Nathan Lane says Broadway actors sometimes joke that their job is to keep 1,600 audience members from coughing. Except, as the star of Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman, it's not coughs that Lane hears from the audience. Instead, he says, "You hear people weeping in the dark."
Since his Broadway debut at 26, Lane has been regarded as a great actor of the stage and screen. Best known for comedies such as The Producers and The Birdcage, Lane pivoted to more dramatic roles about 10 years ago in an effort to stretch himself and challenge how audiences perceive him. Now, in the Broadway revival of Death of a Salesman, he plays Willy Loman, the aging and beleaguered traveling salesman who oscillates between bravado and desperation.
"It's been the most rewarding thing I've done," Lane says of the role, which earned him a Tony nomination. "And when people come back and talk about it, if they're not weeping, they're saying things like, 'You were my father.'"
For Lane, performing on stage is the culmination of a dream he's had since childhood. He sees theater as "the last bastion of community" — something akin to gathering around a campfire.
"My friend Sammy Wasson, a wonderful film historian and writer, he always said to me, 'You can never forget that when you walk out there, way up in the balcony, there's some kid who is just like you and seeing you and thinking, gee, I'd like to do that someday,'" Lane says. "And that's who you're doing it for."
Interview highlights
On the 2010 New York Times profile that inspired him to take on more serious roles
I had been doing a musical on Broadway called The Addams Family, which had been reviled by the critics, and yet the public spoke, they wanted to see it. So while I was in that run, Charles Isherwood, who was at The New York Times then, wrote a very lovely and flattering piece about an assessment of my career and he referred to me as the greatest stage "entertainer" of the last decade. … Which was extremely complimentary, but I can always find the dark cloud in any silver lining.
I was flattered, but troubled by the word "entertainer." … I just felt I was more than just an entertainer. I saw myself as an actor, now having been doing this for 50 years. I may have been entertaining, but I was acting in all of those pieces, whether it was musical or straight play. It got me thinking. I thought, gee, is that how people perceive me? And I feel like I have more to offer as an actor. And maybe I have to challenge myself and also challenge the audience and see if they're willing to go on that journey with me.
On the complexities of his Death of a Salesman character Willy Loman
He's fighting for his life. I mean, I think that's what makes him an interesting character. He's very flawed. He's a mass of contradictions and incredibly insecure. And he has this very misguided view of the American dream, which is that it's about his self-worth, and his idea of success is all based on the opinion of others, which, as an actor, you certainly can relate to. His whole philosophy is about being well-liked. It's not what you say, it's how you say it, because personality always wins the day. ... And being a traveling salesman is sort of fading away as well. So he's in a desperate way.
On what it takes to play Willy Loman eight shows a week
Salesman is difficult because of where you have to go. It's a play that tests you and it costs you because you have to go there night after night after night. … I also had to let go of all the ghosts that come with this play — past productions and certainly some of the great performances and I've seen many of them. You have to let go of all of that and block it out. And then, as you would with any play, you just go moment to moment, scene to scene, and you take in what the other actor is saying. You're talking and you're listening. Scene by scene, you get to the end.
On growing up with a father addicted to alcohol and a mother experiencing mental illness
My father was an alcoholic. And my mother, eventually after his death and her own mother's death, my grandmother, she had a breakdown and it took about five years and it was finally diagnosed as what was called manic depression then. So I had to grow up fast. My father, I didn't have much of a relationship with because [he was] really not home a lot, and when he was, he was drunk, or recovering. … My memory is that he would come home and he was holding onto the walls. He couldn't walk. …
I remember another moment where I was walking to school — and this is in Jersey City — and I was passing what was called the Stegman Street Tavern, and the back door was open and it was a very sunny day, sunny morning. And as I was going by, I turned and looked, and I saw my father sweeping up, I would imagine probably for drinks. And he stopped, realizing that someone was looking at him, and he looked up, and he looked at me. And we just stood there and stared at one another. And he didn't say hello. He didn't say a word. There was so much that might have been said, could have been said, should have been said, and then he just turned away and went back to sweeping, and I went on to school. … I wish I could go back and ask him some questions. … I want to know what drove him to drink himself to death.
On coming out to his mother, a devout Irish Catholic
I had done a non-equity production of Guys and Dolls … and I had a crush on the guy playing Benny Southstreet. And something had developed, and he lived in New York. And so I was going to move to New York. And so I sat her down, because we had been through a lot together, and I thought, I had never lied to her and I had been telling her [that] I'd been seeing a girl, but I said to her, "I know you think I've been seeing a girl, but I've been seeing a guy." And she turned white, and looked very shocked, and she said, "You mean you're a homosexual?" And I said, "Yeah, I guess so." And she said ... "I would rather you were dead." And I said, "I knew you'd understand!"
On how the song "Betrayed" in The Producers came to be
When we were discussing it and talking about it, before we went into rehearsal, I said to Mel [Brooks], "I disappear in the second act. I need an 11 o'clock number." And so he wrote a song called "Farewell to Broadway." It was a sentimental song. And in the middle of it, there was a speech he had about how angry he was about being betrayed by Leo. And I said to him, "The song isn't right, but the monologue you wrote in the middle of it is." … And he went off and wrote "Betrayed." And it was exactly what I thought should happen at that point. It's hard to top "Springtime for Hitler," and Mel just knocked it out of the park.
On whether he considers retirement
To be tested this way is, I think, it's why I wanted to be an actor. And it's what makes it so exciting, and especially a role like this, an iconic role like this.Nathan Lane
People age differently now and so I can't say 70 is the new 60. There are times of course, you think, I just want to retire to a ranch and take care of rescue dogs. … I say that and my husband says, "Oh, you'll never retire." I do love this. I love doing it, and in a way, maybe I love even more that it's this challenging. As Katharine Hepburn used to say: I'd rather fail at something difficult than succeed at something that comes too easily. I have loved this part of my career. And also, one would think, I've learned something by now about how to do this. And so to be tested this way is, I think, it's why I wanted to be an actor. And it's what makes it so exciting, and especially a role like this, an iconic role like this.
Lauren Krenzel and Susan Nyakundi produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Beth Novey adapted it for the web.
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