He may be Britain's most renowned classical thespian, but Derek Jacobi still grapples with the problems of the everyday actor: typecasting, solitude, even stage fright.

There is a noble air to Sir Derek Jacobi. No doubt, it's partly his perfectly controlled, resonant baritone---the instrument which Jacobi has played like a virtuoso since he embarked on his career with the Amateur Dramatic Club at Cambridge University in the 1950's. In part, it's the shadows of past performances which seem to continually hover around the actor as he spins anecdotes from his days on the stage and his forays onto the screen: shades of Claudius, both the Emperor of Rome and the King of Denmark.

Primarily, however, it is the weight that his words seem to take on when he discusses the lessons, both personal and professional, he's learned over his long career. Indeed, Jacobi, in a recent interview with Back Stage West, conveyed a regal mixture of melancholy wisdom, modest honesty, and sly playfulness---a combination that suggests an air of one who is slightly above it all.

In England, Jacobi is one of the most instantly recognized performers; a star of stage, television, and screen. On the world's stages, he's played pretty much every Shakespearean lead written, often multiple times. In his sporadic feature film work, he can be seen in such early career thrillers as "The Day of the Jackal" and "The Odessa File", and more recently in nearly anything protege Kenneth Branagh has directed. Most recently, Jacobi took on the disturbing characterization of painter Francis Bacon in "Love is the Devil", a film which examines the troubled relationship between Bacon and his suicidal young lover, George Dyer. Jacobi imbues the often despicable Bacon with a sense of loneliness and frustration, making him, if not forgivable in his treatment of Dyer, then surely understandable. It's the kind of meaty, textured work the world has come to expect from Sir Derek. It's also the kind of brilliant, pained character with which Jacobi seems to be particularly facile.

Back Stage: "Love is the Devil" is called a "study for a portrait of Francis Bacon," and in that vein, the audience is only given brief glimpses of the man and his relationship with Dyer, which spans a long period of time. Is it hard to find a character arc when working so episodically?

Derek Jacobi: I think that's just film acting. That's what makes it different from stage acting and ultimately more difficult. I used to be rather dismissive of film acting, as if it wasn't "proper" acting. But it's just different, that's all. It's just as difficult. The only thing that is easier about it is that you don't have to sustain it over a given period of time. But its own difficulty is to always know the emotional and psychological arc---to know where you are at any one time. A knowledge of the whole script is essential; a director whose mind is keen is also essential. A little native wit and intelligence doesn't hurt, either.

Back Stage: As an actor in a film like "Love is the Devil", do you concern yourself with where the camera is? For example, there are entire scenes in which your head is not in the frame. Do you just play the scene as you would normally, regardless of set-ups?

Jacobi: All I need to know is whether it's a near or a far shot. If I know that it's a close-up, I know not to overact. Apart from that, I just play the scene, play the situation. John Maybury [the director] did say all the time, "When you see this, it'll look like nothing you expected. Just leave that to me, because if I explained it to you, it wouldn't make sense to you." He did want the whole thing to sort of look like a Bacon portrait, since we weren't showing any of the actual paintings in the movie. To do that, we just had to take him on trust. It did get boring when for hours he was shooting our reflection in a little doorknob or through a lightbulb. And he did deliberately shoot me from unflattering angles, as you no doubt saw. But it's all for the art, as they say.

Back Stage: In 1963, you were asked by Laurence Olivier to join the newly formed National Theatre Company. How did this come about?

Jacobi: I started my professional career at Birmingham Rep in 1960. I was there for three years. In 1963, it was the 50th anniversary of the Birmingham Rep, and to celebrate it, we were going to do the three Shakespeare plays that we'd never done--"Titus Andronicus", "Henry VIII", and "Troilus and Cressida." They offered me Troilus, Henry VIII and Aaron the Moor in "Titus". So I was playing three spanking roles in repertory for 12 weeks. We weren't told that he was there, but one Wednesday matinee, Sir Laurence was out front when I was giving my Henry VIII, and he came round afterwards. Now, I was always quick out in between shows, because I'd go out and get my tea. I was sharing the dressing room with Cardinal Woolsey, who was still in his makeup and gear when Sir Laurence came round, and I wasn't--I was in outdoor clothes and I'd taken off the beard and padding. So he came in and looked at me and said, "Well done," and then went over to Woolsey and waxed theatrically. I was feeling a bit miffed. Then he left--but less than a minute later, came back in and said, "You were Henry?". And I said, "Yessir." He said, "Oh, well, my great apologies--I didn't recognize you." Next week, he offered me a role in "Saint Joan", which was lovely.

