by Joe Allan
When The Trench was released in UK cinemas in September 1999, it failed to find a large audience. It seemed to fall between two types of market – a bit too arty and theatrical for the mass audience that had turned Saving Private Ryan into a blockbuster hit the year before, and not quite literary enough for the art-house crowd. David Rooney in his Variety review acknowledged this fact, noting, ‘The very confined setting and claustrophobic nature of the material make this a commercially difficult proposal, but careful positioning and critical support may help it find an appreciative audience in select markets.’ Rooney praised Boyd’s ability to extract strong performances from the predominantly young cast, despite his inexperience as a director.
Danny remembers the film as a hugely positive experience, disclosing in his autobiography that ‘It was a tough old job, and it gave me a s**tload of respect for the people who fought in the War.’ Danny would also leave the project with newfound admiration for the other actors in the cast, recognizing that the fierce competitiveness he usually felt around his fellow actors could be put to better use – watching and learning, appreciating what could be achieved when a group of actors feed off each other’s experience to lift the work to greater heights.
Danny’s next job came via a phone call from the film’s director rather than through his agent. Renowned Irish playwright and novelist Peter Sheridan had intended to make a film biography about Irish poet and literary legend Brendan Behan. When this long-planned project fell through, Sheridan instead decided to adapt one of Behan’s best-known books, Borstal Boy, into a film. The autobiographical story had been a successful stage play in the late 1960s and focused on Behan’s experiences in a British borstal. At the age of seventeen, Behan had been an active member of the IRA and he was captured on the English mainland during an abortive bombing mission and imprisoned. The story is a coming-of-age tale that sees Behan exploring his budding sexuality, embarking on relationships with an older woman and a male fellow prisoner on a journey of self-examination.
Danny was obviously thrilled to receive a call from such an esteemed figure – Sheridan was part of a well-respected creative family, his brother being Oscar-nominated writer and director Jim Sheridan, whose In the Name of the Father had been a huge success a few years earlier – and he was excited about the film as soon as he heard the title. In the movie’s DVD commentary, he says, ‘I thought Borstal Boy, a little hard-nut in a borstal, running about beating everyone up [was] the Daddy! And then I got the script and I’m a gay sailor.’ Consequently, Danny had mixed feelings about the whole project. This was the first time a well-known film-maker had contacted him directly, offering him a specific role based purely on what he’d seen Danny do in the past, but the subject matter did bother him. He says in The Films of Danny Dyer, ‘I was in two minds because I thought the idea that he wants me to play this gay role – at that point in my career it’s the last thing you’d think that I’d be known for – [made me feel] really proud because I’d never been seen in that light.’ On the other hand, he was worried about what people might make of the subject matter. He joked, ‘I just thought, “I’m going to have to act now.”’
Danny describes his character, Charlie Milwall, in the commentary: ‘He’s a young boy, seventeen, who knows who he is sexually and isn’t frightened about expressing that he’s gay . . . to be in a borstal and to be openly gay, it’s gotta be a nightmare. That’s what makes him such a strong character – he’s like, “I’m gay and that’s that.”’
It was with this same determination and courage that Danny approached the part. He was clear he wanted to avoid playing Charlie as effeminate, unwilling to pander to the assumption that a character’s sexual orientation would have any bearing on his outward appearance or mannerisms. The audience’s acceptance of Charlie and all his relationships in the film – with the other prisoners as well as with Brendan – hinged on him creating a young man who was both likeable and relatable as well as open and confident about being gay. In the hands of another actor, the character could have become clichéd and easily unbalanced the whole film.
Danny’s main co-star, playing the lead role of Brendan, was young American actor Shawn Hatosy. It may seem an unusual choice, an American being chosen to portray such a beloved and respected Irish figure, but Hatosy had started making a name for himself in supporting roles in some very successful Hollywood films, including The Faculty, Double Jeopardy, In and Out, as well as a high-profile turn opposite Kevin Costner in 1997’s mega-flop, The Postman, demonstrating he had earned the right to tackle a more challenging part. Hatosy has since forged a long and respected career on US television, most notably as Detective Sammy Bryant in the controversial and groundbreaking LA-based cop show, Southland.
