I've had enough of these geezer flicks

Danny Dyer is oddly appealing, but isn't this East End underworld formula wearing a bit thin?

The cast of the 2007 film, Outlaw
A depressingly familiar lineup: Danny Dyer (second left) as Gene Dekker in the 2007 film Outlaw, with Sean Bean (centre)

You know how when you've got a really bad tooth that hurts like hell to touch, and how, even though you know this, you keep poking and prodding at it, and wincing with a mixture of masochistic pain? Well, that's how I feel about the cinematic output of professional cockernee geezer and - to give him his dues - currently one of the UK most in-demand young actors, Danny Dyer.

It was by pure coincidence that I found myself watching his TV series The Real Football Factories in which Dyer mingles with some right 'orrible slags (indulge me if I slip into geezer-speak from time to time) from some of the leading firms across Europe. The premise was simple enough: Danny swaggers up to the camera, spits out a short intro in his phlegmy tones, and then shares a lager with the lads as they reminisce about their favourite rucks with a bunch of liberty-taking muppets.

So when The Football Factory - the adaptation of John King's novel, which in turn inspired the aforementioned TV series - came on to TV recently, I felt compelled to watch, not least because the performances were so over the top that I thought it might be a satire of the modern male. It wasn't. It was 90 minutes of coke snorting, lager swishing and football-based rucking.

Then the other night I watched The Business, a flick about geezers and bad slags set on the Costa del Crime. There was little in the way of plot and Dyer spent much of the film brooding in the corner while wearing a pair of tennis shorts. The denouement was memorable though: Dyer's Frankie punches some double-crossing woman in the face, kicks her out the car and rives off into the sunset. Bosh!

Sharing much the same personnel as The Football Factory, it reminded me a lot of Cleaver - Christopher Moltisanti in The Sopranos - and his attempt to go semi-legit by making a movie with mob money. How else do you explain such a film getting funded?

If Danny Dyer didn't exist you could certainly very easily create him. The recipe is simple: a twist of Alfie-era Michael Caine, a drizzle of lager, a waft of B&H smoke, a plate of ox heart and some Brussels sprouts and a hefty measure of Ray Winstone in Scum. Bake in a Canning Town backstreet until surly on the outside. Far be it from to belittle the noble profession of acting, but you suspect he doesn't so much act as just turn up, neck a few Stellas and be himself in front of the camera.

What's staggering is that the majority of the films in which he is often the most compelling actor are utterly rubbish, yet which force us to ask much wider questions about the state of the British film industry. Are unreconstructed alpha male bloke films all we're really good for? Is this really the image of England we want to sell abroad? And did Sexy Beast not teach film-makers that the heist/geezer/underworld film cannot be bettered?

But yet Dyer must be doing something right - he debuted in Soldier, Soldier at 15, has been in 16 films that hypocritical snobs like me begrudgingly watch and more recently he has finally broken from typecasting by appearing in Harold Pinter's The Homecoming at The Almeida. I've not seen it yet, but more than one person has said that Dyer is impressive. Next stop: Dyer plays the Dane?

All of which merely deepens a dilemma. Do you take a stand and switch off, hoping that this small protest will prevent more of this scriptless, testosterone-fuelled bollocks being made? Or do you keep watching with some sort of morbid fascination?

Until I have answers I fear I may keep watching. I'm even contemplating joining the fan club. They have key-rings and coasters, you know.