Campbell Scott
How did you get involved in The Atheist?
I did it as a reading first, at the Huntington Theatre in Boston, where [playwright] Ronan Noone lives, and I loved it. It’s very dark, obviously, and I like that—I like it when people don’t know exactly what to expect or what to think.
The printed script is written in the style of poetry, which seems unusual.
It’s like a jazz riff, which was very intimidating at first, but if I had questions about what the hell I was saying, Ronan and Justin Waldman, the director, helped me figure it out. And I have to tell you—the reaction changes all the time, depending on the audience and depending on the vibe, which is really cool. Sometimes they think it’s a barrel of laughs, this play. The women? Never.
He’s like that guy [Valmont] in Les Liaisons Dangereuses. He likes to mix it up. I don’t think he’s soulless, although he certainly behaves in the manner of someone who might be lacking in that department. I’ve heard some people say that after the first act, they weren’t sure they wanted to keep watching this guy. But by the end of the second act, even if they didn’t feel for him, they engaged with him a little more. The audience gets a chance live vicariously through someone who, frankly, speaks the truth all the time. His truth may be horrific and misogynistic, but it’s consistent! [Laughs.] I think people respond to that. It’s like watching something you know is not good for you but recognizing that there’s truth in it. I felt the same way about the guy in [the 2002 feature film] Roger Dodger.
You don’t shy away from playing morally ambiguous men!
Before we started that movie, the only thing I said to Dylan Kidd, who wrote and directed it, was, “Are you really going to do this? Because if we’re going to be soft on it, I’m not interested.” [In The Atheist] that challenge is already solved for me because every time Augustine gets really charming, Ronan undercuts it with something visceral and disturbing. But if the guy gets too disturbing, the next thing he says is genuine. “It’s nice to make people happy,” says Augustine at one point, and he’s not kidding around.
As an actor, you don’t worry about being liked.
I don’t worry about being liked, because in my private life I’m very likeable [laughs]. And nobody’s getting hurt; the theater is a safe place to say some very intense things. You can get away with a lot in the theater, which is one reason I think we stay attracted to it.
Is this your first experience with a solo show?
Yes, and it’s terrifying! If you’re a stage actor, you learn to depend on the play and the other actors. You hope the audience goes along with you, but if you want to keep your sanity, you don’t depend on them. In something like this, that’s all I have. So it’s a weird feeling, reaching out to make you [in the audience] my colleagues, especially when the things coming out of my mouth are so repellant, or at least provocative. But what a great lesson! If I get freaked out that the audience isn’t with me, the only way to solve it is to dig back into the play.
How would you compare the challenge of doing a solo show with, say, playing Hamlet?
Well, I almost talk as much. Hamlet never shuts up either.
You’ve done Hamlet twice, plus a film version that’s available on DVD.
It’s a Hallmark product! [Laughs.] It was made for the Odyssey Channel. I did it the first time [in 1990] at the Old Globe for Jack O’Brien, then I did it at the Huntington [in 1996] for Eric Simonson, an old friend from college. And then Eric co-directed the movie with me.
Kevin Kline also played Hamlet twice. What’s the lure of the role?
You come back to it because you’re not done yet. In this country, we don’t run classical plays for more than eight weeks, and a play like that… I remember when we finished in San Diego—and I was the right age then—I thought, “I’m just beginning to figure this out.” I couldn’t shake it. Given the opportunity to do it again, I jumped at it.
There are so many great roles that theater fans would love to see you do.
I don’t do theater anymore because I’m a dad. I share my son with his mom, back and forth, every other week. The Culture Project [producers of The Atheist], bless ’em, were the only ones who would do this play every other week.
It’s impossible to combine theater and parenthood?
I live upstate, two hours away, so I can’t. If I had my son by myself, I might, but no. It’s the life I chose. And I’m happy about it. My son is 10 now, so he’ll be old enough soon.
Do you have any dream roles? What about Benedick [in Much Ado About Nothing]? Or an O'Neill play?
I never sit around thinking about what I want to do; I’m always trying to decide if I can do something. Benedick would be fun. I’m getting a little ancient though! [Laughs]. I’m sure there’s lots of Shakespeare. And Noel Coward—I did Design for Living a couple of summers ago at Williamstown; I can work there because my son can be there. That was so much fun. Coward is one of the great writers.
