It's late. You're bushed. Maybe you had a little in the recreational beverage department. Or maybe you had a lot. (We're not condoning this kind of behavior, of course, but, folks, it does happen!) You're alone because she/the kids/he/it/the dog/whatever has gone upstairs/died/left/been abducted...

You'd know the languid, chiseled, resonant drawl with your eyes closed. It belongs to Alan Rickman, who has managed the difficult feat of remaining a respected British stage presence while launching a Hollywood career based on playing indolently sexy villains who seem amused by...