You’ve worked with Chris Morris, the director of Four Lions, for a while. How did you meet?
Through Mat Whitecross, who co-directed The Road to Guantanamo [which Ahmed also starred in]. He was a mess of hair and luminous bicycle shorts with bright red socks. I was like, “Who is this guy?”
But you seem to have hit it off.
He turned out to be one of the most intelligent and fun people I had ever met. We spoke about everything and nothing every couple of months for about three years.
So it wasn’t just about acting?
I didn’t really think he had me in line for a role — I mean, I kind of secretly hoped he did.
He is known for being quite an elusive character. How would you describe him?
He’s just genuine. In an industry full of bullshitters, he’s a bullshit detector. His approach is a combination of incredible intellectual hunger and “OK, let’s throw our shit against the wall and have fun”.
Morris’s comedy, especially Brass Eye, has been controversial. Did you ever feel that, with a comic film about jihadis, he was pushing it too far?
He was never trying to be controversial. The subject of terrorism sets off alarm bells in all of us, but he was in it to make a funny film. The god of his church is: what’s funniest, how do we make this funnier? We’ve done things that are provocative, but that’s not the main aim.
Were you worried about what sort of impact the film would have?
I just want people to go and see it, and laugh and be blown away by it.
Is it a sign of a healthy society that we can laugh at things like terrorism?
Yeah, I guess. It’s good when people can laugh at things that they feel uncomfortable about. But the source of the comedy here isn’t suicide bombing or terrorism — it’s these four guys and their group dynamic. It’s about the people in the room, not the furniture.
You dealt with similar themes in The Road to Guantanamo. Did you enjoy approaching them in a different way?
Yeah, it was fun to do comedy. It’s a different kind of skill — I think it’s harder.
Do you worry about being typecast?
I started acting on post-September 11 terrain, when there were lots of those storylines around. But I’m lucky to have done films that deal with those issues, and add nuance or subvert assumptions. I’m not restricted — my last few projects haven’t been anything to do with that.
Do you feel like you’re being held up as some kind of role model for young British Muslims?
I don’t think I am, No. I mean there is a kind of journalistic obsession with that, but I’m never going to play buxom blondes, am I?
You’re a musician as well as an actor.
Yeah, that’s what I’m doing with most of my time. I’m releasing an album in September, and I’ve created a mad live show to coincide with it. It’s a kind of interactive, narrative gig — there’s almost a kind of sci-fi concept to it.
So, is performance important to your music?
Live music is changing. Cinema is, too — films are so easily available, you have to add value to the cinema experience. Live performance is just part of what I do, but it’s the part that I enjoy most.
People tend to think of artists in terms of one medium. Do you think that’s changing?
The ways we experience different things have all been muddled up now — we watch stuff on our iPhones, and we go to the cinema to watch opera being screened. It’s just about offering more creative, innovative experiences. Which is definitely something I’m trying to do with the album.
Are you a kind of polymath?
No, I think I’ve got attention deficit hyperactivity disorder — in all seriousness. It’s just never been diagnosed. I can’t focus on things. I think it says more about my deficiencies than my skills.
Are you political?
Everything is political, but in the narrow sense of the word, I’m not that interested. Politics is a very wide concept, though.
Is there anything you regret?
I regret not giving more time to people. Sometimes. A lot of the time I don’t care [gives an evil laugh].
Is there a plan?
I hope not.
Are we all doomed?
Obviously.
Content from our partners
Related
