On art and self-censorship: David Jonsson and Caleb Femi go head-to-head

This story is taken from the autumn 2025 issue of Dazed, which is on sale internationally from September 11. Pre-order a copy here.

“This isn’t why I do it,” said David Jonsson in his acceptance speech at the 2025 Baftas, having just been presented with the rising star award. “I’m just an east London boy who, by way of reflection, didn’t really see a space for me in this industry. But this award is about the people, and as long as we keep telling stories about people, I think there’ll be a space for me and people like me, you, and everyone watching at home. So I’d like to dedicate this to the people. The dreamers, the grafters and the people just trying to do it a little bit different. Star? I don’t know. But rising? I guess!”

The award’s recipient is decided each year by the public to acknowledge new young actors who have demonstrated exceptional talent and captured the imagination of the British public. But Jonsson has captured the imagination of viewers further afield, too: from his breakout role in hit HBO show Industry to his performances in the heartwarming south London romcom Rye Lane and sci-fi horror Alien: Romulus, and his latest turn in dystopian horror The Long Walk – not to mention his top-secret film project with Frank Ocean – Jonsson has enthralled global audiences with his shapeshifting abilities. His new film The Long Walk, out in the autumn, is set in a totalitarian America where young men compete in a gruelling annual walking contest. It’s a haunting allegory about war, obedience and erasure led by a performance from Jonsson that speaks to the brutality of masculinity, and how much men can self-suppress in pursuit of honour and glory.

Like Jonsson, Nigerian-British author, filmmaker and photographer Caleb Femi is an artist for the people. Born in Kano and raised in south London, he taught English at a secondary school in Tottenham before becoming London’s first young people’s laureate in 2016. His first book, Poor, combines poetry and photography to explore the joys of young Black boys in 21st-century Peckham, while his latest release, The Wickedest, blends classical and experimental poetry to honour the role of house parties in working-class communities, as nightlife is eroded by gentrification and restrictive licensing. Across all his work, Femi tells stories that uplift the people and places he loves.

This shared passion for storytelling brought Femi and Jonsson together on the set of Industry, where Femi directed two episodes, and a friendship naturally blossomed – one that has remained profound and pivotal for both of them. In this conversation, the pair discuss the impact they have had on each other as artists, The Long Walk, their relationship with censorship, and more.

David Jonsson: Caleb, how has life been? I know you’ve been working on a num - ber of things recently, but we first met on Industry. It was season two and I remember you coming in, and I ain’t gonna lie to you, it was a big deal. You were our first director of colour, and this poet extraordinaire. I remember seeing you on set in full shell, wearing a Nike jacket, cargo pants and Nike Shox and thinking, “This is some G shit. This is next level.” [laughs] I’m partially messing around, but partially not, because it felt so authentic to me. When people step on to an HBO set for a show that did relatively well in its first season, they want to assimilate. I’ve seen other directors come and do just that –but I felt like you were like, “No, you want me, and I’m bringing me.” And I really respected that.

Caleb Femi: I appreciate that, man, honestly. I think it was our conversation that finally made me feel ready for shooting week; my first scene was with you, and it was also my first-ever TV scene. Before we met, I knew you through the screen. I thought, “We’re both from ends, we should get along.” But that was a projected thought, and sometimes the reality of these things doesn’t always align. Our very first time on set was such a breath of fresh air because you were so interested. You took ownership of your character in a way I had never seen before. It was my first time feeling like, “Oh, this is mad collaborative. He understands his character, and is interested in the dramaturgical potential of the scene itself.” We were blocking and swapping ideas; it was really forma - tive for me. I knew that was the right way to direct; it reaffirmed that for me. Everything I’ve gone on to do –other TV shows and whatnot –that experience has been the foundation of realising it’s important that every actor is seen as an artist and approached in that same way.

DJ: You describing our meeting as a breath of fresh air is exactly how I’d describe it, too. Because –and I don’t mean this in a disparaging way at all – Industry was a baptism by fire. I came from theatre; the stage is my first love. You risk a lot on stage, but on a smaller scale. I spent my first year out of drama school doing theatre, and then stepped on to an HBO set – and you know the material… it goes there. [laughs] It was a high-pressure set. I’m not going to lie to you, it was a lot. TV can be a lot. But having you come on set, I remember feeling like, “I can do it.” You know? And you asked me how that progression has been, and I’ve realised something: the work stays in the artist’s hands for a fraction of time before it leaves, and then it’s no longer yours. In the time that it’s in my hands, I’m going to really squeeze it. I’m going to feel it, I’m going to understand its texture, I’m going to understand everything that it can be before I let it go. And once my work is done, it’s done. The fun part is for everyone else, when it hits the screens, but for me there’s no greater joy than that time moulding it with someone. That is when I come alive. I get my kicks from playing with great people like yourself, which is why we have unfinished business, by the way. [laughs]

The film is asking the question: who are our young men today? Even though it’s dystopian, it’s relevant to today

CF: We certainly do! I wanted to talk to you about your new film, The Long Walk. I think that your rendition of Pete [Jonsson’s character in the film] is my favourite of yours. I don’t know if word got back to you, but barely an hour into the film, I was in tears.

