evoid of airs and very likeable, Oliver Platt is not keen on discussing the trajectory of an actor's career. The concept is alien to him. In a recent interview with Back Stage, he repeats several times that an actor's path is not logical: One step does not necessarily lead to the next.
Nor does he have a career-boosting agenda for himself. Before he'll tackle a role, however, he insists that it be "different from what I just did. I know the next job when I see it. I don't have boxes that I check off. I do have to be interested in the role," he says. "If I'm bored with a role, the audience will be bored. I've been lucky: I've always been fortunate in finding something about each of the jobs that has appealed to me."
Platt admits being especially drawn to projects that have a certain mystery: "I'm not talking about a whodunit but rather the sense of not being entirely sure of what you've just seen. And to try and pin it down is to somehow diminish it." He is describing his projects as well as the characters he plays in them.
Consider Showtime's Huff, his current TV series. In this dark, disturbing family comedy, Platt's onscreen persona, Russell, is coarse, repellent, and utterly pathetic. That's precisely what Platt loves about him, not to mention the risk in playing such a character.
"I have to make him relatable," says the actor, who has been nominated for an Emmy and a Golden Globe for this performance. "Russell is writ larger than everyone else, but we all have issues with avoidance. It's not a human instinct to confront the pain of life. And this guy avoids it gleefully. He is desperate to convince everyone that he's having such a great time. But he's such a sad character."
Platt's is playing many sorry figures these days. His current alter ego is John, a man groping for connection in Conor McPherson's four-character drama Shining City, a Manhattan Theatre Club production slated to open on Broadway at the Biltmore Theatre on May 9. But then that's true of all the lost souls in the play. John is the tormented protagonist of the work, set in contemporary Dublin. Haunted by the accidental death of his wife and his own guilt over an aborted extramarital fling, he visits a psychotherapist in an attempt to exorcise his demons.
Although Shining City marks Platt's Broadway debut, the 46-year-old Ontario native's film and theatre credits are otherwise quite extensive. Among his many movies: Casanova, The Ice Harvest, Kinsey, Bicentennial Man, Doctor Dolittle, The Imposters, Bulworth, Executive Decision, Dangerous Beauty, The Three Musketeers, Indecent Proposal, Diggstown, Beethoven, Postcards From the Edge, Flatliners, Working Girl, and Married to the Mob. His television work includes his recurring role as White House counsel Oliver Babish on The West Wing, for which he earned another Emmy nomination.
And let's not forget his work onstage. Early in his career, Off-Broadway and regional theatre were home for the actor. In New York, he has appeared with the New York Shakespeare Festival, Lincoln Center Theater, Manhattan Theatre Club, and other companies in a range of genres—classical and contemporary, drama and comedy. But while he may seem dismissive, Platt is keenly aware of the added pressures of starring on Broadway, though he doesn't find it significant that he is only now making his Main Stem debut.
"There are a lot of considerations, including financial," he says. "I have three kids. I feel to do a Broadway play [at this point], the producers really have to want you badly."
So, too, do the play's writer and director. Robert Falls, Shining City's director, says, "There is one word to describe Oliver. It's 'humanity.' He's got that Everyman quality. He's a contradictory human being with flaws and strengths. And he's lovable. He can simultaneously make you laugh and break your heart. Oliver has brought to the role of John what I expected and more: tremendous inventiveness and sensitivity."
Falls adds, "Oliver hasn't been on the stage in a long time, and the centerpiece of Shining City is largely his 45-minute monologue. Oliver is attacking it with glee."
Playwright McPherson weighs in with more accolades: "Oliver brings a deep realism to the role of John. He's one of those actors who compel you before they even speak. He has a very attractive presence, which is undercut with something darker and intriguing, but he's also a very funny guy. He came to Dublin and spent a little time with me, soaking up the atmosphere and the way people speak…. He was relentless in his efforts to be authentic. He spoke to lots of people, marveling at the different qualities of the accents around him. He's really smart and takes nothing for granted. We're so lucky to have him."
As for the role's challenges, Platt insists he doesn't think that way. "I'm an intuitive actor," he says. "That doesn't mean I think it's a piece of cake, but I just don't think of 'challenges.' I think of keeping a character alive." Nevertheless, he admits, learning all the lines has been—dare we say it?—challenging. "There is something about Conor's language: it's mysterious and beautiful. What I relate to in the character is personal and painful, and I'm still working on it. I can't talk about that now. If you asked me in a few months, I'd be able to talk about it."
Huff's Russell is also painful to play, Platt concedes: "It's such an incredibly unsentimental depiction of addiction and self-destruction. There's nothing glamorous or fun about Russell's life—and I like that. It's important to me and that this is no movie of the week where Russell goes to rehab and is cured. He's not going to be cured, but Russell is really trying to get better. He's a huge baby. His biggest problem is that he's a good lawyer, and that lubricates his denial."