What are your memories of playing Edmund opposite your mother [Colleen Dewhurst] in Long Day’s Journey Into Night 20 years ago on Broadway?
I remember it very fondly. We did it in rep with Ah, Wilderness!, which was a great idea; you only had to do Long Day’s four times a week, so you really had the energy for it. I wasn’t looking to work with my mother. When the opportunity came up, I auditioned a couple of times and thought, “I don’t want to do this.” I mean, who wants to work with their parents around? But of course I did it because I was selfishly thinking, “When else am I going to get a chance to play Edmund?” What a great part! What a beautiful play. And working with my mother was better than I imagined. She was a lot of fun, and she was good in that part, which nobody really expected. People think of Mary as fragile and drug-addicted and all that, but she was interesting in the part.
Sam Robards did a Q&A with Broadway.com last summer in which he spoke harshly about being the child of two famous people.
Sam is a friend. What did he say?
Ah, kind of halfway, I’d say. My dad [George C. Scott] left when I was 12 or 13. They were finally divorced for the second time [laughs]. My relationship with him was distant. My mother was a very warm creature. So was my dad, but it was a little harder for him to communicate with his kids. Same generation as Jason [Robards]; it was tough for those guys. Sam’s mom was quite famous, obviously, and that must have been difficult.
You didn’t feel daunted about following in the footsteps of two of the greatest theater actors in America?
I certainly did. I went to school to be a teacher. When my brother and I were young, we had no desire to be in this business. But, you said it—when I was a kid, my parents were theater actors. My dad became a movie star later. We were used to them working at night, and working hard. If we learned anything from them, it’s that acting is a real craft, and you pay your dues and work your ass off. That didn’t need to be said; we just observed it. We couldn’t care less about Eugene O’Neill or any of those people; we just liked playing cards backstage, because that’s what kids do. I’m sure that, in their own ways, they were both a little scared once they realized we were going into it. My brother [Alexander] was also an actor for a while and a writer and director.
When did you realize you were good at stage acting?
I realized I liked it in college. I was not a social person; I was the opposite of that. There was a small theater department at Lawrence University in Appleton, Wisconsin, a very secure situation. I started doing plays sophomore or junior year, and it was a great way to be introduced to it without any pressure.
Let’s talk about the movies for a minute. After a couple of high-profile Hollywood films [Dying Young with Julia Roberts, Singles], you made a conscious decision to jump off the fame train…
Well, you could put it that way if you were being nice—or maybe the train made a conscious decision to release me. Either way, I think we came to a mutual decision, me and the train [laughs].
You could have stayed in L.A. and pursued that kind of career, and you didn’t.
That’s easy to say now, but you’re right—I could have tried to stick it out to be a different kind of film personality, but it just wasn’t in me. I didn’t have the specific talent or energy for that. Also, it’s geographical isn’t it? I was born and raised in New York, and I like New York. Back then, you really were there [in Los Angeles] to make movies. Now, you can make movies in New York, and I’ve tried to continue my independent film career here. I’ve done some TV recently in New York, as well [including the short-lived series Six Degrees], which I’ve loved.
You’ve also directed several movies, including Big Night [co-directed with Stanley Tucci]. What do you enjoy about directing?
I think if you act enough, or hang around enough sets, or have a certain kind of personality, you begin to think, “I would really like to run things.” [Laughs.] Maybe it has to do with theater, because if you learn to be an actor in the theater, that’s what you think acting is. Acting in film is not the same thing. It’s not actor-centric. So after a while, you just feel, “I could be doing more,” and you either come to terms with that or you start to direct or write or produce. I’m trying to do all three.
Your latest project is a Christopher Guest-style ensemble film, right?
Yeah, it’s a tiny movie called Company Retreat. I wrote and directed and paid for it. A lot of my friends were in it: Hart Bochner, Matt Malloy, Lorenzo Pisoni, Carolyn McCormick, just a great group of wonderful actors. We shot it really fast, in 17 days. It’s sort of like a mock-umentary, impossible to describe. It’s down to two and a half hours, but I’m still cutting it, which takes a long time.
Well, it’s nice to have you back onstage in New York after 16 years.
I hadn’t even thought about it in those terms, but that’s a long time! It’s great to be back.
See Campbell Scott in the Culture Project and Circle in the Square production of The Atheist at the Barrow Street Theatre.