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Robert Sean Leonard on the Importance of Being Earnest
by Jonathan Cutler
Venice
January, 1995
There is a moment towards the end of "Safe Passage" when eldest-son Alfred (Robert Sean Leonard) seems on the verge of doing something he has perhaps never done before--an irresponsible act, an act that requires not so much thought as the total absence of it--in fact, the willful neglect of anything even resembling control is required. And yet, in truth, all that is actually required of him at this moment is to throw a little garbage onto a big pile.
He stands there, hands on hips, eyes and heart full of disapproval, as his eccentric (bordering on insane) family eggs him on, needling, shaming him to do the unthinkable... to just let go. The war within is a battle of seething inconsistencies and moral ambiguities that is as ridiculous as it is unnecessary. He does it, finally, but it is not the act of a person letting go of his irrational, nearly overweening need to be in control, but an act of rage at his inability to do so.
Robert Sean Leonard has made something of a career out of playing boys with self-imposed burdens wholly inconsistent with the chronological imperatives of youth and it has become both a blessing and a curse for this 25 year old. One wonders when--or even if--he will ever play the incorrigibility of his actual age, while others of his generation plod blithely along from one silly project to the next.
If we are to believe him, however, that suits him just fine. With such pictures as "Dead Poets Society," "Age of Innocence," "Much Ado About Nothing" and "Mr. and Mrs. Bridge" to his credit, Leonard isn't exactly complaining.
Without the spectacular--or even singular--good looks of some of his peers, Leonard is very much the boy next door-- the kid you went to school with--earnest, polite and eager to please. In fact, that's just who he is.
Arriving at his hotel ten minutes early, I'm shown to a suite high above Manhattan where I'm told to wait. Barely ten minutes later-and only two or three minutes late -- Leonard breezes in, apologizing as if he'd just inadvertently insulted my sainted mother.
Dressed in jeans, denim shirt and work boots, he carries himself with the angst-ridden energy of a boy who has always wanted to grow up as quickly as possible. He has, it turns out, been up all night, breaking down the set of a play he produced along with partner, Ethan Hawke [together, the pair are founders of an Off-Off Broadway theater company].
The wire-framed glasses he wears further enhance the image of a studious and over-burdened young man who'd rather be thought of as anything but a celebrity, and the way he searches the air, looking for answers to questions posed gives him the studied quality of the earnest young man he is.
Looking a little bleary eyed, Leonard explains that he's been up all night, breaking down a recent production put on by his theater company, begun in partnership with actor, Ethan Hawke.
Tell me about your theater company.
Well, it's loosely termed a 'theater company.' It's not really a theater company because we're not official -- because no one is paid at this point. This year we're doing three plays by young writers and produced them. We rented a theater and got some great designers-amazing designers. We charge ten dollars a ticket and they [the shows] are not reviewed. We just closed last night and sold out every show.
Can I ask you how old you are?
Twenty-five.
What is your background?
I grew up in New Jersey and fell in love with acting at twelve. I dropped out of high school at sixteen, moved to New York out of boredom, acting all the while. I've been working in New York for ten years.
So, you fell in love at an early age? How did that happen?
There was a local theater company where we lived. My mom painted scenery for them and I used to hang out with her there and-and… I just never went home. Yeah… [laughs] so to speak.
How old were you when you got "Dead Poets' Society"?
Nineteen. Yeah, that was really bizarre. 'Dead Poets' to this day remains a mystery in so many ways. Moments like last night at 4:30 in the morning, sitting on the stage with Ethan Hawke, sweating like pigs and hauling cable and thinking, 'Who is this guy? How did I end up with this guy?' I mean, we're really different people in a lot of ways. We've had some real trying moments in our relationship for various reasons. I remember Peter Weir saying that it was just something about us.
How or why do you think Weir came to cast you?
I honestly don't know. I don't understand 'Dead Poets' and, in all humility, I don't understand why he cast us. I think we're good in it--or perhaps I should just speak for me. Who knows why anything happens?
It occurs to me that you've often played characters who are, to varying degrees, outside of a group, be it peers, as in 'Dead Poets' or family, as in 'Safe Passage.' Do you have any explanation for this?Is it just one of those accidents of nature that sometimes happen in casting, or does it have something to do with you--with who you really are?
[Laughs] There are no accidents of nature. In young actor today, I see a lot of cynicism and a lot of seemingly self-flagellation of some kind. I don't understand it. Maybe it's because started working wit people like George Grizzard and Swoozie Kurtz and Stockard Channing--those were the people I looked up to when I was fourteen and fifteen on the set of a hot TV show or a hot movie. I don't know why I seem to get these roles. I don't know... maybe it's me... maybe it's me. My friends tend to make fun of me for going home early and not going ou too much and being, maybe a little too old for my years.
Can you contrast or compare your relationship to your family with that of the family in "Safe Passage?"
"Alfred" is really my sister. Many of the line readings much of the subtle stuff--stuff that was perhaps just in my head as I was playing this role, was my sister, Kimberly. She wants Norman Rockwell and boy, we just haven't delivered yet [laughs] and she's not gonna forgive us. Um, I adore my parents and I believe that Alfred adores his parents. You know, the amazing thing about the family in this picture--through all their problems, through all their shortcomings, all the pressures they've found a way to live together. They've adapted, some how around it, the way a pearl forms around sand in an oyster.
Do the children in that family have an understanding that some things wrong with Mom, or do you think they've just never know any differently and, therefore, think everyone's Mom is like theirs?
Well, I think you're right--they're in the middle of the forest and they don't have a map. I think, perhaps more than other families because she had them so young. This family, in this movie--we all grew up together--parents and children. I thin we might have a better understanding of that [sense of play] than most families do, just because of that.
What do you think happened to Alfred that took away his sense of play?
