The Handmaid’s Tale: Joseph Fiennes on Commander Fred Waterford’s Fate

Pop Culture
Fiennes on the show’s explosive fourth season finale and his character’s final encounter with Elisabeth Moss’s “avenging angel,” June.
This story contains spoilers for the fourth season finale of The Handmaid’s Tale.

In The Handmaid’s Tale’s fourth season finale, Fred Waterford finally gets what he deserves. The episode, titled “The Wilderness,” ends with Elisabeth Moss’s June gathering her fellow Handmaids-turned-refugees and, with the help of her beloved Nick (Max Minghella), beating Joseph Fiennes’s villain to death on the wooded border between Gilead and Canada.

It’s as gruesome and satisfactory a conclusion as we could’ve hoped for from a show that’s become known for beating trauma relentlessly into our skulls, as if otherwise we’ll forget what trauma is. As season four fades out, Moss’s heroine has done what she’s longed to do since she was first kidnapped and placed in the Commander’s home: put Fred on the wall.

Since 2017, Fiennes has deftly played June’s abuser with a slippery countenance that keeps viewers guessing: Will he help June? Will he see the error of his ways and turn on Gilead? But those moments have been fleeting at best. Mostly, we’ve despised Fred, which made his demise feel sweet—for the man who played him, as well.

“I’m quite happy to shake off Fred, to tell you the truth,” says Fiennes over video chat from his home in Spain. Framed by soft white curtains, wearing a blue-checked button up with top two buttons undone, it’s almost possible to forget he’s been playing such a vile character for so long. “He served his time and it’s been a great journey, but there is just something that makes my skin crawl with Fred. I’m really happy that I’m getting distance from him.”

I spoke with Fiennes a week before the dramatic season finale debuted for a conversation that went both macro—the parallels between Fred and the misogynistic, power-hungry men who plague us in real life—and micro, discussing how he felt about Fred’s death, what it was like to film those last scenes, and the ending he just couldn’t see for Fred.

Vanity Fair: How and when did you find out this would be The Commander’s end?

Joseph Fiennes: I guess I always knew from the novel that a certain Fred Waterford would invariably get his comeuppance. What I love about the series, what Bruce [Miller] and the writers have done with a book that’s just over 300 pages, is they’ve managed to explore every nook and cranny of Margaret Atwood’s genius. And in doing so, they haven’t raced ahead in a Game of Thrones way and thrown everyone overboard for the sake of satisfying the audience, though I know that might be frustrating—especially when people want to see Fred and Serena get what they deserve.

So, I knew it would happen, but I’m rather glad that they kept him as long as possible because for the audience, I think it will be a huge reward. If it had come sooner, well, audiences would be deeply satisfied, but I think it’s interesting that we’ve gotten to explore this paradox of revenge. Given the length of time June has been executing that need to revenge, to bring closure—the paradox being that it inevitably doesn’t bring closure, and in fact perpetuates the issue; she becomes the monster she seeks to destroy—we needed that time to see the full departure of the high spiritual June into the low, vengeful angel.

Though you knew Fred’s death was inevitable, what was your reaction to reading those scenes?

I was thrilled that it was part of the finale. And I was super psyched not just for myself, but for the audience, knowing they’ve been so patient. There’s a reward in seeing Fred extinguished in the way he is. I mean, I’m sad to leave all of the wonderful people that I’ve grown to love very much, but I am thrilled at the same time.

Did you do anything special in preparation for Fred’s final scenes?

In many ways, the past four years have been preparation. I didn’t really need to psych myself up. What I was really reaching for—and maybe this is too detailed for the answer—but: I don’t think Fred has become a different person by any means. But I think he is forced to take a look at himself through the circumstances he finds himself in, which wouldn’t necessarily have happened if he was in Gilead. My favorite scene of the whole season is when June visits Fred in his cell. It’s a complex one—victim and predator—and I think there’s a part where Fred does seek forgiveness, and thinks he gets it. At the same time, we’ve got to do a scene where June feels justified to do what she ends up doing. It was a delicate walk to have someone cognizant of the horror he’s inflicted, wanting forgiveness and being remorseful—but at the same time, there was a sense that he would do it again if given the chance.

You say he’s cognizant of the pain he’s inflicted, but is he really? Earlier in the season, Fred tells Rita, “I was never cruel to you,” and in the final episode, he tells June that now that he’s going to be a father, he’s sorry for taking her child away from her. The lack of self-awareness is shocking.

You’re absolutely right. He will perpetrate again and again and again. There’s a sickness there, and for that reason he will never change. You’re right in many ways, but my sense is that with his son, he can get a glimpse of what a man should be and the better part of himself. He will never be that person, but I think that he has always been cognizant of him. It’s like going to church and getting absolved so you can go and sin again.

Exactly. Having or needing or getting power seems to trump the Waterfords’ fervent religious beliefs—not that he or Serena would ever admit that to anyone. But they do keep changing their religious narrative to benefit themselves, right?

