I’m lovely and cuddly really
What’s TV hardman Ross Kemp doing hosting a shiny new daytime quiz show?Why not, he says...
Under the glare of the studio lights, a series of stepping stones stretch across the floor and a nervous contestant faces the challenge of crossing this ‘bridge’, negotiating truths and lies as they go. It’s a new game show format combining the familiar territory of general knowledge mixed with tactics – although the genial host of new BBC offering Bridge Of Lies might come as some surprise.
It’s none other than Ross Kemp, former EastEnders hardman turned boundary-breaking toughguy documentarian of warlords and gangsters. So not the first person who springs to mind for a show inhabiting the BBC’s cosy teatime telly slot. ‘No, not for me either,’ laughs Ross. ‘Before I started it, I was thinking, “Is this me?” And then it just sort of fitted. I really did enjoy it. And it’s got a nice bit of jeopardy, so maybe that plays to the documentary side of me.’
It’s really not the kind of jeopardy we associate with Ross Kemp – still impressively rugged at 57 – who has carved a niche as a chronicler of some of the world’s more godforsaken places. In a series of award-winning documentaries, he’s taken on the Taliban in Afghanistan, been to war-ravaged Congo and he’s confronted suicide bombers and Russian neo-Nazis. He’s been shot at more times than he cares to remember, while the neo-Nazis set him alight.
This new daytime TV slot then is worlds away, and I wonder if he had to adopt a guise to replace his more usual TV persona? ‘I’m lovely and cuddly, can’t you tell?’ he winks. ‘You can’t play a character in a game show – you have to show who you are. Game show Ross is a very different Ross from the one that goes out to Kabul or the Congo, but ultimately they’re all facets of who I am.’
He’s an enthusiastic cheerleader for the show, which goes out on weekday afternoons. ‘I’m not just saying this, it really is a good game,’ he says. ‘It’s got a bit of everything.’ It’s a novel idea: in each episode, a team of four must cross the ‘bridge’ one by one by answering questions in various categories against the clock, stepping on what they consider the ‘truth’ and avoiding the ‘lies’ in order to get to the other side. The team chooses which member should attempt each category, which could be anything from pop hits to capital cities. Each correct answer earns them £100 which gets banked in the vault, but a lie halves their money and if a contestant steps on three lies, they fall off the bridge and are out of the game and the team loses all the money. The members who reach the vault on the other side share the jackpot.
In some quarters, of course, game shows are seen as ‘telly-lite’ that, alongside soaps, still attract a degree of snootiness.
‘I agree there’s an element of snobbery and I think that will always exist, but I’ve always been more mass-market than niche,’ says Ross. ‘I know where I sit, and I’m happy where I sit. Also, the landscape’s changed. The arrival of streaming means what people do now has altered significantly. The same goes for me – adapt, enjoy, be part of it or be left behind.’ A contented family man, Ross has four-yearold twin girls and a six-year-old son with his wife, lawyer Renee O’Brien, alongside an 11-year-old from a previous relationship with makeup artist Nicola Coleman. Prior to that, there was his well-documented marriage to former Sun editor turned News UK executive Rebekah Brooks – then Wade – which became mired in drama when, in November 2005, Rebekah was arrested following an alleged assault on Ross. No further action was taken, and the couple divorced in 2009.
She’s not mentioned once during our chat, though I wonder if she’s the person he’s referring to when I ask if he’s ever told any whopping fibs himself. ‘I’m not going to answer that,’ he says with a rueful smile. ‘But I do think that, in relationships, the worst thing you can do is lie to your partner – or yourself. That will always lead to mayhem. That box is well and truly ticked, and hopefully it will never happen again.’
Having come to fatherhood later in life, he clearly loves being a dad. ‘There was a fight this morning over leopard-print tights,’ he says, raising a baffled eyebrow. ‘I expect that at 14, but four? They’re girly – they like tutus with unicorns on. I said to someone recently, “Forget the Kardashians, meet the Kemps!”’
It’s a long way away from Albert Square, where Grant Mitchell, brother to Steve McFadden’s Phil, earned some of the soap’s highest ratings. ‘People pooh-pooh soaps, but Steve and I did a two-hander once. We were already working on two other episodes that week and we managed to learn half an hour of dialogue too,’ he recalls. ‘So there are things to be proud of.’
He became very close to Barbara Windsor, who played his on-screen mum Peggy, and he admits he misses her dearly following her death in December 2020. He
THERE WAS A FIGHT EARLIER OVER LEOPARD-PRINT TIGHTS
remains in regular contact with her husband Scott. ‘I spoke to her twice a week,’ he says. ‘I made a documentary with Scott about dementia and Alzheimer’s. It’s a sad way to lose someone. There are lots of really decent people out there, and Scott’s one of them.’
Some might say the same about Ross Kemp, who retains no luvvie airs whatsoever. ‘I’ve lived my life understanding that I could be unemployed at any point,’ he says. It’s an attitude that’s served him well, and now he’s made the daytime schedules, could a talk show be next?
‘Talk to my agent,’ he smiles. ‘I wouldn’t rule anything out.’
■ KATHRYN KNIGHT Bridge Of Lies, 4.30pm weekdays, BBC1.