On family, hobbies, politics and activism …
Born in Dublin’s north inner city, Liam was raised in Coolock, and worked as an electrician before becoming an actor. After decades of acclaim in theatre, film and TV, he found international success in Game of Thrones. Currently filming a second season of Third Body Problem for Netflix, he lives in Dublin with his wife Colette, with whom he has three grown-up children.
How would you describe your parents? My mother is the greatest human being that ever walked the planet. I’m the firstborn of five, so I am the golden boy. I could murder someone and my mother would say, “There’s probably a very good reason he did that”. She’s 91 years old and the body is frail but she’s still smart as a whip. My dad got lung cancer and was robbed too early at 67, only three years older than me now. They were both children of Dublin inner city and he was the breadwinner, a docker, a crane driver, but the heart and soul of the outfit was always my mother.
Your family moved from the north inner city to the new suburbs. Did that have a big effect on your family? I was still inner city up to the age of about seven or eight, when we moved out to the dizzy heights of Coolock. We went from our little abode on Church Place off the Abercorn Road to a beautiful McInerney home, built when the government cared enough about us to build social housing. I imagine my parents missed town, because all their mates were still there, but the gaff we were in was just too small for a growing family.
Did you like school? Wikipedia says I left school early and that’s wrong, but I leave it like that as a constant reminder that the internet is not to be trusted. I went to St David’s in Artane for secondary, and it was grand. I got a passable Leaving Cert and started an apprenticeship as an electrician at 17.
What did you think you’d grow up to be? When I was 13, my dad lost his job and we were struggling, so I became a lounge boy in a pub in Drumcondra. That manila envelope of money was taken off me every Friday by my mother because she needed it to run the household. I think that’s where I got the bug to be an entertainer. The only money I could hang on to was my tips, and if you were nice and clever and looked after people, you were duly rewarded.
“I like to say I can count my friends on the fingers of one mitten.”
You became an electrician first, was that by necessity or design? Neither, really. I was walking home from St David’s with two mates one day and they said they were going into the ESB for some forms for apprenticeships and the guy handed me one, too. I had no intention of doing anything with it but my mother found it in my bag and made me fill it in and I ended up in the ESB for eleven years. My dad was a semi-skilled worker, so it was the equivalent of your son becoming a brain surgeon. He was chuffed.
How did your parents feel about you taking up acting? My father’s three-word reply was: “For fuck’s sake.” Basically, what he heard was that I’d deliberately chosen poverty. He did come around to it.
What’s your biggest strength at work? Making sure the story is the priority, not ego or competitiveness. We get paid very nice wages to play dress-up, so I don’t take what I do seriously, but I take how I do it very seriously.
Was political activism always part of your life? Absolutely, but because nobody knew who I was, they didn’t pay attention. I’ve been roaring about Palestine for 40 years, but it’s only once you get a bit of celebrity that more eyes see it. I was at the launch of the Freedom Flotilla for Gaza in Sicily [in June] to get videos out on social media, to bring the eyes of the world to the flotilla, which it most certainly did.
Do you still think the government is a “bunch of fucking idiots”? I think they’re a bunch of fucking cowards, and I don’t think they represent the will of the people as regards Palestine; and also this idea that we can’t build social housing, even though in the late 1960s, when Ireland was on its arse, we managed to build Clondalkin, Tallaght, Coolock, Jobstown.
So would you consider entering politics yourself? It’s not something I want to do, but it’s something that I might, to make sure elected people do the job they were elected to do. We have the moral authority to stand up and say, “That’s wrong.” To lead by example.
How would you like people to regard you? I don’t give a shite. It’s much easier to say than to live by, but what other people think of me is none of my business.
“I always tell younger people there’s no point in beating yourself up. You didn’t deliberately make a wrong decision but the best decision with the information you had.”
Your friendships are for the most part … Long-term. I like to say I can count my friends on the fingers of one mitten.
Your style signifier is … A leather blazer, not necessarily black, with a nice T-shirt and jeans.
Your favourite shoes? I do like Tod’s. I have a couple of pairs of Tod’s.
Exercise? I go to Paul Byrne at BodyByrne about twice a week and he beats the crap out of me. I know him about 55 years – he grew up ten doors down from me and his ma and my ma are mates. I’ve sent a couple of big stars to him. They go to him because he doesn’t tell anyone.
You like to listen to … I’d be lost without music. In my late teens, I was one of the original punks, but now, with my advanced years, I’ve everything on my playlist from Maria Callas to the Dead Kennedys to Frank Sinatra to some beautiful jazz.
You deal with a setback by … Moving on. I always tell younger people there’s no point in beating yourself up. You didn’t deliberately make a wrong decision but the best decision with the information you had. It just didn’t work out.
Do you have a hobby? Photography. I have about 20,000 photographs of Game of Thrones nobody’s ever seen, behind the scenes, everybody relaxing. I might unleash them one day.
A holiday you’d like to repeat … The one I do every year. I go down to Kerry with my three children and their partners. We cook and go for drives and chill and play games and the pub’s across the road and the beach is behind the pub. It’s great.
What do you do when you say you’re doing nothing? Nothing. I’m brilliant at it. If ever go to jail, solitary confinement would suit me grand.
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