Timothy Dalton Lays His Cards On the Table: “I Shouldn’t Be Saying Any of This”

You might expect a former 007 to have a preference for good guys, but Timothy Dalton often can’t help but take the side of wrongdoers.

From his very first feature-film role as the seductive and duplicitous King of France in 1968’s The Lion in Winter, the British actor has always excelled at playing the morally questionable. Audiences can never fully trust a Dalton character, from his swashbuckling Nazi sympathizer in 1992’s The Rocketeer to his smirking small-town serial killer in 2007’s Hot Fuzz. Even in his most famous role as James Bond, he brought a hard-bitten killer instinct to the super-spy in 1987’s The Living Daylights and 1989’s Licence to Kill, establishing a brutality beneath 007’s savoir faire that permanently redefined the iconic character.

After five decades, audiences should know better than to trust him, at least onscreen. He’s currently invoking the ire of viewers as the ruthless robber baron Donald Whitfield in the Yellowstone prequel 1923. At the start of the second season, now airing on Paramount+, Whitfield has used his shrewd business acumen to seize Harrison Ford and Helen Mirren’s salt-of-the-earth frontier family by their throats. His goal is to claim their vast tract of Montana land, but he doesn’t really need the property. It’s the taking he enjoys.

“I occasionally look online to see what people are saying about the show, and they seem to think in terms of ‘so-and-so’s a hero.’ That would be Harrison. And the villain—‘We’d like to see his balls shot off’—is Timothy Dalton,” the 78-year-old says, placing a hand over his heart with pride.

There may be no redeeming Whitfield, but Dalton shrugs that off. “I think the important thing is, let’s figure out how big the bad side is,” he says.

The actor recently sat down with Vanity Fair at the Chateau Marmont for an hours-long conversation about his most memorable roles and costars—from Katharine Hepburn and Ava Gardner to a stunt gone wrong on Flash Gordon. He also warns people away from at least one notorious flop that he wishes would remain unseen.

The long shadow of 007 loomed, of course. Dalton revealed what happens when James Bond actors cross paths in real life—and wrestled with his own legacy and the question of why the spy still fascinates people after all these years.

Vanity Fair: While I was watching 1923, I began thinking about how good you are playing both light and dark. Good guys who have an edge to them. Bad guys who are so charming you can’t help but like them. I mean, Whitfield is despicable.

Timothy Dalton: Well, bad guys have to be liked, I think. But you shouldn’t know who the villain is until something terrible happens.

On 1923, Whitfield telegraphs that he’s not such a nice man with the horrible way he treats those two prostitutes.

I don’t know… [Grinning] He’s giving them shelter. It was a terrible time then. He’s feeding them. He’s giving them clothes.

Is he? I didn’t notice them wearing any clothes.

Ah, true.

Whenever Whitfield is onscreen, he’s smiling. He’s always amused. You could have played him as angry or unpleasant—but he’s having a great time.

I’m so pleased you said that. He does enjoy himself, I think. Those are the people that steal from you. The person that smiles tells the lies. Bad people know how to make people trust them.

My guess is, as he rose to this position of wealth, he learned to enjoy the swindle more than the rewards.

Yes, that’s a wonderful way of putting it. The swindle was the exciting bit.

One of your most intense scenes with Harrison Ford and Helen Mirren’s characters takes place on their porch, when Whitfield reveals he has paid off their overdue taxes and now has a legal claim to their land. What was it like creating that confrontation?

We threw it around quite a lot. You remember all the gunshots? It was a wonderful scene. I mean, the cowboys are all riding up the hill going boom, boom, boom. [My henchmen] were getting out sub-machine guns. And I’m standing there laughing. Did you notice that? He is all about danger and risk. He loves it. He laughs! It’s something mad. I like that scene a lot. It doesn’t make a lot of sense when you pull it apart, but it’s a terrific scene.

I suppose it’s news that he could have delivered by telegram, but he wanted to see their faces.

He needs to be there, yes! And wind them up—and fuck them off. [Laughs.]

Sounds like the three of you altered things as you played out the scene.

