Maggie Smith seemed in her performances to care nothing about being loved, but she was as widely adored as an actor can be. The two things were connected; everyone who watched her knew that there was an unswerving honesty behind her ruthless wit and her ability, in the blink of an eye, to shine a light on the most terrifying abysses of the human condition.
She found life hysterically funny and unbearably painful. Her company was exhilarating – she was even sharper and wittier than her legions of fans imagined her to be. But since the death of her husband, Beverley, in 1998, she was often lonely, and the fun was a way of laughing in the face of the unavoidable misery that draws people to great acting. It bears witness to the tragic business of being alive, at the same time as it offers an escape from it.
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