A middle-class boy with a working-class rep, Nick Love has found success in Britain's film industry with his edgy tales of hooligans, crims and vigilantes. He tells Donald Clarkehow he captured a zeitgeist

SOME years back Quentin Tarantino caused something of a fluster on Wardour Street by suggesting that the British film industry could prosper only if it began manufacturing films that could turn a profit on domestic receipts alone. After all, Quentin suggested, the Carry On films had comfortably managed such a feat.

The remark caused many observers of British cinema to roll their eyes. But, over the past three years, one English director has stepped up to Tarantino's challenge and - without resorting to boob jokes - managed to acquire a following large enough to push his movies into profit before they cross channels or oceans.

"I am the bane of the British film industry," Nick Love says. "I don't get invited to any of the parties. I don't win any prizes. But there is this growing support happening. They have found it hard to ignore. The British film industry hates my films, because they are uncompromising."

Love, whose polo shirt and very gold watch confirm his geezer status, is the director of four films dealing with violence and disenchantment among the English urban working classes. His first picture, 2001's Goodbye Charlie Bright, didn't make much of a noise with critics or the public. Indeed, the film, shot for mere pennies, had such an undistinguished first run, that Love, a graduate of Bournemouth Film School, fled the business and began flogging Christmas trees for a living.

"Then these guys actually came up to me on the stall and said: 'Do you want to make this film, The Football Factory?'" he says. "I thought: why would they come to me? They said they had seen my film and felt I had an understanding of the tribal thing in English life. I made The Football Factory for half-a-million quid and we are still getting royalty cheques."

The Football Factory, based on a popular novel by John King, did steady business in the cinemas, before defying any sane business plan and selling an unprecedented one million copies on DVD. So how come Love is not waving Baftas and marrying Madonna? Well, The Football Factory dealt with the subject of football hooliganism in such queasily ambiguous fashion - not exactly in favour, but not vociferously against either - that it seemed to make the movie establishment somewhat nervy.

Those cautious liberals may well suffer an embolism when they get a glance at Love's latest film. Outlaw, whose cast includes Sean Bean and Bob Hoskins, follows a gang of disaffected Englishman as, betrayed by the police and ignored by politicians, they brandish arms and set out to punish the criminals themselves. Calling to mind Death Wish, Rambo and The Wild Bunch, the picture takes gleeful relish in suggesting that victims of crime may soon have no option but to take to the shotgun and the baseball bat.

"The beginning of it was that - like everybody else - I was really optimistic when Labour came in," he explains. "And 10 years later, what the fuck has happened? We are having it shoved up our arse everywhere. We have all these taxes and stuff. We are fighting pointless wars. Street crime is spiralling out of control. Without wanting to sound like a fascist, Blair has obviously just gone completely soft."

I wouldn't quite go as far - not quite, you understand - as to suggest he sounds like a fascist. But there is something of the Daily Mail leader writer about his tone. One is just waiting for him to explain how the gypsies are eating all the swans.

"Oh no, I am not like that at all," he says. "My mum is incredibly left-wing. I come from that background. I was reading an article that said Nick Love's new film will enrage both left and right. I think that's right. I am not sure how you solve these problems. But one thing I am sure of, actually, is that you shouldn't meet violence with violence."

You may not like Nick Love's films. You may not enjoy the tone of his rants. But there is no question that he is speaking to and for a substantial portion of English men. The uneasiness in the film establishment stems partially from the guilty knowledge that Love, raised by a middle-class mum in a rough area of south London, is embracing a demographic hitherto ignored by British producers.

He is clearly a very crafty operator indeed. When his third film, The Business, a tale of the Costa del Crime from the 1980s, demonstrated the solidity of his fan-base, he announced that he intended to help finance his next picture by soliciting contributions from Love lovers. Fans could contribute between £10 and £100 to receive information on the film or the chance to become an extra.

So was this just a publicity stunt?

"It was a three-pronged reason," he explains. "Yeah, one was good publicity. But also I thought: here I am preparing for a film a year down the line. All these people have my DVDs. Maybe I could tap them for a bit. It was that cheeky."

All good guerrilla marketing. But a glance at Love's schedule for 2007 suggests that he may be about to take himself above ground. He has recently negotiated a deal with 20th Century Fox to deliver a big- screen version of the 1970s cop show The Sweeney. Some fans, hearing he is producing a version of a TV show for Fox, may suspect him of selling out.

"That's an interesting question," he says. "I am not trying to break into the mainstream, because in my own world I am the mainstream. I don't need a fucking Bafta. I have got my own business."

Outlaw is reviewed in today's Ticket