Bafta-winner Lennie James calls out damage of the current Trump era and why we need working class voices

This article first appeared in Radio Times magazine.

British writer, actor and director Lennie James has just turned 60 and splits his life between the UK and the USA. He wrote and starred in the dramas Save Me and Save Me Too, he was corrupt DCI Tony Gates in Line of Duty and in May this year he won a Bafta for his performance as Barry Walker in Mr Loverman.

In the USA he was Morgan Jones in The Walking Dead and Fear the Walking Dead, and in his latest role he is crime lord Frank Moses in Mayor of Kingstown, an American drama set in a community whose fortunes are entwined with those of the prisons that surround it. So what’s it like living the American dream?

You have lived in America for a while now. What do you find are the cultural differences between the USA and the UK?

We are two countries separated by a common language. There are similarities between Britain and America, but to almost every situation add race, add guns. Those two things define the cultural differences between our two countries. That, and size!

Mayor of Kingstown is about private prisons. Was that a strange concept to wrap your head around as a Brit?

It’s one that’s scary. Prisons can be big business. That means that they need prisoners. And in order to have prisoners, that affects the way that people are sentenced, and it affects who is being sentenced. Under this current administration, it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out who is going to be populating the prisons and feeding that particular industry.

Have you felt the difference in the past few years since Donald Trump became president again?

It’s noticeable, particularly if you’re a black or brown person, a member of the LGBTQ+ community or a woman. It’s noticeable how quickly and systematically the advances that have been made are being eradicated. It’s obvious what’s going on and how someone who looks like me would feel about it.

In Mayor of Kingstown you play erudite gangster Frank Moses. What attracted you to the role?

I’m now looking for work that challenges me, that maybe scares me and isn’t what people expect. And this character intrigued me. I wanted to make him genial and apparently unthreatening. It was a huge amount of fun to play that juxtaposition.

You won a Bafta for Mr Loverman earlier this year. How have you found the reaction to that show?

There’s something particular about how people have reacted when they stop me for Mr Loverman. There is a sense that people want to say more but can’t say more. On a number of occasions I’ve tried to speak further with them and they have said, “No, I just wanted to say thank you, shake your hand and go on my way.” That always knocks me for six. A million things are said in a three-sentence exchange. And then you part ways.

Are there still more opportunities for black British actors in the United States than there are in the UK?

I went to LA in 2005 and there were more options, but within the context that there were more options for everyone. I’m not denying that there are limitations here for black actors. But equal to it, I felt I was doing what lots of actors were doing from all over the world: French actors, Scandi actors, South-Asian actors. Everybody was there for the same reason – because there were more options.

You were 10 when you mother died, which led to you and your brother growing up in care in south London. Is it becoming harder for someone from that kind of background to break into acting?

This life wasn’t a dream of mine when I was a kid. I didn’t know it was something I could dream about. The opportunities that presented themselves are what made it possible.

At the moment, it seems like those doors have been pushed further closed. And I think there should be a concerted effort to reopen them. We risk losing the working-class perspective. And I think that the idea that you don’t have to make an effort to preserve the voices of the working class is criminal.

You wrote 2018 drama Save Me, which felt particularly evocative in its portrayal of council estate life. What do you think TV gets wrong when telling stories about the working class?

I hate it when they patronise us, caricature us, over-sentimentalise us. They get the moral compass and belief system of working-class life wrong. It’s often a story about people who hate where they’re at, but more often than not, it’s people who want better for themselves but are making the best of where they are. That’s a big difference. Some stories feel like they’re on safari. They have no core.

In the past, you mentored kids with similar backgrounds to you. Do you still do that?

I’m not in the same location enough at the moment to do it properly. You have to commit to being consistent. I do mentor people within my industry, particularly younger black male actors. I teach them: “How do you argue your corner without scaring people?” without the bass in your voice scaring white people, basically! And on the other side of that, how to navigate success. Some of it has taken me longer to learn than it should have.

Do you have any career ambitions unfulfilled?

There are parts I want to play. There are things I’d like to do. I don’t want to jinx them! One thing I can say out loud is that I’d like to write and direct a film. There’s a story that I want to tell, as a director. I just have to write it. Writing is far harder than acting. I love rewriting! But the blank page? It’s a regret of mine that I have yet to get over my fear of it.

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