What’s interesting is we just do it. I love it every time they change it, and I think they love it every time I change it, because it keeps us buoyant, keeps us happy. It’s good to work with someone who’s not giving you a kick in the ass but giving you a contact, connection—and something new.

Has acting always been that way for you or were the early years harder?

It’s always been a lot of fun. My first film job—ever—was The Lion in Winter with Katharine Hepburn and Peter O’Toole.

Were you intimidated?

No, not in the slightest—because I was 20 or 21. I didn’t know how to be.

Anthony Hopkins costarred with you as well. It was an early film for him too, wasn’t it?

It was his first.

You two were brand-new, but playing opposite these two icons. That didn’t make you feel something?

It just felt great. No, it felt better because you could trust yourself with them. We played.

What was your first day like on The Lion in Winter?

My first moment was when the young King of France comes to meet the English throne, and they’re all at a table. But we didn’t finish the scene in the day. So [the line producer] says, “Okay, Katharine, break for today. You’re free tomorrow.” And she says, “Timothy is working, isn’t he?” And they said, “Yes, but you don’t really have anything to do with him [on camera].” She said, “I have some lines with Timothy—I’m coming in.” On the one day she’d had free, this woman, a glorious goddess, decided she would come in to do one line off-screen to me. To me! As did O’Toole. And she didn’t think about it twice: “I am not taking time off. We are working together.”

Not every A-lister does that.

Both of them at separate times said to each one of us, “When you do lines off-camera, do them as good as you can because the better your colleague is, the better the scene will be.” That makes such obvious sense. But you realize that, no, it’s not the way it works these days.

How was O’Toole with young, new actors?

I do remember O’Toole coming up to me. He’s taller than me, and I’m quite tall. And he goes [grabs by the shoulders], “Get into your light, Son.” And he picked me up and plonked me where the light was because I wasn’t in the [right spot]. A lot has been said about Peter O’Toole, but he was a fabulous guy.

I’ve heard he was fun, maybe too fun for his own good, but generally pleasant to everyone else.

These [statements] are all right. And she was wonderful.

Where did you go from there? Was Wuthering Heights next, in 1970?

That was close. There was one where I rode a horse and carried a poodle. [Laughs.] It was called Cromwell. Richard Harris played the non-royalist, Oliver Cromwell. My Prince Rupert was a genuine character who did fight in [the English Civil War, which lasted from 1642 to 1651]. And he went into battle with his poodle. But the producers thought that would be a bit difficult because his was a big poodle, a big war dog. And they couldn’t get one of those. So they gave me a little thing that I had to ride with in the right hand.

Did the dog enjoy that?

He didn’t shit all over me, which was a good thing.

That’s got to be a confusing experience for a dog.

I would think. Very confusing. I was actually very pleased about that part. It was directed by Ken Hughes, and I remember chancing my arm a bit. A big battle was about to happen. Rupert was on the royal side, and I said, “Look, Rupert’s just come all the way from bloody Germany. I’ve got the horse. I’ve got the dog. We’ve got to use it now. Ken, can I have an entrance please?” He said, “You’re absolutely right. You should have an entrance. You’re a new addition, a famous addition, and they need you.” So they gave me these wonderful rows of soldiers and I came galloping down the middle. And after that, we were all right.

That’s a good moment for a young actor.

You’re taking me back a long way.

Were you drawn to any particular types of roles in those early years? With Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, I wondered if you were already interested in playing the darker side of a leading man.

Yeah, but that was a difficult one because the audience was not expecting that. They were expecting a 35-year-old man, i.e. Laurence Olivier, who was fully grown in [his 1939 film.] In the book, they were teenagers—and he was a bastard.

You pulled out that animalistic nature from Emily Brontë’s novel. He’s a little toxic.

Thank you. That’s what we’re supposed to do, I think. Life is complicated. People are complicated. A part is more interesting if it’s understandably complicated.

You did a lot of historical dramas early in your career. Mary, Queen of Scots was next in 1971. Were you eager to do something other than that, or were you happy inhabiting the past?

They were just making that kind of movie. Oh, I was happy, because don’t forget, you’re young and new. You’re taking on the businesses. It’s like a big curtain stretching across the room. You can push through a bit, but you’re not there yet. You’ve got to keep on.

