‘The Interview’: Denzel Washington Has Finally Found His Purpose
So many of Denzel Washington’s greatest performances — from the majestic title role in “Malcolm X” to the unrepentantly corrupt cop Alonzo Harris in “Training Day” — have been defined by a riveting sense of authority, an absolute absence of pandering or the need to be liked. There’s an inner reserve deep down inside his characters that is unassailable, a little enigmatic, and that belongs to them alone.
The commanding qualities that have helped Washington become a cinematic legend are also, as I learned firsthand, the same ones that make him an unusual — and unusually complicated — conversationalist. The first of our two discussions was done remotely. He was at a photo studio in Los Angeles as the fires were still burning there, and I was at home in New Jersey. Even putting our physical distance aside, the discussion felt, well, distant. Or let me put it this way: We never quite figured out how to connect.
The second time we talked, it was different. I met Washington in person, at a spare, drafty room in a Midtown Manhattan building where he was rehearsing for an upcoming Broadway appearance. He’s playing the lead in a new production of “Othello” that goes into previews on Feb. 24; it co-stars Jake Gyllenhaal as Iago and is directed by the Tony Award winner Kenny Leon. I can’t with any certainty really say why, but things just felt easier on the second go-round. What I do know, though, is that the entire interview experience was, for me, as indelible as one of his performances.
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I saw that at the end of last year you were baptized and earned your minister’s license. I got baptized, and I have to now take courses to obtain a license. I’m not an ordained minister.
Can you tell me about the decision to go through that process at this point in your life? I went for a ride one day. I decided to get in my car and drive up to Harlem. I stopped in front of the church that my mother grew up in. The door was cracked, so I went in. They were celebrating young students, members of the church, that were going to college. And I got involved in that, and one thing led to another, and weeks later, months later I got baptized.
Your father was a preacher? Yes.
Do you feel like you’re following a family tradition? It was prophesied in my youth that I would travel the world and preach or speak to millions of people. I used to think that I was doing that through my work. Now I’m trying to be a bit more specific, speaking about my faith.
I’ve seen you refer to the prophecy. Can you tell the story? Well, a woman was sitting in my mother’s beauty shop in March 1975. The reason I was in there was I had flunked out of college — I was told to take a semester off to think about what I wanted to do. And every time I looked up, I saw this woman looking at me, and she said she was having a prophecy. She didn’t say anything about me being an actor, but I have traveled the world, and I am speaking more and more.
Do you think there might come a time when you move to speaking mostly through ministry and not through acting? I don’t know.
This is a shot in the dark: There’s a book by James Baldwin called “The Devil Finds Work,” and in it he makes connections between the church and the theater. Does that comparison ring true for you? The universal stems from the specific, so you’ve got to be more specific.
He says both are about people experiencing an event together and communally creating the event as it happens. There is a spirit that, for him, was similar between the church and the theater. I agree with that.
The reason I ask about theater is because you’re going back to the theater to do “Othello.” Can you tell me about the rewards for you of doing Shakespeare? I think that still gives me the greatest joy: acting onstage as opposed to acting in movies.
I watched the commencement speech you gave at the University of Pennsylvania years ago, and you talked to the students about how you have to be willing to take risks. Are there ways in which doing “Othello” feels like a risk? In light of all that’s going on in our world, all that’s going on in our state, California, and our city specifically — it’s just a play. I’m grateful for the opportunity, but when put in perspective, it’s just a play.
What has your experience been with the fires? Just as a spectator and just being amazed — the scope and devastation. And then hearing about a lot of people in our industry who’ve been affected. It’s unbelievable.
Does it make you want to live somewhere else? You mean like run?
Well, just the reality of the danger in California — it’s scary. Nah, doesn’t make me want to live somewhere else.
Let me shift gears. I want to ask about family. Did having children change your perspective on the work? Yeah, it changed my perspective. Like, shoot, they’ve got to go where to school? It costs how much? How much do clothes cost? Yeah, it changed everything.
I’m always curious about actors, and artists generally, when they realize that their art is also a business. Does that affect how you approached the work itself? When I learned about my least favorite uncle, my Uncle Sam, that was the eye opener. I’m like, He takes what? That’s the reality of it, and a dollar is not a dollar. By the time agents, lawyer, business manager, Uncle Sam, everybody else gets finished with you, a dollar’s about 38 cents. So you’ve got to cobble those 38 cents together to make a real dollar.
But does that affect the work? If you know that something is a money job, do you go about that job any differently? You’re asking me, Did I ever take a job for money?
No, I’m asking — Because I was about to answer it.
OK. I’ve taken every job for money. There’s no job I’ve taken where I went: You guys just keep the money. I’m just so glad to be an actor. I don’t even want the money.
There’s got to be a difference in the calculus when you say yes to “Mississippi Masala” or “Malcolm X” as opposed to “Virtuosity” or “Ricochet.” Yeah, probably. Especially “Virtuosity.” I had some bills to pay. “Ricochet” was more like venturing down that road for the first time.
