‘Her character had to have a bath. Glenda just stripped all her clothes off and got in!’ Aisling Walsh, director, Elizabeth is Missing (2019): As a girl, I’d seen Glenda on screen as Elizabeth in Mary, Queen of Scots and I never thought for a moment I’d get to work with her. It was the greatest privilege of my career. Glenda was overly fearless as a performer, and overly fearless as a woman. To come out and restart a career in your 80s, it was phenomenal. I don’t know if anyone else has ever had the passion and bravery to do that. That’s what I remember always about her: that courage. You can see it from the first big film she made, Women in Love, when she dances in front of all those Highland cattle. I read the script of Elizabeth is Missing, and the first lines say: “We meet Maud, 85 years old, suffering from dementia but doesn’t know it yet.” Glenda came into my mind because I’d seen her recently in King Lear at the Old Vic. I thought, there’s a whole generation of people who won’t ever have seen her on screen. I couldn’t get the idea out of my mind. I wouldn’t do it without Glenda. She hadn’t done TV or film for 27 years. I felt the only way to get her was to meet her. So I wrote a very nice letter, then flew to New York with the book and some pictures of what I thought the film would look like. When I arrived at her apartment I couldn’t believe it, seeing this woman I’d admired all my life and reaching out my hand and saying, “Hello, Glenda!” We spoke for an hour and a half during a gap in her day. After our chat, she said: “I’m going to come down in the lift and have a cigarette.” I thought, that’s a good sign. As I was flying across the Atlantic, her agent rang the producer and said she’d love to do it. She would be on set every morning at 8am, no script; she knew every line, knew where she was exactly. Very occasionally, you’d try to say, “We’re doing this … ’ and she’d say, “Yes, darling, I know exactly where we are.” She loved being directed, too. You couldn’t be afraid to say, “I’m not sure that’s quite right,” or, “Let’s do that again …” There was one scene where she’d been digging a hole in the garden in the rain and she was filthy, and I explained to her that her character had to have a bath. She just stripped all her clothes off and got in! Then her leg shot up in the air to wash herself, and she was so agile, like a young dancer. She lost herself playing that character; she didn’t care how she looked. She was just so in the moment. The story of a woman with Alzheimer’s was something she cared about deeply as an older woman herself, with a mind so sharp. She understood what it would mean to lose it. She always said it was one of the black holes of our society, what happens when you get aged and there’s no one to look after you and you’re starting to lose your mind. She really wanted people to see that on screen. The letters we got from people who have Alzheimer’s and are living with people who have it. It helped a lot of people. I was blown away that she won a Bafta. It was in lockdown, so she didn’t get to collect it in a ceremony – the room would have stood up for her. Part of her didn’t mind that; she just went on to the next challenge, and I adored that about her. She never went to the Academy Awards to pick up either of her Oscars. Part of her was quite shy and quiet and thoughtful. When we started filming, some of the young people on set didn’t know who Glenda was. I remember showing them Women in Love, then said get on YouTube and look at these two speeches in the House of Commons where she was really flying, and they thought, oh my god. She was such an amazing thing for younger women to see. And the most amazing thing is where she was from – working-class girl from Birkenhead on the makeup counter at Boots – to where she ended up: two Academy Awards, Emmys, Baftas, an MP. What a life, you know? I can’t think we’ll ever see anybody like her again. I had hoped I’d work with her again. I thought: she’s only 87, she has a way to go yet. I really did. ‘Funny, no nonsense – and she still smoked!’ Elizabeth Karlsen, producer, Mothering Sunday (2021): We approached her manager to see if she would be interested, in some ways thinking it was too much of a long shot. It was thrilling to get a yes. I think the part resonated with her. She plays the older version of the heroine in a scene at the end: now a famous novelist, batting away reporters who want to ask her about winning another award. Both Glenda and her character in the film were women and artists who had achieved way beyond expectations of gender and class; they had been lauded and feted and come to the end of their life knowing that none of it mattered, that it’s all about the work itself, the people you’ve collaborated with and the relationships you’ve made in life. I met her for the first time on set. I was struck by how thin, small and frail she was, but how – despite the diminished physicality – you were very aware of the immensity of her presence. Not because she had any great ego (she didn’t), and not because she was arrogant or tricky or frightening (she wasn’t); she was just no nonsense, very straightforward and someone who clearly wasn’t interested in adhering to social mores, conventions or niceties. She had a razor sharp focus and intellect, was funny and demanded your attention because of all those qualities. Her hip was bothering her, but she resolutely refused a chair and insisted on doing the scene until it was exactly as the director wanted it. It was a pretty extraordinary thing to get to work with her so near to the end of her life. Listening to her stories that day, just being in her presence, was something I’ll always remember as a highlight of my career. And she still smoked! Only one of two during the day, but that spoke to her irreverent nature. She was a very refreshing presence. Her