Is it true that during the ’70s you were first approached by 007 producer Albert “Cubby” Broccoli about playing Bond?

There was a time when Sean Connery was leaving and—I can’t say I was offered it, but I was asked if I’d like to do it or not. And I said no, because it seemed to me that the age of 24 or 25 doesn’t seem quite right for this character. So that is true.

You thought of 007 as an older, more established character?

He needs to be. You could play it at that younger age, but I don’t know that I’d believe it that much.

Was that an easy no? Or was it something you had to wrestle with?

It was easy enough. You don’t want to follow Sean Connery, who was truly, truly magnificent—and who I had been watching in the role since I was 13 or 14. No, don’t do that.

Wasn’t it more pressure to play Rhett Butler and pick up for Clark Gable when you did the Gone With the Wind sequel, Scarlett?

Oh, God almighty. You come out with some killer questions. Why do I even say yes to these? [Shrugs.] Because I think they’re worth having a go at. And I can’t remember a thing about that. I saw a clip on television a few months ago and I thought, Oh, yeah. Yeah, I was in that. Oh, dear. There was some good stuff, but it’s not dug into my heart. Let’s put it like that.

But talk about following an actor…

Talk about following an actor. Yeah. I must be mad.

Would it have been The Executioner that made them say, ‘That’s our new 007’?

No idea. What was The Executioner? It doesn’t ring a bell, but then I’m getting to that age where I don’t remember anything.

The original title was Permission to Kill, but it was released with several different titles over the years. You played a young man blackmailed into helping a secret agent.

Right… [Rolls eyes.] I’m not going to say anything. I don’t want to speak ill.

Was that not a good film?

“Decent” might be a word for it. But I wouldn’t want to watch it again. It starred Dirk Bogarde and Ava Gardner, who was fantastic. She was ace, a wonderful woman. Telling great jokes, great fun. She was a knockout. I really liked her. We all loved her…. We did not all love Dirk Bogarde. He could get very nasty. I actually shouldn’t be saying any of this, but I’m enjoying it. Whenever there was an exit that worked for a scene, if there was another actor, he’d screw them up so that he got the exit.

So he would upstage and undermine?

Yeah, or find some way to draw the eye to him leaving the room. I mean, it’s petty.

It doesn’t sound like good filmmaking either. But Ava Gardner was better to work alongside?

Ava was great. She was wonderful. I remember going to her apartment once in London. She did this rather marvelous thing of framing wage monies from her studios.

Her first paychecks?

They were all about $100 each. She said, “They sold me to so-and-so, and I still carried on getting $100, $110, $120,” or whatever it was. “But they sold me for over a million.” That’s not precise, but that’s the gist.

That was the studio system in the early years of Hollywood. They essentially owned you and leased you out when other producers or studios wanted you for a part.

Yeah, but not increasing her pay as much. [Shrugs.] It is watchable. But I don’t have a copy. Otherwise I’d pass it on to you. “How did you get on with Anthony Breznican?” “Oh, marvelous. We discussed some of the great old films like The Exterminator…” [Laughs.]

The Executioner! But if they’re changing the title after release, that must be a sign of something. There is another movie of yours from 1978 that also isn’t very well regarded—Sextette with Mae West.

Don’t you dare look at it!

It does seem pretty strange, a sex comedy starring someone who is 80-something. What’s the story behind that one?

It was a nightmare. And it’s one of a kind. There aren’t two or three movies like this. I’ll try to remember…. All right, so you know it was Mae West. I think she maintained that she was 80 or 81 years old or something. Lie—not true. She was way older. And my character was getting married to her.

She was such a legend in the 1930s, but then didn’t make films for decades. Why do you think she wanted to do this?

Because…I don’t know. If she’s starring in a movie and she has kidded everyone, saying she’s in her early 80s when in fact she’s [almost] in her 90s, it’s like a rebirth, a coming back. To be a star again.

What was she like to be around?

She was pleasant enough, absolutely. But she was old and found certain things difficult.

I read that she eventually had to have her lines fed to her through an earpiece.

