Stockard Channing

Stockard Channing has one hell of a resume. The 30+ year veteran of stage and screen made Grease’s Betty Rizzo infamous on film, nabbed a Tony Award for Joe Egg, scored an Emmy while playing First Lady Abbey Bartlet on The West Wing and was honored with an Oscar nomination for the screen adaptation of pal John Guare’s Six Degrees of Separation after a Tony-nominated performance in the play. She’s also one smart cookie, an Ivy League-educated Radcliffe New York native with a reputation for being one of show biz’s savviest players. Now, after a nearly nine year break, Channing has returned to Broadway, slipping into the slinky gowns of wealthy socialite Vera Simpson in Roundabout Theatre Company’s revival of Pal Joey, the moody 1940s musical about a caddish charmer who manipulates the women around him for fame and fortune. We sat down with Channing during previews for an uncensored chat about unexpected co-star Matthew Risch who replaced original headliner Christian Hoff, how Grease still lives on and what its like to date a total jerk.

You lost your leading man two weeks into previews. What was that like?
Luckily, Matt [Risch] was completely on top of the material technically when he came in. He really was. I think we were all stunned when Christian [Hoff] hurt himself. I wasn’t privy to any kind of decision making, but [the role] requires a very athletic performance physically. I think had we been in the middle of the run and not previews, it would have been less shocking. But this is a tribute to Matt’s talent. He’s so good. It’s a different characterization [than Hoff’s], but that certainly isn’t a problem. I’m hearing from people that they buy our relationship onstage.

Well, you’re playing footsie on the couch and giggling like teenagers, so…
I know! Which is pretty interesting given our difference in age. I thought, “Oh my God, Vera Simpson is going to go to jail now!” The relationship was my biggest concern, not Matt—he’s adorable and talented and we get along great. But this is what we have to do. It’s like a baseball or football team, a show like this. The players are in, and if they get injured they have to come out of the game. We’re very lucky to have someone take over who has been in the company since day one and is as good as Matt is.

Still, it must have been hard to switch gears. How is Matthew’s Joey different from Christian’s?
There is a boyishness that Matt has. Christian, because he was older, had a darker quality—it felt more like this was [Joey]’s last chance. Now, listening to the show, I feel like the character is a young man who has made mistakes all his life and is banking on his charm. He’s a sexual being, but also like a puppy; it has that energy. Joey does these appalling things, but everyone falls in love with him anyway because they fall under the spell of this boyish charm. And they—or certainly [my character]—underestimate the damage he can do because of that.

Have those differences changed the way you play Vera?
Vera Simpson is a pretty sophisticated lady. She thinks she can handle [Joey]. When she realizes he doesn’t have the qualities she thought he had, she feels a fool. With Matt’s [Joey], I am still fighting feelings for him, even if those feelings are largely physical. I love that when we do “Den of Iniquity,” Matt and I are very at ease with each other physically. You can see why she would go further with him, whereas traditionally, it’s just “I’m the older woman, you’re my boy-toy.” For some reason with Matt, other [feelings] creep in. Hopefully that helps people suspend disbelief, because we see what the two of them are like when they’re alone. Having said all that, Christian and I only played it in front of an audience for about a week. So I don’t how these things would have formed with him, because I’ve played the part more with Matt at this point.

Was Matt nervous coming into it?
He was fantastic, I must say. I’m sure he was nervous, but he knew all the words and the music and dance, and now he’s learning to let it flow the way it should. It’s been a trip!

Obviously cast changes are tough, but what’s been the biggest challenge for you in returning to the stage?
It’s the same as any performance challenge—figuring out the text, and in this case the music. It’s pretty much a parallel process when you’re doing any play. You always have that moment in the third week of rehearsal, which I refer to as The Tunnel, and you think you’re never going to learn it. The words just won’t get in your head. And then that passes and you have this moment that always comes, when you open your mouth and the words just flow out. You finally hit dry land.

It’s been a while since you’ve done a musical. What was the appeal of Pal Joey?
They came to me about two years ago to do it, and at that time in my life I had no desire to come back to New York or back to the stage. The original plan had been for a big commercial production at the Richard Rodgers Theatre, and I just had other things on my mind. But I read the play and I thought, “Man, this is really good.” [Book re-writer] Richard Greenberg’s script was amazing. People think they know Pal Joey, but they really can’t, because there aren’t many productions of it. Every time I met with [director] Joe Mantello after that, things fell further into place. Then the commercial production fell apart while I was in London doing Awake and Sing, and I realized I was heartbroken! Joe and I e-mailed back and forth; he said Roundabout wanted to do Pal Joey, not right away, but in a year. And I was thrilled. I’d fallen in love with the production and didn’t even realize it.

Have you ever been with anyone like Joey Evans before?
You mean have I ever dated a much younger man, and kept him?

No, I meant more like a manipulative jerk you can’t get enough of.
Oh, yes. We’ve all had our Joeys. That’s what you do—you fall in love with the wrong person. It’s like that Oscar Brown Jr. song [“The Snake”]: “Take me in, tender woman, take me in. You know I’m going to bite you. I’m a snake.” If you’re in love with a cad, you’re always convinced you’re the one they’re not going to turn on. There’s a line of Linda English’s in the play that says, “I didn’t think you were a particularly good person, but I thought you’d be good to me.” And that’s how it works. You fall in love with the cad. I don’t know why.

