Denzel wasn’t just a minor character; he was a philosophical force. His speciality? Logic so flawed it was almost art. Remember when he tried to sell his cousin’s car—a car he didn’t own—by claiming it was “a genuine classic, never been driven by a woman”? That wasn’t a sales pitch; that was a poem about the male ego.
And let’s not forget his masterpiece: the “genuine” Batmobile. It was a black, fibreglass monstruosity with fins, and Denzel swore it was the very one from the “new Batman film.” The truth? It was a knackered kit car held together with hope and sticky tape. When he showed it to Trigger, even the man who didn’t notice his own broom handle was speechless.
Here’s a surprising fact: Paul Barber based Denzel’s walk on a real market trader he saw in Brixton. “He had this swagger,” Barber said, “like he owned the world, even though he owed money to everyone in it.” That swagger became the genetic code of the character. You can smell the cheap cologne and desperation through the telly.
The Unseen Genius of His Failure
Denzel wasn’t stupid; he was brilliantly stupid. His schemes had the mathematical precision of a drunk man trying to build a house of cards in a hurricane. In one episode, he tried to sell Del Boy a “solid gold” watch that turned green the second it touched water. “It’s a patina,” he insisted, his eyes dead serious.
Denzil Tulser | Only Fools & Horses Tribute Wiki | Fandom
But here’s the kicker: Denzel was loyal. He never grassed on his mates, even when the police showed up. That’s the secret sauce of Only Fools—the characters are clueless crooks, but they’re family. Denzel would sell you a cup that leaks, but he’d also drive you to the hospital after you drank from it.
And the acting? Paul Barber was a trained Shakespearean actor. Yes, really. The same man who chewed the scenery as a dodgy geezer in a flat cap also played Othello at the National Theatre. Imagine trying to concentrate on “Alas, poor Yorick” when you can hear the ghost of Denzel whispering, “Two for a tenner, love.”
