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BY LISA LEWIS
Celebrating his golden anniversary in "the profession," Byrne Piven was set to be feted by colleagues, friends and family at the Mercury Theatre on January 15. Sure, he’s seen a lifetime in the theatre–acting, directing and training (Aidan Quinn, the Cusacks, Lili Taylor and his own talented offspring Jeremy and Shira are among the many graduates of the prestigious Piven Theatre Workshop)–but is he up to the daunting task of answering not 10, but 11 penetrating questions?
What is your earliest theatrical memory?
As a performer, my earliest memory is from the fifth grade. Our teacher, Miss Levin (everyone is Jewish in my stories), was just a little bit of a thing, and to be honest, she wasn’t much of a teacher. But one day she must have felt some inspiration because she moved her desk aside–this was close to Thanksgiving time–and challenged us each to perform a scene about the Indians. It was a pretty amorphous assignment, but I remember how nervous I felt when I got up in front of the class. My idea was simple–to portray an Indian crossing through the autumn leaves, escaping the muskets. Amazingly, I was able to transform my own nerves into the experience of the Indian, desperately trying to not make any noise on the leaves. To this day, the memory makes my mouth go dry, and I can still see the rusty, rotting leaves and feel the desperation. It was my first experience of having an empathic experience of character and place. The class applauded, and I was exhilarated. Miss Levin said, "Oh, Bernard, that was wonderful!" I was hooked.
Did you have a "fall-back" when you started out as a young actor?
(Laughs) No, much to the chagrin of my parents! But after high school and college, there really was no question as to what I was going to do with my life. Sure, I scrounged around to make a living, as we all must do at times, but it wasn’t until my wife became pregnant for the second time that I found my "fall-back" position–teaching. I got my education credits so I could teach as a substitute in the public schools in New York, and began teaching acting as well. There wasn’t so much TV around then, and I hadn’t yet done any commercials. Actually, I was 39 or 40 when I got my first commercial job. And in the first year doing voice-overs, I made more than I previously had in my whole life–very disorienting."
What are the benefits and drawbacks of having a spouse in the business?
Oh, God. Well, the advantage would seem to be that the spouse would be very understanding that you have to be away for this or that job. But the truth is [my wife] hates it. The greatest advantage for us has been in sharing our work at the workshop. We’re great collaborators on the work and the teaching. Joyce began as a student of mine, but now I think she’s excelled me as a teacher–she’s really wonderful. And we both understand the very special nature of the pain and joy that you go through to evolve the work–and that’s important. The only disadvantage, of course, is that if a married couple does much the same thing for a living, you don’t really have a place to hide!
What do you consider the most trying or challenging time in your career?
There have been several, but most recently, around the time of the workshop’s 25th Anniversary, we had a severe conflict with our board of directors. The struggles were intense–it was a knock-down, drag out. Much like what happened at Victory Gardens recently, it pretty much boiled down to "them or us." But let me be clear about something; it’s a terrible dilemma for these board members, they are generous volunteers and they do have something very valuable to contribute that we as artists may not–a business sense. But they don’t always share our concerns artistically, and that can bring about an impasse. Ultimately, we won. But it was a close vote, let me tell you! It can be a dilemma, though, the conflict between harmony and invention.
As a parent of two successful artists, did you ever try and nudge your kids away from the business?
When Jeremy was eight, he came to me and said, "Listen, what if I don’t want to be an actor?" I fell to my knees! Yes, I said, do anything else, please do! Be a plumber, a bricklayer, anything but an actor! Then he asked, "Well, how come you have the school?" I told him we have the school because it is where I believe you learn what it is to be a human being. So, he’s an actor. And after all, what’s the point of discouraging a kid, anyway? You can’t. At the workshop, we don’t encourage because we know the odds. But many of our students find great use for the skills they learn here in other fields. One great example is a fellow named Jonathon Turley. He’s a contemporary of my daughter and came to us a very shy little boy. At the workshop, he found his voice, found his wit. Today, he’s an attorney and often does commentary for "Nightline" and CBS.
Is there a role that "got away," one you always wanted to play, but never had the opportunity?
Oh, so many. You reach 70, and holy s–! I’d have loved to have played Vershinin (in Three Sisters), but I’m not 40 anymore. Never got to play Stanley (Streetcar), but Jeremy will play it for me someday. I miss musicals, I miss singing. So I sing to my granddaughter–and she looks at me weird. You know, I played the title role in Peer Gynt at 23 years old, opposite Elaine May, Ed Asner and Barbara Harris–(laughs) it’s been downhill ever since.
What one piece of advice would do you give a young performer?
Is this person talented? (Laughs) You know, I don’t give advice–I just realized that right now. Isn’t that wonderful? I talk so much, but I never give advice.
But I think I’d make clear to them what I feel is involved in the investment of self that theatre requires, and [caution them] to be sure that this is what they really want. The competition being what it is–the rewards being so great, but so rare–they have to know that. As far as tools, they need two things: an accessible physical instrument, and the ability to understand what the text wants. And just those two things are a life’s work.
After 50 years in the theatre, what do you consider to be the biggest advance?
The freedom that we’re finally finding to not be literal. The increasing acceptance of non-linear or non-literal production modes. There is an increasing understanding that theatre is metaphor and that the actor is the poet of the present. That we search for essences, not facts.
The biggest decline?
Great stage actors. I can’t think of anybody right now (who is working) on the level of Brando at his peak–or, in a different vein, Olivier or Gielgud. There are undoubtedly some really wonderful actors out there, but their work is all in film. That’s a loss, I think.
After a lifetime in the theatre, any regrets?
That I’m not taller. (Laughs) Seriously, though, I may not have followed the path to great stardom, but my life has been enormously rewarding. I chose a different path from many of my colleagues, but a hugely rewarding one, to be sure.
What’s next?
My daughter Shira is going to direct me in King Lear–so I’m turning over the keys of the kingdom to her on this one. It opens the end of May, and that role in and of itself will be a lifetime of work. And I’m working on writing my own play–of course, there’ll be a nice, juicy role for me in it.