“My father told me I should go into word processing”

Actor Gillian Anderson on slapstick, motherhood and the perils of Googling yourself.

You're starring in the slapstick comedy Johnny English Reborn, which seems an unusual choice for you. Was that part of the appeal?
I generally like to make choices based on who I'd like to work with - and I liked the idea of playing the MI7 [spy agency] role with Rowan Atkinson. I think the thing that surprised me the most was how technical it was . . . I was aware of how I needed to work my technical muscle in a way that I hadn't before.

Is the atmosphere on the set of a comedy film different from that on, say, a period drama?
There's a heightened sense of comedy around and there's a bit more laughter. On the other hand, it seems to be more serious, because it's quite serious business, comedy.

Is there snobbery about doing a broad comedy?
Very early on, when I signed on to this project, I had read on IMDb [that] somebody was commenting on why I would choose to be in this film. And I thought, hang on a second - if I was doing a Jim Carrey film, nobody would be having that reaction.

It worries me that you are reading IMDb comments. Do you google yourself a lot?
No! I was looking up something else.

Some people do.
Ha, the first thing I do when I get up every single morning, after I feed the kids, is I go and google "Gillian Anderson".

Are your children affected by your fame?
No, the very, very first situation that we had was when we went to see Cars, and at the movie theatre we were handed a popcorn box with my picture from Johnny English Reborn facing me. My almost-five-year-old said: "Mummy, that's you!" really loudly and proceeded to turn the box around to find out where Daddy was.

It was very funny, but that was the first time that any kind of explanation was needed. And
I can't even remember what we said to him at the time - we sort of tried to push it under the table. It's too early for him.

If any of your children wanted to act, what would you say?
Well, I have a 17-year-old, and that would be the one to come to me soonest. Fortunately she is not interested. I have to say I'm a bit relieved she doesn't want to be an actor.

Because of the lifestyle or the insecurity?
Yes, because the statistics show, I think, that only 5 per cent of actors are working at any one time. My father gave me a lecture at one point when I was younger and told me that I shouldn't be an actress because I should probably get a real job, and that I should go into - what was it back then; computers were really young? - it was word processing.

You've done several period dramas. Are the roles available better?
It's a joy to do that kind of stuff. Every time somebody comes to me and says do Dickens, do Ibsen or Chekov or whatever, it's an honour. If there were two roles sitting in front of me and one of them was Ibsen and one of them a modern piece, I'd probably choose Ibsen. The other side of that is, yes, there is a shortage of good material for women that is as provocative and complex as some of the writing in the classics. But I don't feel like I'm choosing those [the classics] because there's nothing else out there. I am choosing those because I want to do them.

You were in A Doll's House at the Donmar Warehouse in London. What is it like to act in such an intimate theatre?
Each theatre has its own, very strong person­ality. There's something quite arresting about being in a space that small. The closeness of the audience lifts you in a very different way.

Why do you like Ibsen?
Ever since I don't know for how long, people have come to me and said, "You have to do Hedda Gabler; that's a role that's made for you." I'm not sure how much of an insult that is.

In March, you chose Barack Obama as the person you "most admire". Is that still true?
Well, I don't know about most admire. I still think he is a person I admire, but it has been a horrible ride for him since he came into office. And I just cannot imagine waking up every single day and having that burden on your shoulders and not just wanting to crawl under the covers and say, "I'm done." I still hold him in high esteem; he is doing his utmost for everybody. I am amazed what he still handles and the grace he continues to operate under.

Do you vote?
Yes, but in the States. Very enthusiastically for Obama coming into office, and this time round it will be Obama again, no matter who comes up on the Republican side.

Was there a plan for your career?
No, I've gotten lucky.

Are we all doomed?
No, not at all. Only some of you.

Defining Moments

1968 Born in Chicago. Grows up in London and Grand Rapids, Michigan
1993 Lands star role in the X Files TV series
1994 Marries her first husband, Clyde Klotz, and gives birth to her daughter, Piper
1997 Wins an Emmy, Golden Globe and Screen Actors Guild Award for The X Files
2005 Stars in the BBC's Bleak House
2006 Gives birth to her son Oscar
2008 Her second son, Felix, is born
2010 Is nominated for an Olivier Award for her role in A Doll's House at the Donmar

Johnny English Reborn is in cinemas now.

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

This article first appeared in the 17 October 2011 issue of the New Statesman, This is plan B

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The attack on Les Bleus was an attack on the soul of France - that's why Euro 2016 must go ahead

As a continent reels politically from the refugee crisis and emotionally from the Paris attacks, football must find a new, confident voice.

