She became a household name as young Rhaenyra Targaryen in House of the Dragon. Now, Sydney’s Milly Alcock prepares to lead the DC Universe in Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow.
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When Milly Alcock boarded a near-empty flight to London in the middle of the pandemic, she wasn’t thinking about the scale of the job ahead. She was 21, alone for the first time, about to lead one of the biggest television series on earth – and standing in her flat, looking at a washing machine she didn’t know how to use.
“I’d never lived alone before, so I was like, oh f*** you, washing machine,” Alcock tells me as she makes her way through the streets of London. It was a small moment, but it marked the beginning of everything that was to come next. “It sounds ridiculous, but that was the reality. I was terrified. I didn’t know anyone. It was a lot all at once.”
That mix of naivety and composure has defined her rise to success. In just five years, Alcock has gone from inner-west Sydney to global recognition in House of The Dragon, and soon, a superhero suit. Her name now sits beside the Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow logo, a $200 million DC feature directed by fellow Australian Craig Gillespie.
Alcock grew up in Petersham, the youngest of three. Her childhood was typical of the Inner West: barefoot summers, local pools, neighbourhood friends. School, though, was another story. “I was the kid who studied for hours and barely passed,” she says. “It wasn’t that I didn’t care – my brain just worked differently.”
She enrolled at Newtown High School of the Performing Arts, but by Year 12, she was already working more than attending. Between commercials and early TV credits, she’d found the one environment that made sense.
“My attendance was under 50%,” she says. “I went in with Mum and said, ‘I’d like to drop out.’ They asked how old I was. I said 18. They said, ‘Okay.’ That was it, it just kind of happened. It was an instinct, I guess – I started working more and suddenly I found I could support myself.
That instinct carried her to Upright, the 2019 series created by Tim Minchin. A raw, funny road story about two outcasts – it gave Alcock her first major role and introduced her to a broader audience. Within two years, she’d be in another desert entirely: Westeros.
She still remembers the call. “I was at my best friend’s house in Glebe. My agent said,
‘Are you sitting down?’ I kind of knew instantly [I’d got the role]… Then we opened a bottle of red in the kitchen.”
The secrecy was almost worse than the pressure, she recalls. The world was locked down; nobody could know why she was suddenly flying to London. “I had to keep it quiet for four months. People were suspicious, but no one guessed that.”
The scale of House of the Dragon hit her only after the show aired. The series premiered to nearly 10 million viewers, peaking at 10.2 million by its second episode and averaging 29 million across
the season across all streaming platforms – HBO’s biggest debut since Game of Thrones.
“I had no idea what it would become. And no one in my family works in film, so I didn’t have anyone to talk to who understood it. You’re thrown into this world with no reference points.”
Milly Alcock
Then, on her second day, a senior figure, whom Alcock politely declines to name, suggested she might need an acting coach. “I was young, on the other side of the world, already doubting myself. It just knocked any confidence I had,” she says.
“But in hindsight, it made the work better. No one’s trying to be cruel. If you do well, they do well. Film is collaborative.”
The show made her famous overnight. With that came the part she liked least: being treated, “like a product.”
“People mean well,” she says. “But sometimes they invade your space, they chase you. You lose anonymity. I still want to take the tube and go to the pub.” She still does, though she says it depends on the postcode. “In London, it’s fine. In other places, not so much. It comes in waves. I know when Supergirl comes out, things will shift again.”
When she received a text to confirm she’d landed Supergirl, Alcock’s first reaction was a mix of jubilation and fear. “I thought, ‘What have I done?’,” she says. “I really struggled to believe I could do it. I even called the director saying, ‘I don’t know how to be that person. I’m just me.’”
The panic didn’t last. “Eventually I realised the only way through was to trust myself,” she says. “I always believe life is right on time. Things happen when they’re supposed to, whether you feel ready or not.”
Between House of the Dragon and Supergirl, Alcock found space to reset with Sirens, a Netflix dark comedy alongside Julianne Moore and Meghann Fahy. The five-part series debuted to 16.7 million viewers in its first four days, topping Netflix’s global chart for the week and marking the streamer’s biggest drama launch since Adolescence.
The role – Simone DeWitt, a young woman trying to belong to a world of money and manners – gave her a mirror. “I understood her need to please and to be perfect,” she says. “Every role you play is the person you need at that point in your life.”
Working opposite Moore was an education in professionalism. “Julianne just turns up and
nails it,” she says. “Watching her taught me that you can be assertive and collaborative at the same time. It’s like a band – if one person plays well, everyone lifts.”
That focus on craft has replaced the insecurity of her early years. For Sirens, Alcock worked twice weekly with an acting coach and dialect tutor. For Supergirl, she trained for months before the cameras rolled. “The older I get, the more I realise this isn’t a fluke,” she says. “It’s not luck. It’s work.”
These days, Alcock keeps her life deliberately ordinary. Her London apartment has a new couch she’s proud of. She spends nights watching Bake Off or Drag Race, walking the city, catching up with friends. “Most of the time, it’s pretty normal,” she says. “I go to work, I go home, I call my mum, I make dinner. People expect it to be glamorous, but it’s just life.”
Ask her about Sydney and she’ll mention the White Cockatoo and the Petersham Bowling Club. “All my friends hang out there,” she says. “It hasn’t changed much, which is nice.”
Her drink order? A Grifter Serpent’s Kiss, a watermelon beer brewed a few blocks
from where she grew up. “They change the taps all the time,” she says. “But that one’s solid.”
It’s an image that fits. For all the global attention, Alcock still talks like someone with roots in the inner west – matter-of-fact, funny, unbothered.
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