Did you find yourself relating to Vera because of that?
I have never quite been in her exact situation, but I think that she says it all in that song “What Is a Man?” You know, she basically says, “Why do I do this?” The mystery of attraction is fascinating—how you can be attracted to some people just physically, or how you aren’t to some really nice people. But when that little pheromone kicks in, it’s so fabulous and so exciting. Procreation happens because of that little tingle! The times I personally was drawn to the cad, I always knew I was in deep water, but was sure I could still swim.

You wrote in an essay in 2006 that you “never learned to flirt properly,” but you do it so well in this show. Did you get better?
No, that’s all Richard Greenberg’s dialogue! He obviously has the flirting gene that I don’t.

Why do you say you can’t do it?
Me, as me, I don’t really do that sort of thing. The character’s very flirtatious. The snaky, flirty thing, that’s not really my vibe. Besides, I’ve been living with the same man for 20 years now, so I’d be rusty by now if I ever had the ability. I’m pretty straightforward with people. I’m playful, but not flirtatious.

This is another strong woman in long line you’ve played. Do those roles pick you or do you pick them?
I’ve been asked that question recently, and I realized I don’t think anyone would ask a man, “Why do you play strong men?” [Laughs.] It’s interesting. Why is that question asked? I think it’s nice to have complexity and self-determination, and everyone looks for dimension in their characters as opposed to a prototype. I try to, at least! With Vera I hope she’s not a cliché of an older woman going about with a younger man.

It does seem women are pigeonholed into being the ingenue or the “strong woman.” Have you ever played a straight ingenue role?
No, I don’t think I was ever good at that. My physicality wasn’t ever appropriate. In my Broadway speaking debut, a very old-school comedy [No Hard Feelings] directed by Abe Burrows, he said to me that I had a “brunette voice.” And even though I have been blonde in my life, I never forgot that. I do have that sort of soubrette thing going.

Between the Tony, the Emmys and the Oscar nomination, is there anything left for you to accomplish professionally?
I don’t really ask myself those sorts of questions. You just do what you do, and sometimes the phone rings and your life changes. I would love to keep at it at long as it’s interesting to me. I’m not like an Ethel Barrymore or anything—I don’t know if I’ll still want to do this at 85, if I’ll still have that kind of focus in my head. But as long as something is interesting and I’m dealing with smart, talented people, that’s good.

I have to ask—how did [the documentary series] Meerkat Manor end up on your resume?
They called and said, “Would you do it?” I said, “Sure!” And I did it. It was sweet and fun. I actually went out to Palm Springs to see them. There’s this woman there that has a bunch, and they were really cute. They’re smaller than you’d think.

With Grease still being the phenomenon it is, is the fact that you played Rizzo in the movie a burden?
Not anymore. It kind of was when it first came out, because it was so successful and not the sort of thing one normally does. Now it amuses me. I feel fine about it and am actually grateful for the market penetration we had with Grease. I treated that job as seriously as I did West Wing or Six Degrees of Separation, any of the highfalutin pieces I’ve done, so I take full responsibility for Betty Rizzo—I really liked her as a character. I still love that wonderful song “There Are Worse Things I Could Do” because she said, “I like putting out as much as the guys do!” There was a lot of bravado. She touched so many people because of that tough exterior. That’s my theory anyway.

Looking back, what project was the most influential on your life and career?
Probably Six Degrees of Separation. It was four years of my life, in New York and in London with different casts; four different men played the lead, with Will Smith being the last in the film. That was fascinating to [work through]. And [playwright] John Guare is one of my best and oldest friends, so it, and all the people involved with it, had this huge effect on me. I adored it. It’s now even part of the English vernacular: six degrees. I was so proud of the movie, because it was unusual. It’s not a genre piece you can put in one niche or another. Some of what you do will disappear into the ether, but it’s gratifying that Six Degrees and West Wing and even Grease are still out there.

What’s the best piece of professional advice you ever got?
It’s [from] John [Guare], and it’s in the text of Six Degrees. I’m paraphrasing, but the character Flan asks why paintings in the second grade are clear and beautiful, and then by third grade they all look like mud and camouflage. And the teacher says, “I know when to take their paintings away from them in the second grade.” John and I went out to dinner one night and he equated those lines to acting, where you have to know when to stop. There has to be a point where you say, “The painting is done.” There’s a real temptation in acting to always fiddle with it, and sometimes you ruin the color balance when you do that.

Excellent advice.
I’ve been very fortunate to work with great people who taught me many little things, but I never was really taught how to act. I didn’t go to school for it—and I’m not proud of that. But you pick up things like that along the way. I worked with Paul Newman [in the 1998 movie Twilight] and I’ve never seen anyone on any other set that had the gracious, perfect balance he did. He was completely himself with everyone he ever met, and it was a real lesson on how to behave in a professional plane. There was just such grace in that man. It’s things like that that you absorb through your pores.

You’re rocking the best décolletage on Broadway at the moment, especially in Vera’s first dress. Is it good genetics, or is there a moisturizer, or what?
[Laughing.] How wonderful! But it’s all [costume designer] William [Ivey Long]. He’s genius. He was also responsible for the costumes in Chicago, you know. We went through all these images for that first dress, and one of them was Marlene Dietrich in this incredible beaded dress. The other was Marilyn Monroe singing “Happy Birthday Mr. President,” but I didn’t want to go there with all that white fluff. We worked hard to get Vera’s look right. So I owe it all to William Ivey Long! He really does know how to dress a woman.

See Stockard Channing in Pal Joey at Studio 54.