Broadcasting: Youssef Kerkour
Moroccan-British actor Youssef Kerkour shares his experience of typecasting, being othered by the industry and why 'getting your foot in the door' isn't the same for everyone.
If you, like me, watched and adored every second of the BBC comedy We Might Regret This, then you’ll have seen Youssef as Freya’s builder in episode three. What starts as a conversation about accessibility ends up with the two of them in bed together (not like that), drinking tea and watching Real Housewives. It’s the sweetest, most beautiful interaction, much like the one I had with Youssef. I think it’s Youssef’s perspective on the world that makes him such a versatile actor. I first saw him as Sami in Channel 4’s comedy-drama Home. Since then, he’s acted opposite Katherine Parkinson in Significant Other, been directed by Ridley Scott in House of Gucci and has most recently starred in Apple TV+’s thriller Disclaimer. We’ll also be able to watch him in HBO’s A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.
It’s not unusual for me to describe the people I interview as intelligent or inspiring, because they all are, but Youssef is one of the kindest, most generous people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with. We discuss being a third culture kid, Youssef’s perception of diversity across the UK and the US, and how to find your path. It’s a privilege for me to be able to share just a bit of his kindness and generosity with you.
“I did everything I was told was wrong to get here, everything my own people tell me is insulting. I’ve played terrorists and big scary Lebanese military men, neither of which I am proud of. But at least I’m in the room.”
I hope you don’t mind me pointing this out, but your ability to switch so seamlessly between an American and British accent is impressive! Are you aware that you’re doing it or is it an unconscious thing?
It’s funny you ask because a lot of people presume that it’s fake, that it’s some sort of performance I’m putting on. It’s not that - it’s an associative thing for me, a consequence of an upbringing that spanned Morocco, New York and then London. If I close my eyes, I have an American accent. I spent all of my childhood in Rabat and I went to the Rabat American school until I was 18. I then moved to New York to study. I was there until my visa ran out and I had to leave. That’s when I came to London, in 2002. For a long time, I felt very American, even though my mother is English and I was born and raised in Morocco. I used to find that confusing, but the older I get, the simpler my identity becomes. I feel much more comfortable with the fact that I can exist in different realities at the same time. I no longer fear the loss of a specific identity by declaring that I am one thing over the other. When you’re younger, you don’t want to make a choice, because choosing means you’re going without. I don’t feel like that anymore. I think the whole third culture kid is probably the most accurate, but if we’re talking about how I feel, I feel Moroccan in my heart. When I die, I want to be buried there.
You went to university to study Psychology. When you made that decision, did you already know you wanted to be an actor?
I’ve always known I wanted to act, but accepting that I wanted to act was a different story. Acting has always been the only thing I’ve ever excelled in. I’m not saying I’m the best actor in the world, just that it’s the best thing I can do. But I had a real psychological block when it came to actually pursuing it. My mum always encouraged my artistic side, but she had a healthy degree of anxiety about my future, and I think I instinctively knew that my dad wanted me to get a ‘proper job’. And I wanted that too. My friends were all scientists and mathematicians and I just wanted to be like them. I used to say that the worst thing I could imagine would be ‘giving up’ and becoming an actor. So I decided to major in Psychology. After the first semester, my mentor sat me down and he said, “I’m not going to fail you, because I can see you’re not living your life in the way you should be. I think you’re an actor”. He let me make up the credits I was missing through my other classes, which were all in theatre and dance. It was almost like I needed that permission to go for it. After that, I did a play every single semester until I graduated. I would be in the theatre department every single day and most nights. It was amazing. There’s really nothing like that sense of community that you get in the theatre.
Do you think you were craving that sense of community because it was something you were missing in your life?
I distinctly remember taking the set down after one of the first shows I did. That particular day I was feeling a distance between myself and what I was doing. I was missing the boys I played basketball with; I was missing my friends from home. I must have said something because the head of the scenic shop I was working for asked me if I was going to play basketball for the whole of college. I was like, yeah, why? He told me a story about the head of the theatre department who had walked onto the basketball court one day, grabbed one of the players by his collar, dragged him off the court and into rehearsal. He said that, if I really wanted to make it as an actor, I was going to have to make a choice. A few days later, I was sat with my friend Willa having a cigarette in the theatre lobby, and she was like, “I’m hungry. Maybe Jimmy’s got donuts”, and she just waltzed into Jimmy’s office to get them. Jimmy was the head of costume. I loved that. I loved that she felt so at home there. And the penny dropped for me. I felt a part of something bigger than myself. So it wasn’t necessarily that I was missing a sense of community; it was that I suddenly realised how special the community was that I was already in.