We had the scene where we’re coming back for the honeymoon evening. So we come down the corridor of this posh hotel and I have to show her into the bedroom. We must have tried 20 or more times. She couldn’t remember the line. It was always: “Cut…” [Sigh.] “Cut…” [Sigh.] “Cut…” [Hangs head.] And she was getting quite pissed off. She couldn’t hit the line.

Sounds frustrating for everyone.

She got sick and tired of all that. I say, “Darling, I feel like the first man who landed on the moon.” And she threw everything that had been written to the wind, and said, “Well, honey, in a minute you’re going to feel like the first man to land on Venus.” [Shrugs, shakes head.] That she made up, and we moved on.

Did you regret it from the start?

If you’re capable of laughing at it, it can’t be an entire regret. But yes, I’d prefer I hadn’t done it.

How did you get roped into it?

It was offered, and I hadn’t made a movie in America. I’d done TV. I was doing a Western called Centennial at the time because I wanted to play a part on horseback and have a gun, because I’d grown up watching Wagon Train. I wanted to do it at least once.

Now you’re doing 1923. But you ride in a Model T, not a horse.

I think I might like to do Have Gun—Will Travel. It’s just that I’ve been watching them. They remind me of being a child all over again.

That’s the connection many of us have to your movies, like The Rocketeer. Your Neville Sinclair was this dashing Hollywood movie star who turned out to be a secret Nazi agent.

There were rumors that Errol Flynn was a German spy, which I doubt was true, but that was something that was being said at the time. You can’t give any of that much credence. I just thought if you’re going to model yourself on anybody, Errol Flynn’s the one.

You also channeled him a few years earlier in Flash Gordon from 1980. Your Prince Barin was like a space-age version of Robin Hood. What do you recall from making that? Another very interesting cast—Max von Sydow as Ming the Merciless.

Oh God, the Swedish actor—fantastic. And a nice man. Then we had Ornella Muti who was very gorgeous. I remember something bad happened. Remember the disc with the spikes that came up through it?

Of course, you battled Sam J. Jones’s Flash Gordon in a kind of gladiator combat.

I had a fight on this thing, which ended with me getting knocked over and rolling down between some spikes. I clutch onto the very last one and hang over the edge of “nuclear eternity.”

You’ve got to watch out for that, yeah.

They needed to get another couple of shots, one from above to show the endless eternity that I was going to fall off into. We were about 70 feet off the floor, but they said, “Tim, don’t worry about it. If you should fall, you’ll be fine.”

Seventy feet seems very high.

At least! So I said, “No, I’m sorry. Let me explain it to you: This is the spike. I’ve rolled down and I’ve grabbed it. So I’m now going over the edge. My whole body is hanging, but I’m holding this. All my weight is going to break this arm, it’s going to snap it. I can’t do that. I’m going to have to just let go. The pain will be horrible.” And they said, “Well, we’ve got boxes down there, we’ve got mattresses down there, we’ve got everything.” And I said, “Sorry, guys, I’m not doing it.”

I assume your stuntman stepped in?

I knew the double, and I had a chat with him. He seemed confident. I sat down by the director. It’s, “Standby…Action!” And then I heard a crash and the bells went off. It was an emergency. Ambulances were coming and they carried off the guy who doubled me horizontally out of the studio. That’s a rather nasty thing to see. Exactly what I’d said had happened.

What happened to the stuntman?

He survived. He got hold of the last spike, hanging over the nuclear wasteland or whatever it was, but he couldn’t stand it any longer and had to let go. And he hit the ground. He was a good lad, a good man.

[Vanity Fair reached out to the stunt performer, Jim Dowdall, who shared this about the incident: “It was a bit of a bang on my head and back but as I’ve done so much damage there over the years, it was just another ‘knock.’ (And one can always rub the embrocation on with a £50 note!)’ Please give my best to Tim.”]

You warned them it would happen.

All of a sudden I was Mr. Wonderful. But they’d probably all been saying, “Fucking hell, Tim…” beforehand.

That brings us close to the 007 era. The Broccolis approached you again about playing Bond in the mid-’80s.

