On the pavement outside the Netflix office, I stand in the rain, confused. Was that interview a little off? Louis Theroux seemed not to like my questions, which were typical interview questions, related to him and his big glossy Netflix debut, Inside the Manosphere. He seemed, I don’t know, prickly? A bit testy? I’m prone to rumination, so perhaps I am overthinking. Because Louis Theroux is a good guy, right? He skewers the bad guys. And yet here I am, baffled. The only thing to do is sit in a cafe and replay the tape.
Theroux is solicitous, lightly ironic in tone. “Louis,” he says. “How do you do?” I am fine. Looking forward to our chat, as you may imagine. Theroux, 55, might be north London dad in appearance – specs, grey T-shirt, black jeans, sneakers – but he’s the grandmaster of both the immersive documentary and interview form. The son of American writer Paul Theroux (a nepo baby before they existed), he has built a 30‑year career in television, much of it at the BBC, making a virtue of being a socially awkward verbivore, hyper‑curious, super-funny.
