Hank Williams is alive in the music of every old-school country artist, and even some rock and rollers who value true performance over the almighty dollar. The problem is, however, there are fewer and fewer of those artists these days, and, as Williams' legend has faded further into history, he's become more of a brand that connotes a fabled authenticity than an artist the public remembers much about.

Marc Abraham's film I Saw the Light seeks to rectify that situation, placing Williams alongside early pioneering performers like James Brown, Ray Charles, and fellow country outlaw Johnny Cash, as part of the Mount Rushmore of modern-day music. Not at all your standard biopic (and not without its flaws), I Saw the Light features loads of Williams' music and an amazing performance by Tom Hiddleston, who captures Williams' laconic drawl, wit, and his onstage charisma.

Hiddleston worked with music producer Rodney Crowell to capture the Southern charm that hid the dark underbelly of Williams' life. More significantly, Crowell helped Hiddleston nail Williams' high lonesome sound (on full display on the film's ), which captured the public's attention in the late 1940s and early '50s. ("Tom, being an educated man, understood the post-war honky-tonk culture that catapulted Hank Williams to superstardom," Crowell explains.) Indeed, the results are remarkable. Though all too little footage of Williams exists, Hiddleston embodies that swagger that Crowell refers too convincingly, while at the same time imbuing it with a sense of pathos that cuts to the core.

Esquire spoke to Tom Hiddleston about what attracted him to the character of Hank Williams, and the film, and how he captured the magic of one of popular culture's lost icons so convincingly.

What I liked about I Saw the Light was that it wasn't a paint-by-numbers biopic. It's a very internal story. And it's jagged and rough, in the same way Hank Williams was. But it made me wonder, as a Brit coming to a very American story, how did you come to know about—and obviously, from the portrayal, really love—Hank Williams?

Well, it's funny. The thing Americans don't realize is that the British and Europeans grow up watching American movies. So the soundtrack of America and the raw material of American culture was very exotic to me growing up, because it was foreign. In the movies I watched as a kid, every time there was a hero or heroine who would go into a diner and ordered a burger and a milkshake. But also the steel guitar of Don Helms would be playing on the jukebox. If you watch The Last Picture Show, the whole thing was shot through with Hank Williams.

He's everywhere, but we don't realize it. It's interesting you did.

Apparently, I didn't know this until recently, but "Hey, Good Lookin'" is one of those songs where you can go anywhere in the world, rather like "Happy Birthday," and start singing it, and people will pick up the tune and sing along.

I have no doubt.

So that's really how Hank came to me for the script. I must have known three or four of his biggest hits. Then, about four years ago, I read the script. I was just fascinated by the story, because the genius in Mark [Abraham]'s writing was the suggestion that the power of his songwriting and the enduring legacy of his music came from the passion and turbulence of his marriage. In many respects, I related to Hank's generosity of spirit and Hank's joy at performing, and his very genuine connection with his audience, which I find is true of myself as an actor. It was also about a young man strung in with his own demons. I found the character very compelling, even though I had never sung in my life in a professional capacity. It was just such a meaty challenge. There was so much to get my teeth into that it was irresistible.

So you had internalized this love of his music almost without knowing it. It was this soundtrack of the movies you loved, and he was just kind of there as he is, a part of many of our lives without us really realizing it. But did you know much about him before you read the script?

No, not much. As I say, I only knew four or five of his songs. I'd heard "Move It On Over," "Hey, Good Lookin'." I knew "Cold, Cold Heart" because Tony Bennett covered it. But I didn't really know about him. It's interesting, I made a film with Jim Jarmusch called Only Lovers Left Alive. It's a vampire movie—well, it's a love story about two vampires, played by myself and Tilda Swinton. My character in the film, in his house in Detroit, has this wall of fame on which he hung portraits of people he thought contributed most significantly to the evolution of genetics. Christopher Marlowe is on the wall, and Isaac Newton, and Nikola Tesla and Iggy Pop and Rodney Dangerfield. It's a witty gallery of heroes. But Hank is up there on the wall, too. I remember talking to Jim, who chose all these people, of course. They are Jim's heroes as much as they are my character's. I remember saying, "Well, Hank is up there, Jim." He said, "Yes, I think he's one of the great American poets. I think he is significant in culture." But apart from that I didn't know anything about the details of his life or biography. I only knew him as a reference in a Leonard Cohen song: "I asked Hank Williams, how lonely does it get" in "Tower of Song".

There's an easy going, almost laconic way that you portray him, that made me feel as though you knew this person. I know that's your job as an actor, but that isn't always the case when people are portraying someone who is a cultural icon. But you're very confident in the way you react and look at people and respond to them, especially Hank's wife, Audrey. What was it about him that you connected to in the script or in learning about him and where did you find your way to identify with this guy?