I was doing The Taming of the Shrew and Antony and Cleopatra at the Haymarket Theatre in the West End of London. I wasn’t chasing it. I remember being in a hotel room thinking, What the fuck am I going to do about this? And then I thought, Well, it’s a once in a lifetime, isn’t it? Does good sense say, “Go and do something else,” or does good sense say, “Take a once-in-a-lifetime and then go and do something else”? So you go and do it.

Your Bond was very distinct from the previous ones.

I tried. But then that’s what a lot of people did not like.

I don’t know if that’s true. Do you feel vindicated now that Daniel Craig has finished his run and many people now compare the way he plays Bond to the way you played Bond?

Is that so?

There’s an aspect to your Bond that has more gravitas. I’d say he’s still playful. In The Living Daylights, he still lands on that boat and pops the Champagne…

And goes down the mountain in a cello case.

But you delivered a grimmer aspect to him: This is a guy who does dirty work sometimes. There are many comparisons between your Bond and Daniel Craig’s that are very favorable and say essentially you laid the foundation for that type of character.

Nice to think so. You’re confronted by a lot of problems. You’re taking over from someone. You don’t copy them. So that’s dangerous. And one of the things you have to remember is almost every person in the world who’s ever seen a Bond movie has a point of view about the Bond movies. It’s astonishing.

Are you generally happy with how your Bond movies turned out?

Some of it works very well. I like a lot of it.

Have you ever had a conversation with any of the other actors who’ve played Bond?

No. Well, I’ve spoken, yes, but not about Bond. Roger Moore, I met in the South of France and he was delightful. A really kind, nice, generous sort of person. Sean Connery, believe it or not, I met in a toilet. But no mutual recognition. I mean, one is discreet in a men’s room.

But you and Roger really never spoke about this character you both shared?

No, that’s a pain in the ass. “Can I talk to you about Bond, please?” “Fuck off.” [Laughs.]

Doesn’t it feel like an elephant in the room, though?

It is very much! But he was great. I know Pierce Brosnan a little bit, and I don’t know Daniel Craig, but I think I’ve met him once.

Do you wish there had been more Bond movies for you?

I don’t wish there was more.

My understanding is that a third film with you was delayed by a lawsuit over the rights, then when the parties finally came around to making another one years later, it was your choice to not return.

I would say so. Or it may have been that timing was involved.

Once you let it go, was there any regret?

No, not in the slightest. I have some good friends from the Bond days, some really good people, but they’re trapped. Everyone’s trapped by it in a way. I never really wanted to do more than three, but he wouldn’t accept that.

You mean Cubby Broccoli?

Yeah—who I thought was a terrific man. I really liked him. I think I’m just getting to the point where, “Why the hell am I talking about James Bond?” We should forget it.

I think 007 means something to people.

It does. It means a lot to a lot of people…. Let me ask you a question: What value do you think something like James Bond has? It has entertainment value, of course. But does it have any real serious value?

I think it does. You have to think about what people get out of these movies. There’s something about the precision of Bond, the elegance of Bond that people wish they had. Most of us are just bumbling and fumbling. The way you played him, he was suave, but also dangerous.

That to me would be right. I think it ended up being like that because it’s much more attractive—but it’s a nasty fucking job.

You mean being a spy in real life?

Betraying people, killing people, and risking your own life. If it’s really important, then it’s worth doing. But you wouldn’t want your son or your friends doing it. You are betraying everybody around you because you’re deceiving them in order to get what you want.

That’s the reality of espionage, but the romantic version of it is Bond.

How romantic do you think those first James Bond films were? If you remember that fight on the train [in From Russia With Love], there’s nothing romantic about that. That was a fabulous fight. But I think they’ve all gone way into fantasy now.

Maybe, but I’ll give you an example from The Living Daylights. You just said, “These are characters who betray each other, they lie,” but he has the opportunity to shoot Maryam d’Abo in the opening scene and he chooses not to. And that makes him different from someone who just follows orders, because in real life he would’ve just shot her.

Spot on. That is the moment!

As a viewer you think, “I’m on his side because he has a moral code.”

Yes, I’d forgotten that.

Everybody lies to Bond in that movie. He’s the only honest one.

[Nods.] Everybody lies to everybody.

I think that’s why I’m so fond of that film and your performances. That’s why people still want to talk about it.