Regardless of Hatosy’s big-screen accomplishments, Danny didn’t really take to his co-star. But, rather than allow this to be a problem, Danny decided to use the tension and underlying distrust in his performance, making it easier to maintain the anger burning in Charlie during the early stage of their relationship, when the latter’s affection went unrequited. The scene Danny was most anxious about was the moment the two boys finally kiss. In his autobiography, Danny stated, ‘You can call on all your resources, but I don’t care who you are, if it doesn’t float your boat, you’re not going to be able to enjoy the moment.’ Yet this was also one of the main reasons he’d taken the part in the first place – to test himself as an actor and push the boundaries of what people expected of him. He said, prior to filming the scene, ‘A full-on passionate kiss is going to be heavy . . . I know I’m going to do the job well, there’s no other way. Once I’ve done that, I know I can do anything, there’s nothing in this game that can hold me back.’ He then added with a typically cheeky grin, ‘I’ve just got to put my tongue in his mouth.’
In all, it was an extraordinary education for Danny and he rose to the challenge admirably. He had been very nervous about what his father would make of his character and the gay elements of the story, but in the end Danny could tell his performance had won him over; he was proud of his determination to make his character as real as possible.
Borstal Boy was a modest success, understandably being more of a hit in Ireland and eventually becoming a cult-classic in the gay community upon its DVD release. The film did not appear on DVD for a couple of years after its cinematic release, however, and was eventually picked up by a distribution company who, by releasing works Danny had been attached to previously, were trying to cash in on his later success. The film sold well in excess of 300,000 copies – but mostly to a public who were expecting a completely different film. The DVD cover only had Danny’s name above the title, with no mention of Shawn Hatosy, and the artwork featured an image of a considerably older Danny, playing on his hard-man image and the film’s misleading and provocative title. This was the first and by no means the last time Danny’s name and image would be used to trick his fan base in order to sell a film, and it was an issue that would cause him, and his career, serious problems in the future.
Danny’s determination to keep pushing himself was about to pay off. He had played three very different characters in his first three films – a drug-taking clubber, a cowardly First World War soldier and an openly gay borstal inmate. His resolve to rise to any challenge had not gone unnoticed and he would soon be given the opportunity to make some brave and unexpected choices about his future as an actor.
CHAPTER FIVE
STAGE ONE
At the beginning of 2000, Danny was at an important crossroads in his career. He had been pursued by another agency, ICM, and had made the decision to leave Charlotte Kelly and join the much larger firm. If it was a difficult choice personally, professionally it made sense. ICM was one of the biggest talent agencies in the world, looking after numerous actors, directors and authors, and would hopefully open a multitude of new doors for him.
Yet despite the extra muscle behind him, Danny’s career had entered a strange period of limbo, as a succession of supporting rol
es had started coming his way without him having to fight too hard to get them. He was losing focus and, in turn, the drive that had fuelled his love of acting since his early teens was fading. It was all too easy and the lack of a challenge, coupled with his continuing use of drink and drugs, was making him lazy and jaded. That all-important leading role still eluded him and the impact Danny had made with his first three films – and the professional clout that went with it – was rapidly beginning to diminish. Salvation came from the most unlikely place – his old friend Paul Nicholls, whom Danny had remained friends with after their time together on The Trench.
