Ray of Light

Pearce Bunting's latest role at Theatre Exile has him believing.

by A.D. Amorosi

Michael T. Regan GET LIFTED: In Theatre Exile's Blackbird, Pearce Bunting (left, with co-star Julianna Zinkel) plays a man who's scared to death. He won't need his acting chops for that.

Divine intervention: That's how Pearce Bunting describes his life as an actor, from his first great role to his newest.

"I'm turning 50 in March and was 23 when I had my big break in The Groves of Academe at People's Light," says the Philadelphia thespian of being thrust into playwright Mark Stein's grueling lead at the last minute. An actor had to leave to fix a few serious family matters, and bang: "Divine intervention, and it has been ever since, and I'm not religious."

One doesn't have to believe in God to get that Pearce Bunting made himself into one of this city's finest actors with his list of greatest hits — Hamm in Endgame at Big House Plays, Scullery in Road at the Wilma, Ansel in Killer Joe at Theatre Exile, John Brennan in Coyote on a Fence at the Arden — that come from the sacred scrolls of Philly theater's past. Or that his upcoming role as Ray in Blackbird at Theatre Exile is part of its new testament.

All you have to believe is that Bunting — living in Hell's Kitchen with his wife and son since 1999, taking leave from his long-standing job in Mamma Mia! on Broadway — is a jabbering madman alchemist who's capable of making anything golden.

"I'm soo swamped in Blackbird-line-learning-second-week-of-rehearsal-with-Joey-and-Julianna-in-New-York-and-doing-one-more-week-of-fucking-Abba," read Bunting's note to me when we scheduled our interview to discuss his take on David Harrower's Night Porter-ish Blackbird.

"Blackbird is the hardest play I've ever worked on," says Bunting. "I'm happy but sphincter-knotted. And thanks for reminding me of The Night Porter, you mad bastard."

HALF OFF DEPOT

Why live life at full price?

Bunting came up within Philadelphia theater circles during their adventurous modernization throughout the '80s and '90s — the Wilma and the Arden, experimentalist directors such as the Zizkas (Jiri and Blanka) and Joe Canuso, writers like Bruce Graham and David Ives, the eventuality of the Fringe Festival and the Barrymore Awards. Bunting won the first Barrymore Award for Outstanding Leading Actor in 1995 for his role in Road. He was also part of the Barrymore-winning Outstanding Ensemble behind Theatre Exile's Killer Joe at the Adrienne.

"Seriously, you rock my world," marveled Bunting when I admitted I wept when he won the first Barrymore. It was the fact that nu-theater had arrived with him. "So did I. Actually, I cried when I got the part. That's one of the only things I've ever won and one of sweetest things I've heard."

Mention that he was part of Philly's theater renaissance and he calls my viewpoint subjective. "I see my career in three phases: young and invincible, coke-addicted, and sober. I was young and invincible and coke-addicted in the '80s, so the '90s for me were sober, awkward and exciting." He was clean and trying to be proud of himself, so he worked harder. "When I started out, I just wanted everybody to want me, so whenever I got cast at a new theater, I was jazzed. Every role was a challenge. I've done my best work for people who 'got' me, share a sense of humor and put up with my wackiness and non sequiturs — my 'wrongness.' There were ... times when I stepped in at the last minute and did OK. I think that whatever happens is meant to be."

Road happened in '95, and Endgame came along in 1998 right when he left Philly for Manhattan. Bunting modernized himself along with Philly theater. "Road was the first time I realized that the best roles were the ones that scared me the most. Endgame scared the piss out of me."

If Endgame scared the piss out of Bunting, Blackbird scares him to death. "The guy I play is scared to death too. He committed an act that society views as unforgivable 15 years before and it's haunted him ever since," says Bunting. "The play is about how you feel — or can't feel — about the choices you've made and how society wants you to feel about them; how you live with yourself. It won't let you escape."

That's what divine intervention feels like.

Check out an extended Q&A with Bunting here.

(a_amorosi@citypaper.net)

Blackbird, Feb. 5-March 1, $18-$40, Theatre Exile at Plays and Players Theatre, 1714 Delancey St., 215-218-4022, theatreexile.org.