Louis Theroux Interview

Louis Theroux is the patron saint of asking questions. The mastery of probing: who, when, where and why are second nature. Naturally so, with over two decades making a case for “if you don’t ask, you don’t get,” there is an art to being Louis Theroux from the telly. Placating, objective, sometimes silent. 

The Louis Theroux I meet for 40 minutes in his home-study is much the same, trying to understand why his son has failed to get into the Uber he’d organised for him, in order to make it on time for a University open day. Could this be the catalyst for a future analysis by Theroux on the complexity of the youth today? One can only hope.

So how do you cross-examine the man who usually does the examining? Google how to ask a good question? Analyse his technique, if that’s something he’s even conscious of? Or, applaud the most unexpected success of last year – and by no means the denouement of his career – when he entered the charts with “Jiggle Jiggle”. “Ask him if his money folds,” a friend jibed at the news of Theroux covering Rollacoaster. It’s impossible not to. “That period was like an episode of Black Mirror, but a benign one where for reasons that remain obscure, I still don’t fully understand how this 20-year-old rap fragment I did went viral. Have I recovered? Sadly my world is more or less back to normal, and I say that with a pang of nostalgia.” Now is not the time to admit learning the accompanying dance routine. 

A household name across generations, Theroux has inspired and exposed cultures throughout his career that have perhaps felt, at times, hyper-fictional and far away from our daily lives. Theroux, however, welcomes them into our living rooms. For so long, the onus of his work stemmed from inquisitions into cults and taboo subcultures, including far-right groups, paedophiles, criminals, Nazis, porn stars and dangerous pets. From the malevolent to the marginalised, his latest manoeuvre sees him embark on a second season of Louis Theroux Interviews this November, in an access-all-areas meeting with cultural icons and trailblazers across sporting and entertainment industries. 

His default setting is curiosity, and to us viewers, such curiosity has allowed us to get up close and personal with the likes of Stormzy and Dame Judi Dench in season one. But the documentarian didn’t always plan to pursue those under the spotlight. In the lead-up to our interview, I find a quote written some years ago in The Guardian that feels surprising. The journalist asks: “What is the worst job you’ve done?" Theroux replies: “There was a period in the early 2000s when I had been doing celebrity profiles and thought I’d lost my way creatively.” What changed? 

“Good question,” he replies, as I struggle not to smile at the certification from the man who holds the holy grail for questioning. “I’m not trying to plug my book,” he says, stretching towards his bookshelf to reveal the cover. “But I wrote a chapter in Gotta Get Theroux This: My Life and Strange Times in Television, talking about the pain of going from a documentary presenter to booking celebrities for this When Louis Met… format. It was probably my lowest professional period, and there’s something totally incapacitating and demoralising about having this pressure to deliver high-profile programmes that are watched by lots of people, but have integrity.”

Over 20 years and a litany of documentaries later, following figures across the globe for extensive periods has taught Theroux – sometimes the hard way – that it’s not realistic anymore to pack a bag and run around in someone else’s shoes for a month. There are teenagers to teach how to get into Ubers and a life to be lived in West London with his family. “Nowadays, we do master interviews instead, a long-form chat that is often a really exploratory approach, along with two to three days meeting family members and shadowing the guest.”

So rarely do we get to stand in someone else's shoes and try them out for size beyond the depths of our imagination. But Theroux has gone through the entire wardrobe. “I’m somebody that enjoys leading other lives. There’s this balance that takes place between what you can reveal by being in someone’s orbit, but also being a fly on the wall. You’re positioned at a distance from your own life, and so I suppose it gives you a tiny bit of perspective and makes you think about how you could do things otherwise.” 

At home on this October evening in Kilburn, Theroux is mindful. He repositions the headphones that circle his face and adjusts his trademark square spectacles, quizzical brow on display. “I suppose if I wanted to be a bit facile, I'd say it's a bit like curating a dinner party,” he tells me of his methodology for the new series. “When you’ve got six episodes in a series, you need to consider how they all fit. We try to have a range of cultural pursuits because individually, these are all portraits of human beings.” Seated at the table this year, boxer Anthony Joshua, actor Ashley Walters, whistleblower Chelsea Manning, actress Dame Joan Collins, musician Peter Doherty and musician Raye all join the soirée. 

The secret in the recipe he says is to avoid chasing headlines and those who dominate them. There are stories to be told elsewhere in the ether. 

Theroux’s language is peppered with question marks and rising intonation. He is the narrator and the storyteller, and the pressure to keep the inquisition going never wanes. “I’ve done a lot of programmes and covered a lot of ground. And there’s a whole new generation now watching my work.” Is that unnerving? Slightly. “There’s a whole new generation now, and they see me as something different. But I do feel like I’m curious about many of the same things that I was 30 years ago. I’m conscious of my cultural references and not wanting to settle into ‘the good old days.’ These interviews allow fairly intimate access to someone who is faced with maybe some similar decisions and dilemmas. I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I never used to have that feeling of learning from someone else's life.”

