Meeting
Kit Harington and
Johnny Flynn feels a bit like an intrusion: they have only just met each other. Such is the whirl of showbiz these days, actors can agree to star in a huge West End venture — in this case a revival of
Sam Shepard’s True West — without having even met face to face. This is no big deal, the two assure me when they finally convene in a members’ club in central London, but when you consider the play’s themes, it still feels like a jump into the very, very deep end.
True West, which premiered in 1980, is considered a classic of American theatre. A weird
mano a mano between two brothers, as well as a surreal disquisition on the USA, it charts a vicious, visceral rivalry that takes in every mind game imaginable and, naturally, some fisticuffs. Serious fisticuffs. It’s a hefty, if welcome, challenge, then, for two of the brightest British actors of their generation. And it feels like light chitchat to ask: have you ever had a near-death experience?
“Once, I nearly drowned in a swimming pool,” says Harington, 31, best known as Jon Snow in
Game of Thrones. “When I was four. I was seconds away from death, apparently.”
Kit Harington and Johnny Flynn on True West
“When I was a year old, I
did die,” announces Flynn, 35, who can be seen as Dobbin in ITV’s Vanity Fair. He doesn’t really seem one for one-upmanship, but there you go. “I was clinically dead for half an hour, and they brought me back.” He, too, nearly drowned in a pool. “At least we have that in common,” Harington says drily.
We meet at the start of the summer. The two men are, true to form, polite and diffident, acclimatising to each other as much as to the intense subject matter of the play. Having only just met isn’t a barrier. “You have a sense of people,” Flynn reasons, “and we have many mutual friends.” In New York recently, he met
Harington’s new wife, Rose Leslie, his co-star in Thrones. In short, no biggie. “Whether you know the people or not,” Harington says, “it’s always like leaping off a cliff.”
The play follows the well-heeled Austin (Harington) and the older, wilder Lee (Flynn) as they tussle over the film scripts each has penned. The cast is small (four in total), but the ambition is huge, as epic as the “true west” they are each obsessed with. There really is something quite fun about such a macho American play being performed by two such quintessentially nice young Englishmen, isn’t there?
“Yeah,” they both smile. “But we are also both from a quintessentially theatre background,” Flynn points out. In his case, though his mother is South African, he mostly grew up here, the son of the actor Eric Flynn and brother of the actors Dan, Jerome and Lillie (“a very unflashy dynasty”, he insists). When he’s not acting, he performs with his folk band, the Sussex Wit, and he composed and performed the theme song for the BBC’s Detectorists.
King in the north: Kit Harington as Jon Snow in Game of ThronesHBO/SKY
His brother Jerome co-stars with Harington in Thrones, which turned the latter, the son of a baronet, into the gruff, grumbling Snow and a worldwide star. After nearly a decade, the series has finally ended production; the grand finale arrives next year. As such, True West seems a kind of jaunt.
“I’ve just worked in television for nine years,” Harington says. (He has also done a few films, and one play, Doctor Faustus, in the West End.) “There is always an appeal to doing theatre for me. There never won’t be. We were saying over lunch how we were both taken to the theatre constantly as kids. It really is bred into you as an English actor, this love.”
Though they are nowhere near rehearsing yet, the two already have plenty to chew over. For one thing, True West feels apt for today’s polarised times. “It feels political, but it’s the politics of the soul, rather than being an on-the-nose commentary on what’s going on at governmental level,” Flynn suggests. Of the two, he is the more romantic and discursive, willing to swill around ideas; Harington, if somewhat earthier, is happy to come along for the ride.
Flynn continues: “Everything that’s happening today is to do with people, and how they relate to each other — whether people can get on fundamentally.” The conflict between the two brothers suddenly seems a weird echo of the culture wars going on today. “You’ve got this kind of intellectual, almost liberal-elite guy, Austin,” Harington says, “then this very guttural, very dangerous, earthy character, Lee.”
It is also, unavoidably, about what it is to be masculine: what it entails and what it costs. Harington sees another echo. “I feel personally, quite strongly, at the moment — where have we gone wrong with masculinity? What have we been teaching men when they’re growing up, in terms of the problem we see now?” He’s referring to the current epidemic of “toxic masculinity”, where men are crippled by their expectations and shame, an idea not unconnected to #MeToo.
