‘I’ve never been this busy in my fucking life,’ exclaims Danny Dyer. More than 30 years into his career, and with stage, screen, podcasts, presenting and reality telly all fighting for space on his crammed CV, the 47-year-old east Londoner is finally knackered.
We’ve caught up with Dyer on the campaign trail for the manic Marching Powder; a gacked-up rampage through football hooliganism and male mental health, with a love story thrown in for good measure. He arrives at our shoot smoking what can only be described as a cigarillo, calling everyone ‘baby’, and charming each and every member of the Time Out team before politely requesting a black coffee (‘with one sugar, baby’).
The most creative people are from working class backgrounds
Dyer has sandwiched his Time Out cover shoot between an appearance on Desert Island Discs (‘I got all emotional talking about Pinter,’ he says of the great British playwright, Nobel Prize winner and Dyer’s own personal mentor) and before a quick trip to Ireland for The Late Late Show. Then he’ll fly back to the UK, where he’ll casually call Prime Minister Keir Starmer a ‘slag’ at his first ever BRIT Awards. ‘I wasn’t cool enough to be invited, back in the day,’ he says with a shrug. Cool is something Danny Dyer can now officially, fully lay claim to. No longer simply the cockney scoundrel, loveable rogue or EastEnders pub landlord, his scene-stealing appearance as the good-natured and, let’s be honest, disarmingly sexy Freddie Jones in Rivals made him not just the nation’s sweetheart, but a late-blooming heart-throb.
Yet it’s Dyer’s off-the-cuff political takes that have really solidified his status as a true treasure. Raised on a council estate in Custom House, Dyer is one of the few A-list British actors to come from a working class background. ‘I’ve said this many times about the arts, but seven percent is working class people, and that’s a fucking disgrace,’ he tells Time Out. ‘The most creative people are people from working class backgrounds with trauma, and coming from broken homes. You need to give them an opportunity to express themselves and give them a route into the arts. If you don’t give them that, what hope have they got? What’s going to inspire them? There’s no politicians that are inspiring, they’ve all fucked everybody over. It’s a very, very dark time.’
Thankfully, Danny Dyer is here to offer some much-needed light.
Firstly, congratulations on your nomination for Best Actor at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards for Rivals. You’re up against Mark Rylance, Eddie Redmayne, Toby Jones and Lennie James…
I can’t understand it. I’ve been around so long, and I feel like I’ve done some good work over the years, I’ve just never been acknowledged for some reason. I feel that cinema and television has become quite elitist and I think that’s left me behind somewhat.
You do a lot of presenting, and people think they know the real you. Is there a secret side of Danny Dyer that you just save for when you’re at home with your family?
I have only ever been me. I get accused a lot of putting it on, that I’m not really from east London, and that winds me up slightly. “He’s not really a cockney, he didn’t hear the Bow Bells”. Not many people hear the Bow Bells, it’s bollocks! They’re quite near Liverpool Street and are very little diddy bells as well.
Have you got a favourite East End pub?
There were some great boozers where I was brought up, just off of Prince Regent Lane in Custom House. They’ve all gone. Pubs are important. Back in the day, when my dad was younger, it was where you’d go and get work. You go into a pub and there’d always be someone needing an electrician or a painter. People would help each other out. Now 400 a year are closing. I’ve moved out to Epping Forest, a place called High Beech, and there’s some lovely old pubs there.
Near the Tea Hut and the Oyster Shack?
Yeah, near the Tea Hut and the bikers. The King’s Oak think they’re all classy now ’cos they’re serving up oysters, but it’s a lovely pub. And I can walk through some lovely fields with all these rabbits running around and get to The Owl. My daughter, Dani, used to work there. She was doing that before she went on Love Island. It was a really proud moment when she poured me her first pint.
Have you ever worked in a pub?
I started acting when I was 14, so I’ve never really had to. I was once a lift operator on a building site and I had to go up and down every fucking day and it drove me insane. I did it just after I filmed Human Traffic, which took two years to come out. So I was a frustrated actor in a lift, waiting for this film to come out and change my life. I love my Human Traffic fans – they’re very hippy and zen now.
I want to ask about Tinsel Town – which is coming out at Christmas. Is it your first Christmas movie?
It’s my second. I’ve got two coming out at the same Christmas. I did one called Christmas Karma with Eva Longoria, directed by Gurinder Chadha who did Bend It Like Beckham. It’s a Bollywood take on Scrooge. I’m the cab driver that picks him up. I flit in and out of the film. It’s a musical.
Do you sing?
I’ve got one number.
Are you a singer?
No, darling. But I think I got away with it. You’ve got to commit to these things.
