Monica Dolan looks back: ‘I was repulsed by Rose West, yet I had to work out what made her tick’

The Bafta-winning actor on her toughest roles, teenage crushes, and the joy of finding her people at drama school

Born in Middlesbrough, North Yorkshire, in 1969, Monica Dolan is a TV, film and stage actor. She trained at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama and won a Bafta for her portrayal of Rosemary West in ITV’s Appropriate Adult in 2011. She won the Laurence Olivier award for best supporting actress for her role in the West End production of All About Eve in 2019. Her other television credits include Mr Bates vs the Post Office, W1A, Sherwood, Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa, and Smoggie Queens. She stars in Onwards and Sideways, in UK cinemas from 6 November, ahead of its release on BBC iPlayer later this year.

That’s me staging a puppet show with a Waldorf Muppet, my head poking through the very 1970s-looking hatch in our house in Woking, Surrey. There’s a somewhat neglected Sindy on the side. I think she was an ice-skating one – I wasn’t massively keen on dolls, but I liked that you could move her legs around quite acrobatically, and if you bent her knee too far the plastic would snap and a wire would poke through.

I was teased for having chubby cheeks a lot at this age, and it was right before the dentist sent me to get the gap in my teeth closed in hospital. I could have been Madonna if I’d kept it. Or maybe I’d have never got a job as an actor.

I wasn’t one of those extrovert performer types as a child, but I remember recognising how useful having a sense of humour was in terms of connecting to my family, especially as I was the youngest of four. Once, after my dad had sent me to my room for being naughty, I decided I would come downstairs in my red dressing gown. As I strode through the door I did a few karate chops and delivered some lines from Hong Kong Phooey, the cartoon I liked to watch after school. The whole family laughed. Dad might have even laughed a little bit, too. It certainly made it harder for him to carry on being mean.

My teen years were complicated. People at school were forming groups, and I was never that sort of person – I was more of a satellite when it came to friendship circles. I wasn’t into boys in the way that the other girls were. I’d get massive crushes on some poor person but always from afar. But I was quite a joker as well – someone who was outspoken in class. It didn’t always go down well, and I am sensitive, so it wasn’t easy being told to stop talking.

My parents met at University College Dublin while studying sciences. There was a certain expectation that I might follow in their footsteps, because science was so important to them – basically, Mum thought if you didn’t study science you weren’t very bright. When I was choosing O-levels, they had filled in a form and underlined my options for me: physics, chemistry and biology. When I saw it, I absolutely blew my top. They came to my room to talk to me and genuinely couldn’t see why they’d done anything wrong. I said to Dad, “This is a life decision. It is like getting married. It should be mine to choose.” Eventually he said he’d Tipp-Ex it out. I did end up doing those subjects, but I wanted it to be my choice, not theirs.

In contrast to my school days, university was a place I flourished. I had finally found my people. I was in my final year when I met an agent. I asked her, “What should I do if I get a job before I leave drama school?” She said, “Well, that’s not going to happen to you.” Anyway, it did. I’d met the head of Northcott theatre, in Exeter, who offered me a season there. We did a variety of plays, everything from Outside Edge to To Kill a Mockingbird and The Merchant of Venice. My parents came to see me in all of them; they were so supportive. Even Mum, who found a lot of cultural things a real chore.

After that I had quite a long period of unemployment. I sat around and got impatient. Then I went back to Guildhall to be part of someone’s final‑year production. My agent wasn’t very pleased – he thought it was a bad look for a new actor to go back to university to work free of charge. I said, “Well, you’ve not got me anything. And I want to do something.” I was right because, to return the favour, the Guildhall told me about a director who was looking for people for their production of Jane Eyre. They said they’d make sure I got an audition. I got the part. That was the start of everything.

When I worked with Mike Leigh on Topsy-Turvy, he would get cross if you referred to your character as “I”. “Always call the character she or he,” he’d say. “They’re not you!” It was releasing, because acting can become very involved. But it wasn’t until I played Rose West that I understood how much that distance matters. I was repulsed by her, yet I had to work out what made her tick and what her priorities were. So I got the transcript of the case from her solicitor and treated it like a play, focusing on the technicalities. That let me stay objective and at a distance.

Even so, after that performance I was a bit of a husk. A bit rubbed out as a person. When that happens it’s important to remember basic things that you like, to keep you connected to who you truly are. For me that was getting a dog. Having a dog is earthing, as they live in the moment and you have to go out for a walk every day, to spend time with this being who isn’t bothered about what’s going to happen next. As I’ve got older I’ve realised you shouldn’t work all the time, either. Dad helped me with that. I told him I was unemployed and he said, very firmly, “No, you’re resting.”

I’ve played a lot of characters who are real people. It is probably awful to admit, but I’ve never thought in terms of disappointing them. But I can’t pretend that I don’t get very nervous, particularly when I played Jo Hamilton [the subpostmaster in Mr Bates vs the Post Office]. When we did the first screening, the subpostmasters were there, people who felt so broken by what they’d been through. I thought, “What if they just think, that’s not me; that’s not my story at all?” There were real‑life consequences, and I felt a lot of pressure.

The stakes are lower with comedy but it is still demanding. There’s nowhere to hide if the timing’s not right, and it can be humiliating. One day shooting W1A, I was on take 11 of a scene and [writer and director] John Morton was clearly thinking, “This still isn’t right” while I kept thinking, “What am I doing wrong?” I got there in the end.

One thing that’s remained a constant is how much I care. The girl in the photo wanted to have an effect on people, to make people laugh. If you look closely at her, there’s a little bit of hope – something eager to be liked. I still feel that now. A need to entertain. To be seen. That seven-year-old is trying to make a difference and so am I.