extraordinary face was one of a life truly expressed and lived. Stephen Woolley, co-producer, Mothering Sunday: It was such a pleasure and honour to work with someone who was a beacon of light for her profession, and a woman who campaigned for everything she believed in with the same passion, humanity and humour she brought to her roles. Women in Love and Sunday Bloody Sunday were truly extraordinary milestones in challenging the establishment film industry’s sexual taboos. Others will recall Jackson’s comedy timing and charming persona in A Touch of Class. I recall the impact she had on me as a teenager, watching her peerless portrayal of Elizabeth I on the BBC – still regarded as an extraordinary acting transformation. And 50 years on, her stage interpretation of King Lear was a reminder of how much understanding she brought to the confusion and corruption that comes with being a monarch. Her wistful performance in Mothering Sunday was to a small degree Glenda herself staring in the mirror of her own remarkable adventure. A powerhouse beyond compare. ‘She was a foot-soldier engaged in a kind of combat’ Oliver Parker, director, The Great Escaper (2023) I saw Glenda a few weeks ago, when we screened the finished film for her and Michael. She looked quite frail and I was quite surprised. During the shoot she was pretty damn robust. She needed a stick and a break here and there, but boy, she had real resilience and strength. I think there was a sharp decline. She was delighted by the film, but she was always self-deprecating and wouldn’t really talk about her performance. On one level, she had this absolute impenetrable confidence, but the opposite was entirely true as well. She was quite fierce and proud, but also humble and unsure. Perhaps that inner contradiction made her such a compelling performer. In some of her performances, you got this sense of power and coldness, of something unforgiving and Amazonian – even when she was on Morecambe and Wise. Yet also there’s this extraordinary sensuality. I once asked her if she enjoyed acting, and she said: “No, I don’t, I don’t really enjoy it, but I sort of have to do it.” She was like a gladiator. Going out there quite exposed and alone. I think that aspect of the warrior was probably there from the start, because she was a pioneer alongside such groundbreaking directors – Peter Brook and John Schlesinger and Ken Russell. She was not at all grand; a foot-soldier engaged in a kind of combat. The Great Escaper is the story of Bernard Jordan, a war veteran who, in 2014, absconded from his care home in Hove to join the D-day anniversary events in Normandy. His wife, Irene, urged him to do it. The film is also her story, the story of a woman who is dying and putting her life in order. When the writer, William Ivory, and I were talking about who’d be ideal to star, we spoke first of Glenda and Michael [Caine]. And we got them both. On one level, she and Michael were quite different souls. He’s very much a movie star. They’d worked together 45 years ago, but I remember him saying to me: “Oh dear, I hope she’s not gonna find me a terrible old rightwinger.” She had a reputation for being quite strident and left wing, uncompromising and unimpressed by the glamour of Hollywood – which is the world he has thrived in for so long. But actually it was fabulous. The connections were stronger than the differences, and the differences were exciting. They’re both working class heroes, symbols of a spirit of modernity. Michael is still interested in restaurants and stories and what’s new and has written a book. Glenda was absolutely up to speed with politics. You could talk about anything with her. They had a real mutual respect and were very supportive of each other. You felt they were titans carrying a wealth of experience on set with a real ease. Even in her late 80s, Glenda had this incredible athleticism as an actor. A complete command of her talents. Judi Dench is similar – someone who is physically a little frail, but boy, the firepower is still completely there. Glenda was brilliant from the start. I called and asked if she liked the script and she said: “It reads: ‘She slouches on the sofa.’ She wouldn’t do that! I know these women! She was a ballroom dancer.” She had this whole universe constructed for this character. Such clarity and certainty was astonishing. She doesn’t just inhabit a role, she possesses it – or it possesses her. You can’t see the join. She talked about wanting to look through her character’s eyes and how then, she was actually inside them. You never felt: here’s an actress informing you or demonstrating something. She didn’t judge her character, she committed to it. Glenda shot almost all her big scenes in the first 12 days. It was a small crew. Few breaks and lots of dialogue. But she was just absolutely on it: leading from the front, and formidable. Suspicious of flattery, her fists were up and ready. She took absolutely no shit, but once you’d got through that trial of fraudulence, you’d meet somebody who was very warm and open with a full-throated laugh. A lot of the younger crew didn’t really know who she was, because they’d missed her first time round. They were absolutely mesmerised. There was a fabulous moment at the end of the first week: she did the last shot, and the crew just burst into applause. She looked up and muttered: “Oh, don’t be so fucking patronising.” I said: “Actually, Glenda, that is completely heartfelt.” And she went: “Oh, really? Oh, well, thank you darlings.” When word spread yesterday that she’d died, there was a real outpouring of emotion from the crew, with whom she formed an incredible bond. Later that day, I had to watch the film again. It was deeply affecting. I feel incredibly fortunate to have her in the film. She gives an unbelievable performance. It’s hard to believe there won’t be another.