Critics who are supposed to know about these things are calling Reilly “the most promising actress to emerge from London theatreland since Dame Helen Mirren”. Then there’s her impeccable CV, the kind that Hollywood stars would kill for, full of critically acclaimed performances on stage and film.
The plaudits started in 2004, when Reilly became the youngest ever “best actress” nominee at the Olivier awards for her role in Patrick Marber’s After Miss Julie at the Donmar Warehouse. In 2005 she won best supporting actress at the British Independent Film Awards for Mrs Henderson Presents, and best newcomer at Cannes for the French film Les Poupées Russes, co-starring Audrey Tautou. She played the haughty Caroline Bingley in Pride and Prejudice, alongside Keira Knightley, and a prostitute to Johnny Depp’s Earl of Rochester in The Libertine. And this year she received “best newcomer” awards from the London Critics Circle and the Empire Film Awards. “She is hugely talented”, says Stephen Frears, who directed her in Mrs Henderson Presents. “A complete natural,” says the distinguished playwright Terry Johnson, who is currently directing her in Piano/Forte at the Royal Court Theatre. “Kelly is possibly the most natural, dyed-in-the wool and deep-in-the- bone actress I’ve ever worked with. She’s utterly instinctive. She seems to know absolutely what it is to be human. In Piano/Forte I don’t direct her so much as point to a line and open my mouth.”
So what does Reilly think of the heaps of praise? “Oh God!” she shrieks, feigning embarrassment. “I work hard. People will sometimes bring these things up, and that’s really nice, to think I’ve actually achieved something. I’d just better not f*** it up.”
We are at a French bistro in Clapham, south London – Reilly’s choice, because apart from absolutely adoring its rustic charm, it’s close to the flat she rents, and quiet, so we won’t be disturbed. The “quiet” also makes it an ideal place for her to learn her lines, which is what she was doing when I arrived – the only person inside, her slight frame hunched studiously over a script, one knee hugged protectively towards her chest. Elegant and stylish are two words that spring immediately to mind, notwithstanding that she is rolling her own cigarettes, drinking beer, and wearing white tracksuit bottoms, pink flip-flops and an old purple cardigan.
“I’ve come straight from the rehearsal room in Brixton,” she explains, placing the well-thumbed script of Piano/Forte to one side. “My head’s completely full. My character’s a real talker, so I’m in nearly every scene, and I have to memorise every single word, pause and rhythm. Nothing seems to be sticking.” Piano/Forte is a black comedy about a disgraced Tory MP and his two daughters – a subdued pianist (played by the American actress Alicia Witt) and the fiery Louise (Reilly) – who are hellbent on sabotaging his plans to marry a page-three girl.
“It’s a demanding role,” says Reilly. “Acting doesn’t just click immediately into place. You have to work really hard for it – which isn’t to say it isn’t enjoyable. It’s the best job in the world to be able to just play. That’s all it is in the end, really – just playing.”
Unusually for a stage actress, Reilly never went to drama school. Instead she learnt it at the deep end, by going to countless castings for theatre, television and film, and by absorbing like a sponge the knowledge of those she worked with. Her first significant theatre role was in Terry Johnson’s The London Cuckolds, when she was 18. Johnson remembers it well: “A choreographer spoke to me after the first dance session. He said, ‘Well, one thing’s for certain, Kelly’ll have to dance in the back row.’ I said, ‘Give her till Thursday.’ Come Friday, she was in the front row, and had a solo in act two.”
Reilly had an uncanny instinct for acting. Her performances were commanding without being histrionic – she possesses a raw energy and authenticity that most actors find hard to tap into – and a stream of theatre work followed, including sparkling performances with big-name stars such as Kathleen Turner in The Graduate; and Minnie Driver and the Friends funny man Matthew Perry in David Mamet’s Sexual Perversity in Chicago. Eventually, her outstanding reviews got noticed by top British film directors such as Stephen Frears (Mrs Henderson Presents), Joe Wright (Pride and Prejudice) and Laurence Dunmore (The Libertine). “Apart from being lucky and working hard, I’ve always stuck to my guns,” she says. “I don’t think I would ever do a big, glitzy film just to be in a big, glitzy film. I still have to love the film and feel good about the script.” Isn’t there more to it than that? “I’m versatile. I can be completely unrecognisable from one part to another. That serves me well. The roles are never about me, and I never want them to be. I never want to be [just] the name ‘Kelly Reilly’, or for it to be about what I’m wearing, or the parties I’m going to. It has to be about the work. That’s the one rule I’ve always lived by.”
She’s ambivalent about fame – “I don’t want the pressure of massive fame, I come from a very down-to-earth, grounded family, I’m not an exhibitionist” – and abhors hollow celebrity, the idea that people will do almost anything to get their picture in the paper. Before the photoshoot, her publicist points out that Reilly doesn’t want “overtly sexy pictures”, the kind that grace the covers of men’s magazines. Not because she’s shy (she happily got naked in Mrs Henderson Presents, and rumour has it that she will do so again in Piano/Forte), but because she doesn’t want to be portrayed as vacuous totty.
“People get the wrong idea about actors,” she says. “Everyone imagines that we are extroverts, wanting to show off. Actually, we are juggling our own neuroses, which is probably why we do it.” What kind of neuroses, I wonder. What doesn’t she like about herself? “I can be impatient,” she says finally, “and moody, and quite hard on myself. I always question myself – my motives, whether I’m on the right track. I don’t want to be indulgent, but those questions are always asked. I’m learning to deal with it.”
Does she get nervous on stage? “Absolutely. Opening nights can be terrifying. It’s not like doing a film, there’s a different kind of adrenaline – more adrenaline.” How do you deal with it? “You just live with it, and by doing it every night it becomes a part of you. It’s like throwing myself off a cliff every night, and not knowing whether or not I’m going to be able to do it. That’s my buzz. It’s what I get off on: throwing myself into different worlds, the challenge of changing characters, and letting my imagination run riot. Some people get it out of jumping out of planes; I get it out of acting on the stage.”
Reilly’s dedication and wilfulness can be traced back to her early years. She grew up in Chessington, a small suburb in Surrey. Her upbringing was ordinary enough. Her father was a police officer; her mother worked part-time at a local hospital. At the local all-girl comprehensive, she wasn’t academically gifted, didn’t have much of an attention span, and was a bit of a loner. “Even today I only have a couple of really close friends. Up until the age of 15 or 16 I was probably quite geeky. Or not geeky exactly, but a bit awkward, quite shy, and not in with the group. Then suddenly I came into my own skin a bit. I came out of that really awkward time and started to enjoy myself more.”
