Richard E. Grant: A Pocketful of Happiness, a memoir full of juicy gossip - being ignored by Nicole Kidman, a weekend with King Charles III

Richard E. Grant on love, loss and touring Aotearoa New Zealand. Photo / Chris Pizello

Ahead of his visit to New Zealand, actor Richard E. Grant talks to Jo Bennett about his new memoir and why he feels secrets are toxic

Just before Christmas in 1982, Richard Grant, a dark-haired, blue-eyed, "pipe-cleaner thin" immigrant from Swaziland (now Eswatini), was waiting tables in London and playing Sweet Dreams on his Walkman – still years away from landing his breakout role on what would become British cult classic Withnail and I. Across town, Joan Washington, "boiler-suited, Kicker-booted and sporting a Laurie Anderson spiked haircut", was fast becoming one of the best accent coaches in the world, eventually working with everyone from Cate Blanchett to Ralph Fiennes and Jessica Chastain. In his bestselling new memoir, A Pocketful of Happiness, Richard E. Grant recalls their first fateful meeting in her office when he told her he could only afford half her fee. "She fixed me with her big monkey eyes and said, 'All right – but you'll have to repay me, if you ever make it.'"

Joan Washington, Richard E. Grant and daughter Olivia Grant attend the UK Premiere of "Dom Hemingway" in 2013 in London. / Photo / Getty Images

I realise I didn't ask Grant if he did repay her, considering he's now one of Britain's most recognisable character actors, from Withnail and I to Star Wars, via Game of Thrones, Downton Abbey and his Oscar-nominated turn in Can You Ever Forgive Me?. But perhaps A Pocketful of Happiness is his return, where he reveals the greatest role of his life was not onscreen, but in his extraordinarily happy 35-year marriage to Joan and as her carer before she passed away from cancer last year.

Speaking from his home in the leafy London suburb of Richmond, Grant, 65, looks comfortable and refined in a woollen jumper and tortoiseshell glasses. He's much quicker to smile than I expected, with a warm and effusive grin. While losing Joan gave him a new perspective on life, he says, family was always the priority. "You can't take your reviews to bed with you. You can't take awards home with you. The love of your life is a thing that sustains you; that sense of humour and intimacy, all of those things. Whereas a career, it's the kind of window dressing of your life, you know? It's obviously the job that you do, but it's not your whole life. Well, I've never thought of it as mine."

Melissa McCarthy and Richard E. Grant in How Can You Ever Forgive Me? Photo / Supplied

On screen, Grant's on top form when he's unpredictable and contradictory, perhaps best summed up as "aristocratic punk". It's hard to think of another actor who could play both "upstairs" (Downton Abbey) and "downstairs" (Gosford Park), or who is perfectly believable in a period drama with Daniel Day-Lewis, a strung-out rehabber in Girls, or villainous manager of the Spice Girls in Spice World. His memoir takes a similar non-linear structure, from gossipy anecdotes – celebrities being "normies" in the parking lot at the Oscars, being ignored by Nicole Kidman, a weekend with King Charles III (then Prince), at Sandringham (and a hilarious mishap involving dirty pants) – to quiet, ordinary moments in the garden with his wife and daughter, Olivia.

I wonder if this is how his mind works. "Yes, yes it does" he says, leaning forward and giving the sense a lightbulb has flicked on somewhere in his brain. "I was admonished for doing this all through my school career. When I was 42, a brilliant man psychoanalysed me, Christopher Bollas. He said that those sidebars or 'going down the rabbit hole' is where you are most revealed. That's much more interesting, rather than the straight narrative arc."

His unique ability to be of the British upper-class, but a step removed, is somewhat explained by his upbringing as the son of British government workers in Swaziland. Hailing from what he calls a "one horse town" also imbues him with an earnestness, or what he refers to as "being in the sweetie shop of fame."

Paul McGann, left, and Richard E Grant in Withnail and I by Bruce Robinson. Photo / Supplied

If Grant is in the "sweetie shop", Joan's disinterest in celebrity, her cutting Scottish remarks both hilarious and grounding are like a string to Grant's kite. After the premiere of Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, she lightheartedly admitted, "While you were very good, Swaz [her nickname for him, referring to his hometown], I confess that I didn't understand a word of it." Or another time: "Swaz! You're in the Condiment-ary phase of your career. Like Colonel Mustard in Cluedo. There to add some flavour!"

I tell him I was surprised by how emotionally open he is in the book. I thought, based on the characters he inhabits, he would be more stiff-upper-lip, more cynical. "I'm delighted that you have been surprised by that [openness], you know, it's not anything conscious, it's just how it comes out," he says. He started keeping a journal when he was 10 years old after he accidentally caught his mother having an affair - or as he puts it in the book, "bonking [his father's] best friend on the front seat".

He says, "I learned very early from my experience and my father's alcoholism, and my parents' very acrimonious divorce, that for me, secrets are toxic. That's the only disagreement that Joan and I had." This disagreement came to a head when Joan was diagnosed with lung cancer and wanted to keep it a secret from their friends, before Grant convinced her otherwise.

In one of the most moving chapters in the book, he collects accolades from her vast network of friends and clients for the Queen's New Year Honours. Just before she dies, she becomes lucid enough to read pages of heartfelt personal notes from the likes of Meryl Streep, speaking to her kindness, honesty and humour.

Jude Law and Richard E Grant in Dom Hemingway. Photo / Nick Wall

His unfiltered nature will be on show in a live event coming to New Zealand in November, where he will give anecdotes from his life and the book. He was last here 15 years ago for the Auckland Writers Festival, and mostly remembers the "enormously delicious" food and trying to get hold of his mate Sam Neill, who was out of the country. He was also blown away by Dame Jane Campion when he worked with her for The Portrait of a Lady in 2006: "The only director I've ever worked with who can improvise and become an actor within the scene," he says, sounding genuinely awed. "Her attention to detail was extraordinary."

Is there anything he wants to do here? "Oh yes, I'd like to see the whole country, please. I'd like a job there." he laughs. Is there anything he wants to do here? "Oh yes, I'd like to see the whole country, please. I'd like a job there." he laughs. He was due to play Archibald McIndoe, a New Zealander and pioneering plastic surgeon in The Guinea Pig Club, but this is still in pre-production due to Covid delays. I'm sure Joan would have her work cut out for her, hammering out his vowels for the notoriously difficult Kiwi accent.

While he is sure to dish out "glittering morsels of gossip", the best bits in the book aren't the celebrity sightings (although his love for Barbra Streisand is unparalleled), but his unbridled joy over the simple, relatable stuff – he and Joan waking up early to hunt for antiques together, playing late-night Scrabble and relishing stories after a party "as delicious as Boxing Day leftovers".

Becoming her carer, he says, was like acting, in that you can prepare and rehearse "but when it actually comes to doing it, I'd be damned if I know how I did it, or how other people do it, I'm just flabbergasted.

"I know of no family that has not had to deal with some kind of addiction or death," he says quietly, "I think that if you do something that's the most personal, you have a greater chance of reaching people."

Shortly after our interview, he posts a video on Twitter, shocked that his book made the Sunday Times' bestseller list. "Would I prefer to have my wife back? Yes, of course," he says putting his hand to his mouth and clearly emotional. "I'm just so grateful people get to know what an extraordinary person she was … I know if she were alive, she'd doubtless say, 'Pull yourself together Swazi-boy, you're going to be just fine.'"

Ticket details for Richard E. Grant's show on Saturday, November 26 at the Auckland Town Hall are at richardegrantlive.com

A Pocketful of Happiness: A memoir (Simon & Schuster, $50) will be available in NZ bookshops later this month.