Daniel Mays on Laurence Fox, the need for more black faces on camera and the triumphant return of the theatre

The two goals aside, after which he was ‘jumping around the room like an absolute loon’, Daniel Mays has done a decent job of staying still in the make-up chair while watching England’s triumph over Germany. Now, though, like the rest of the country, he is ‘buzzing’. The plan was — is — for him to be shot entirely in the somewhat sombre, empty surrounds of The Old Vic auditorium, where he is busy rehearsing, opposite David Thewlis, for their upcoming production of Harold Pinter’s The Dumb Waiter. On any other evening, this set-up would be fine. But somehow, tonight, post-quarter-final qualification, it does not feel like enough.

An hour later, Mays has clambered on to the balcony of The Old Vic and is hanging, terrifyingly high, off its glowing red ‘Back Together’ sign. A drunken, post-football crowd quickly assembles below and, having identified him (‘It must have looked like I was scoping the place out’) are being led in a chant of, ‘It’s coming home, it’s coming home’ that goes on for a while and eventually segues — not that any of its non-thespian participants probably notice — into ‘The Old Vic’s coming home’.

‘It was an insane photo shoot,’ Mays grins later, back in the sanctity of the building’s top floor rehearsal space. ‘What was funny was that in my ear was the buzzing from the actual lights, so I was either gonna fall to my death or get electrocuted by the sign; one of those two things.’ Health and safety, it is fair to say, were somewhat concerned. More accurately, in fact, health and safety were ‘going apeshit, really. But the actual ledge I was standing on was definitely secure because I only had one foot on it. I wasn’t going to put my full weight on it. Because then there would have been no Dumb Waiter... and no career for Danny Mays.’

As it stands, Mays’ career is just fine. Even aside from becoming one of the capital’s first actors to eventually tread the boards in front of an actual, breathing audience again — unless… no, let’s not even go there — he has much to be excited about. Lockdown might have stopped him performing for six months. But in the meantime, three very different shows, in quick succession, elevated his status from perennial That Guy Who Was Great In That Thing to something approaching a household name.

First, in April last year, came sci-fi Sky comedy Code 404, co-starring Stephen Graham. In September he could be seen opposite David Tennant in ITV’s hugely acclaimed Dennis Nilson three-parter, Des. And between these he headed up Netflix’s big-budget, much-binged Ibiza drama White Lines, co-starring one Laurence Fox (on whom more in a bit). All these shows aired while Mays was locked up at home in East Finchley having what he calls ‘a nightmare lockdown’ with his wife, Louise, a make-up artist; son, Mylo; and daughter, Dixie.

‘The Sunday before the schools shut my wife had a freak accident and broke her leg slipping down a grass bank,’ he says. ‘It went [makes snapping noise] and cracked. So she was bed-bound. Mylo was doing his mock exams in the loft and I was cooking for Lou. I was home-schooling Dixie. Oh man. I was just like... you have to just take each day as it comes, don’t you? I think like everyone I found this absolute new-found respect for teachers, for the patience that they have and how difficult that was.’ With Code 404 having become one of the first British shows to have resumed production back in September, however, he is now back to working constantly: even if he remains modest about his now-elevated status as an actor. ‘Maybe I’m in a position now where I can... not pick and choose as such, but have more of a creative say in things.’

The third of four boys, Mays was brought up in Buckhurst Hill, Essex: his dad an electrician, his mum a bank cashier. As a child he was ‘sort of class clown, I guess. I could always joke around and talk myself out of trouble. It never used to really get pinned on me. I don’t know why, but I was just able to get out of it.’ What he describes as his ‘proper lightbulb moment’, in terms of knowing he wanted to be a performer, came at Wembley Stadium in 1988, when his mum — ‘and her best mate, Rita, and her son, James’ – took him to see Michael Jackson.

