Y demostrando que aparte de actuar, pintar y entender de arte y otros muchos talentos, helen es tambien una gran escritora y aqui esta un gran articulo suyo para the guardian recordando a su amigo bob hoskins, fallecido hace poco:
bob-hoskins-helen-mirren-observer-obituaries-2014-long-good-friday
There is a great Yiddish word, a mensch. It means a stand-up guy, someone to rely upon, someone who won’t let you down. Bob Hoskins was just that, a mensch.
You wouldn’t think it, but actually we had a lot in common. Both raised in London of lower-middle-class atheist, communist parents. Neither of us could afford to go to drama school, so found our way into the acting profession by other means. However, I was the one with the genuine BK [before Krays] East End gangster for an uncle.
I first met Bob on the set of
The Long Good Friday. He was starring in that iconic film written, brilliantly by Barrie Keeffe, specially for him. The role was perfect for him, displaying that incredible energy that trembled inside of him, simmering, seething, turbulent, about to explode. His neck would swell, his face redden, his eyes become like two little shiny black olives. It was terrifying. And yet… and yet he managed to be something quite miraculous.
Chock-a-block with testosterone, mucho machismo, a real bloke’s bloke, built like a brick outhouse, but with a gentleness, a sweetness and a love and respect for women that was very rare then, and is quite rare now. He was very supportive of me as I struggled to make more of my role as Victoria, ubiquitous Girlfriend, unthreatened either as the star of the movie, or as a man. A mensch.
My next time with him was in the play
The Duchess of Malfi. It was often forgotten in his obituaries what a very experienced and consummate theatre actor he was, with a huge range of roles. He began in the theatre, and continued for much of the early part of his career. He would roll into rehearsals always full of the funniest stories of his time the night before or when he was living in his car. You never could quite separate the truth from a fable, a damned good yarn. He loved to entertain, he loved to be the centre of attention and he loved to perform. His stories were always long and dramatic, and starring Bob.
In the last week of the production, Bob had gone out the night before, and managed to sprain both his ankles. However, he refused to let the audience down and went onstage with two crutches, and I think gave the best performance of his Bosola ever.
He continued on those crutches until the end of the run. A mensch.
I got to work with Bob a third time, much later, on a film called
Last Orders. Here I found the older, gentler Bob. He was still the consummate professional he had always been but he no longer needed to be the centre of attention. He now had more cause to be. In the interim he had become a very successful Hollywood actor. More importantly for him, he was now a happy man with a great marriage. Bob always had things in the right order. All his natural humanity and generosity had found its way to the surface. We spent hours together on a bench opposite the Houses of Parliament, shooting a long scene, and, as we chatted and laughed and gossiped about our times together, I could not have been happier than to be able to spend that time in an iconic London place, with an iconic Londoner.
A mensch.
