''THERE'S two kinds of films,'' says Bob Hoskins. ''High grade films, and Lew Grade films.'' Mr. Hoskins made ''The Long Good Friday,'' the film at the Baronet, in which he plays a king of the London underworld, for Lord Grade's company. Later, various Grade executives became nervous about Mr. Hoskins's cockney accent - they wanted to redub his lines, using a more genteel actor - and about the movie's violence. ''They were frightened about the Irish element, too,'' Mr. Hoskins says. ''They said, 'You can't let the I.R.A. win.' I said, 'You want a gangster to win?' '' After a year of wrangling and threatened lawsuits, Hand Made Films (the Monty Python company) bought ''The Long Good Friday,'' and released it in its original form. Now in his late 30's, Mr. Hoskins started out to be an accountant. ''Then, one Monday, all these certificates came through the door sayin' I was halfway there. I was halfway to bein' all the people I loathe. So I went up to the Bedouins for a while. Then went up on a kibbutz.'' The Bedouins? ''Yeah, I like the desert. The desert's nice. The Bedouins thought I was a sort of holy fool.'' O.K., what did he do on a kibbutz? ''Planted bahnahnahs, picked bahnahnahs, packed bahnahnahs.'' Window cleaner, merchant seaman, fire-eater in a circus, Mr. Hoskins has been all of these. He says fire-eating is easy. ''Just keep the flames movin'. I'm very hairy. If I hang about too long, it's all up.'' His theater career began by accident. ''Friend of mine was paintin' some scenery in an amateur theater and I was waitin' for him in the bar. This fella came down and said, 'Right. You're next.' I went upstairs and there were all these people sittin' very intensely around this table, and I read this part, and I got it.'' He also recalls auditioning at the Royal Court for Barry Hanson, who later worked as producer on ''The Long Good Friday.'' ''I did the end scene in 'The Hairy Ape,' '' Mr. Hoskins says. ''The audition was me mimin' wrestlin' a gorilla. Hanson said, 'I don't think you quite fit into this season, but there's gonna be somethin' for you one of these days.' '' Eventually, Mr. Hoskins played ''Richard III'' for Mr. Hanson. Asked if he had to alter his speech in order to sound kingly, he seems surprised by the interviewer's dimness. ''Yeah,'' he says. ''You cahn't play a king wiv a cockney accent.'' Mr. Hanson, who's visiting America with Mr. Hoskins, says the first time he ever saw the actor they were both on a road tour. ''And someone had put a sign on him: 'This is Bob Hoskins. He needs looking after, and he eats cornflakes for breakfast.' The box office lady took him home.'' ''That's right,'' Mr. Hoskins says. ''I was very drunk. She looked after me really nice.'' Americans first became aware of Mr. Hoskins when he played the songsheet salesman in the BBC series, ''Pennies From Heaven'' (which New Yorkers saw on WNET-Channel 13). He's a chap who believes in researching a role. In order to play the ganglord in ''The Long Good Friday,'' he went to a London club frequented by mobsters and asked for their help. ''I said, 'I'm doin' a gangster movie, would you lot teach me to be a gangster?' They said, 'Well, look at this little fellow here wants to be a gangster. All right.' They were absolutely charmin.' The underworld loves show business.'' As do Mr. Hoskins's parents. ''My mum goes to see 'The Long Good Friday','' he says, ''but she doesn't look at the screen. She watches the audience. And if anybody has a bad comment, she'll whack 'em with 'er handbag.'' Once divorced, Mr. Hoskins is about to marry again - ''Yeah, I think I've cracked it this time'' - and he's also about to take over the role of Nathan Detroit in ''Guys and Dolls'' at the National Theater of Britain. Can he sing? Don't be silly. He can do anything. ''I used to sing blues in a black band when I was a kid. Yeah.'' No matter how long ''Guys and Dolls'' may run, Mr. Hoskins won't play past August. Perhaps he developed his philosophy along with his fire-eating; he likes to keep moving. ''I never stay too long in anything,'' he says. ''There's too much to do.'' Copyright 1982 The New York Times Company
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