The action-movie road. Yeah, the action-movie road, which I didn’t really know. “Virtuosity” definitely had something to do with tuition [laughs], I’m sure.
Going back to the subject of your children, they all work in the business. Was that something that you felt you had to navigate with them? They got jobs before I knew they were in the business. John David was reading for “Ballers,” and I didn’t even know about it. Pauletta didn’t tell me, and so he got the job before I knew about it.
Your wife, Pauletta, is an actress. Yes, and singer and concert pianist. Are you familiar with the Van Cliburn competition?
The piano competition? Yeah. My wife was a Van Cliburn competitor. Juilliard. North Carolina School of the Arts. I married up.
What have you learned about being an artist from her? That it’s an art. Acting just sort of chose me, and I got going. But she’s an artist. I never looked at myself that way. I learned a lot about it, the discipline, the appreciation, from her.
Do you still not look at yourself as an artist? I try not to look at myself period. I’m not much for reflection.
Can I ask you about — I don’t have any money. [Laughs.]
That was my next question! Go ahead. You were going to ask me about what?
In the first-person piece you did for Esquire last year, tied to “Gladiator II,” you talked about your life and your career, and that was the first place, at least that I’ve seen, where you talked about drinking. You said there was this long period — from 1999 to 2014, when you put the beverage down — you were bitter. Bitter about what? I was bitter when I put it down, or I was bitter when I picked it up?
Well, in the piece you said — I was probably bitter when I picked it up, not when I put it down.
But what were you bitter about? Pick something. I don’t know. Any excuse will do, and no excuse is good enough.
Do you have insight into what the drinking was about? We don’t have that much time, brother.
Is it right that you used to carry around your acceptance letter from the American Conservatory Theater? Nah, I kept a letter from my English teacher.
Why was that something you kept? You just want to get all in my business. Because it made me feel good.
I’m just trying to fish around for things that might be engaging. I’m not trying to get all up in your business. But you are all up in my business.
I apologize. And I don’t like it, man. [Pauses.] I’m joking!
Oh, thank God. That was a joke! Gee whiz. I know how to get you now. You’re easy.
I’m too easy. Can I be honest with you? Yeah, go ahead.
I don’t know where to go conversationally with you. Maybe I should ask you a question?
Sure! Why do you feel that way?
The answers have been short. And often in this sort of thing, people are a little more expansive. OK, ask me a question, and I’m going to give you an expansive answer.
OK. Not too long ago, you finished filming with Spike Lee. Yes. That was your answer. [Laughs.]
You tricked me again. And it was your first time working with him since “Inside Man” almost 20 years ago. How has your relationship with him changed over time? That’s a good question.
Finally! It didn’t feel like 20 years. It felt like we picked up where we left off, you know? I mean, Spike is Spike.
Meaning? Spike is consistently Spike, and I love that about him. And I love working with him, and I’d work with him again. I just like the way his brain works.
I like to ask philosophical questions about why people do what they do and the meaning of it — There’s nothing wrong with that.
When I’ve asked you those types of questions, it hasn’t seemed interesting to you. And as a result, I feel like I’ve been flailing — What about this? What about that? Well, here’s your opportunity to get back on track with your next question.
So, I’m always curious about the interplay between the life and the work. I just rewatched “Flight,” and in that you play an airline captain named Whip Whitaker, who is struggling with alcohol and manages to save a flight in semi-miraculous fashion. Did playing that character show you anything about your own situation? Not that I recall. First of all, I didn’t drink and work, never have. I’d work and then drink. Honestly, I don’t even remember whether I was drinking those evenings or not. But what was the question? Did it affect — did it what?
Did you learn anything about yourself from doing a role like that? I think when you’re in the middle of it, you’re not so self-reflective, because you’re still working out the character.
You gain understanding after the fact? Well, if you’re thinking about it. Which I probably wasn’t.
What kinds of things do you think I should — Ask me? I want to know more about you.
We can switch roles. I would love to do that. If you said to yourself, “I wish I was better at this,” what would that be?
Aside from interviewing Denzel Washington? Come on now, don’t deflect. We’re talking about you.
I’m not assertive enough, and I have a problem with conflict. And because I avoid it, rather than getting solved, problems linger. And that had something to do with your dad or what?
See, I should be taking lessons from you! Would you answer these types of questions if I asked you? Ask me.
What do you need to work on the most? “Othello.”
You said I can’t deflect, so you don’t deflect. OK, good point. What do I need to work on the most? I was going to mention my faith, but that sounds like deflection. I don’t know. I can’t think of something I need to really work on. Relationships, you can always do better there.
Ask me another one. Tell me the second thing that you love. Not the first thing — the second thing.
This is going to sound so corny: laughter. That’s a great thing.
OK, your turn. The opportunity to lift others up.
How have you done that? Every opportunity and every which way I can. Sometimes with a dime, sometimes with a dollar, sometimes with a good word. I love seeing people do well.