Also, because 007 affected all of us from a very young age. One of the first movies all of us ever saw.

Cubby Broccoli’s family, Barbara Broccoli and Michael G. Wilson, oversaw the Bond franchise for many years after his death in 1996, but the news just broke that they’ve stepped back from creative control in a deal that gives those rights to Amazon. Have you followed that?

I have read about it and I find it very, very surprising. Whether it will work or not, who knows? Barbara is a wonderful woman, a wonderful person with James Bond very much in her heart. She’s learned so much from her dad. Her dad was like iron about the Bond shows. He’d got it started in the first place, and he made sure that what was in the films were what he wanted. I thought he was a terrific man. Now, what can you say? You just have to say that you hope Amazon does a damn good job. You can’t say anything other than good luck and make it well. Follow the master.

Do you have anything you would say to whomever ends up playing 007 next?

Well, whoever does it has got to have a very clear sense of what they want to achieve, because everybody in the world has got a different opinion about it.

Speaking of business, another film of yours that really has a cult following is 1997’s Beautician and the Beast—and now people know Fran Drescher for leading the charge of the Screen Actors Guild strike.

I rather respected that very much. She’s serious. She means it and she’s good. I did like that movie. We were working out of the studios here, Paramount Studios, I think. And then we went to Czechoslovakia for two weeks. It was terrific. She’s a very good comedian.

Another fan favorite of yours is Hot Fuzz.

Oh, Hot Fuzz! Fabulous. It is one of the best, in my book. I’ve never been in a movie where we laughed so much. Everyone was funny. Soon as the day’s over, we were back at the hotel—beer, whisky, whatever—and we’re up until 3 or 4, making each other laugh.

Do you have any favorite memories of making it?

I got a great death and I got a lot of great moments before I died. You know the car chase? I’ve got this gun with a heavy, long barrel. That was one of the most fun moments I’ve ever had. [Stands up, mimes hanging out a car window.] They were going, “No, no, no! Tim, don’t do that. You’re leaning out of the window. You are going to come upon a telegraph pole and you’re not going to see it.”

So Edgar Wright didn’t want you to get—

Decapitated, yes.The poles were coming this close. And if my head goes out the window, it’s pretty much hitting them. It was fabulous. It was such fun. Very exciting.

Another of your roles that people love, kids especially, is Mr. Pricklepants from Toy Story 3.

Why? I’m really interested, because I know this all over the world. I get “Mr. Pricklepants!” But why? What is it?

Your voice gives him such dignity.

[Laughs.] If only they knew.

And he’s a hedgehog. In lederhosen.

He’s an actor, a grand old actor. It was an amazing hit, a wonderful film.

You’ve been on a roll with scene-stealing supporting parts. On The Crown, you played Peter Townsend, the British air force pilot who had a long-ago romance with Princess Margaret. You have a beautiful dance scene with Lesley Manville.

She asked me to do it. And the producers were: “Hip, hip. Hooray.” I wanted to perform with Lesley, and I wanted to work in England again. What really made me interested is that I don’t say much in it. He’s this man who was in the most dangerous profession in the world—most of them got blown up. The death rate in the Royal Air Force is just horrendous.

So you work stoicism into the part?

He doesn’t say much to her [when they reunite], but it’s clear they love each other deeply. [The royals] fuck him over. They kick him out of the country, and she loses the one man who would’ve been perfect for her life. It’s very moving. It’s full of emotion and emotional consequence.

Had you ever met Princess Margaret in your travels?

I met her one time in real life. [Pause.] It’s not much of a living.

Being in the royal family?

I don’t think. You’ve got money, but have you got satisfaction? What are you achieving? And those two people, it was like they’d found each other and clutched to each other’s hand. Then they were torn away by her own fucking sister and by the bureaucracy: “Can’t have you two!” It’s a tragedy in its way, a little one. But that’s good to play.

People obviously love to see good triumph over evil onscreen. I know you can’t say what’s coming in season two of 1923, but I definitely want to see Whitfield get his comeuppance.

Oh, fuck no. [Laughs.] I think he should get away with it.

This interview has been edited to add context and clarity.