Gene Hunt is every man's alter ego
Philip Glenister loves DCI Gene Hunt - so why is he turning his back on TV's least likely sex symbol?
Five years of rollicking, politically incorrect boozing, casual um-patting and sexism is coming to an end with the third and final series of Ashes to Ashes, which starts this week. For Philip Glenister, who plays iconic anti-hero DCI Gene Hunt, there’s sorrow.
“The time has flown bloody quickly, and I’ll miss him. It took me a while to realise he’s my alter ego – he’s every man’s in some respect. We live in a sinister blame culture where victims wait to be offended because there’s money to be made. Gene Hunt verbalises what people are frightened to say in case they’re labelled misogynistic, racist or homophobic. But I’m not advocating we go around slapping people’s arses.”
We meet for lunch in an upmarket restaurant. “Tripe, pigs’ trotters,” he reads from the menu. “Christ, that stuff used to be the staple of the poor and now you pay an arm and a bleeding leg for it. I’ll be very boring and have the steaky wakey, medium.”
He’s an actor with little affectation who talks wryly about failure and modesty about success, which for him came relatively late – and nearly didn’t happen at all. When he read the script for Life on Mars – precursor to Ashes to Ashes – he thought it was just another low-rent cop show with an improbable premise: a modern day detective, Sam Tyler (played by John Simm) is hit by a car, gets transported back to Manchester in 1973, and is appalled by Gene Hunt’s attitude. For six years it was turned down by various television companies.
“And then – bang! – suddenly, for whatever reason, people began to react against political correctness. The Nanny State his home and the show clicked. It was so ridiculous it was appealing.”
Part of the attraction was crisp and witty one liners – “as nervous as a very small nun at a penguin shoot” – that alleviated the sometimes clunky hokum of the plots. There’s also something cathartic about watching disreputable behaviour a generation or so back, and priding ourselves on how much more fair we’ve become – or have we? A leading article in The Times praising some British television programmes suggested the success of Mars, apart from its originality, was because of its quintessential Britishness. He agrees, “There was also the humour, which came out of dark situations.”
The follow up, Ashes to Ashes, moved the story on with a female protagonist, DI Alex Drake, played by Keeley Hawes, who is shot by a drug dealer in 2008 and wakes in 1981. “I turned down Ashes to Ashes at first, even though it moved to a different era,” says Glenister. “I thought we should be like Fawlty Towers – two series and out. Then I realised, selfishly, he’s such a great character, the sort of part that you’re lucky to get once in a lifetime, and if people say, ‘This role will define you.’ So be it. It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. My career may go tits up but one of the beauties of this job is you never know what’s around the corner.”
Life on Mars didn’t work in America, where it was cancelled after one series, with Harvey Keitel playing Hunt. “We have a more developed sense of nostalgia in Britain. I’m into that. The older you get [he’s 47], the more you embrace it and become an old fart, which I’ve been all my life. I was a young fart, just a kid in the 70s watching The Sweeney and probably see the decade through the rose-tinted specs of a ten year old. One of the great joys for me with Life on Mars is that I was in a 70s cop show. How great is that in the 21st century? I’d love to think it could still be made today, but who knows with all this dumbing down. Television executives are so fearful about what others think, and they pander too much to what the Daily Mail says.”
“The BBC should defend itself much more from the newspapers that are intent on bringing it down. I’m a fervent believer in public-service broadcasting. The alternative is unthinkable. If they ever pull down the BBC TV Centre, I’ll be the first chained to the railings.”
The third series of Ashes to Ashes is set in 1983. “I worried it’s a bit too close to the present day. One reason with moved it on is to get storylines and music. If we’d stayed in 1982 we’d end up with Dollar or Bucks Fizz. We’ve managed to get in a bit of Wham! believe it or not. I was a troubled teenager in the 80sm drifting through life squeezing my zits. I think I had a good time, but can’t remember much about it. I’m sure we were as depraved as kids today. I wish I hadn’t been too young for the 60s. You shagged to your heart’s content, had the Pill and didn’t worry about Aids. Ignorance can sometimes be bliss. Today you buy things with stickers saying, ‘This is bad for you’. Terrible! Let’s enjoy life.
