I first met Maggie through her husband, Robert Fox, a film and theater producer. He first met her in 1974, when he was 22 and she was starring in the sexually transmitted disease comedy Snap. His job was to drive her to the theater and usually hold her hand, which he remembers as both fascinating and frightening.
But they hit it off. She trusted his taste, and he went on to produce her in 10 plays over 22 years, including Lettice and Lovage and The Importance of Being Earnest. It was a huge hit in 1993, the year I met Robert, but Maggie famously hated everything about it, from Nicholas Hytner's direction to Bob Crowley's set. When asked by the Mail's entertainment correspondent whether she intended to bring the play to Broadway, she replied: I wouldn't take this for a walk! ”
She had a particular dislike for co-star Richard E. Grant, giving her the nickname Richard E. Canto. (She also took kindly to calling him Reg, after his initials.) She wouldn't be able to tell anyone why she turned on him, because she might get upset. It would be no exaggeration to say that she could wither away. But to Robert, Maggie was like family. She was a friend and almost a neighbor to her parents (Robert's father was a famous actor's agent and her mother was just as outspoken as her).
Maggie and I got along well, and fortunately I was never on the receiving end of her vitriol. In 2002, we worked together when we produced a 'Behind the Oscars' photo shoot for British Vogue magazine, where I was Editor-in-Chief at the time. I watched Maggie and her best friend Judi Dench play Travel Scrabble (Maggie took the travel version with her everywhere she went) while getting a manicure and pedicure on the rooftop of the Four Seasons Hotel in Los Angeles. I came up with the idea of filming the scene.
Both ladies were to wear fluffy Tom Ford caftans designed for Yves Saint Laurent. Everything seemed like a great plan until Maggie arrived at Judy's suite on the morning of the photo shoot. Both women had their sights set on the prize, Maggie at Gosford Park and Judy at Iris. Maggie was not happy to see Judy locked in a huge suite while being kept in a “matchbox next to an elevator shaft”. “My eyes sting,” she said in an aloof voice that reminded her of her great friend Kenneth Williams. “I don't think I can draw.”
A barely contained panic broke out within the Vogue team. I suggested we look at the clothes, but that was a bad idea. “What's this tatt?” she barked, playing with the leopard-print silk chiffon. The stylist was traumatized and fled down the hallway. My next idea was better received. “Let's open the champagne!'' Immediately she relaxed and began telling her story. “When I was nominated for an Oscar for Best Actress for 'Miss Jean Brody's Prime,'” she said. “When I got to my hotel room, there was a warm bottle of fizzy wine and two plastic glasses. When I returned with my win, I was amused to see a large bottle of champagne in a silver bucket instead. .”
Then Judy whispered to me. “Try to get the jewels now and it might work.'' Soon the suite was filled with burly security guards in black suits holding trays of Harry Winston's diamonds. Ta. “You go first, Mags,” Judy said. She knew how to treat friends. In the end, Maggie liked the photo so much that she asked if she could make it into a postcard.
For the ceremony, I offered to work with a fashion house to find clothes for Maggie to wear. But they all said no. That was a shocking answer. “She's getting a little old for us,” they answered (at this point she was 67 years old). “It's not really our demographic.” After much persuasion, Armani finally designed So that she can borrow some black pants and a jacket from the shelf. Thankfully times have changed. Maggie is 88 years old. loewe face For the Spring/Summer 2024 campaign. Photographed by Juergen Teller, her facial lines and bony fingers have not been retouched. Her age is something to celebrate.
That night, I suggested to Maggie that she wear Spanx to achieve a streamlined silhouette. She had never heard of the shoes, but I told her I wear them all the time and bought some as gifts. She was surprised. “They look perfect for a Barbie doll!'' I assured her that with enough huffing and puffing, they would be comfortable to wear. And so she did.
Maggie didn't win an Oscar that night. After the ceremony, we headed to the Vanity Fair party, but chatting with the stars wasn't her thing. She would have been better off reading a good book at home. We clung to each other when the power went out during the festival and we were thrown into pitch darkness for 10 minutes. “Imagine if the lights came on and everyone's jewelry was stolen,” she laughed. The next morning, she called me and said she looked like a “peeled onion” when she took off her Spanx.
In 2003, Maggie attended the glamorous opening night party for Sam Mendes' version of Gypsy, which Robert was producing in New York. There were young actors around the age of 7. They all wore billowing dresses and tied their hair up in a bun on their heads, like profiteroles covered in glitter. They were imposed on Maggie, now famous for her role in Harry Potter, by various parents. Although she looked horrified, she agreed to take a few photos. As she looked down at the children, all made up to look like beauty pageant contestants, she shuddered and, with perfect comic timing, murmured quietly: “That's not right.”
But my favorite memories of Maggie are of her sitting in the kitchen and telling stories. When she came to our house for Sunday lunch, no one left the table. I didn't want to miss a word. It's living history and something I knew I had to savor. I remember someone saying that Vanessa Redgrave had sprained her elbow. “How?” asked one of the other customers. “It's an act,” Maggie said, squinting. Everyone fell down. Her comic timing was perfect. One Sunday, the same guest was Ivo van Hove, a respected European film director. McGee soon renamed him “Ivo van Hove near Brighton”.
In 1998, her beloved husband, playwright Beverly Cross, passed away. Robert and I went to his funeral and then returned to Maggie's house in Chelsea. Somehow I found myself alone in the room with her. We weren't intimate yet, but I just sat with her in silence, holding her hand. She felt so vulnerable because she loved him so much.
Six years later, my mother passed away. Robert was in Sydney producing Talking Heads with Maggie. He flew home for a day to be at his mother's funeral and we flew back to Australia together the next morning. When I got there, it was Maggie who held my hand.
The last time she called Robert was from a care home where he was recovering from surgery. Maggie joked that being there reminded her of her mother's terrible behavior when she was in a similar place. I'll never forget the look of love on Robert's face as they talked.
Maggie will be greatly missed by her beloved sons, Toby and Chris, and their family, who generously shared her story with the world. Getting to know her was an incredible privilege to be in the orbit of such a talented, complex and unique person. I'll never meet anyone like her again. We are all poorer for her loss.
