Dafne Keen and Harriet Walter on working with Patrick Stewart: ‘I’ve never seen anyone so ecstatic’

The late actor’s co-stars in Logan and Anthony and Cleopatra remember dog impressions, marching band-conducting and a fervent belief in fun

I had the unbelievable privilege of working with Patrick when I was 11 [in Logan]. He was a man of extraordinary warmth, wit and generosity. He possessed that increasingly rare ability to make everyone around him feel as though they were being let in on something wonderful. To work alongside him was to be reminded, every day, of what it means to love what you do, and to share that love with others. He imparted lessons in a way that was so wise, you didn’t even realise you were being taught.

To describe Patrick simply as a remarkable man would feel an injustice to the sheer breadth of what made him so. He was a master of his craft, certainly, but also a teacher, a raconteur, a mischief-maker and, above all, a profoundly generous human being. He carried his knowledge lightly, his humour generously, and his affection for the people around him with a warmth that was impossible to miss.

He had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of jokes that could make the longest, most arduous days on set pass in minutes. I remember walking around one of the house sets with him and remarking that the only thing missing from the home was a dog. Without missing a beat, Patrick began barking and behaving like one, until I was absolutely roaring with laughter. It was that sort of instinctive silliness, a complete willingness to abandon any notion of grandeur or self-importance, that made being around him such a joy.

He was equally gifted at talking to children and professors alike, shifting his linguistic code to meet whoever happened to be in front of him. I remember the little snippets of Shakespeare, Ibsen, Chekhov and Pinter he would spontaneously grace us with, sharing passages from the works he loved as though letting us in on a private little world. He could move from the most sophisticated literary conversation to the most ridiculous schoolyard mischief without ever seeming to change gear.

Patrick was an incredibly protective scene partner and colleague. He had a way of making you feel included, listened to and respected, even when you were just a clueless 11-year-old finding your feet in the pressure-filled adult world of a film set. I remember him noticing me looking longingly at his Professor X wheelchair, and secretly approaching me to explain that if you pushed the stick hard enough, it went very, very fast. He then proceeded to invite me on it, encouraging me to go faster. I remember him hatching little plans with me, things we could sneak into scenes to make the set feel more like a playground and less like the intimidating grown-up world it could sometimes be.

On one of our first days together, after an incredibly intense take, he turned to me and asked, entirely seriously, “Have you ever noticed, no one ever sneezes in films?” I stared at him for a moment before agreeing that he was quite right. “We should try to sneeze in this one,” he said. And so we made a pact to try to sneak a sneeze into a take. It was such a Patrick observation: at once completely absurd and rather brilliant. He was an artist with an extraordinary attentiveness to the world around him, someone who noticed the smallest details and understood that there was always something worth questioning, even in the most familiar conventions of his craft.

That was perhaps one of the loveliest things about him. He never seemed to outgrow the joy of playing, or to lose sight of the fact that, at its heart, acting should be fun. He had this extraordinary ability to make you feel that you weren’t simply there to do a job, but to be part of something, to contribute, to experiment and, above all, to enjoy yourself.

There is something incredibly moving about the idea that an actor of his stature never made a child feel small, inexperienced or peripheral. He let you in on the secret. He made you feel like a fellow conspirator, a teammate.

I learnt so much from him. He was, however briefly, my colleague and my acting professor, and he will forever be my Professor X. Someone who built a little safe haven for me on the often alien world of a film set, who made room for play, curiosity and mischief, and who taught me more than I think he ever realised. I will carry my admiration for him, and my gratitude for the time I was lucky enough to spend in his company, for the rest of my life.

A memory: Patrick, wearing a team baseball cap to disguise the inimitable sculpture of his head, moving anonymously through the crowds at an American Football match in Michigan. Later during halftime he stepped up to the podium, bald pate boldly exposed, to conduct the University of Michigan Marching Band in a medley of TV theme tunes. I’ve never seen anyone so ecstatic. Fame came relatively late to Patrick and it was therefore enjoyed in the best possible way.

Later that night we performed together in Antony and Cleopatra. He was still buzzing. But then he was always alive in the moment and taught me that the sexual chemistry between the famous pair was more to do with their minds and their verbal sparring than in any fantastic costumes or scenery. His curiosity and courage earned him a full eventful and rewarding life. I was blessed in knowing him.