He was brought up in Harrow, Middlesex, where his father, John was a TV cameraman and director. He thought of becoming a professional tennis player – he was county level – but wasn’t ambitious enough. “I slightly regret I didn’t find what I wanted to do earlier, but I had a great experience working as a runner and a film PR.” The then wife of his actor brother, Robert, Amanda Redman, persuaded him to go to the Central School of Speech and Drama at the age of 34.
“Robert and I are very close. He plays Ashe in Hustle and was the Home Secretary in Spooks. He’s not treading the boards in Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, brave soul. He has a passion for theatre and is phenomenal, much better than me, with a dedication I don’t have. I feel guilty about that. But I love acting and realise how incredibly fortunate I’ve been.”
His last experience of the stage was eight years ago in a play called ‘Feast of Snails’ and was fairly disastrous. “I did it because I’d been in Manchester making Clocking Off and it was the year my first daughter was born, so I wanted to be in London and be a hands-on dad. But I hadn’t read the play properly. Fortunately it didn’t last. I don’t need the approval of a live audience, though it’s lovely when viewers say they like Ashes to Ashes, but acting is an odd thing to do. Does anyone take us seriously? I’m like a mature cheese – smelly, unwashed and should be kept in a barrel.”
He’s making a film, ‘Bel Ami’, based on a Guy de Maupassant short story – “it’s a very posh cast: Uma Thurman, Robert Pattinson, Kristen Scott Thomas – and me. There’s another television series coming up which hasn’t been announced. It’s entirely different to a cop thing. I’d quite like to direct as well. You get to the stage where you want more control over your life. As an actor, you’re a bit of a pawn.”
He played a land agent, Mr Carter, in the first series of ‘Cranford’. “It was perfect, surrounded by them dames [Judi Dench and Aileen Atkins] and couldn’t have been more different to Gene Hunt. I was jealous when they made a second series and I wasn’t in it.
His choices to remove the spectre of Hunt from his shoulder have not always been successful, particularly the ITV1 drama ‘Demons’ last year, which was cancelled after one series. “It’s frustrating but it’s out of your hands. To ITV I’m probably what Johnny Depp called himself before ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ – ‘box office poison’. Him, of all people.”
In Demons he played an American vampire hunter, but “It was wrong for me, not my greatest work. It was frustrating, I couldn’t make the dialogue work – ‘Prithee sir, I might smite thee.’ I’m not good in an early evening slot. I’m more of a watershed actor, One of the problems with TV these days is you’re not allowed to fail. It’s much more difficult for women to get parts and that need to be addressed because, especially if they’ve had children, women have a wisdom that it’s important to portray on stage. My wife [Beth Goddard] put her acting career on hold because of our children [Mille, eight and Charlotte, five]. She has a part in Ashes as the owner of a speed-dating agency – shoulder pads, big hair. Nepotism. Marvellous.”
“It’s getting harder to find programmes to watch. I notice, especially for my generation, with children, who don’t go out a lot any more and want to watch a good drama and be taken on a journey. One problem is money. We have so many reality and chat shows because they’re cheap. What I loathe about The X Factor and Britain’s Got Talent is this idea that they’re going to make someone a star. It’s just the Simon Cowell show. He runs the gig. Makes the money. End of. The audition process is malicious and cruel, watching self-deluded people in front of three supposed experts who are smirking. It’s bullying disguised as entertainment and they’re lying to themselves if they think otherwise. Once they get to the talent in the studio it’s OK. Also, I don’t want to see my politicians on chat shows telling us how ‘real’ they are. Their personal lives should remain private. They’re supposed to sort out the mess we’re in.”
“I’m sure success has changed me in some respects, but it hasn’t turned me into a monster. I don’t understand the idea of being difficult for the sake of it. A show is a team effort, made in factory conditions and you get on with it. You have to remember the runners will be your future employers, so you better be nice to them.”
Time to pick Millie up from school – it’s her birthday today and Beth has a meeting at the Royal Court Theatre. “I have to make sandwiches before Brownies. Showbiz eh? Such a glamorous world.”