‘I must have been about 12, 13 years of age, in that sea of people, thinking, “How on earth are all these people here for this one person?” And then he came out and performed and it was the single most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Particularly ‘Billie Jean’ in the spotlight: that was me then. I was in my bedroom, I had the hat, I had the socks, I had everything, and it became my party piece. Every school disco it was like, that song comes on, everyone makes a circle and Danny’s going to do his Michael Jackson routine.’ What did he make of Leaving Neverland a couple of years ago? ‘Honestly, man. It rocked me for about a week. I just couldn’t... I didn’t... part of me wishes I hadn’t watched it. Part of me couldn’t accept it. But a huge part of me was like, “If they’re not telling the truth, they must be the best actors.”’

I wonder how he feels about cancel culture in general. ‘I just think it’s brutal... the finite aspect of it. And literally there’s no redemption, there’s no way back.’ As someone who is becoming more and more of a public figure, does he worry about doing interviews and saying something he might regret? ‘I don’t know: you don’t ever want to be in a position where you’re going through life just self-censoring, walking on eggshells,’ he says. ‘Because art in itself, or acting, or whatever it is, there has to be a sort of... if you’re in a rehearsal room like this, you have to be in a position of openness and readiness, and be in a position where you have to take risks with things.’

What does he make of his White Lines’ co-star Fox’s subsequent… trajectory? ‘Listen, I had copious amounts of nights out with Laurence. He’s a blinding night out and I actually got on with him like a house on fire. So I don’t dislike him in any way or anything like that. It’s quite surreal for me to see what’s happened. I still can’t quite get my head around it because it’s just such a sea change.’ Did he speak to him once said sea change had occurred? ‘Yes. Look, I did phone him as a friend and said to him, “Maybe you should not… just come off Twitter. Stop Tweeting.” Because I said, “You must be worried about whether you’re going to get employed again.” And then his agent got rid of him and the rest is history.’ He says that Fox’s ‘political views and what he’s coming out with now weren’t really spoken about on that roof terrace in Majorca in the hotel.’ Ultimately, he continues, ‘I wish him well, I hope he’s alright. I hope he’s happy.’

Mays himself is not shy of offering up opinions: particularly when it comes to the opportunities, or lack thereof, for young talent from diverse backgrounds. He recalls the period ‘when the likes of the Benedicts [Cumberbatch] and the Eddie Redmaynes and all the posh, per se, actors were getting every award left, right and centre’ and, as both working-class kid and a proper thespian who attended the Italia Conti Academy of Theatre Arts and then Rada, has experienced his fair share of imposter syndrome. ‘There were lots of people in my year at Rada when I first got there that were just sort of... they’d all been to uni and they all seemed so well-read. They were all talking till the cows come home about the process of acting and philosophising about it and I was just like, “Jesus.” And I sort of clammed up. I was like, “This isn’t for me.” I’d not really done Shakespeare or anything like that and I was just like, “This is just... I’m not going to get on with it here.” But I dug in.’

He therefore welcomes the conversations now happening in his industry, and says he has ‘really noticed’ the changes starting to happen. ‘I remember there was a piece in The Guardian, someone said, “Where is the next Gary Oldman going to come from? There is this complete dearth of working-class actors. Where are they?” But hopefully with everything that’s happened recently, that won’t be the case. People like Daniel Kaluuya, just absolutely smashing it. It’s fantastic. I remember doing a play at the Donmar with Daniel and it’s like he’s there, and I remember doing Shifty with Riz Ahmed. It’s a wonderful thing that they’re proper up there now.’ He is similarly enthused by the fact there are now ‘Black faces on camera and, just as importantly, behind the camera as well. And I think that’s been... well, Jesus, there needed to be a sea change with that. Things like Bafta and whatever production company you’re working with, they need to represent the world that we live in. And that wasn’t the case. So I welcome that.’

Our time is coming to an end, and it will soon be time for Mays to resume rehearsals for The Dumb Waiter. There’s a huge Amazon production coming later in the year, he’s open about continuing his search for a big American show that can take his talents transatlantic, yet for now he is laser focused on his and the capital’s grand return to the theatre. Mays’ future looks bright: as bright as that sign on the roof he was clinging on to just a short while ago. Thank goodness he held on tightly.