Bang on. That is the whole meditation of the character—the utterly horrific, corrosive effects of power. And it suits them in this season. When Fred and Serena emerge from their cells to go and listen to June’s testimony, they’re confronted by fans saying, ‘Free the Waterfords.’ You scratch your head and think, ‘How could there be a fan club for the Waterfords?’ Well, there must be—Gilead started because there was a core group of people who believed a lie. It’s an extreme version of Christianity or of puritanical theocracy, and I could never subscribe to that. But it’s clear there are people who would, or else Gilead wouldn’t be in place. We’ve seen through history these theocracies, and where does that base come from? What does that base believe? I think they believe in what they feel is the truth. They feel disenfranchised by their own governments.

I have read that you haven’t liked to equate Trump’s politics with the show, but when we see that fan base the Waterfords have in Canada, the parallels to Trump’s America are pretty hard to ignore.

They are. I mean, I would say yes, do draw parallels with the Trump administration, but don’t single it out. There are a multitude of other scary administrations all around the world that have been, and will continue to be, this cautionary tale on the fragility of a precious democracy and, in this case, womanhood under patriarchal rule. Think of QAnon; that’s just a conspiracy and yet it had a movement big enough to participate in January the 6th. I don’t know if our writers are clairvoyant or not, but it’s certainly hard to ignore the parallels.

Is there anything you’re going to miss about this show?

I will miss everyone that I’ve grown to love—my brothers and sisters on the show. I will miss the extraordinary array of talented people, from the camera department to the actors and directors, the writers—it was a privilege to have been on that journey. The bar was raised, and we all wanted to keep it at that level out of respect for the audience and the precious narrative. And I’ll miss the fun we had. Believe it or not, we had a lot of fun.

That is hard to believe, considering the show’s content and tone.

The humor behind the horror [laughs]. It’s why I love Lizzie and the whole gang. We had to do a scene at the top of episode 10—it’s a flashback at Jezebel’s with Fred and Offred/June, and they’re dancing. We did a rehearsal and then we went to shoot the first time. Lizzie suggested that we play “Staying Alive” and do a whole disco dance and not tell the director, Liz Garbus. So, on action, as everyone was acutely aware of this very horrific, dark, nasty scene, we just pulled a prank and danced a whole disco. I loved that moment.

What about the reverse? Anything you’re glad to say goodbye to?

I am glad to say goodbye to Fred. Ordinarily, the British are cast in American films is the baddies. And that sits quite well because our colonial past is so desperate, maybe it’s a way of shaking off those ghosts. I don’t know. But in this case, there is something pathetic and pervasive about Fred; there are elements of Fred that live in our world, and as a father to two daughters, I don’t necessarily feel particularly proud. I am proud of the work that’s involved, of course, but I would love to do a character… Oh, hi! [One of Fiennes’s daughters walks through the curtain behind him and into the interview, then out of it.] Here’s one of them as I talk about it. [To her] Hi, my love. I was wondering what that creepy feeling was behind me. [To the camera] Sorry about that. The front door was locked, she came in through the garden.

Not at all. It was perfect timing.

I know. [Laughs]

Do you think there was any other way for Fred’s arc to conclude?

Possibly. But in my mind, I was staunchly against him becoming enlightened. I wanted him to be the face of Gilead. Yes, we all have the potential to change, but in a regime [like Gilead]—like, think about Nazi Germany and the horrors that were perpetrated there—there’s a human monster that has to be seen and understood. I just hope that we can understand, in this case, the horror of misogyny and the patheticness of patriarchy in this extreme, and the dangers of theocracy.

Those last scenes with June—the conversation in Fred’s cell and the murder in the woods—those are truly horrific to watch. Anything else you can tell us about filming them?

There are versions of both those scenes that we knew might not make the cut, but there were a few takes where, in my mind, he’s looking for forgiveness, almost bordering on giving her permission for what she would inevitably do. I think there is a part of him that knows he’ll just go on doing the thing he does, and he needs someone to stop it. Whether it comes across in that second on camera, I’m not sure since it was four o’clock in the morning in minus five-degree weather, having been chased by 20 Handmaids all night. But before she lands the killer blow, there’s an acceptance, a need for Fred. I think there’s a part of Fred that urges her to do this because he’s a repeat offender, and he knows it.

Now that you’re loosened of this villain, what’s next?

I get to be a dad and a husband and replenish myself through the things that fulfill me most and where I get the most compassion from. That is vital. Because at the moment, my name is associated with the dystopian world, and I kind of really want to relinquish that. The balance is also vital, not just in terms of doing something different, but just not always being consumed by work. Though, I am developing two, three, four projects and they’re all in the last stages of development. I’m thrilled with that. And I might be doing something soon, maybe a film in September—but that deal’s not quite made so I shouldn’t say anything.

It sounds like you’re pretty keen on staying away from being a bad guy again for a little while.

As much as I’m keen, the marketplace sees me as their go-to man for those kinds of roles.

It’s the sort of poisoned chalice of success with a character. It’ll take a number of years, but I’m determined to get there.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

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