Gene Hunt’s Manifesto for Britain
Oi! You lot! Stop ironing in front of Cash in the bleedin’ attic, shut up and pay attention. The Gene Genie is a man of few words, most of them to do with beer and criminals but when a nice gentleman from the Radio Times asked me to look at the ills of contemporary Britain and offer up some solutions. I could not refuse the call. Like Drake playing with his balls on Plymouth Hoe, or Churchill growling up at Hun-darkened skies, the Gene Hunt would not be found wanting. So strap yourself into the Quattro, fire up the kettle and try and learn something – before it’s too late.
The Beautiful Game
Let’s start with the most important subject of all. Football in a World Cup year. It makes the hairs on my neck stand up just thinking about it – Nobby doing his dance in ’66, Mooro accused of nicking necklaces by some shifty Columbians, Gazza weeping like some big girl’s blouse.
So before our brave boys swan off to South Africa, where they will lose on penalties to New Zealand in the quarter finals, let us consider the question of leadership. Now, I’m not going to condone John Terry’s behaviour in getting caught dribbling on a team mate’s girlfriend, but the sad truth is that now we have a Manchester United player captaining us. No good will come of it.
The contemporary English footballer has the IQ of Chris Skelton. Imagine the scenario: lovely, fragrant Cheryl Cole all warm and snuggly under your Union Jack duvet. And what does hubby do? Gets out his phone and shows more than his left back to assorted Essex shelf-stackers. Throw in the fact that we’re managed by an Italian and the Bulldog wilts. I’ve spent many hours in Luigi’s restaurant, so I’ve seen the ill-discipline and embarrassing emotion that the Italian man is capable of. All those sharp suits and grooming, it’s un-English. A decent bottle of Chianti, yes. A football team? No.
And as we’re on the subject of South Africa, is that Nelson Mandela in his casual shirts, the same one Mrs Thatch told us was a terrorist? How did that happen?
Green Streak
Right, let’s get one thing straight: there’s no such thing as global warming. It’s an invention of embittered minorities – unwashed hippies who can’t get a job, Guardian readers and women. And if I see one more whining student sorting his rubbish out into different containers I’m going to ram a Paco Rabanne deodorant up hi jacksie and set it alight. Bunch of goody-two-shoes ruining our fun, turning off the lights at the drop of a hat. It’s all hypocrisy anyway. I’ve heard DI Drake moaning about big businesses ruining the planet, but her hairspray alone would take out a small corner of Brazil.
Personally, I always buy those bottles of blue glass that are hard to recycle.
Power to the People
Time was when the sceptred isle was led by the likes of Churchill, Thatcher, Alfred the Great, the Black Prince, Colin Bell. Even in my day there were real politicians, hard bastards like Tebbit, men you’d want beside you in a fight in a dark alley.
Now what have we got? In the red corner, a baggy Scotsman overseeing a ruined economy, sending our boys off to fight in flip-flops. Ok, so he bullied a few poncy civil servants, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that my police pension has the buying power of a Zimbabwean dollar,
In the blue corner there’s some Old Etonian seven-year-olds in an I'm-nicer-than-you competition. Oh, and there will be a yellow corner with some bloke nobody’s heard of. There always is. God help us all. All MPs have in common is fiddling expenses. At which they are, frankly, hopeless. DI Ray Carling once put through an invoice for a crate of Newcastle Brown, three Russian hookers and a signed photo of Roland Rat, saying it was for inter-community relations. Now he I would vote far.
And Finally…
So the storm clouds are gathering, my friends. Unemployment rising, pensions falling, pointless wars, shamed politicians. It feels just like 1983. Or as Alex Drake would say, “Le plus ce change, le plus ce meme chose”. I don’t know what it means either. What I do know is that our island has been threatened before and come up trumps.
We will fight them I the multi-storey car parks, we will fight them in the sick-spattered streets, we will fight them in the karaoke bars and on our mobile phones. We will never surrender. And one day a hero will step out of a red car (made in Germany, driven fast in England), the thin winter sun will shine through the gold liquid of the blended whisky, and some crocodile boots will scrunch on the beach at Dover.
Take heart, my friends. The Gene Genie will always be with you.