That's just a huge question. I found there were so many facets of him. A way into him, of course, is through the music. Rodney [Crowell]'s instruction to me initially was to connect and invest myself inside the lyrics of his songs, so that I could discover and interpret the songs for myself. When I sing, "I'm So Lonely I Could Cry," how do I feel about that? Which was sort of an interpretive challenge and a duty before trying to understand how Hank felt about it. The only way to transmit the power of those songs is to commit to the meaning and feeling of those songs as authentically as he felt them. Then, aside from that work, I listened to The Lost Concerts and his radio shows. There's so much surviving audio material. I discovered an incredibly charismatic, incredibly witty, and quick, good-humored and playful person, somebody who had the gift of the gab, who seemed to clearly be huge fun to be around. But also I had to try to square that off with the man who said that the sunset was the most lonesome time of the day, which is the expression of someone deeply sad. I find the sunset to be the most relaxing and enjoyable time of the day. To say that, to be so successful and so famous and charismatic, I thought it was interesting that he said that. I suppose I got into character by listening to all of the material Rodney gave me and listening to his old Luke the Drifter records and watching documentaries. But sometimes the lines in his songs gave me more than all of that.

Did you read much about him?

Yes. And the documentaries were enormously helpful, because I could see him and see people talk about him. I remember one of his old band mates, who used to tour with him, said, "Hank would fix you with that black stare and crooked smile, as if to say 'Hey, hoss, you do know I'm the greatest singer in the world, right? 'Cause if you don't, I'm about to show you.'" He had this kind of preternatural confidence. But I also found that there was a fascinating tension between his exterior charisma and his interior vulnerability, which because of the way the film was structured, I was able to show both sides: Up on stage, in that spotlight, he's the biggest star in the world, while at home, when he's had a few whiskeys and a fight with his wife, he's deeply lost and alone.

When you originally read the script, the one that attracted you to the project, was it pretty similar to what ended up on the screen?

Yes. There was probably more in there. It was a longer film. It was a 130-page script, so we had to take a few things out. There was more about his relationship to his father. He had a very interesting relationship with his father. His father was quite a distant figure. He'd worked as a laborer on the railroads. The story goes that he either suffered an injury to his head during World War I in France, or that actually it was a truck accident at a lumberyard. He was much closer to his mother. So there were a few scenes that ended up on the cutting room floor. It's interesting how Billie Jean, his second wife, was the "it girl" of the moment when they met. They were married for such a short time, but that aspect—the time he was married to her—was during such a headlong time in his life. He was on a downward spiral. So many significant things happened during that time. That's when he wrote "Your Cheatin' Heart." So there was a little more of Billie Jean in there, but I think the balance of the film is right now. You see how important [his first wife, Audrey Sheppard] was in making him a star.

Sony Pictures Classics

Without her, as flawed as she obviously was, perhaps we never would have known who Hank Williams was.

Definitely. She had a head for business. And those songs I think came from the passion of that relationship, too. Then, as Audrey receded into the background, you start to see how Hank kind of goes adrift without that anchor, and I think in quite a fascinating way.

Had you ever picked up a guitar before this project?

Purely as an amateur. I took up the guitar when I was at school. I really liked classical guitar initially, but not for very long. When you're at school, you've only got a certain amount of time for extracurricular activities. I played sport and acted in plays and didn't practice guitar, so it became a pastime of leisure. It became the classic sort of noodling around playing "Twist of Fate" by Bob Dylan and any song I thought sounded interesting. I knew the chord progressions and all that, but I never played it professionally or in a band.

Had you done any performing in front of people?

Never. Not a once.

That's interesting. I really wouldn't have said that you hadn't been in front of people with a guitar before. What did you do to overcome that? Forget the other stuff about capturing who the person is—just getting his charisma on stage was a tall order. How do you approach that as an actor?

I started in the theater, and I think the connection of a performer on stage with a live audience is quite similar. There's an expansion that happens on stage. You realize that you're one man trying to reach hundreds of people. You're out there with the vast expanse of blackness stretching out before you. There's kind of an internal monitor of someone turning up the volume on everything in a way.

And finally, Rodney told me he worked you hard. What did you get from that process?

The work with Rodney had two strands. One was he was incredibly disciplined and vigilant about the precision of the singing. The rhythm and pitch had to be exact. And then even when rhythm and pitch had been mastered, I then had to release myself into the attitude of the song. It wasn't enough just to sing them technically. He would say, "Tommy boy, you sang 'Lovesick Blues' dead-on, but now you've got to go again, because you've gotta rock it. You've gotta rock."

Jeff Slate Jeff Slate is a New York City-based songwriter and journalist who has contributed music and culture articles to Esquire since 2013.

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