Huff's creator, Robert Lowry, is also enthusiastic: "Oliver plays an alcoholic, drug-addicted, sexaholic, workaholic, womanizing misogynist who is adorable. I don't know any actor who could do that. I originally saw Russell as a blond stud, but when I saw what Oliver could do, I realized how much better, richer, and less predictable he was than my idea of the character. I now write Russell with Oliver's performance in mind. Oliver is very committed to the idea that story and dialogue be character-driven and unique." Collaborating with Platt, Lowry suggests, has made him a better writer.
The son of a career diplomat, Platt grew up in Washington, D.C., and the Far East, always wanting to act. He majored in drama at Tufts University and after graduating spent the next nearly three years working in Boston's theatre scene, which had a "wealth of serious amateur theatre at that time," he recalls. "I played many roles, and it was the best training I could have had."
When he was offered the chance to earn his Equity card by touring schools with Shakespeare & Company, based in Lenox, Mass., Platt decided "the time had come to fish or cut bait." After one bleak winter of traveling in a van from school to school in western Massachusetts, he arrived in New York, Equity card in hand, determined to try his luck in the Big Apple.
He started performing with the now-defunct Manhattan Punch Line Theatre, "a high-powered showcase that had a really good reputation," he recalls. "It was known for its one-act festivals, which frequently attracted junior agents. During the festivals, each evening the agents could see two to three casts, directed by new directors and featuring new actors. I got my agent from an appearance there, playing a rednecked, not entirely swift, but goodhearted bubba."
As Platt tells it, performing at the Punch Line marked a lucky confluence of events. While working there, he went to a cousin's Christmas party, where he met Bill Murray. "He was my cousin's neighbor and incredibly nice," Platt says. "When he asked me what I was doing, I told him. A few nights later, during the intermission of the show, the usher rushed back to the dressing rooms to announce that Bill Murray is in the audience. Bill Murray, who was a star back then, said he was a friend of mine and there to see me." Platt is clearly stunned even in retrospect, especially in light of what followed.
Sufficiently impressed with Platt's talent, Murray "told [director] Jonathan Demme about me," Platt recalls. "And so did Howard Feuer, a casting director working for Demme—he also had seen me at the Punch Line." The double punch may testify to a cosmic alignment, but it was Platt's talent that was obvious to everyone. Demme was looking to replace an actor who had dropped out of Married to the Mob, which he was about to direct. "Murray and Feuer's recommendation led to my getting the role," Platt says.
To most people, Platt's 1988 film debut opposite such stars as Michelle Pfeiffer and Alec Baldwin would be viewed as a major door opener, but Platt doesn't see it that way. "Opening doors is a relative concept," he says. "For me the breakthrough was appearing at the Punch Line."
The high-profile film roles continued from that point. But in 2000, Platt hit a career pothole with the TV drama Deadline, one of the few programs produced by Dick Wolf (Law & Order) to tank. It was canceled after only three episodes. To make matters more painful, it was Platt's first lead role in a television series: the abrasively aggressive reporter Wallace Benton. No one pinned the blame on Platt, who fully inhabited the character, but the cancellation was still disappointing. So much so, he was determined not to do television again—that is, until he received a script from his old pal writer-producer Aaron Sorkin, who wanted him to play the White House lawyer on The West Wing. "After I read it," Platt recalls, "I knew I didn't want anyone else to do it."
Platt frequently plays blustering characters—such as his lusty Paprizzio in the film Casanova or his Sir Toby Belch in Twelfth Night at the Delacorte Theater in Central Park. But he doesn't believe he has suffered from typecasting. "I don't want to tempt fate," he says. "I love Al Guinness' expression—or maybe it was Ralph Richardson—who said, 'The best of us have four faces.' Maybe I have two or three, if I'm lucky. Look, if ever I was smart, it was early in my career. I'm a theatre-trained actor and can play many different roles. That's helped me avoid being typecast."
During his two-decade career, Platt has noticed a number of shifts in the industry, not least the changing attitude toward television among serious actors. There was a time, he says, when actors looked down their noses at the "boob tube." That's no longer the case, especially with the advent of cable and the increasing quality of network television. Still, Platt says, many actors lower their standards when approaching TV and movies—in large part because of the money they can earn there.
Another change in the industry centers on the casting process. "When I was starting out, it was easier to get noticed in theatre," he says. "In the '80s, movies were cast in New York, with casting directors auditioning actors they had seen in plays. Now it doesn't happen very often. The business is more seated in Los Angeles."
Yet Platt won't go so far as to suggest East Coast actors head west in search of that next elusive gig: "I resist offering formulas for success to the struggling actor. Acting careers are not linear. They're not logical. You can give a good audition and still not get the role.
"Early on," he continues, "I made peace with myself, saying I was acting to enjoy myself, and that includes enjoying the process of auditioning, whether or not I'd get the role. I've come to see the audition as a chance to perform."
And that's a source of pleasure, he insists. Having his track record can't hurt, either.