Gene Hunt was talking to Ashely Pharoah - co-creator of Life on Mars and Ashes to Ashes.
Five years of rollicking, politically incorrect boozing, casual um-patting and sexism is coming to an end with the third and final series of Ashes to Ashes, which starts this week. For Philip Glenister, who plays iconic anti-hero DCI Gene Hunt, there’s sorrow.
“The time has flown bloody quickly, and I’ll miss him. It took me a while to realise he’s my alter ego – he’s every man’s in some respect. We live in a sinister blame culture where victims wait to be offended because there’s money to be made. Gene Hunt verbalises what people are frightened to say in case they’re labelled misogynistic, racist or homophobic. But I’m not advocating we go around slapping people’s arses.”
We meet for lunch in an upmarket restaurant. “Tripe, pigs’ trotters,” he reads from the menu. “Christ, that stuff used to be the staple of the poor and now you pay an arm and a bleeding leg for it. I’ll be very boring and have the steaky wakey, medium.”
He’s an actor with little affectation who talks wryly about failure and modesty about success, which for him came relatively late – and nearly didn’t happen at all. When he read the script for Life on Mars – precursor to Ashes to Ashes – he thought it was just another low-rent cop show with an improbable premise: a modern day detective, Sam Tyler (played by John Simm) is hit by a car, gets transported back to Manchester in 1973, and is appalled by Gene Hunt’s attitude. For six years it was turned down by various television companies.
“And then – bang! – suddenly, for whatever reason, people began to react against political correctness. The Nanny State his home and the show clicked. It was so ridiculous it was appealing.”
Part of the attraction was crisp and witty one liners – “as nervous as a very small nun at a penguin shoot” – that alleviated the sometimes clunky hokum of the plots. There’s also something cathartic about watching disreputable behaviour a generation or so back, and priding ourselves on how much more fair we’ve become – or have we? A leading article in The Times praising some British television programmes suggested the success of Mars, apart from its originality, was because of its quintessential Britishness. He agrees, “There was also the humour, which came out of dark situations.”
The follow up, Ashes to Ashes, moved the story on with a female protagonist, DI Alex Drake, played by Keeley Hawes, who is shot by a drug dealer in 2008 and wakes in 1981. “I turned down Ashes to Ashes at first, even though it moved to a different era,” says Glenister. “I thought we should be like Fawlty Towers – two series and out. Then I realised, selfishly, he’s such a great character, the sort of part that you’re lucky to get once in a lifetime, and if people say, ‘This role will define you.’ So be it. It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. My career may go tits up but one of the beauties of this job is you never know what’s around the corner.”
Life on Mars didn’t work in America, where it was cancelled after one series, with Harvey Keitel playing Hunt. “We have a more developed sense of nostalgia in Britain. I’m into that. The older you get [he’s 47], the more you embrace it and become an old fart, which I’ve been all my life. I was a young fart, just a kid in the 70s watching The Sweeney and probably see the decade through the rose-tinted specs of a ten year old. One of the great joys for me with Life on Mars is that I was in a 70s cop show. How great is that in the 21st century? I’d love to think it could still be made today, but who knows with all this dumbing down. Television executives are so fearful about what others think, and they pander too much to what the Daily Mail says.”
“The BBC should defend itself much more from the newspapers that are intent on bringing it down. I’m a fervent believer in public-service broadcasting. The alternative is unthinkable. If they ever pull down the BBC TV Centre, I’ll be the first chained to the railings.”
The third series of Ashes to Ashes is set in 1983. “I worried it’s a bit too close to the present day. One reason with moved it on is to get storylines and music. If we’d stayed in 1982 we’d end up with Dollar or Bucks Fizz. We’ve managed to get in a bit of Wham! believe it or not. I was a troubled teenager in the 80sm drifting through life squeezing my zits. I think I had a good time, but can’t remember much about it. I’m sure we were as depraved as kids today. I wish I hadn’t been too young for the 60s. You shagged to your heart’s content, had the Pill and didn’t worry about Aids. Ignorance can sometimes be bliss. Today you buy things with stickers saying, ‘This is bad for you’. Terrible! Let’s enjoy life.
