JeremyNortham.net

Source: Scotland on Sunday Review 31st August, 2008. Words by Aidan Smith. Photograph by Rex.

Jeremy Northam values his privacy but, as he tells Aidan Smith, he’s happy to shed that quiet dignity when it comes to the right role.

The discerning film fan’s favourite suave English scoundrel is shuffling from foot to foot, ciggie in a downturned mouth, when I arrive at his Soho club. Jeremy Northam curses the modern world for the smoking ban. But does he also curse it for cigarette cases falling out of fashion?

Northam excels at cigarette case movies. He’s a genius at snapping shut a slim gilt box with a terrific finality, confirming that your every exit has been barricaded, that all available options have been closed off. Maybe, though, he wouldn’t take that as a compliment. I decide not to mention it.

He signs me into the club, buys me a beer and – without prompting – proceeds to send up the great chunk of his fine career that has been devoted to period drama. “Sometimes I’ll ask myself: ‘How come I’ve appeared in wing collars so many times?’” he says. “Or I’ll go: ‘Enough! No more breeches!’ And I’ll worry that when they come to write my obituary it’ll simply say: ‘He wore assorted hats from the past.’” He laughs and fiddles with his fag packet to illustrate its shocking lack of case-like qualities.This is going well.

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