DJ: Oh, wow!

CF: You put such meticulous work into the character. It was in your body. It must have required incredible concentration to convey the nuance of his journey to the audience, as well as the complexities of his arc. How did you approach that?

DJ: Thank you, Caleb. That means a lot coming from you. On the page, Pete is this guy who’s had a hard life: he comes from a broken home, and has to find his way. Coming from east London, I can definitely understand that. But that wasn’t the key to him – the key was understanding why he’s open again, why he’s able to use his pain to help other people open up. That’s something we often struggle with as young Black men. To understand that our pain can be used for something bigger than ourselves, for the healing of others. That was really the joy of him, and honestly, that’s what was worth persevering for.

CF: Being in such a male-dominated production, how did your relationship with everyone else feed into the actual film?

DJ: Entirely. What I love about this movie is that it’s an ensemble piece. It’s asking the question: who are our young men today? Even though it’s dystopian, it’s relevant for today. I feel like my character wouldn’t exist without Garraty, played wonderfully by the great Cooper Hoffman, who is honestly one of my boys. I swear to you, man, all the boys on this project were invested in the work. We were walking at least 50 miles a day, minimum. We were entirely in it. It’s a story of walk or die, so various people die throughout the film. When people were going, we’d look at the person and pat them on the back, almost as if they were actually gonna die. But all we meant was go to work. Put that work in, let’s see what you can do. But everyone brought it. Back to you, though. The last time I saw you was at the Booker prize [ceremony], where you were a judge. It was a wonderful way for me to remember my guy’s a poet, an observer, a writer, director and filmmaker. Where have you been sitting in those spaces recently?

CF: The main one has been my book, The Wickedest, which I actually started writing when we were doing Industry, so every time I talk about this book I think about the show. That’s been the love of my life recently. It’s been almost a year since it came out, and I’ve been touring. It’s also been lovely adapting it [for] the screen. I think I work best when I’m working on the same story with all my artforms. It’s one of the best feelings to reimagine the same work in different lives and universes. So that’s been fun. I wanted to ask you about censorship. I’ve noticed a change in my relationship with self-censorship [over the past few years]. My work has always been very uncensored in a way. In my first book I included family photos, and my family were upset because there were intimate moments that were now accessible to the whole world. But as a person I’ve started censoring myself, because when you realise that people are watching you become a bit more conscious about how you want to be seen. But for me, that’s on a small level – being where you are now and the amount of exposure you get, how do you navigate public and private life? What’s your relationship with self-censorship?

DJ: I have always been a private person, and I guess privacy and censorship are slightly different things, but they are two of the same in a way. What I will say is that I keep some cake for myself. I have to, otherwise I’ll run dry. I’ve always been that way, but I also do it consciously to some degree, because I think, as actors know, to give all of yourself means there’s nothing left for someone to believe. I’ve said this quite a lot: some actors play themselves, and that’s absolutely fine. They’re really good at it, and it’s awesome. And some actors go to other places, and that’s probably the acting that I’m more interested in. And to do that, you need to not know everything about me; if you do, the illusion is broken. All we’re doing is creating illusions. So, yeah, I’m always going to be a somewhat private person, and I think it’s just a means of survival. Otherwise, I think we’re in an industry that can take everything away from you if your hands are open.

CF: We’re both in our 30s now. Does self-censorship have anything to do with ageing? And if so, what does that mean about my early work and the things that were good about it? A lot of it hinged on being uncensored. But now I’m in a place where I think, actually, a bit of self-censorship might be good. How does my work now reflect that? What do you think?

You need to not know everything about me; if you do, the illusion is broken

DJ: That’s interesting, because when you’re a young artist, you’re just throwing things. When I was younger, I didn’t have precision. It was all instinct. I still am all instinct – but now I understand that if I’m going for the bullseye, give me three takes, and I might get it. There is a lack of censorship when you’re younger, but you don’t know what to censor. You have no idea what to put the blur on. Whereas when you get older, and you understand the value of your work, you realise that covering your right eye and looking through your left is going to enhance what you see, as opposed to just looking at everything. I would also say that, with age, I’ve learned so much about myself, and I’m actually willing to uncensor things that I couldn’t have uncensored when I was younger. Because it’s either stuff I didn’t know about myself, or else I did and was like “Nah, fuck that.” Now I’m much better at going, “You know what? I am absolutely willing to strip all that away.” So censorship can sometimes be about stripping away. I think you get better at stripping away the older you get.

CF: Do you feel good, though, in your 30s?

DJ: I do. I’m grateful to be working the way I am. We celebrate youth across the board in entertainment, it’s not just film, television and stage. And we build up these rules that make us think, “Oh God, if I’m losing my ‘youth’, what is my value?” And the truth is, I enjoy doing what I’m doing when I’m doing it. And actually, I do look back and wonder if whatever I’m doing now had come earlier, would it have been the same? I don’t even want to know. I’m just happy to be doing things wherever they come into my life.

Grooming Colleen Dominique at The Wall Group, photographic assistant Nathaniel Jerome, styling assistant Sebastian Acero, production Olivia Gouveia at Family Projects, production manager Kim Romero, production assistant Myles Gouveia.