Back Stage: I understand that you're second only to Gielgud in the number of times you've played Hamlet. When was the last time? And can you remember a discovery you made in that performance that you hadn't made before?

Jacobi: Well, yes, it was a strange discovery. It's probably not the answer you'd suspect. The last time I played Hamlet was at Her Majesty's Theatre in Sydney, Australia in 1980. And it was the occasion when I caught, or gave myself--because it's an illness--stage fright. I'd been playing Hamlet nearly 400 times for that tour and this was the last week. We had put our interval after the "rogue and peasant slave" soliloquy, so the first thing I did in the second half was "To be or not to be." And I'm standing in the wings waiting to go on, and I just think to myself, This is the speech that they've all come to hear. This is the speech that most of them think they know; they know the first phrase, probably not much more, the most famous speech probably ever written. What would happen if I forgot it? And I went up. I started it...and I forgot it. But automatic pilot took over, and my mouth, because I'd been so used to saying it, carried on talking. So I said it, but I wasn't with it. I'd gone blank. It was coming out of its own volition. Every pore of my body opened. My shirt turned black with sweat. And I was terrified. I don't know how I got through. That fear, that stage fright, that terror, lasted for three years. But I discovered that I wasn't alone. Lots of actors had been through that process and had caught stage fright, usually at a time in their careers when they were doing very well. It happened to Olivier himself; it lasted four years with him. It was something I will never forget, and I know exactly when it happened: when I let what I call a "worm of doubt" into my head about my ability to go out there and do it. And it took three years to get rid of that worm.

Back Stage: After playing Hamlet so many times, you played Claudius in the Branagh film. How did your previous Hamlet performances affect your performance as his uncle?

Jacobi: Well, I was very lucky in that by that time, having already directed Ken himself as Hamlet in 1988, I knew the play backwards, certainly from Hamlet's point of view. And I had addressed some of the problems of Claudius through directing the play with Ken. What also helped is that Ken was doing the full version, and in most cut versions it is Claudius who normally loses great chunks of the plotting scene with Laertes, which is a very difficult scene. The text is very involved and complicated. But if you're given it all and you go for it, it's a wonderful scene. It's a marvelous text, and it's lovely to be able to say it all. There are all sorts of wonderful character traits and clues as to Claudius' character which often get cut. So I found that very useful. Coming at the play from a different angle just fired my imagination. I never saw myself as Claudius. I took it on thanks to Ken, of course, who was quite right with the truism, the cliche: if you're playing the villain in a piece, the last thing you play is the villain. You play the nicest, friendliest, loveliest, most beautiful creature that ever was.

Back Stage: There is certainly a lineage in British classical theatre. I understand that Burton inspired you, you inspired Branagh. Do you feel that this cord winding down through generations will continue beyond this generation, or has the mentor system in British theatre been challenged by the film industry, as it has in the States?

Jacobi: It is breaking up. One feels: where are the future classical actors coming from? I heard something recently that froze the blood: that in some grammar schools Shakespeare is no longer being taught. One of Kenneth's ideas when he formed the Renaissance Theatre Company was to do that very thing---to get people like myself and Judi Dench and Geraldine McEwan to direct a company of young actors in plays we'd all been in, so that we could pass on to them our knowledge of the plays, the experience of playing those parts, to another generation. It was a wonderful idea and it was why it was called Renaissance Theatre. But it hasn't been followed up.

Back Stage: Had you ever met Francis Bacon?

Jacobi: No. I'm one of the few people who didn't. His acquaintance was vast. But I think you had to be a heavy drinker to meet him. I didn't do that scene. I wasn't a night owl.

Back Stage: Had you admired his work?

Jacobi: I'd certainly seen some of it...but an admirer? I'll say I was affected by it, deeply affected. Not that I particularly responded to the paintings in a nice way. I think they frightened me; they shocked me. I didn't want to delve too deeply into them. That was my reaction. I'm not someone who particularly likes confrontation; that may have played a part in it. But when I got to know more about him for the film, I changed my mind. Because then I could sort of see behind the paintings.

Back Stage: At one point in the film Bacon's confidante says to him, "It seems like you're more into the work than into the relationship." Like Bacon, you as an artist must constantly draw on your life for your art. Do you ever feel that your dedication to acting has separated you from those to whom you might have been closer?

