What a pinko. The play imagines a time when no public figure will deny his sexuality. It's like a jet stream, blowing up and down in the most civilised places on earth. He knows this is a wondrous phase of his professional life, and a part he was born to play. He preferred London, and all the big cities of the world, when they were "rough and ready… or just rougher. He agrees with Hare's Wilde, who tells Bosie that changing England is low on his list of priorities.
At the risk of spoiling his cheerful plan, I feel obliged to point out that it's against the law to put corpses on bonfires. Unbeknown to me, it is Nude Sunday. I think that happens to a man; it's part of a midlife crisis. Good hymns, nice church, funny-looking people pottering down the aisle.
It's over! He was blinded by success, blinded by stardom, and never understood, ever in his life, that he was vile to his wife — but I think his flaws are touching and great. He has given this serious thought. In Hollywood, everyone wears make-up and nobody's gay. Not so erotic this time, admittedly.
I don't like wedding-cake Paris, or sand-blasted New York, or anywhere that's become a pedestrianised shopping centre with no character. He is glad, then, that he didn't throw his father on the bonfire, much though he hopes someone can overcome the legalities to arrange that for himself.
When it actually happens, I will feel even odder — assuming I outlive him. I love funerals. Is this "relations with dead people"?
When Rupert Everett dies, he won't have a funeral. I love him for his faults and his snobbery. Is he possessed? A few years ago, that would have been unlikely. When Rupert was doing The Judas Kissat the theatre next door, he ate here every evening at 5. It's another thing that's tragic and lovely about Wilde, for me. It was the opening of my funeral season.
Its heartbreaking images of gay love, physical punishment, Rupert everett nude and exile were deeply formative for me and deeply awkward for my father in the next seat. Next week is the Olivier Awards, for which Rupert Everett has been nominated. He knows, though. I hate parties and I never go to people's houses, but I love funerals.
There was a time when Rupert Everett was 25 and I was Another Countrythe great movie which brought his angular beauty and astonishing charisma to national attention, was the first rated film I ever saw underage. I'm just not motivated by it any more, and I used to be motivated by it purely.
Since it stopped, that major driving force, I've felt much calmer. I've spent most of my adult life, since the age of 10, thinking almost exclusively about sex, and getting it, or recovering from it. I won't tell you how the story continues, but please don't imagine that his trousers stay on.
One of the things he's been doing instead is giving the performance of his life in The Judas Kiss.
A Hollywood actor isn't supposed to be this clever, nor write this well. It was a real moment for me. Whether it's the memory cells throwing them up occasionally or whether it's a parallel universe, relationships go on. And now here we are, in a fashionable London haunt, drinking tea, talking about death. The second volume of his memoirs, Vanished Yearsis full of death. He is not celibate; in fact, he's happily settled with a long-term boyfriend. He agrees that they resemble "the gods" in Another Countrythe waistcoated prefects who rule a tiny world. He likes a melting pot of class and type; that's what drew him to the old gay bars, and indeed to the Masses and Lourdes trips that he talks about in Rupert everett nude book.
InRupert Everett is still the only man I can think of who came out of the closet while playing romantic le. But it's all smoke and mirrors to me now. The current run has finished, but it will surely rise again. The Comfort of Strangersin which Rupert Everett and his late friend Natasha Richardson played a couple on a mysterious adventure in Europe, was the first film I ever saw on a date. Stephen Fry brought his towering intelligence and wit to Oscar Wilde, but Everett brings both of those along with his own bruised glamour and a jolt of bitter darkness as though he's possessed.
When I ask Rupert what it feels like to have given the performance of his life, he says: "It feels like I'll probably still be doing it in 20 years' time in Scarborough — 'Oh God, she's wheeling out her Wilde again' — and it'll be the only thing I can do.
Straight couples, families… there's no brick wall of bigotry. He's only 53 and, from a close-up look at his face, I'd guess that parts of him are getting younger all the time. I'm most a fan of Ed Miliband, if any politicians, but they're all a doomed race. I adore it!
But it's been quite nice, in a way, because I do lots of other things instead. But nobody else wanted to, so we didn't. So many of my friends came — and I really loved my father during it, which I hadn't always during his life.
Although he is up against Mark Rylancewhose performance as Olivia in Twelfth Night is so inspired that he turns one of the dullest characters in Shakespeare into someone you can't bear to watch leave the stage, it will be a travesty if Everett doesn't win. On its s, Rupert Everett slips in and out of worlds like a character from Evelyn Waugh : witty, transient, tragic, glamorous, elusive and brilliant.
If any one of them was a real protagonist, it wouldn't work at all.
He seems terribly Catholic, in the sense of Protestantism being a rather polite religion where you're wearing a hat and eating a wafer, while Catholicism invites you to imbibe Christ's body and its priests wash the feet of the homeless. Now the straights have become cruisers, and the homosexuals are all getting married and having. Sexual liberation, Rupert thinks, has lately been the business of heterosexuals.
He says this very good-naturedly; he claims to lose his temper only with friends "I have huge arguments, sometimes two-year fatwas that take forever to unwind" and over his work. Depressing, yes, and yet here I am, acting as Oscar Wilde in a play about three queens with a lot of nude boys on stage, with a normal theatre-going crowd not judging it in a shocked way at all.
Twenty-eight years after Another CountryI sat watching this actor tell, once Rupert everett nude, a heartbreaking story of gay love, physical punishment, treachery and exile — but this time he was old, fat, grey thanks to make-up and costume, I'm sure he'd like me to clarifyand hollow with defeat. There is a yearning to his voice, both in the book and in our conversation, when he talks of inner-city churches, yet he also tells me: "I am not a Catholic.
The worst one is poor old… I've forgotten his name now. It feels awfully strange to be sitting in a restaurant with Rupert Everettwho has been my heartthrob for decades, talking about his death. I was brought up a Catholic, but I think Catholicism is an abomination of the Christian message.
I may not. This is part of the novelistic, magic-realism of his character in the memoir: it feels like he's got a favourite bar in every city in the world, a secret passageway to a constant international playground; he can make a hangout for homosexual hook-ups sound like Narnia.
It was amazing doing the play on the night of the parliamentary act about gay marriage. In the play, Bosie says that Wilde is a coward for not being honest in court about his homosexuality, arguing that future generations in a more liberated time so that is us, now, in the audience will despise him for it. Along with Rupert's new-found love of death, he's fallen out of love with sex. And since then… you'll think I'm getting Shirley MacLaineish, but you can have good relations with dead people.
Somewhere in the world, you feel, it is always Nude Sunday. Neither, once we're on a negative kick, is he very impressed with the personalities of the Coalition. But it is an incredible incarnation: he just becomes Oscar Wildein the first act offering a camp and melodramatic performance of tragedy, in the second act living a real one.
There was this extraordinary feeling, doing a play about a character who lost everything for being gay, and seeing where it had come to, that night. As their different titles suggest, his first volume, Red Carpets and Other Banana Skinsis gossipy and light; the second is reflective, poignant and wistful.
His father; Natasha Richardson; many friends in the Aids holocaust of the s. Another irritant is virtual communication. Sex has passed me by. Have we really come so far, though? On the other hand, as an entertainer, that's fine…". I've Rupert everett nude in love with him for a long, long time. I wanted to put my dad on the bonfire.