There just isn’t very far you can go.” Everett was born in Norfolk and was brought up and educated as a Catholic – “I was fed it like a foie gras goose,” he says.
His father was an Army major and Rupert was taught by Benedictine monks at Ampleforth in Yorkshire.
We meet as he emerges from a rehearsal room in a central London church. There is a little nest of lines at the centre of his forehead and his skin is tanned.
Rupert friend who is he dating
It is a play about two hard-working composers, only one of whom is a genius.
“God, to Salieri,” says Everett, “is inspiration, talent, passion and art, and he doesn’t have it.
It’s a very easy thing to get into.” But he is also fascinated by what he sees as the failure to appreciate Mozart for what he really is. “There’s a whole side of my business now which clicks its fingers for world peace and equal rights.
“The court [in the play] cannot see the genius, the emotion, the godliness of the music.” Does Everett, I wonder, feel misunderstood? You can only understand the disaster of your own case yourself. Movie stars and directors and studios spend a lot of money promoting human rights and being charitable in Africa but, actually, in their own backyard, they really don’t accept that any of these things is happening.
The first 10 years of my career were conducted with this interior hysteria of terror. With every lens, I was wondering if they were going in too tight on what I might be hiding. You need to keep consolidating.” Fame is, he says, very addictive. You think that’s how everyone is to everyone.” But his success hasn’t been consistent.
I was very lucky, considering my very sluttish behaviour, never to get HIV. I can look at films I’ve been in and see in my face this sheer terror.” When I ask Everett to describe the excitement of Hollywood success, he is modest. “You get so many things given to you and you take them for granted almost straight away. “One of the great things about mine is that it’s been so cyclical, I’ve always been so up one minute and then so down.
“Aids in the Eighties was a very, very scary thing.
There were people walking around with the disease that looked like the undead. I spent the first six years of my career thinking that any minute now I would probably come out with it.
He took on the girls’ parts in school plays but he was otherwise very bored.