"I'm a Wimp"
by Lola Borg
Just Seventeen Magazine
May 27, 1987
I'm in a taxi, driving through London, with Rupert Everett. He's taking me out for something to eat. "I know a little place near here where we can get some tea," he says, and whisks me off to a very scruffy-looking burger bar in Kensington. He orders cod and chips, a salad, a cup of tea and a glass of Coke. This isn't quite what I expected.
Rupert has just finished having his photograph taken for our cover - posing is something he hates. He refused to remove his leather jacket for the pictures, and looked very nervy throughout. "It's difficult when people ask you to look sexy," he apologizes. "I'm just a wimp, really."
Well, Rupert James Hector Everett is not a wimp but he's not quite as handsome in the flesh as you might expect. Striking, yes, but classically handsome, no. His nose is a little wonky, his ears stick out slightly and when he speaks he sounds just like Prince Charles - except a bit sexier. But he's a lot more charming than I expected him to be, especially now he's more relaxed. He's not arrogant - quite the reverse, in fact - he sniggers a lot, and he's not a toff. Well, that's what he says: "I've never been a toff. I don't see how I could be."
In fact, it's very easy to see how he could qualify as a bit of posh. He was educated at Ampleforth, a private Catholic boarding school, and although he suffered the shame of being thrown out of drama school, he's had a very successful acting career playing, by and large, toffs.
His first film part was as the wilful Cambridge student, Guy Bennett, in Another Country, which was followed by a long period of unemployment - he describes it as one of the "huge relapses" in an otherwise easy rise to fame. It came about when Rupert set off to Hollywood, to make a film following the life of Orson Welles (one of the best film-makers of this century) which was to be directed by Orson himself. Unfortunately, the film was canceled the day before it was scheduled to start and Rupert was in a dire situation as he'd already spent all the money he'd hoped to make. ("It isn't that I'm not very good with money, I'm just not interested in it.") After a year and a half of feeling extremely morose, Rupert landed the part of the snooty David Blakely in Dance with a Stranger. And let us not forget that dreadful mouthful-of-plums, Ram, in the American mini-series Princess Daisy - though he would probably prefer that we did.
In all, Rupert has made a string of films (15 to be precise), the latest being Chronicle of a Death Foretold, in which he gets top billing, as a South American toff rather than an English one. The film is tipped to receive the best film award at Cannes.
"The filming of anything is horrible," he says. "I always feel insecure and wonder whether the film is going to show me up as a useless twit, but I enjoyed doing Chronicle more than any of the other films I've made. Colombia was lovely. I had a beautiful house to live in and lots of people to look after me. I had loads of parrots and animals and a little pet monkey - a sweet little baby monkey (he goes a bit gooey here) called Rupie that used to sit on my head all the time."
But we're not here to talk about his film career or whether he's a toff or not, we're here to talk about his record, Generation of Loneliness. "Do you like my lyrics?" he asks. "I think they're rather nice." He desperately wants the single to be a hit and it probably will be, but he says, "I'm resigned to disaster. I'd be very upset about it, but that's life."
If it isn't a disaster, he wants to do a tour. So will you play Hammersmith, Rupert?
"Oh, Wembley, please," he laughs. "There's not point in doing things in half measures."
Rupert thinks he'll make a good pop start - even if he has got the wrong sort of name. "Do you think it's an impossible name for a singer?" he asks, looking slightly perplexed. "My friends often call me Ru and, if I'm in a jovial frame of mind, I sometimes call myself Rupie-Poopie."
Do you thing you'll change at all to accommodate your new career?
"Why? If you think I'll grow my hair long and start saying, 'hi babe' all the time, I won't. No."
He doesn't really need to change that much to be a proper pop star. He already enjoys a drink. That's a good start.
"But I've got a hollow leg. I can drink and drink and nothing happens." He can also dance - or so he says. (He dances in one of his other recently-made films, Hearts of Fire, where he plays not a toff, but a "huge rock and roll star.") He plays most of the instruments on his single. He wrote the lyrics. He can sing. And he's handsome.
"I'm not conventionally handsome," he disagrees. "I certainly don't feel handsome. Sometimes, if I feel very, very together, I feel handsome, but that's not often."
But he must like some bits of himself? "What do I like? Ummmmm... there are bits I like. (There's a long pause and he smirks.) I like my dick."
Pardon? "I like my dick. Oh, you can't print that? (He sounds disappointed.) Well, I like my collarbone and sometimes I like my lips, but sometimes I think they look stupid." He then goes on to reveal that he's wearing black silk boxer shorts by showing them to me. "I prefer underpants actually, because I don't really like my dick going down the side of a pair of boxer shorts. You wouldn't know the feeling (I don't) but I find it very irritating. If it just hangs, it's a nightmare." (He smirks again.)
Another thing he hates is his height. "I hate height! It's appalling being so tall. I'll tell you how difficult it is being tall... and blind.. try these glasses on."
He hands me a very posey pair of sunglasses which turn out to be tinted prescription lenses. I put them on and tell him that I can see out of them. "Well, you're blind as well. (I am.) If you're tall, everyone looks at you and, because I can't see them, I spend my whole time like one of those animated dinosaurs from a silly movie." He starts waving his head around in an attempt to impersonate a creature from the Natural History Museum. He giggles rather a lot, too.
His near blindness means he regularly bowls up to people and says "hi!" - only to realize that he's never clapped eyes on them before. On the other hand, he's always upsetting friends because he hasn't seen them and so walks past, totally ignoring them. "I do this all the time and I can't stand being rude."
He is very polite. As the waitress pauses, he orders another cup of tea. "Just a touch less strong than the last one, please," he requests. He's also very polite to me when I ask him about his personal life. "My personal life is personal," he smiles sweetly.
Do you have one? "I don't talk about it. It's not very interesting. It's mostly, I would say, a failure rather than a success. And that's all I can tell you." But he does tell. When I agree to switch my tape recorder off, he lets slip a little more detail. It's not exactly what I expected but it's certainly not as boring as he makes out. More than that, I promised not to reveal. Sorry.