Suddenly kindness in a man has become attractive
And Kiefer Sutherland is in Tinsel Town…
There’s not many people I’m in awe of, but when they sent me the script they said, Kiefer Sutherland’s in it. Lost Boys is my favourite film. It’s something I bought my children up on. Dani called her daughter Star. He was everything I thought he would be, and more. He sent me a lovely text, saying ‘I think you rock, man, and I’d love to see you again’.
Of all the films you have coming up, which do you think your mentor Harold Pinter would have enjoyed the most?
I think he would have been dragging me back into the theatre world. He loved me on stage. But there’s no money in theatre. You feel fulfilled creatively, but unless you’re in the West End in a big musical, it’s £500 a week. If you’ve got an agent to pay and a mortgage and children, you can’t physically do it. My last play was (Pinter’s) The Dumb Waiter with Martin Freeman, and I never feel more connected to him as my higher power than when I’m on stage. I’m talking to someone at the moment about potentially going back on stage next year. It’s been six years.
Do you remember the last time you saw Harold Pinter?
He was really ill when I last saw him, and it was a mad time in my life. We sort of just drifted apart. I wasn’t going to do The Homecoming because it was a smaller part and I was trying to avoid theatre, because there’s no money. Also, you shit yourself every night. There’s a fear and anxiety that comes with it. But Harold rang me and asked me to do it. That was the last time I saw him. I found out he was dead from the front of the newspaper, which was a real kick up the bollocks. That spiraled me onto some mad run of drug taking.
I used to live on a road in Clapton that had a blue plaque on the house where he grew up.
He was an east London boy. That’s why he liked me. He changed his accent because he had to. I don’t think he would have liked my royal roots! [Dyer was found to be descended from Edward III in a memorable episode of Who Do You Think You Are?]. He was very much anti-establishment.
And what would he have thought of you in Rivals?!
I think he would have loved that. Freddie represents the working class, and he’s the richest as well, and probably the smartest.
Rivals turned you into a sex symbol – did that surprise you?
Yes, because I had a wig on – and it’s not the best wig in the world – and a moustache. If you’re of a certain age, I thought I looked a bit like Bob Carolgees, who was this awful ventriloquist. The way Freddie is with women is quite shy and timid, but kind. Suddenly kindness in a man has become attractive.
There’s quite a lot of nudity in Rivals. You didn’t go the full whack, but you’re also in your pants a lot in Marching Powder…
I am in my pants a lot. It’s about embracing the middle aged, working-class man; someone with a beer belly and a pair of hairy tits who’s not ashamed of it. I suppose it’s about owning it.
How long has Marching Powder been in the works?
You can’t do other stuff when you’re in a soap – you don’t exist on any casting list. Nick [Love, director] sent me the script when I was still in EastEnders. I was never going to be allowed to do it, but then I made the decision to leave.
It’s a bit more lighthearted than your other films with Nick, like 2004’s The Football Factory.
It’s a working-class film made for the working-class masses. We’ve found ourselves in the realm of people making films that have been a bit beige and a bit boring. People are frightened to actually make a film with bollocks. I watched the BAFTAs recently, and the films they chose seemed like obvious choices. You need a film that’s in your fucking face, that’s slightly controversial.
People are frightened to actually make a film with bollocks
What do you think you have in common with your character?
Nick writes for my alter ego. I’ve suffered from addiction over the years, I’ve had my issues around it. Nick’s been in recovery 37 years, so he’s quite obsessed with the idea of drug taking and fantasizing about it and seeing it through my eyes. But we’re not glamorising it, you need to watch the film to understand how it destroys lives. It’s actually quite ridiculous what men my age get up to, with the football thuggery. But it’s about tribalism and belonging to something.
It’s important to have community, but not when it’s that destructive…
Absolutely. There are lost souls. You’ve also got really bad gang violence at the moment, which is a lot more of a problem. There’s no rules, and a lot of knife crime with young kids killing each other in broad daylight. I don’t know what the solution is. They’re disenfranchised, they’ve got no mentors and they need to belong to something, so they’re attaching themselves to gangs.
You went to a theatre group when you were that age…
I went to a place called the Interchange Studios in Kentish Town for kids from single-parent families. I loved drama. It was the only lesson that I walked into at school and enjoyed. I was shit at everything else. I was always a bit of a show-off as a kid, and it was a way of channeling it. English, maths, science, sociology… fucking hated every second of it all. But that was one lesson I liked. Never thought it could be a career, I just saw it as a hobby.
Do you ever think what your life might have been like if you hadn’t had that as an outlet?
