the Oscar- winning director of Brokeback Mountain,
Sense and Sensibility, and The Ice Storm.
Was it really that simple? “It was as mad as that,”
Alwyn says. He sent over a tape, and got a call saying
Lee wanted to meet him that weekend. “So they put
me on a plane. I hadn’t been to America before.”
He landed in New York, in the snow, and immediately
went out to fi nd a New York slice of pizza. “Within
fi ve days, I’d left school, had a visa and was in boot
camp in Atlanta. As it went on, I managed to relax
and enjoy it. But at the beginning, in the fi rst week or
two of shooting, I was shitting myself.” And then it
was over. “Everyone else stayed in America. I had to go
back home and walk the dog the next day, it was pouring
rain and I was back in this garden,” he smiles. “And
life continued.”
After Billy Lynn , Alwyn had a run of nasty char acters,
historical fi gures, and sometimes both. He was a slave-
owner in Harriet, and the son of a Nazi in Operation
Finale. In The Favourite, he has a comic turn as Masham ,
who seduces Emma Stone’s Abigail , dances a silly dance
with Rachel Weisz as Lady Sarah , and is a thorn in the
s i d e o f O l i v i a C o l m a n ’s Q u e e n A n n e. “A l l t h r e e o f t h e m
are amazing. Just down -to -earth, funny, nice people.”
He says that it is fascinating to watch Colman work.
“Because it can be so easy to sit in the corner full of
nerves hyping yourself up for a scene, but she is so
chilled and fun and cracking jokes, and then she’s just
i n it a nd out, a nd t hen it’s done.”
Masham is a supporting character, a small-ish role,
but Alwyn decided early on that he would rather take
smaller parts with directors he admired than always
go for the big, splashy jobs. “There are a couple of things
I probably did just because I wanted to work, but
I ’ v e t r i e d t o b e p r e t t y p i c k y,” h e s a y s. D o e s t h a t r e q u i r e
a healthy ego, to be happy to play the supporting role,
rather than insisting on being the star? “The idea of
being the lead role just for the sake of it seems
r idiculous,” he says, then catches himself. He likes to
m a k e s u r e h e i s b e i n g u n d e r s t o o d. “ We l l , i t d o e s n ’ t s e e m
ridiculous. Each to their own. But I’d much rather play
an interesting support role in an interesting fi lm. I fi nd
that more attractive.”SI NCE 2016, I F T H E I N T E R N ET IS TO be believed –
details are sparse, and will remain so, largely – Alwyn
has been in a relationship with Swift. His fi lm career
brought him a level of recognition, but the level of fame
he has been exposed to around his relationship is some-
thing else entirely. Was that a shock? “It’s not something
I think about, unless I’m in situations like this, and
someone says, ‘What’s it like?’ and I have to think about
what to say about it,” he says, though he does have
plenty to say on it, which suggests he has thought about
it at least a little bit. He is more clipped when he talks
about this side of things, and a bit less jokey, as if
practised in being fi rm. “It’s just not for other people,”
he says, of their relationship. “And I don’t say that with
aggression.”
He will concede that he can see why people might
be interested in it. And people are interested. Her 2019
song London Boy , about fancying a charming, sporty
north London boy with lots of mates, is rumoured to
be about him, but, other than that, they say very little
about each other in public. I tell him I watched a nine-
minute compilation on YouTube that collected
everything they had said about their relationship in
public into one handy video. “Well, I hope that was
il luminating,” he says, drily. It wasn’t, actually. “That
doesn’t surprise me, because I don’t know what people
would be going off .”
He pauses, for what seems like an age. “I don’t know
how best to talk about it. I mean, I’m aware of people’s
... of that size of interest, and that world existing. It’s just
not something I particularly care about, or have much
interest in feeding, I guess, because the more it’s fed,
the more you are opening a gate for intrusion.” He is
aware that this makes him sound guarded.The Guardian | 30.04.22 | SATURDAY | 21‘I’M AWARE OF THE
INTEREST IN MY
RELATIONSHIP. IF
YOU FEED THAT,
YOU OPEN A GATE
FOR INTRUSION’
himself. Alwyn went to a private boys’ school, on
a scholarship and bursary. He enjoyed it, and made
a group of friends that he still speaks to all the time,
even today. He didn’t really act at school; he mostly
played sport. “I was good at football. Tennis. I just like
athletics, generally.” He squirms. “‘Just generally’.
It sou nds so a r roga nt! ‘A l l of t hem’. ”
We r e p e o p l e s u r p r i s e d t h a t h e w a n t e d t o b e a n a c t o r?
“I feel like I’d given enough hints that it wasn’t
a co mplete bombshell when I wanted to do it, but I do
think there was probably a feeling of , why?” He st udied
English and drama at Bristol University, and then went
to drama school in London. Immediately after his fi nal
showcase, so the fairytale version of the story goes, he
signed with an agent and was asked to audition for Lee ,t o p r e f e r, b u t i t d o e s m e a n w e h a v e t o s t a r t a t t h e b e g i n -
n i n g. S o yo u g r e w up ... “ I g r e w up i n t h i s p u b,” h e c ut s
in, grinning. “I was born in this garden and I’ve never
left. Very happy here, thank you.”
He actually grew up near where we are today, in
Tufnell Park , a well-to-do neighbourhood in north
London. His mother is a psychotherapist. “I never
felt like I was lying down on the couch and being
analysed every evening, which is probably a good thing.
I managed to escape that. But she’s great with people
and great to talk to. People always think that must be
strange, having a mum who’s a therapist.” Well, it is
interesting. “It definitely is. It’s an amazing job.
I ac tually think if I didn’t do this, I would be interested
in doing something like that.”
His father is a documentary fi lm-maker who also
teaches fi lm-making. He instilled a love of fi lms in the
young Alwyn by giving him stacks of VHS tapes for his
birthday and Christmas presents. “He makes fl y -on -
the -wall, observational human stories. When I was
growing up, he was often away, and I remember him
being in these far-fl ung places a lot, bringing back
cool gifts for me and my brother.” Did you ever go with
him? “I was never invited.” He leaves a beat. “Don’t
worry, I spoke to my mum about it,” he quips.
He has two brothers, one older, who works for an
NGO, and one much younger, who was born when
he was at secondary school, and has just left school