Nicholls called Danny in a fluster of excitement, having been summoned to an audition for a part in a new play by Harold Pinter entitled Celebration. Danny had received notice to attend the same audition, but not knowing who Pinter was, had been slightly less enthusiastic about it, stating in his book, ‘I told [Nicholls] I’d never heard of the geezer, and I was telling the truth.’ Danny’s agent was ecstatic, advising him this was a once-in-a lifetime experience. He recalled, ‘She said, “He hasn’t written a play in fifteen years. This is a new play. This is a massive opportunity for you. I really need you to learn the dialogue.” I was like, “Whatever, I’ll go and do it.”’ Danny would later tell Jonathan Ross, in an interview on his ITV chat show, what a momentous, life-changing experience their first meeting was. ‘I loved the play. I loved the work and I got it and I walked in, straight up to him [Pinter] and I said, “How you doin’, son?” And the whole room was going, “F****n’ hell”, and he liked that. I think he respected that and we became really close.’
Of course, Danny was no stranger to the stage. Just after Prime Suspect, in between filming numerous supporting roles on television, he had appeared in the play Not Gods But Giants and later, during the extended period of unemployment while waiting for Human Traffic to be released in 1999, he took a role in a celebrated production of Certain Young Men, written and directed by Peter Gill.
A respected figure in British theatre, Gill had built a reputation as a unique and gifted storyteller. Danny turned up to the audition without having read a script – in fact, he had no choice, as not one word of the play had been written. Gill famously writes only after the actors have been cast, building the play during the run-up to rehearsals and incorporating elements of the actors’ personalities. This free-form approach did not particularly suit Danny. He was uncomfortable at the audition, preferring to let his acting do the talking, but Gill saw something different in him, and cast him on the spot.
So began a period of what Danny describes in Straight up as ‘two weeks of yak’. The other seven actors were much more comfortable with the process, being more experienced and hailing from the traditional drama school background, leaving Danny feeling somewhat isolated. But he was quick to realize all the sitting around and talking was worth it as soon as he was handed the finished script. Crafted over the weeks of Gill’s observation, it was more than Danny could have hoped for. The story revolved around the lives of eight gay men, examining their relationships and dissecting what being in a gay couple means to each of the men as individuals. Danny’s character was written as a predatory gay man who uses seduction and sex to get what he wants from those around him. He told Attitude, the UK’s leading gay magazine, ‘That interests me more than being camp and clichéd.’
Confident he could inhabit the character Gill had built around him, Danny regained faith in his own abilities, and as he took to the rehearsal stage the other actors started to sit up and take notice. Again, Danny fed off his own highly competitive nature to suppress the long-held feelings of insecurity he tended to suffer around more experienced actors. The contempt he often held towards fellow cast members was not necessarily him looking to better them, it was more a tool used to gain recognition as an equal. In his autobiography he says, ‘Respect from your peers is what you crave as an actor … You get a fan base, you get people in the street recognizing you, but what you really want is people in the same game as you to look at you and say, “He’s good.”’
The play had middling success, with most critics acknowledging the performances but failing to understand Gill’s intended purpose in exploring this particular set of characters or their lives.
Danny came away from the production having experienced a method of working that would remain unique for the rest of his career. It gave him more belief in his skills, and won him an unexpected, but expanding, gay fan base. This legion of new admirers would remain quietly loyal to Danny for many years to come, becoming increasingly more important in later years.
Now, though, Danny needed to convince Harold Pinter, one of Britain’s greatest playwrights, that he was worthy of joining his new play.
Like Danny, Harold Pinter was born and raised in East London; however, that’s where the similarities end. Pinter was middle class and had been well educated at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. Starting out as an actor, he soon developed a flair for writing and directing and was eventually recognized as a truly exceptional talent within the British theatrical community. His long and distinguished career saw his work receive countless awards while his style, eloquently described by critic Irvine Wardle as the ‘comedy of menace’, would even coin its own descriptive term, ‘Pinteresque’ becoming shorthand for, as the Oxford English Dictionary puts it, ‘implications of threat and strong feeling produced through colloquial language, apparent triviality, and long pauses’. Unlike Peter Gill, Pinter’s work is so tightly scripted, each word (and pause) is precisely placed so as to convey a specific meaning and to create maximum impact. There is comparatively little interpretation needed by the actor, with the words, literally, doing all the talking.