After the Paris attacks, the great Bill Shankly’s words have rarely been so tested: “Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you, it is much, much more important than that.”

As bombers detonated their suicide belts outside the Stade de France, French and German football fans cheered what they thought were fireworks. They were unaware that it was the opening salvo in a night of barbarity. One of the bombers had a ticket for the game but, mercifully, was turned back at the turnstile. Had his bomb gone off inside the stadium, the immediate loss of life, plus the panicked stampede and two more suicide bombers lying in wait outside for escaping fans, could have produced a death toll higher than at Hillsborough, Bradford, Heysel or either of the Ibrox ­stadium disasters.

The French intelligence services have yet to conclude publicly whether the attacks were timed to coincide with the prestigious friendly or whether the crowd of 80,000 was simply another target of bloodthirsty convenience on an already preordained date. Either way, there’s no mistaking that an attack on Les Bleus was an attack on the soul of France. In the aftermath, the Germany-Netherlands friendly game was called off and Belgian football went into lockdown.

How should British football respond? To those who think that the sport is just 22 players kicking a ball around a field, this may seem a peculiar question. But ever since the tail end of the 19th century, when football escaped from its self-enforced ghettoisation in Britain’s public schools, it has had a greater purpose.

More than any other sport, football has been intertwined with politics. As Harold Wilson said: “It’s a way of life . . . a religion.” When President Rowhani of Iran wanted to bolster his image as a new kind of leader, he didn’t deliver a speech but tweeted a picture of himself wearing an Iranian football top, watching a match. Franco’s dictatorship clung to the all-conquering Real Madrid and punished FC Barcelona. On Robben Island, ANC prisoners idolised Billy Bremner of Leeds United and successfully demanded the right to play football.

In October, one of the biggest protests against the closure of the north-east’s steelworks was from 10,000 Middlesbrough fans at Old Trafford. When Catalans challenged hikes in transport costs, they boycotted public transport from the Camp Nou. The biggest “Refugees Welcome” signs in Europe weren’t produced by governments but by fans of the Bundesliga champions, ­Bayern Munich.

So while the singing of the Marseillaise at the England-France match at Wembley was a “hairs on the back of the neck” moment, most of us understand that it’s not enough. What is less well known is that this wasn’t the first time that one of the world’s few genuinely inspiring anthems has been performed in earnest in British football. A century ago, bands took to the pitch to play patriotic British, French and Russian music – not out of altruism but military necessity. The British army was under intense pressure at Ypres and urgently needed new volunteers. The War Office turned to football.

For many, the journey to Loos, Flanders and the Somme started with a routine visit to cheer on their local team. Their sport transported them from a home football field to their foreign killing fields. Many clubs, including Everton, held military training on their pitches, while Manchester City’s then stadium, Hyde Road, became a 300-horse stable. Hundreds of players died serving in the Football Battalion.

But for too long our national sport reflected Britain’s lack of ease with diversity. From the 1920s, the religious sectarianism that poisoned the west of Scotland was allowed to fester in Glasgow’s football. The sport’s tolerance of recreational racism became widespread. Outside stadiums, right-wing extremists sold their propaganda while, inside, black players were vilified – even by their own supporters. Football’s racism corroded its heart and was rationalised in its head: it was allowed on the pitch, cele­brated on the terraces and accepted in the boardroom and far too many changing rooms.

And now, as a continent reels politically from the refugee crisis and emotionally from the Paris attacks, football must find a new, confident voice. The sport and its fans cannot sit on the subs’ bench at a time like this.

In a nation where only one in five male workers joins a trade union, football is a rare regular collective experience. It is more authentic than click-and-connect social media communities. Despite high ticket prices, football offers the one place where thousands of working-class men, including many politically disenchanted young men, come together in a common cause.

British football has long since jettisoned its ambivalence regarding racism. But for organised extreme right-wingers, Islamophobia fills the space vacated by the anti-Irish “No Surrender” tendency on the sport’s fringes. Although the number of top-flight British Muslim players is infinitesimally small, the streets of Bradford, Blackburn and Birmingham teem with young British Muslims kicking a football. More clubs can harness their power to inspire and increase their ­involvement in community counter-­radicalisation strategies. Clubs should also take the lead by having zero tolerance for Islamophobia, training stewards and backing fans who stand up to fellow supporters.

And, finally, the European Championships, for which all the home nations bar Scotland have qualified, must go ahead in France next summer. There’s no liberté in cancelling. In the name of fraternité, let’s all back France as our second team. Allez les Bleus!

Jim Murphy is the former Labour MP for East Renfrewshire and leader of Scottish Labour 2014-15.

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State