On a gloriously sunny afternoon in Peckham, southeast London, a group of teenagers at a foundation for excluded black youths is waiting impatiently for a visit by the American film-maker John Singleton. The director of Boyz N the Hood is coming to talk to them about his trajectory from a deprived background in California to big-time success in Hollywood.

In a back garden lined with tables and plastic chairs, Edmund Poru, 21, was watching his friend complete his homework. “John Singleton’s the man, I think,” said Poru, visibly excited. “I mean, I’ve seen Boyz N the Hood and all that, but Shaft, man — that was the one. Such a mean film; loads of attitude.”

The From Boyhood To Manhood Foundation is a potential lifeline for the children of Peckham. Many of the students — boys and girls who have grown up on the same estate where Damilola Taylor was stabbed to death in November 2000 — are sent here by social services worried about their involvement in local gangs. Only weeks ago in the area, a 14-year-old and 16-year-old were charged with shooting Zainab Kalokoh dead in front of guests at a christening party in Peckham.

As we waited for Singleton, stuck in traffic, Decima Francis, 50, the foundation’s executive director, outlined her ethos. “You are all children,” she said. “We are adults. There is a difference. You will not speak to me like you would to each other. We are adults. We deserve your respect.” Around her, teenagers shifted in their seats uncomfortably. Even the adults felt stirred by her speech: it was a scene all too reminiscent of our own schooldays.

The crowd, by now about a hundred strong, stood up as Singleton, 37, strode to the front and sat down at a table. “This is not a part of London people like me get to see very often,” said Singleton, smiling. “It feels good to be here.”

In 1991, during a summer season dominated by blockbusters such as Terminator 2, Hook and Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Singleton, then aged 24, released his first movie, an urban tragedy titled Boyz N the Hood. The film, which captured the boldness of LA’s emerging gangsta rap scene, starred Ice Cube, Cuba Gooding Jr and Laurence Fishburne.

It marked Singleton as black America's most nuanced director since Spike Lee. It cost $6.5 million, made $56.1 million at the box office, and earned him an Oscar nomination for Best Director.

Since then Singleton has manged to balance commercial movie-making with more personal, gritty projects. Inner-city dramas such as Poetic Justice (1993) and Higher Learning (1995) — films with conservative messages of self-evaluation and responsibility — have helped to fund such Hollywood spectaculars as Shaft (2000) and 2 Fast 2 Furious (2003).

“I’m like anyone else trying to make a living in Hollywood,” Singleton said. “I’m interested in sustaining a career. In order to achieve that, diversity is everything. I have to keep making intelligent films about the black community.”

Much like Spike Lee, most often remembered for his earlier films such as Do the Right Thing, School Daze and Jungle Fever, Singleton often finds that Boyz N the Hood has a special resonance with urban audiences. “It is the kind of film that just makes you think about the similarities with where you live,” Poru said. “I mean, I know it’s about Los Angeles. But, these days, with all the guns and knives over here, it could also be about Peckham.”

Many of the teenagers were eager to ask the director questions about his work. Others wanted his thoughts on the British film industry. One boy began proceedings. “Do you like being an actor?” “I’m not an actor — I just direct,” said Singleton. His answer drew laughter from the crowd. More importantly, though, it served to lessen any anxieties the youngsters might have had about meeting him.

Singleton was asked to describe the circumstances surrounding the making of his debut feature. “When I made Boyz N the Hood, I was just a kid straight out of college,” he said. “No one was giving me a shot, but I had lots of confidence. You have to be street-smart. I knew the budget for Boyz N the Hood was going to be small, so it was important to make every cent count. For instance, if you need a helicopter scene, why hire a helicopter? Why not have the characters in a house responding to a bright overhead light shining into the room, with taped sounds of a helicopter playing in the background? That’s how you get your films made.”

Poru asked about black British film-making. He himself is finishing his edit of True Colours, a 25-minute film about knife and gun crime in South London, and asked: “Would you be keen to financially help young black film-makers who want to get their films seen?” “Of course I would,” beamed Singleton. “I haven’t seen the same boom in black films in the UK that I have witnessed elsewhere.” Poru laughed. “All right, then. It just so happens I have made my own film. Why don’t you help me? Maybe I’ll hook up with you after the talk.”

The discussion was lively, and often centred around the film-making ambitions of the youngsters. After Singleton left, Seshmi and Francis doled out food for their charges: soft drinks and plates of fried chicken, rice and beans. “Many of the children here don’t have role models,” said Seshmi. “Someone like John Singleton, who has done it all himself, provides a good example.”

When I called Poru a few days later he seemed ebullient. He was closer to finishing his film, and was hoping to start showing it in local cinemas around London by late autumn. “It was a good thing for him to come out here. Even if you don’t know who John Singleton is, everyone has seen Boyz N the Hood. So it was good to see him. We need more people like that to spend time with us.”

John Singleton’s latest film, Four Brothers, is released next week

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