As soon as Danny read the script for Celebration, he knew it was on a different level to everything he’d read for before. It played to his strengths and, he was sure, would allow him to shine. He revealed in Straight up, ‘Celebration was a fair cut above some of the other stuff I’ve done. It was a great monologue, really musical in the way the words are used. I loved it and that made it easy to learn.’
Danny’s increasing confidence as a stage actor came from his fundamental need to keep pushing himself and there was no denying he thrived on the adrenaline rush closely associated with live performance. This desire to keep growing professionally went hand in hand with an understanding of the distinct lack of financial reward involved in this line of work. But, at this stage of his career at least, money was rarely a deciding factor in his decision-making process. Thus, despite not knowing who he was, Danny realized a chance to work with and learn from Harold Pinter meant more than the accompanying salary, and he was determined to win the respect of the great man himself.
Being put up against his friend Paul Nicholls was the only negative aspect of going for Celebration. But it would seem that ignorance is indeed bliss as Danny’s no-nonsense approach to the audition process and lack of awareness regarding Pinter seemed to make everything go his way. According to his autobiography, when Danny was introduced to Pinter, he simply walked up to him and asked if he could get up and show what he could do. What may seem like irreverence and disrespect to some was seen as refreshingly blunt by Pinter, who warmed to the actor immediately. Danny recalls, ‘I got right on that stage, and I smashed it first time. It really did flow for me. I was at total ease with it … I always know a good writer, because the words roll off the tongue like you wouldn’t believe.’
Danny heard he’d got the job by the end of the day, and thus began a long and unlikely working relationship and friendship that would last for almost a decade, only ending with Pinter’s death in 2008. As with most theatre work, and alluded to above, the job was not particularly well paid – a weekly salary that would seem like a pittance even against the most meagre of independent film salaries. The hours are long – often stretching to eight performances a week – but the professional kudos is invaluable. Danny would love it.
The actors met at the Almeida Theatre’s rehearsal rooms i
n Islington, North London and Danny was introduced to the rest of the cast – Lindsay Duncan, Lia Williams and Keith Allen – and despite not feeling particularly nervous himself, after a short period of time he began to notice the other actors’ worry about working with Pinter. Famous for his attention to detail and ability to erupt in anger at his actors during rehearsal, Danny noted in his book, ‘You pick up on everyone else’s attitude to him. That said, the atmosphere was intense but it wasn’t nasty.’
As with the audition, Danny took to the writing and never seemed to get on the wrong side of the great man. Indeed, they struck up an easy friendship, bonding over a mutual love of football, and West Ham in particular. Danny felt an instant connection with Pinter, respecting and responding to the man rather than his reputation, and he assumed the feeling was mutual: ‘I think he saw how raw I was and how much I wanted to learn.’ He concluded, ‘I think he liked me, too.’
Danny formed an equally strong, if somewhat different, relationship with his fellow cast member, Keith Allen. Allen had a well-deserved reputation as a bit of a hell-raiser and proved to be a significent influence on an already slightly out-of-control Danny. The pair would spend their evenings ‘tearing it up’ in London’s Soho, tumbling into rehearsals, slightly worse for wear, the next day. Both received stern warnings from Pinter and, temporarily at least, got their heads down and concentrated on the work at hand. After a long rehearsal period, the play opened at the Almeida Theatre on 16 March 2000. Celebration ran as part of a double bill with another of Pinter’s older plays, The Room, with much of the cast, excluding Danny, appearing in both.
The reviews were almost unanimous in their praise, and Danny was able to bask in the shared glory of a successful production. It’s fair to say that any cast involved in a Pinter play is often overlooked for individual plaudits, as many consider that with such high-quality writing there is little room for interpretation, but Danny knew he had done a great job and felt Pinter was particularly pleased with what he had achieved. Danny recalled in an interview with the Independent, ‘He would trust you as an actor. That was the reason he hired you, because he didn’t want some stress actor who needed a pat on the arse every two minutes . . . I just felt more intelligent being around him. He was a real inspiration for me.’