Um, I don't think he ever had it. Um, and also, perhaps it has something to do with the competition with Dad [Sam Shepard] . I mean, Alfred is, in many ways, making up for his father's shortcomings. A lot of the things Alfred has acquired in his personality are things that Sam's character lacks.
Okay, let's talk a bit about some of the directors you've workde with. Tell me about Peter Weir.
He's the pied piper. I've actually considered giving up acting just to follow him--just to bring him coffee on the set. He's got one foot completely in mysticism--one foot is somewhere I've never seen before. The other is quite sturdy and set firmly on the ground. He is a true creator in the way Howard Roar [in Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead] is. I always loved that Roarke's buildings always seemed to come out of--to emerge from the earth, rather than making them man's stamp on the planet. A true creator. That's what Peter is. His movies jus seem to emerge from the earth--his films are from the heart.
How about Kenneth Branagh?
Ken is--I don't know--completely different. There's some thing more active about Ken. His energy is different than Peter's. I mean, they both allow, but--Ken is just younger. In way they're both the same animal. Ken, uh--it's hard to say. I mean, I hit Peter when I was really young--I'm still young, well, I didn't even know who he was. Whereas, Ken, at time I met him, was already a bit of a role model. Anyone I meet who's a real actor--and I truly believe this--the people I think of as true actors--the people who I consider to be soulmates of mine--would love Kenneth Branagh, because he's not afraid to say, 'Listen, the sun's going down--just say it like this!'.
Martin Scorsese?
Oh boy, I feel completely ill-equipped to deal with this one because I only worked three days with him [on "The Age of Innocence"]. I don't know how the hell I got that movie. To this day, I have no idea. My guess is that Winona [Ryder] had something to do with it. I can't imagine that Martin Scorsese ever sat there and said, 'You know who would be good for this? Robert Sean Leonard.' There has to be another answer, like Winona paying him money or something. Marty's precise, he's almost surgical, but not in a cold way--in a very comforting way. His set moves like clockwork and no one ever raises their voice. The days are eight hours. You're there at nine in the morning and you're home by six. He knows exactly what he wants. He walks onto the set and says 'Okay, I need a master, a closeup on Daniel [Day-Lewis], I need a shot over his shoulder and a closeup of his foot and then we're out of here.' He knows exactly what he wants. He sees it.
He's also known for his sense of humor, isn't he?
Oh, yes! I was shocked! He's like a little kid. There was a moment when they were over my shoulder on Daniel, and Martin kept asking for the camera to be higher and Michael [Balhaus, the cinematographer] kept saying 'Too high, Martin-it's too high!' And Martin kept saying 'No, no, it'll be fine-he's a tall kid!' And Michael insisted 'Too high, Marty--the camera is too high.' Finally, they walked off together and had a look in the monitor and Marty walked back onto the set and said, 'Okay, the camera is too high!' then looked back at Michael and said, 'What're you crazy? The camera is too high! Who pays you here? It's too high--bring the camera down!' And then he proceeded to tell me the story three or four times. 'Earlier, I put the camera too high. Did you see? Balhaus kept telling me 'no' and then I made it look like it was his fault--did you see?' [Leonard imitates Scorsese's manic laughter] It was as if he was nine years old!
Merchant Ivory?
[Jim] Ivory is, um... so peaceful. He has such a gentle hand. He's such a guider. I think the only thing he said to me during the entire shoot [on "Mr. and Mrs. Bridge"] was 'Don't say "Mom," say "Mother."' I had to ask him, finally, 'Am I okay?' And he said, 'You're so right for this--don't worry.' I've heard people say about him--and it's true of any great director--that he's a great caster, and any director worth his weight will tell you, casting, is half the battle... maybe more. And boy does he have a knack for that!
Okay--just when you thought it was safe to sit down with a journalist... Tell me about Swing Kids [The All-Singing, All-Dancing Nazi-cum-Newspaperboy Musical Disney Film of 1993]. What happened?
It was hard! Um... and I knew...
You knew the film was in trouble? During production? You knew?
I knew... Um, let me just say that I think that it's a beautiful movie in many ways, and a lot of people have told me that it meant a lot to them. I've been very lucky. I was raised in the theater, so the author's words were--I mean, that's the Grail. The author's words, themselves, are holy. Films like "Mr. and Mrs. Bridge," "Age of Innocense," "Much Ado..."--what is on the screen is what was on the page. That's so very rare.
[the text, which is badly edited, ends abruptly here, and picks up with the following]
laws and traffic laws… everyday there was some new nightmare to contend with… but I, um, I don't know, I just thought that it was off. The whole thing. It was just-I don't know-off, somehow. And I had to go to work each day with this feeling. This was one of the few times in my career where the physical work was as-if not more-taxing as the emotional work. I was sick a lot. I don't know… I just don't know how I feel about Swing Kids.
Well, on a lighter, more positive note, what's next?
I'm doing Tom Stoppard's new play [Arcadia] at Lincoln Center with Stockard Channing, David Straithairn, Victor Garber, Blair Brown, directed by Trevor Nunn. Yeah, yeah…boy I haven't really awaked from that reality yet. I was shooting a movie called "Killer" with James Woods in Connecticut when I read Arcadia and I knew! I said to everyone on the set, 'I have to do this play!" It's actually two different stories that take place in the same room in the same house in two different centuries and they actually overlap-the characters in 1870 overlap with the characters in 1994. It's about…I don't know what it's about-it's hard to say. I play a mathematician obsessed with chaos and the nature of things predetermined and unpredictable and there's a 13-year-old girl in 1870 who has the same idea, and as I say in the film [Leonard lapses into a perfect, Oxford English accent] "It is impossible! This girl could not have had this idea! It's like opening a door to a house that has not been built yet!" And that is my obsession.