Theroux might’ve grown some since starting out with film director and author, Michael Moore, in his 20s, but call it the Louis Theroux effect, he’s managed to manifest an intergenerational role. Ask anyone, odds are, they’ve seen a Louis Theroux doc at some point in their lives. And how does one ever totally ingratiate into society without becoming a meme? @NoContextLouisTheroux proves just that, an Instagram page dedicated to random witty quips from his programmes throughout the years. He mightn’t have foreseen this Theroux threshold coming, but there’s even T-shirts too. And hell, the man flooded TikTok. That’s the ultimate arbiter of being certified by the zeitgeist. 

With a bibliography of work that would definitely allow for a Louis Theroux marathon in front of the television for a week (we recommend), I’m fascinated to know if he’s in touch with the figures of his past work. “I have trouble staying in touch with my day-to-day friends…” he tails off, jerking quickly to write something down. “And you’ve just reminded me I need to reply to someone. I had a message on Facebook this week from the mother of one of the kids I interviewed in America’s Medicated Kids in 2010. I liked him. He was spiky, he was complicated. Every few years I hear from the family on how he’s doing.” He takes a moment to scribble something else before continuing: “You never know what strange twists life takes. So I have to be aware of getting over-invested and see it as water under the bridge. I believe in moving forward and not looking back too much.” 

Which is why Theroux feels like he no longer has to prove something. “I spent so much of my younger years thinking I had something to prove. Whether that was to myself or to others, and that’s diminished somewhat. It was always my dream back in the day to make programmes that would last. Even though TV is disposable, I guess like Pop music, I was always really hopeful and went in thinking this is going to be one of the best programmes ever made.” He catches himself. “I recognise this is ludicrous now, but being given the opportunity to make documentaries about the most interesting cults and sects…it’s amazing.”

Critics have often branded Theroux’s technique as playing dumb. I’m not sure I agree. Empathy is the ability to stomp around in someone else’s shoes, and it's through Theroux’s work that we’re able to tread such unknown. “I’m totally in favour of going close to the wind in terms of choosing subjects that are tricky,” he notes. “There’s a risk to not taking risks and being fearful of judgement.” Are you shameless? I ask. “No, and I don’t think I’d want to be. I think that’s probably Donald Trumps’ superpower. In this shame-based culture, if you have no fear, it gives you enormous power.” Theroux is, in fact, despite his ability to ask the questions we might sometimes be scared to, not unscathed by the fear of what people think. “It’s an urge that I try to resist both personally and professionally. I’m quite thin-skinned really. It’s sort of a close cousin of narcissism and solipsism. That said, it’s OK if you hate my programmes. I’m not fearful of people on social media calling me a wanker. At the end of the day, they’re going to do that anyway.” After all, as Nietzsche says (and Theroux agrees), “it’s inhuman to bless where one is cursed.”

Real talk, it’s hard not to be enraptured by him. It’s the Louis Theroux. He’s been entrusted to tap into the psyches of so many throughout all of our lives. But he’s passing over the baton – slightly, don’t panic – with his independent production company, Mindhouse. As co-founder, Theroux liked the idea of mixing things up and going behind the screen. “I suppose it was one of the frustrations from the relationship that I had with the BBC. It’s largely down to my own inertia, but I began to realise there are fascinating stories to be told that don’t need me in it. Mindhouse is a way of widening the frame for the kind of storytelling that I do. It means I also get to work with my wife Nancy, who came up with the original idea and encouraged me to do it.”

It’s something we don’t necessarily think of when we’re watching presenters govern the stories told before us. How do they feel? Where is their place in the tale? “There’s definitely an insecurity to it,” he shares. “You’re slightly babied as a presenter. ‘We don’t quite need you here Louis,’ or ‘Shall we try that again?’ I mean, no one’s ever said that but it’s a weird feeling as a presenter that you can’t shake. You’re so visible, but a lot of presenters live in fear of not getting that next commission, because for whatever reason, people don’t want to see them doing their gardening or their cooking.” 

Speaking of, for those uninitiated, Theroux likes to document his dabbles in the kitchen, failures and all. He looks frustrated. “I’m an indefatigable cook, but I need to post a bit more. Although the posting was actually getting in the way of putting the food on the table.” Frankly, he’s pissed off because he’s having a bad run with brownies. “I made some fucking good brownies 10 years ago, from a BBC baking cookbook. I’ve tried three times since and something keeps going wrong.”

Embracing the Theroux technique, to let the conversation go where it wants to go, we start talking about slut’s pasta aka the Italian Puttanesca dish. Not my wording, but history’s. When Theroux isn’t deep-diving days on end researching Ashley Walters or Dame Joan Collins’ age (a lady never tells), he’s figuring out how to use as many jars as possible from his fridge to make dinner. Hence, the puttanesca. Stomachs are growling now on the topic of dinner time. We head off to our respective kitchens, and I can’t help but wonder what our national treasure will be putting on the table tonight.