Jacobi: Yes. Yes, I do. Because you expose yourself so emotionally, you tend to use up a lot of energy, a lot of thought, a lot of time, a lot of spirit. You scatter it in front of an audience. And when it's over, you're exhausted. You're not just exhausted physically. All those other areas of you have been used up, called upon. It's probably like no other profession. I think it's exclusive to performers---anybody who performs and has to give of themselves in all departments. Inevitably, when it stops and you become just yourself and you're with your near ones and dear ones, your family and friends, the way they remain your dear ones is because they realize and understand that there ain't quite so much for you to give, I think. I speak for myself, and can't say that every actor or actress does that. But I think that it's an inevitable, natural consequence of the expense of spirit and emotion in public---that you don't have a full tap. You're not quite as full of all those things, because you have to stock up and do it again, fully, the next day. It can get very exhausting. Performing requires areas of you that you would have reserved for your friends---but you have to keep them for the audience out there in the darkness.

Back Stage: For all the evils that television has visited upon our world, it has introduced the miniseries based on the novel, seemingly a new artistic form for actors. No actor has been more successful than you in this genre, not only in "I, Claudius", but in "Cadfael", "Little Dorrit", etc. Do you believe the miniseries may be its own kind of art form specific to this age?

Jacobi: I do. They're very good news. They're great fun to do. And you have a lot of added help and information from the novels themselves. You've got your script, of course, but you've also got a great Robert Graves novel or you've got Dickens, so you've got a lot of help, a lot of detailed material, which is very useful and exciting to breathe into whatever you're doing. It's less guesswork than out of your own head, because a lot of it is there on the page. When we did "I, Claudius", we all rushed to our Livy. And quite rightly the director said, "Don't do that. We're not doing Roman history. We're doing one of Graves' novels. Look into those novels if you want to find out what is happening." I think miniseries are a marvelous way of bringing these novels back into the public domain. Indeed, one of the reasons Graves wanted the BBC to do it was that it would recreate interest in the novels and make him more money, which in fact it did---people did go back to the novels. A whole new public was reading them. And I would like to think that's very useful and very good. Because then these people go home, pick up that book, and switch that wretched television off and read.

Back Stage: What is the importance of vocal training for an actor? Considering the dominance of the American Method, this is highly debated in the States.

Jacobi: I don't think they are mutually exclusive. I think you need both. Even on the stage, if you're not doing something classical, if you're doing something modern, you need great vocal technique. For instance, recently I saw a matinee performance at the Old Vic in London of "The Iceman Cometh" with Kevin Spacey, who had an enormous vocal technique. He spoke at a tremendous rate and could be heard perfectly; he enunciated; his breath control was marvelous. At the same time, he would be considered a Method actor. It's nice to have both, isn't it? So that you don't have to grunt and grind your way through "Hamlet"; so that you can actually be heard. The great idea of vocal technique, and voice and text for these great classical roles, is getting a bit ragged at the edges. The standard of delivery at even the Royal Shakespeare Company is not particularly brilliant at the moment. I say that having been there and seen it. The acting's good, but you don't hear that facility with the text. It is a problem. I'm sure that it's been said before, and that it will resolve itself. The movies have had an effect, because these kids come out of grammar school and get an agent who gets them a sitcom, but they never actually get out there and do the big stuff, which of course everybody needs. And unless you practice, you'll lose it.

Back Stage: There seems to be a greater divide in America between stage and screen performers. Do you feel that there is any validity to the prejudice that theatre-trained performers are often "too big" for film?

Jacobi: No, I don't. The journey from stage to film is a much easier one than the journey from film to stage. From stage to film, you pare down, you make it smaller, you take away,...whereas it is much harder for someone who's used to films and unused to stage to acquire the technique, to acquire a strong powerful resonant voice, to acquire that kind of body language that has to fill a big space, and be as real for those people five feet away as it is for those people 60 feet away. That is not easy to learn if you don't have it, whereas it's much easier to get rid of it if you don't want it. It is a bit of a prejudice, and one that I have suffered from a bit. Because I've done a lot of classical work, my image is that of a posh classical actor. And it's not true. I'm an actor. I go where the work is and play parts I'm offered to play. It would be a shame if I were only offered the big actor laddie parts. All right, I can do those parts, but I can do other things as well. It's this need to categorize people, particularly in movies: "What parts would he be good for?" "He played Claudius." "Well, are there any Roman emperors we need cast?" "No." So then you go back into the pile again. You get sort of typecast. And I understand that. But it's a shame that it happens, because who knows? You could come up with extraordinary surprises. The prime example is John Gielgud, who at the age of 78 became a big Hollywood star in "Arthur" playing a butler. I mean, he's the actor laddie of all time, the great voice of our century, and there he was playing a butler and becoming a film star. So there is hope for us all.