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The name Mike Leigh has been attached to some intense, intricate, generally superb character studies in the past three decades. The man has pitted Gary Oldman (as a skinhead) against Tim Roth (as a slow learner) in Meantime (1981), explored the friction of reuniting Cure-fan college chums Katrin Cartlidge and Lynda Steadman in Career Girls (1997), and charted David Thewlis' wretched trajectory through London in Naked (1993). Of course, his status as an unflinching observer of the English working class in Secrets and Lies (1996) has also been celebrated widely. Now, here he is in a Beverly Hills hotel to discuss his big, bold, though intimate portrait of Victorian-era composers Gilbert and Sullivan.
Where to begin? Indeed, the very basics are easy to establish. Leigh was born in Salford, Manchester, England, on February 20, 1943. But what about the more subjective aspects? Is he affable, charming, intriguing, pretentious, reserved, gruff? Given the adventurous emotional scope of his films, what is one to expect of his corporeal frame and decorum? As it turns out, Leigh is congenial, pleasant, and primed to plug. Today he is clad in tweed and carrying a walking stick. His stature and build suggest the presence of hobbits somewhere in the misty past of his lineage, perhaps a subject worthy of some discussion. But, in the interest of professionalism, we dive right into the origin of his latest work, Topsy-Turvy.
"I had the notion quite a long time ago, and then I made a little movie with Jim Broadbent called A Sense of History," Leigh explains, quick to note that the short film sometimes screens on Bravo. "He wrote it. It's about an earl walking around his estate, owning up to his sins; and we shot it in the winter of 1992. I said he could play Gilbert, you know, and he thought I was mad!"
The madness spread, and within a few years, Broadbent joined the rest of the cast for seven months of rehearsal, settling into the role of William Schwenk Gilbert, sophisticated comic librettist, opposite Allan Corduner as the brilliant, frustrated composer Arthur Seymour Sullivan. Gilbert and Sullivan crafted 14 operas together, including The Pirates of Penzance and The Yeoman of the Guard, so there was no dearth of material or history. "You name it, we researched it, just to bring that whole world alive," says Leigh. "But, certainly, I didn't want to do a biopic, and anyhow, we couldn't have done one, given our resources." (He declares the film's budget was $15 million -- or "peanuts.") "So I did sort of what I always do, which is drop anchor in one place and make the story work through how people are, rather than being more spread out and detached."
Of his choice to focus on the years of 1884 to 1885, Leigh has a simple explanation: "They are up and running and at the height of their popularity, but then they have this impasse, which seems to me to access what they're about at its most central...the whole genesis of The Mikado, and the part played in it by the Japanese exhibition, plus the fact that my main actors were of the right age to play Gilbert and Sullivan at that stage. The concern is the psychological and emotional investigation of everyone. And what I suppose I'm obviously interested in is all of those other characters, the actors -- you know, the junkie, the alcoholic actress, and all the rest."
There are plenty of Leigh familiars in Topsy-Turvy, but when attention is called to Lesley Manville's performance as the librettist's wife, Lucy Gilbert, the director's enthusiasm deepens. "Much as you can read about Gilbert and his wife, you cannot find any evidence as to what she was actually like. So Lesley and I conspired to create the woman behind the façade. And the façade matches what we read, but we've obviously worked at giving her passion and flesh. And of course, I have absolutely no doubt whatsoever that one thing in the picture could never have taken place -- what happens the first night after The Mikadoopens, when she speaks her visions to her husband at her bedside. It's entirely invented, and it pertains more to Freud and Fellini than to anything else, really. We worked for months. She is incredible, fabulous -- able to get under the skin."
But the music? And the greasepaint? "We had a ball with that," he says. "Carl" -- Carl Davis, the composer -- "and I very definitely decided to use Sullivan. But the problem was that for every moment that needed music, there were 25 choices as to what bit from Sullivan to use."
Other decisions called for more nuanced judgment. "So far as the actual extracts from the shows are concerned, I was very selective in that everything has got a dramatic reason for being there. By the time you get to a point in the story that you see a long extract from The Sorcerer, it's been all about the politics. You've been inducted into this world; now is the time to find out what it actually is. I felt we should be looking at it as the industrial process of theater in practice. So you see the performers, the guys in the band, the audience participating with their opera glasses, the guy on the thundersheet, the electrical stuff, the wires. I shot all that as part of the whole event of theater."
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