He was brought up in Harrow, Middlesex, where his father, John was a TV cameraman and director. He thought of becoming a professional tennis player – he was county level – but wasn’t ambitious enough. “I slightly regret I didn’t find what I wanted to do earlier, but I had a great experience working as a runner and a film PR.” The then wife of his actor brother, Robert, Amanda Redman, persuaded him to go to the Central School of Speech and Drama at the age of 34.
“Robert and I are very close. He plays Ashe in Hustle and was the Home Secretary in Spooks. He’s not treading the boards in Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, brave soul. He has a passion for theatre and is phenomenal, much better than me, with a dedication I don’t have. I feel guilty about that. But I love acting and realise how incredibly fortunate I’ve been.”
His last experience of the stage was eight years ago in a play called ‘Feast of Snails’ and was fairly disastrous. “I did it because I’d been in Manchester making Clocking Off and it was the year my first daughter was born, so I wanted to be in London and be a hands-on dad. But I hadn’t read the play properly. Fortunately it didn’t last. I don’t need the approval of a live audience, though it’s lovely when viewers say they like Ashes to Ashes, but acting is an odd thing to do. Does anyone take us seriously? I’m like a mature cheese – smelly, unwashed and should be kept in a barrel.”
He’s making a film, ‘Bel Ami’, based on a Guy de Maupassant short story – “it’s a very posh cast: Uma Thurman, Robert Pattinson, Kristen Scott Thomas – and me. There’s another television series coming up which hasn’t been announced. It’s entirely different to a cop thing. I’d quite like to direct as well. You get to the stage where you want more control over your life. As an actor, you’re a bit of a pawn.”
He played a land agent, Mr Carter, in the first series of ‘Cranford’. “It was perfect, surrounded by them dames [Judi Dench and Aileen Atkins] and couldn’t have been more different to Gene Hunt. I was jealous when they made a second series and I wasn’t in it.
His choices to remove the spectre of Hunt from his shoulder have not always been successful, particularly the ITV1 drama ‘Demons’ last year, which was cancelled after one series. “It’s frustrating but it’s out of your hands. To ITV I’m probably what Johnny Depp called himself before ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ – ‘box office poison’. Him, of all people.”
In Demons he played an American vampire hunter, but “It was wrong for me, not my greatest work. It was frustrating, I couldn’t make the dialogue work – ‘Prithee sir, I might smite thee.’ I’m not good in an early evening slot. I’m more of a watershed actor, One of the problems with TV these days is you’re not allowed to fail. It’s much more difficult for women to get parts and that need to be addressed because, especially if they’ve had children, women have a wisdom that it’s important to portray on stage. My wife [Beth Goddard] put her acting career on hold because of our children [Mille, eight and Charlotte, five]. She has a part in Ashes as the owner of a speed-dating agency – shoulder pads, big hair. Nepotism. Marvellous.”
“It’s getting harder to find programmes to watch. I notice, especially for my generation, with children, who don’t go out a lot any more and want to watch a good drama and be taken on a journey. One problem is money. We have so many reality and chat shows because they’re cheap. What I loathe about The X Factor and Britain’s Got Talent is this idea that they’re going to make someone a star. It’s just the Simon Cowell show. He runs the gig. Makes the money. End of. The audition process is malicious and cruel, watching self-deluded people in front of three supposed experts who are smirking. It’s bullying disguised as entertainment and they’re lying to themselves if they think otherwise. Once they get to the talent in the studio it’s OK. Also, I don’t want to see my politicians on chat shows telling us how ‘real’ they are. Their personal lives should remain private. They’re supposed to sort out the mess we’re in.”
“I’m sure success has changed me in some respects, but it hasn’t turned me into a monster. I don’t understand the idea of being difficult for the sake of it. A show is a team effort, made in factory conditions and you get on with it. You have to remember the runners will be your future employers, so you better be nice to them.”
Time to pick Millie up from school – it’s her birthday today and Beth has a meeting at the Royal Court Theatre. “I have to make sandwiches before Brownies. Showbiz eh? Such a glamorous world.”
