.
Colman, whose career has catapulted her to the centre of the room, isn’t so sure about the thrills of fame. “When I started my career, I was very naive,” she says. “I never wanted fame. I wanted to work and I didn’t imagine fame would happen. I just thought I’d have a jobbing actor’s life, doing theatre where people come to see a play and go, ‘That was great, thank you.’
“That’s all very nice. Once you go beyond theatre, to telly or maybe film, more people know you and that’s the unfortunate downside to a job I love.”
Colman and her family – writer Ed Sinclair and the couple’s three children – moved out of London last year as the pressure caused by her profile increased.
“I can be outside [now] without anyone seeing me, some normality for my family, privacy,” she says. “When nice people ask politely for a photograph, that’s fine. And if I’m at a press thing, I’m in work mode. And fans at premieres are so lovely. That’s all a nice experience. But when it becomes oppressive – it’s bullying, it’s horrible, you have no agency. So I’d say to never crave fame, just try to be good at what you’ve chosen to do.”