Derek Jacobi

His kindness to budding actor has paid unexpected dividends

 By Luaine Lee, Scripps Howard News Service

 BEVERLY HILLS -- When British actor Derek Jacobi limped and stuttered his way into our living rooms in "I, Claudius" 20 years ago, he never dreamed his life would change forever.
 But playing the handicapped Roman emperor endeared him to an American audience, and three years later he was on Broadway.

 Now as Hamlet's murdering uncle in Kenneth Branagh's "Hamlet," Mr. Jacobi becomes less alien than those who have preceded him.
 And the Derek Jacobi who sits on the pin-tucked couch in a quiet hotel room here seems miles away from Rome or Denmark or even England.
 He remembers his first "acclaimed" performance.
 "I was with a junior group at the local library when I was 6. I played a dual role at Christmas in 'The Prince and the Swineherd.' Mother made my costumes. As the swineherd I was in rags and as the prince I was in blue silk," he grins at the recollection.
 Mr. Jacobi portrayed his first Hamlet when he was a gawky 17. But he was 39 when his interpretation of the tortured prince slammed critics to attention and inspired one 16-year-old schoolboy to become an actor.
 That boy was Mr. Branagh. Eleven years later Mr. Branagh -- then a devout drama student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts -- wrote to Mr. Jacobi.
 "He said could he come and talk to me about acting in general and Hamlet in particular. I didn't know who this young boy was, but we had a lovely chat. He asked for some advice. I said, 'If you want to be an actor you mustn't be, but if you NEED to be an actor, you must realize the business doesn't owe you a living and you'll live a life of constant rejection. The profession is 85 percent unemployed, but, good luck anyway.'
 "Of course, none of it was any good because he went off and was an immediate success," Mr. Jacobi laughs, clapping his hands.
 Their lives seemed destined to intersect. When Mr. Branagh decided he was ready to play Hamlet, he sought his older mentor.
 Mr. Jacobi remembers it this way: "Ten years later when we met and I realized who he was, he came to see a play I was doing in London.
 "He said, 'I'm gong to do "Hamlet."' I asked, 'Who's going to direct you?" He said, 'You are.' I said, 'What do you mean?' 'I'm asking you to direct me. I think it's fitting that you should.' So I did, and that was in '88 and we've been joined at hip ever since."
 Mr. Jacobi laughs at how his kindness to a brash schoolboy resulted in years of employment for him. But that generosity is characteristic of the gentle Jacobi, who is equally self-effacing about his talent.
 "I think I just had an instinct from youth," he says. "I could certainly not earn my living in any other way. Sadly, I'm uncreative in other ways. I'm in awe of Ken who writes and directs. I can't paint. I look at other people's paintings, listen to other people's music, read other people's books. My only creative outlet is acting and I enjoy it. Though it is immensely difficult and hard, it doesn't ever feel like work," he says.
 Mr. Jacobi, an only child, grew up in a middle-class family. His father was manager in a department store, his mother was the boss' secretary.
 He was born just before World War II broke out and, in his first five years, didn't see much of his father, who was in the Army.
 "I was very fortunate that my parents also became my friends," he says. "We all adored each other. They were incredibly supportive, particularly when I announced I wanted to go into the profession of which they had no knowledge, no inkling. Shakespeare was somebody they'd heard of vaguely. It was a million miles from their experience. One of the great joys of my life ... was that they became hooked on the theater. They'd come to see me, but also went to things I wasn't in."
 Mr. Jacobi studied history at Cambridge, acting all the time. "I got the actors' degree, which is somewhere in the middle," he explains, "you're not exactly a genius but you're not exactly a moron."
 Though he has worked mostly in the theater, Mr. Jacobi also starred as the sleuthing medieval monk on "Cadfael," and in the films "Little Dorrit," "Dead Again," and "Day of the Jackal."
 His father is still living, but his mother died in 1980, a loss that still hurts, says Mr. Jacobi.
 He admits that tragedies are often resurrected by an actor. "Personal crises in one's life adds to your emotional bank account," he says. "I will be perfectly honest with you if I say that, grief stricken though I was, and still am, by my mother's death, I've used that in my acting -- with her blessing, hopefully.
 "But I've used that emotion, I've recalled that emotion and channeled it into something else, into some other situation when I needed something analogous to that grief."
 For Mr. Jacobi, whose other interests include gardening, acting is not a way of life, it IS his life.
 "I think actors, in a sense, have one foot in the cradle," he says, "they never grow up. And that's essential because they've got to wear their emotions on their sleeves when called upon to do so -- as a child does. Cry when they're unhappy, laugh when they're happy, scream when they're hungry. Just as a child is plugged into its emotions, so an actor should be."
 Whether he acknowledges it or not, Mr. Jacobi has reached what he calls the third stage for an actor.
 "The first category is young and talented -- a very good category to be in. The second is experienced and successful, a pretty good category to be in, you've got work and had experience.
 "The third, a category you all want to be in when you start out, it's called distinguished and acclaimed. Once you get to be distinguished and acclaimed the pressures are so much greater. You suddenly become the favorite in the race. People expect you to be good because you're distinguished and acclaimed, so your powers of surprise are lessened. You are expected to win the race."
 As Claudius in "Hamlet," Mr. Jacobi is still ahead in the stretch.

from the Standard Times