Gene Hunt’s Manifesto for Britain
Oi! You lot! Stop ironing in front of Cash in the bleedin’ attic, shut up and pay attention. The Gene Genie is a man of few words, most of them to do with beer and criminals but when a nice gentleman from the Radio Times asked me to look at the ills of contemporary Britain and offer up some solutions. I could not refuse the call. Like Drake playing with his balls on Plymouth Hoe, or Churchill growling up at Hun-darkened skies, the Gene Hunt would not be found wanting. So strap yourself into the Quattro, fire up the kettle and try and learn something – before it’s too late.
The Beautiful Game
Let’s start with the most important subject of all. Football in a World Cup year. It makes the hairs on my neck stand up just thinking about it – Nobby doing his dance in ’66, Mooro accused of nicking necklaces by some shifty Columbians, Gazza weeping like some big girl’s blouse.
So before our brave boys swan off to South Africa, where they will lose on penalties to New Zealand in the quarter finals, let us consider the question of leadership. Now, I’m not going to condone John Terry’s behaviour in getting caught dribbling on a team mate’s girlfriend, but the sad truth is that now we have a Manchester United player captaining us. No good will come of it.
The contemporary English footballer has the IQ of Chris Skelton. Imagine the scenario: lovely, fragrant Cheryl Cole all warm and snuggly under your Union Jack duvet. And what does hubby do? Gets out his phone and shows more than his left back to assorted Essex shelf-stackers. Throw in the fact that we’re managed by an Italian and the Bulldog wilts. I’ve spent many hours in Luigi’s restaurant, so I’ve seen the ill-discipline and embarrassing emotion that the Italian man is capable of. All those sharp suits and grooming, it’s un-English. A decent bottle of Chianti, yes. A football team? No.
And as we’re on the subject of South Africa, is that Nelson Mandela in his casual shirts, the same one Mrs Thatch told us was a terrorist? How did that happen?
Green Streak
Right, let’s get one thing straight: there’s no such thing as global warming. It’s an invention of embittered minorities – unwashed hippies who can’t get a job, Guardian readers and women. And if I see one more whining student sorting his rubbish out into different containers I’m going to ram a Paco Rabanne deodorant up hi jacksie and set it alight. Bunch of goody-two-shoes ruining our fun, turning off the lights at the drop of a hat. It’s all hypocrisy anyway. I’ve heard DI Drake moaning about big businesses ruining the planet, but her hairspray alone would take out a small corner of Brazil.
Personally, I always buy those bottles of blue glass that are hard to recycle.
Power to the People
Time was when the sceptred isle was led by the likes of Churchill, Thatcher, Alfred the Great, the Black Prince, Colin Bell. Even in my day there were real politicians, hard bastards like Tebbit, men you’d want beside you in a fight in a dark alley.
Now what have we got? In the red corner, a baggy Scotsman overseeing a ruined economy, sending our boys off to fight in flip-flops. Ok, so he bullied a few poncy civil servants, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that my police pension has the buying power of a Zimbabwean dollar,
In the blue corner there’s some Old Etonian seven-year-olds in an I'm-nicer-than-you competition. Oh, and there will be a yellow corner with some bloke nobody’s heard of. There always is. God help us all. All MPs have in common is fiddling expenses. At which they are, frankly, hopeless. DI Ray Carling once put through an invoice for a crate of Newcastle Brown, three Russian hookers and a signed photo of Roland Rat, saying it was for inter-community relations. Now he I would vote far.
And Finally…
So the storm clouds are gathering, my friends. Unemployment rising, pensions falling, pointless wars, shamed politicians. It feels just like 1983. Or as Alex Drake would say, “Le plus ce change, le plus ce meme chose”. I don’t know what it means either. What I do know is that our island has been threatened before and come up trumps.
We will fight them I the multi-storey car parks, we will fight them in the sick-spattered streets, we will fight them in the karaoke bars and on our mobile phones. We will never surrender. And one day a hero will step out of a red car (made in Germany, driven fast in England), the thin winter sun will shine through the gold liquid of the blended whisky, and some crocodile boots will scrunch on the beach at Dover.
Take heart, my friends. The Gene Genie will always be with you.
Gene Hunt was talking to Ashely Pharoah - co-creator of Life on Mars and Ashes to Ashes.