Is there that same sense of community in TV?
No, I don’t think it exists in the professional world in the same way. Yes, we might develop strong bonds whilst working on a job, and yes, those bonds are real. You become really intimate with one another and you swear you’ll meet up after, but - with the best will in the world - you rarely do. No-one tells you how unique the educational environment is for that; your environment and your identity are one. You get the joy of working on totally different shows but with the same group of people - they become like your family. In the professional world you have to be more efficient and effective, especially in film and TV. I have a couple of friends I met on a job who I still see, but I can count them on one hand. Our work is so anti-social and London is hard. My best friend from childhood lives here now and I’ve only seen him once. I really struggled to make friends when I first moved here. In the US, I would overhear a conversation, join in, and we’d be hanging out by the weekend. I tried that here and people looked at me like I had three heads!
Why do you think that was your experience?
I think being a ‘foreigner’ means a totally different thing in the US than it does in the UK. In film & TV, America projects an incredibly diverse society, when in fact it’s hugely segregated. And the UK projects a whitewashed society, when it’s actually quite diverse. But that image that is projected is really powerful in impacting people’s perceptions. There is so much fear of ‘the other’ in the UK, and I think that comes down to a lack of education about what lies beyond British and European shores. It doesn’t matter if it’s Algeria or Timbuktu - the fear and preconceptions are the same. I remember when I first came to London and I was touring the country with a theatre production. I would call a hotel in whatever city we were in and ask if they had a room. They’d say yes and then they’d ask for my name, to which I would reply Youssef. They’d call me back a few minutes later and say “sorry sir, we double booked”. It happened so much that I started going by Joseph instead.
Do you feel othered?
Yes, but I use it to my advantage. When I first graduated from drama school, I was repeatedly warned against being typecast. I remember being desperate for work and I thought, if the only way for me to get a job is to take a certain type of role, I’m going to take it! When people talk about our industry they say you’ve got to get your foot in the door. My experience as an ‘othered’ person is that I’m at the bottom of this big sandy hill and there’s a door at the top. I keep scrambling up and sliding back down. I finally drag myself to the top of the hill and start knocking at the door. I look around me and I see white people with no hill behind them knocking at the door. They look beautiful; they haven’t had to climb up like I have, so - when the door is opened - they’re invited in. But I’ve exhausted myself getting here; there’s no way anyone’s going to let me in. So I start drumming on the door instead. I cover my face and say “greetings master”. A curious face opens the door: “oh wow, who is this exotic creature?’” they ask. And they let me in. I did everything I was told was wrong to get here, everything my own people tell me is insulting. I’ve played terrorists and big scary Lebanese military men, neither of which I am proud of. But at least I’m in the room.
How long did you have to play those sorts of roles before people started seeing you in a different light?
Most of the work I got in the beginning, I only got because I ticked a box. People in the industry are desperate to fill a quota, and I say let them. Let them think that they are only hiring you because of the way you look. I’m going to sound cynical, but one of the greatest powers we can leverage as foreigners, particularly Arabs, is the West’s intrinsic desire to maintain the status quo. Western society has been primed for decades to mistrust us. They have been taught to believe that our hearts are full of hatred. That, if we get angry, we are more dangerous than an English person who is angry. We go into a room with a giant bag on our back that we don’t see or feel, but they do. People ask, “how do we overcome this diversity challenge?”, when they should be asking “how can we show people that we are multicultural?”. So yes, we might be allowing these people to tick a diversity box, but - very slowly - we get to change the world’s perception of who we are. I’ve played some brilliant roles that have nothing to do with perpetuating damaging stereotypes of Arabs or Muslims, but I had to play the game to get there.
Thinking back to what your mentor said to you at university, do you think that you are living the life you were supposed to, that acting is and has always been your path?
I think we all have neurons in our brains that fire quicker and more easily on certain pathways than others. I think we are predisposed to thrive in certain environments and with certain people. It’s about correctly identifying what that means for you. For me, it’s clear that this is my path. It took a while to find, but - once I found it - everything else fell into place. As a practising Muslim, I have strong feelings about destiny, and it has never done me any harm to think that way. I know that’s not for everyone though, but there’s a reason that there are universal things people do to reach a state of calm, like meditating. I think if you feel stuck, it’s because you are being pulled between what you want to do and what you think you need to do. Slowing down can be really powerful. Identifying things that give you a bad feeling and getting rid of them. Saying kind, loving things to yourself, even when you feel like a failure. “Ma3lesh habibi, you tried your best. It’s OK”. Trusting the process, not forcing or rushing things. I think that the more we do that, the more we will naturally gravitate towards the path on which we will flourish the most.