
Personal details
All About this Star
Biography:
Back when he was young and painfully ambitious, Brian Cox was advised that he should forget about fame and concentrate instead on becoming a great actor. If he managed that, he was told, then the fame would inevitably come. Well, he did, and it has.
Two things are amazing about this. First, that his mentor was none other than Fulton McKay, known to most as the militaristic prison guard who so enjoyed bullying Ronnie Barker in Porridge. Second, that it should have taken Cox so long to achieve genuine Hollywood recognition. He'd been renowned in British theatre and on Broadway for decades, he'd been a cult star for his original portrayal of Hannibal Lecter in Michael Mann's Manhunter, but it wasn't until his mid-fifties that he really broke through in films. When he did, it was with a phenomenal run of hits - first sleeper hit The Rookie, then The Bourne Identity, The Ring, Adaptation, 25th Hour and then an entry into blockbusters with X-Men 2. And once there, he would stay there. Playing Agamemnon to Brad Pitt's Achilles in Wolfgang Petersen's Troy could hardly damage a fellow's profile, after all.
For Cox, more than most actors, it has been a hard and strange road. He was born Brian Denis Cox in Dundee on the 1st of June, 1946. His family was of Irish extraction, his ancestors having come to Scotland in the mid-1800s to seek employment in the new manufacturing industries and escape the Potato Famine. His father, Charles (known as Chic) was a weaver, his mother Mary was a spinner in the mills. There was no theatrical background here at all, Brian's later calling being a fluke of nature. As he himself told Radio 4: "I just think I sprang from my mother's womb as a performer, even my birth was dramatic. I was a double breach, apparently, and I came out (with) my own umbilical cord around my neck. There was nothing very quiet about it! You know, massive attention seeker from the off".
The youngest of five children, Brian was troubled from the start. He was academically poor - it's been claimed he learned to read by listening to his sister's records and checking the words sung against the lyrics written on the record sleeves - and he was the victim of much bullying. Even now he expresses wonder at children's capacity for cruelty. To escape this punishment, he became the class clown. Indeed, despite the seriousness and intensity of most of his later roles, comedy was his first love, particularly the films of Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin, and Bob Hope and Bing Crosby. Cox would later explain that American cinema had the deepest influence on him, not the English variety. This was why his ultimate target was always Hollywood success.
The Cox family was very poor. Brian recalls how every Thursday he'd be sent to the chip shop to collect the batter scrapings for their tea. But it got infinitely worse when, at nine years old, he lost his father to cancer. Devastated, Mary found it very difficult to cope and suffered a breakdown. Brian would once return home from school to find her with her head in the gas oven. Eventually, she would receive electro-shock treatment. She would never be the same again and would die in 1973. With his mother in such a state, Brian was raised by an older sister, and by his aunt. Shifting constantly between the two homes would at least prepare him for the itinerant life of the jobbing actor.
Though he had no one pushing him, still this born performer found his way onto the stage. At 14, he found himself passing the local theatre and decided to wander inside. The scene that greeted him might well have caused him to leave again, sharpish. Inside he found Nicol Williamson engaged in a fist-fight with the stage manager. The pair were knocking seven bells out of one other, yet still referring to each other as "darling". To the young Cox, used to a hard time, this was utterly compelling. He stuck around. The Dundee Repertory Company made him feel more than welcome (a rare experience), allowing him to help out around the place, cleaning up and, just before his 15th birthday even making his stage debut in Dover Road. He loved it, and left school forthwith.
After two years with the Dundee Rep, where he would closely watch the actors around him, picking up their moves and methods, he graduated to the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts, then turned pro at the tender age of 19. Coming from true working class stock, he wanted to get on with earning a wage. He returned to Scotland, working with the Royal Lyceum Theatre Company in Edinburgh, then moved on to the Birmingham Repertory Company, with them making his London stage debut in As You Like It in 1967. There'd be some TV work, too, most notably The Year Of The Sex Olympics, an extraordinarily prescient sci-fi piece written by Nigel Kneale, starring Leonard Rossiter and concerning the horrible possibilities of Reality TV.
Come 1971 there was more TV with an adaptation of Oliver Goldsmith's She Stoops To Conquer which saw Brian appearing alongside Tom Courtenay and Ralph Richardson. And there was a film debut proper in the epic Nicholas And Alexandra, about the fall of Russia's last tsar, with Cox showing briefly as Trotsky. It was a role that echoed his own left-wing leanings but, more importantly, placing him alongside Janet Suzman, Michael Redgrave, Jack Hawkins and Eric Porter, it pointed to Cox's fast-growing reputation as a thespian. Indeed, he was coming to be known as "Scotland's answer to Marlon Brando".
