Louis Theroux wasn’t always this cuddly. Time was that public figures would agree to be followed around by his camera crew and come out of it looking like a bit of a tit. Think of his early-Noughties When Louis Met..., full of compellingly eccentric encounters with Ann Widdecombe, Neil and Christine Hamilton and Chris Eubank. But cultural mores have changed: we don’t like being mean, and Theroux is now a meme. And if his money don’t jiggle jiggle, neither does the opener to his new BBC Two series Louis Theroux Interviews..., which is a surprisingly flat and unengaging portrait of Stormzy, one of the UK’s most celebrated performers. Let’s hope later episodes, with the likes of Dame Judi Dench and Rita Ora, have more to offer.
“I’ve wanted to meet you for so long!” says Stormzy – real name Michael Omari – when Theroux turns up backstage at his tour. “Yeah, me too,” he purrs back. Theroux offers a “little hug”; the UK rap king suggests a “big hug”. Theroux’s lockdown podcast, Grounded, featured guests as various as Rylan, FKA twigs and KSI, and indicated that stars see a Theroux interview as a kind of status symbol, a Desert Island Discs-like signifier of their cultural worth or intellectual depth. Louis Theroux Interviews... is laced with the same mutual hunger for validation.
Cosiness isn’t necessarily a problem, by the way. Theroux has never been a “gotcha” journalist; he excels as a documentarian by inoffensively embedding himself in people’s lives, and many of his Grounded interviews went to very personal places. He’s always very watchable, even when, like here, he doesn’t land any zingers. We should have known this would be a pally affair when Theroux recently popped up in Stormzy’s star-studded “Mel Made Me Do It” video, but the rapper proves a frustrating interviewee. At first, it seems it’ll all go swimmingly. Theroux has only been roaming around Stormzy’s house for a few minutes before the performer starts alluding to mental health struggles. But as Theroux asks more questions, the answers get vaguer. Speaking about his break-up with presenter and recently announced new Love Island host Maya Jama, Stormzy admits he made “mistakes”. Theroux good-naturedly presses him to elaborate. The best he can extricate is this confession: “I didn’t do what a man should do to fully appreciate, love and care for his woman.”
What we do learn, at least, is that the pressure has sometimes got to this disciplined, focused performer. He also reveals he is deeply religious, and hosts bible study groups at his home. And he has a poignant keenness to settle down and start a family, perhaps because of his own father’s abandonment. But there’s not a great amount here that shows how Stormzy became one of the most thrilling young British stars of our age. What of his politics, which touched such a nerve in his electric Glastonbury set? What about his writing, his musical process? Meanwhile, it’s hard to shake the suspicion that Theroux is thirsting after another viral moment. As the credits roll, he hammily mentions “off the cuff” that he’s a viral rap star himself. Actual off-the-cuff moments are what the programme needs more of – like when Theroux meets Stormzy’s mum, who drops the bomb that she was on the pill when she got pregnant with her superstar son. Stormzy’s face is an instant meme.
There’s obviously the nosiness value of seeing inside Stormzy’s house, which contains an endearing amount of Monopoly sets – including a special Stormzy edition. But then it turns out he has a bigger house down the road, which he’s renovating. “Is it mad? Is it fabulous? Is it huge?” Theroux asks, a note of desperation in his voice, as though Stormzy’s other house might be where all the fun things are. At another point, despite the fact it’s not a particularly strenuous interview, Theroux asks: “How’s your energy?” Stormzy waves him on, happy to continue. “I don’t often speak in detail,” he admits. You can say that again.