“What’s innate and what’s taught?” he goes on. “What is taught on TV, and in the streets, that makes young boys feel they have to be this certain side of being a man? I think that’s really one of the big questions in our time — how do we change that? Because clearly something has gone wrong for young men.”
Weirdly enough, for two such nice blokes, upstanding and inevitably liberal, each has done work defined by a high degree of violence. Game of Thrones is notorious for it, and has received a certain amount of flak; and Flynn earned raves playing a sociopath, Mooney, in Martin McDonagh’s grim and funny play Hangmen, as well as a possibly criminal outsider in the gory film Beast. You half expect them to be squeamishly apologetic about it, but no.
“Life is violent,” Flynn says. “We all have violent thoughts, you know? It would be naive to take violence out of stories. We can learn from it.”
“We’re the most violent species on the planet,” Harington adds. “So, especially now, to keep reminding ourselves of that is essential.”
“
Jez Butterworth said to me, ‘All good stories are about a person facing death,’” says Flynn, who appeared in Butterworth’s hit Jerusalem. “Stories always involve a form of death. So, yeah,” he grins, referring to True West, “it’s another good story that has some violence.”
What’s rather sweet, though, is that neither has been above being a bit toxic and violent themselves. The play is about two brothers, and the two actors have them too — in Harington’s case one, three years older, and, in Flynn’s, two older ones from his father’s first marriage. Do they understand Austin and Lee’s dynamic?
Multi-talented: Johnny Flynn at Green Man festival
“My older brother will find this play hilarious,” Harington smiles, “because he used to kick the shit out of me.”
“He might take it personally,” Flynn suggests.
“He might,” Harington replies. “We’re very, very close, but we fought when we were younger. There’s something in this play that appeals to that side of me and my brother’s relationship, way back when. We were quite competitive.” Well, yes, but did it ever get as bad as Austin and Lee? Harington laughs.
“I won’t tell you what my brother used to do to me, because it was horrible.” Did your parents know? “Actually, my brother attributes my whole career to the fact that I learnt to play at crying early on, being a little shit. He didn’t actually have to beat the crap out of me to get into trouble.”
For Flynn, the family dynamic was more complex: his half-brothers and a half-sister are 20 years older; Lillie is younger. “And I was probably quite mean to her,” he says apologetically. More to the point, though, “I’m the older brother, same as Lee”. He turns to Harington. “I’m looking forward to hearing more stories.”
Harington does something between a scowl and a smirk. “It was psychological torture. It was intense.”
Interview done, I leave them to their summers — their first proper holidays for a while. For Harington, it really is a phase of transition, with Thrones ending and married life beginning. He says he has reached some peace with his fame.
“At the beginning it was exciting, then in the middle it started to get a bit weird. I’m happy I experienced it, but one of the things I’m looking forward to is stepping back from that intensity. It’ll follow me for ever, but being in all the circus of the hype around a show like that is something I’m fortunate to have experienced — fortunate especially because now I don’t feel like I have to chase some kind of fame that maybe I was chasing at the start. I’m happy to be an actor, rather than a character or a property.”
So, no more big battle scenes? “I’m done with battles. I’m done with battlefields and horses.” No spin-off series? We’ve been promised several. “No, that’s not going to happen. I’m not going anywhere near anything like that.” It’s the same story when we catch up quickly a few months later, with the latest rumours about him playing the next Batman. Are those just..? “Rumours,” he sighs. Clearly he doesn’t want to be a property again, not yet.
As for Flynn, he was about to welcome his third child — and, when we speak later, he confirms that he and his wife have had a daughter, Agnes Lorca. “We liked the idea of naming our daughter after a gay rebel Spanish poet,” he chuckles. They spent their summer with Jerome, who lives in their father’s old house in Wales. “It was as lovely as it could be, surrounded by lots of screaming children.” All grist to the mill, perhaps, for the curdled sibling cruelties of True West.
True West, Vaudeville, London WC2, from November 23; tickets on sale now