Maybe following in my dad’s footsteps and being a painter decorator. Maybe I’d have got into trouble at some point. Maybe banged up. I’ve got a lot of friends that have been in and out of prison. I think it was fate that I found drama at a very young age, and just loved it. That led onto being picked up by an agent who put me up for an audition in Prime Suspect and I got the part. I couldn’t believe people were paying me to do it, and I did an amazing scene with Helen Mirren, and David Thewlis – and I thought, ‘I can hold my own with these people’.
You’ve been supporting the Music Fan’s Voice campaign – to get people talking about the state of live music in the UK. What was the last gig you went to?
I went to see Lucy Rose at the Roundhouse, who’s a friend of mine. I will be going to watch Oasis. I know Noel a little bit. Never met Liam, but I love them both. I really appreciate the fact that they got us out of rave music and into guitar music again, and listening to working-class scallies talking about drinking and smoking, was like, ‘Oh, I identify with these people.’ I saw them at Wembley a couple of times, I saw them at Earl’s Court. I saw them at V Festival. I was so off my fucking nut. Great days.
Mine and Nick’s first round of films was when Oasis was at their peak. And we need films like Marching Powder again, where we’re not just ticking boxes and trying to play safe, and trigger warnings and all that bollocks. If you’re going to come and watch a Danny Dyer film, the likelihood is that the word ‘cunt’ is going to be in it, and there might be a bit of violence. I don’t think you need a trigger warning. If you’re not into my stuff, then you’ll go and watch Bridget Jones, won’t you?
You’re quite outspoken, and have said this country needs a proper leader. Would you ever get into politics yourself?
I haven’t got the time. I’m still doing school runs, I’ve got three grandchildren. What I do know is that we need people that we can trust and people that we don’t think are lying to us, and we need some more working class voices, because the masses are working class. They’re the ones that fucking vote. It seems like the elite are just looking after each other. I don’t know how we’ve regressed so much that there’s pensioners in this country that can’t turn on the radiator. I don’t know how the fuck we got to the point where young people have no hope of getting on the property ladder, and that wages don’t match bills. How the fuck has that happened?
We had a fucking Tory government for far too long to fuck things up, but now we’ve had a Labour government and it’s hard to trust them. Keir is not a leader. He is a sir. The first thing he did was drop the ‘Sir’, that fucked me off immediately. So straight away, you’re playing smoke and mirrors. It doesn’t matter that you’re a ‘sir’, just be kind and open. So I struggle with him. Angela Rayner I did like, but she seems like a puppet as well. The whole Grenfell thing is a fucking disgrace. Who do you believe? Who have we got to lead us through these times?
The whole Grenfell thing is a fucking disgrace
Are there any politicians that you think are up to the job?
No, and I watch Question Time often and they all repeat a script. They’re so frightened of saying anything against the grain, or they just speak in riddles. There’s not enough love in the world – especially in this country – and a lot of division. And as long as we’re divided and fighting each other, we’re not going to stop what’s going on in the Houses of Parliament.
When did you move out of east London?
Probably about 2005, 2006. They say don’t forget your roots, but if you’re still living on a council estate and you’re famous, people think ‘who the fuck does he think he is’. I did have a Porsche at the time. As much as I’m proud of where I’m from, coming from a single parent family on a council estate, I wanted to try and give my kids a nicer life, and have money to give them options and luxuries. I don’t necessarily think that makes them better people, it makes them privileged twats in a way, but what I don’t have is that element of danger in the air and violence and sirens and helicopters going over your house, especially now in Custom House.
Some parts of the East End, like Shoreditch, have changed a lot, but that kind of gentrification hasn’t really touched places like Stratford…
London’s a dangerous place, always has been, but now it’s really dangerous. There’s no hierarchy now. I was brought up with old school villains, and no one said a word to them. But nowadays you’ll have a 14-year-old who’ll run up to anybody and stab them in broad daylight in a train station with CCTV everywhere. There’s no fear of prison, prisons are full, so where’s the deterrent? That’s frightening to me.
Do you still have family back in Custom House?
My dad’s still there, and a few friends. When I first moved out, I went to Debden. I was really proud to get on the property ladder, and that’s down to my wife and the fact that she doesn’t spunk money like me.
What’s your favourite thing to spunk money on now?
I like to buy old shit. I go to antique fairs, I go to Battlesbridge, which is amazing. I love holding old stuff in my hands. I decorate my study with it, it’s the only room I’m allowed to put old shit in. I buy old toys; I’ve got the Evil Dead man, I’ve got a very old Batman and lots of Dick Tracy ones from the 1990s. I never lose on eBay to whoever the fuck I’m going up against. I bought the remains of a dead man’s drawer. There were some old coins in it, a harmonica, buttons, marbles, and a very old biro. I think I paid over £200. I was not going to lose out on it. So I bid, and bid, and then I put his drawer, straight in my drawer. I’m very proud of it.