Throughout the Seventies and early Eighties, he made very few screen appearances. Instead, he concentrated on his stage career, taking on the likes Peer Gynt, Romeo And Juliet, Othello, When We Dead Awaken, In Celebration (as a miner's son, a role he'd reprise on screen in 1975 with Alan Bates as his angry brother and Lindsay Anderson as director), Hedda Gabler and Cromwell. 1977 saw him as an excellent Brutus in Julius Caesar, 1980 brought the title role in Macbeth. By now he was a renowned lead actor, moving on to Herod, Danton's Death, Misalliance, Three Sisters and The Taming Of The Shrew, for which he was named Best Actor by the British Theatre Association. He'd also played the dangerously obsessive and one-legged Captain Ahab in Moby Dick. During one performance, two schoolboys had taken to shouting "Peggy!" whenever Cox came onstage. Remembering a lecture by Alec Guinness he'd attended at LAMDA where the great man had said of the audience "It is an unruly beast, to be tamed and kept firmly in its place", and knowing that he had a big speech coming up, Cox turned to the kids and bellowed "And you two can leave the theatre for a start!" Immediately, an embarrassed master dragged the cheeky pair out by their rapidly reddening ears.
It should all have been going well. Not only was Cox established as one of the country's finest stage actors, but his home life was secure, too. Wanting stability, he'd married actress Caroline Burt back in 1968 and had two children. These were Alan, born in 1960 and later to star as Watson in Young Sherlock Holmes, and Margaret, born seven years later and going on to earn a PhD in Japanese cinema. But Brian wasn't happy. As said, he was hugely ambitious and not satisfied by his stage success. On TV, he'd had small parts in Laurence Olivier's King Lear and a biopic of Pope John Paul II, with Albert Finney in the title role, but nothing fulfilling was coming his way. Nevertheless, he continued to follow Fulton McKay's advice and worked at his craft. Not that he ever suffered over his research, mind. Cox once famously said "Research is bollocks. Research is an excuse for a lack of talent ... It's all about the imagination - there's the script and you just do it".
1984 saw him starring with Glenda Jackson in Eugene O'Neill's Strange Interlude, which won him another British Theatre Association award, and took him to Broadway. Now in America, he felt he should give Hollywood a shot. He'd always felt that theatre was something of a middle class pursuit and that films were more in keeping with his own background.
He didn't get there straight away - first he had to suffer in a Florence Nightingale biopic starring Charlie's Angel Jaclyn Smith. But luckily, he had been spotted onstage in the US by casting director Bonnie Timmermann. The role she gave him - ahead of Mandy Patinkin, John Lithgow and the early favourite Brian Dennehy - was that of Hannibal Lecter (here spelt Lecktor) in Manhunter, Michael Mann's adaptation of Thomas Harris's best-seller Red Dragon.
Ordinarily, playing a serial killer (and a cannibalistic one, to boot) would give an actor a welcome chance to chew the scenery. But Cox, now 40 and hugely experienced in the subtleties of Shakespearian tragedy, went entirely the other way. His Lecter was cold and thoughtful, deliberately hiding his monstrous nature behind a thick layer of banality. When William Petersen's FBI agent Will Graham comes to him for help in snaring the murderous Tooth Fairy, Cox's reaction is appropriately complex. He's curious, even keen to show the superiority of his intellect to that of Graham. But he's also resentful that he's being kept caged, and his pride has been damaged by his being caught by Graham in the first place. And he's sneaky - by God, he's sneaky. When he finally agrees to collaborate, just as Graham is leaving, he slides in a quick and thoroughly off-hand "Would you like to leave me your home phone number, Will?" It's a chilling reminder that he's always, always alert. Even in prison he's still looking to exert control, to inflict pain.
It was a brilliant display by Cox, one that Anthony Hopkins could match only by employing extra flamboyance. But, weirdly, it didn't launch Brian in America as he'd hoped. For a start, financial problems for producer Dino Di Laurentiis meant the film was never given a full release, and the situation wasn't helped by Cox's shattering marriage (divorce came in 1986, the same year Manhunter came out) and a desire to be with his children. During the remainder of the Eighties he appeared in only a small handful of TV movies, including A Shadow On The Sun, a kind of low-grade Out Of Africa with Stefanie Powers as the famed author and adventuress Beryl Markham.
So, instead of Hollywood fame, he had to make do once more with stage celebrity. This didn't pain him overly as he believed he still needed to hone his craft. And how he honed it. Having earlier won an Olivier award for Rat In The Skull at the Royal Court, 1988 saw him pick up another for his Titus Andronicus at the RSC's Swan Theatre (coincidentally, Hopkins had been playing Titus while Cox played Lecter, now Hopkins would be Lecter while Cox was Titus).




















