This Much Is True

Before we did our scenes together, I was introduced to the three youngsters — Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson — who at that time, right at the beginning of the film series, were extremely young. But they were three well-brought-up, beautifully behaved middle-class children. J. K. Rowling was determined that the films be shot in England, with English actors. I think she was right; there’s a knowing, precocious quality about American child actors which I find unpleasant. Our trio were refreshingly unspoiled.

All the children on set were impeccably behaved and as I can’t help my foul language, they decided that every time I said ‘fuck’, or some other ‘bad word’, I had to put ten pence into a swear jar, the proceeds of which would go to the World Wildlife Fund. I don’t know how much the obscenity fund amounted to in the end, but it was an appreciable sum. Daniel claimed not to remember this when we met recently on The Graham Norton Show; I was probably careful around him, a nice Jewish boy, but with the other kids I didn’t bother.

Even though I don’t go dewy-eyed over children, I’ve always got on with them, perhaps because they think I’m more or less one of them: I’m short, so I don’t tower over them like most grown-ups, and I’m also quite naughty, which they appreciate.

Our big scene together was in the greenhouse, where Professor Sprout is teaching her second years how to re-pot mandrake plants. Pomona is responsible for growing the mandrake crop to maturity, at which point their juice is used to revive petrified victims of the monstrous, serpentine Basilisks. Those screaming mandrakes were quite frightening because, even though all the sound effects were added afterwards, the animatronic plants moved in a lifelike fashion, and actually breathed as if emitting an ear-shattering scream. They were vile and scary and I cringed when I had to lift one out of its pot. The animatronics are controlled by off-camera engineers, who make them seem alive. The creatures were brilliantly realised in the Leavesden workshops. The basilisk was equally horrifying and huge. I remember thinking, ‘Well, that’s what cinema is all about now. It’s not really about acting any more.’

The mandrake lesson scene took all day. It was quite tiring, so I tried to make the kids laugh. You must do if you’re working with children; and realise that they are not going to be as focused as you are. You’ve got to discipline them too, so I was bossy and would tell them, ‘Now shut up. You’ve got to be quiet, or we’ll never get to the end of this shot.’

I was in Australia just before the filming started, and they contacted me to say that they needed me to come over for a costume fitting and they’d fly me back the same day. I told them that that would be tricky, as I was in the middle of rehearsals for a play in Melbourne, but they insisted. They booked a business class ticket for me; I flew in, a car met me at Heathrow and took me to Leavesden. I did the costume fitting, then flew back to Melbourne the same night. All in all, I came back to England for about eight hours: I didn’t even spend a night there. It was exhausting, but that’s what you do for films.

I gave a good performance as Pomona Sprout; I enjoyed it and I liked the people, and it made a great difference to my career. There’s no question about that — it made me famous; more famous than I ever thought possible. Fans followed me in the street; people asked to have their photograph taken — selfies, as they call them — standing next to Professor Sprout. I still have to get photographs printed to sign and send out to my Harry Potter devotees. I even get recognised abroad — sometime after this, I went to Lithuania for another film role. I was at a ballet matinee, enjoying the show and, suddenly, I was mobbed by screaming schoolchildren! Usually when Jews are mobbed in Lithuania, it’s to kill them, but this was because of Harry Potter.

I don’t bother to reconcile the difference; it’s just how it is. I’m proud to have been a character, if not a particularly important character, in an iconic series that will mean generations of children will know who I am; I am grateful for that. The only strange thing for me is being fixed as a certain character at a certain age, as Professor Sprout — or Lady Whiteadder — despite all the hundreds of other things I’ve done. But it could be worse: after all, in people’s heads, poor Daniel Radcliffe is forever fixed as an eleven-year-old boy. And he’s a very good adult actor.