It’s five to 10 on Wednesday morning and Steven Berkoff has just walked up three flights of stairs at Sofia’s BTA news agency offices. Surrounded by a swarm of snapping photographers, his patience is wearing thin. He complains about the press pack and says his f...ing leg is bothering him. The journalists squeal in delight. This is the Berkoff they came to see. He is, after all, appearing in his own one-man show, Shakespeare’s Villains, that very same night. And, as he says himself, the villainous roles are the most rewarding. "The sicker the patient, the more interesting he is to the doctor," he says.  

Berkoff is 71, but age has not diminished his passion. Like an ageing boxer he may not, figuratively speaking, bite off his opponents’ ears – many moons ago he once threatened a critical critic with death – but he’ll still enjoy a verbal scrap.  

Berkoff sits down and pays tribute to the work of the British Council in supporting his work for the past two decades, albeit with a strained look to the heavens whenever a question bores him. Those expecting a model of political correctness or etiquette  should perhaps look elsewhere – to the likes of Sir Ian McKellen or Sir Derek Jacobi perhaps.

Despite his success, Berkoff still sees himself as an anti-establishment figure, the ‘enfant terrible’ of British theatre. Plays like Greek and East and Sink the Belgrano propelled him as a rebel. Although he’s more accepted now than he was, somehow I don’t think a knighthood is on the cards. Or even an OBE for that matter.

For all his waywardness, however, his genuine (and unmercenary) passion for theatre is beyond doubt. "Acting is the most difficult and demanding of the professions," says Berkoff. "It may look easy from the audience’s point of view but you have to be joyful and humorous even if you feel like death inside. Unlike an office job, you can’t phone in sick when you feel like it."

The night before the news conference he had sat through a Bulgarian-language version of his play Kvetch. Such was the emotion and passion of the actors that he said he laughed and recoiled in all the right places, even though he couldn’t understand a word. "There’s something unique in seeing one’s play performed in another language. You look for the emotion and truth of the production. The actors conveyed the spirit and essence of the play. Seeing plays in another language makes you realise how universal drama is. Drama shows the world how united and close we are. Politics, on the other hand, always separates us," he says.

This, according to Berkoff, is what great theatre should be about; it should transcend borders. "If Kvetch had been performed in North Korea, or Iran, it would have got the same reactions," he says. And to those who think that the prospect is far-fetched, note that he’s toured through India and performed free of charge to audiences thanks to generous support from the British Council. 

In the past Berkoff has been disparaging about the state of the British theatre and so I ask if he still feels – shall we say – ill-disposed. "It’s getting a bit better but we need more international and cultural exchanges," he says.  You don’t see enough foreign theatre in London. You tend to see the same snotty-nosed faces over again." Berkoff wants to see British theatrical direction restored to practising actors. "Sadly, we’re going through this era of academic directors. Theatre is the only industry in the entire world where you are taught by people who are not practitioners of the theatre. Dancers reach the end of their career and become choreographers, retired boxers become trainers. So it should be with actors."

Unlike some British thespians Berkoff makes no apologies for his Hollywood career. Neither does he tut-tut about life in LA. Performances in Rambo 2 and Beverley Hills Cop gave him what he describes as "an element of financial security". He’s a great Eddie Murphy fan – and in his book he admits to a surprising admiration for Sylvester Stallone – but says Hollywood is now producing too many "over-sized egos" who are inaudible beyond row five when transplanted to a London theatre. "I simply can’t abide the idea of bringing an unskilled movie actor to London to help sell tickets. It nearly always fails and demoralises and corrupts the theatre. And in too many contemporary Hollywood movies when I look at the actors I can hear the telephone call to their agent," he says.

Not that you feel the same way watching Berkoff who is a whirlwind of energy. Perhaps the greatest actors give you a sense of danger, the feeling that you don’t know which way they’ll turn next. Berkoff scores well on this criteria. He’s not ready to put his feet up and watch the cricket. "Inside I still feel like a young boy taking my first step. I certainly don’t feel like a wise old guru at all. I’ve always found it difficult getting my plays on. Although they’re shown all over the world, no major company has ever shown any interest in my plays," he says.

Berkoff suddenly cuts the news conference short. "That’s it," he says, charging out. I notice he’s dressed in what appears to resemble a kind of martial arts costume. It seems appropriate for a pugilist like Berkoff. He has the rest of the day to prepare for the fight...