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Last question for this time: What should I think about in preparation for when we talk again? Man goes down to the ocean and tries to fit all the knowledge of the ocean into his little brain instead of just jumping in the water and enjoying himself. Sometimes you just have to have faith in things bigger than our ability to understand them. Sometimes you have to just jump in the water and enjoy yourself and not try to figure it out.
All right, that is something for me to think about. Bring your bathing suit! We’re jumping in the water together next time!
Washington and I spoke again the following week.
Thank you for giving me another run at this. How much of our conversation from last week do you remember? None.
Good! At the end of our conversation, I asked if there was anything I could reflect on before we spoke again, and you told me this little parable. The way I was thinking about that parable was that I felt as if in our first conversation, I was too wrapped up in expectations of how the conversation was supposed to go rather than just being with you in the moment. But where did you learn that sometimes you’ve just got to jump in the water? Well, I’ve tried everything else! I was reading Matthew today, and he talks about the seed, and if you put it in rocky soil, it won’t grow and all those things. You have to have faith that it will grow. You can’t even figure out how it grows or why it grows or where the sun comes from. Here’s what I mean: Man tries to reduce everything down to his understanding, which is the ultimate in ego. If I don’t understand it, it doesn’t exist. Some people don’t understand God, so some say, therefore, he doesn’t exist. Or they say, “I’m God,” because that’s what they need. Well, how’s that working out?
You also spoke last time about the value for you of helping people. Does acting help people? At this point, everything I’m doing is through the lens of what God thinks, not what they think. I don’t know what they think. You go down that hole, you’ll never come out of that. When people say, “What do you want people to get from this movie?” or “What do you want them to get from this play?” I always say, “It depends upon what they bring to it.” There’s some interesting themes [in “Othello”] of jealousy and envy and pain and death. And Kenny, the brilliant director, he’s putting it in what he calls the near future. So all of those things — jealousy, envy — it takes on a whole new thing with the information age.
What’s your favorite line from “Othello”? I don’t know.
I’ve got two. One is Othello’s, one is Iago’s. Othello’s is: “Who can control his fate?” And then my favorite line in all of Shakespeare is Iago’s “I am not what I am.” He said it yesterday. He’s a complicated guy. He’s going to be brilliant in this.
Who? Jake Gyllenhaal, who’s playing Iago? He’s nuts. I love him. He’s complicated. But he’s already got a handle on it. I’m not worried about that, because I don’t like to learn the lines too soon. I was telling a young actor who asked, “Why don’t you like to learn them too soon?” I said: “Because then I’m the voice I’m listening to delivering the cues to myself. I want to hear it from you, and that’s going to affect how I say what I say.” For me, that works.
You said everything now is through the lens of what God thinks. How does acting fit into that? That’s why you pray every day. I’m like, OK, Lord, I’m here, I think this is what you wanted me to do. Now I’m not sure why, but one can say coincidence and serendipity and all those things. I bit my tongue almost half-off a few months ago. It’s affecting my speech. It forces me to slow down. I have to use it. I have a line: “Whither will you that I go to answer this your charge?” It’s hard because my tongue is swollen. It has affected everything.
But you’ve got to use it. Jump in the water and enjoy yourself, instead of worrying about drowning.
I’ve been thinking a lot about David Lynch, who just died. “Blue Velvet”! Heck of a movie, man. I loved it. I went, “This guy is nuts.”
One of the reasons I’ve been thinking about him is that about 15 or so years ago, I was really low, and I was in a bookstore, and I saw that David Lynch had this book, “Catching the Big Fish,” about creativity. In it he says that one of the benefits of meditation is that it helps you become more you. Then I started meditating. That one sentence in one book by David Lynch changed my life. Have you ever had an experience like that? Where from afar someone changed your life? The prophecy. Changed my life completely. Going back to Matthew, it must have been a seed planted. But I wasn’t ready for it, or I didn’t understand it. I was 20 then; I’m 70 now. I’m on that 50-year journey to understanding.
Did an artist ever change your life? Yes. My English teacher, Bob Stone, who was in “Othello” with Paul Robeson. He wrote a recommendation letter for me for the American Conservatory Theater, which I still have. He basically said to them, “If you don’t have the ability to give this young talent what he needs, then don’t accept him.” I was like, “Wow, reverse psychology.” But he was, artistically, especially early on, the most important person, because he had been there. He understood the game.
This is a base question, but did you find that you cared about not getting an Oscar nomination for “Gladiator II”? I was sitting there smiling, going: Look at you. On the day you didn’t get a nomination for an Oscar, you’re working on “Othello” on Broadway. Are you kidding me? Awww. Oh, I’m so upset. Listen, I’ve been around too long. I’m getting wiser, working on talking less and learning to understand more — and that’s exciting.
Is there anything you want people to take away from this interview? Believe in something greater than yourself. Believe. Look at the world. What does it give you every day? Fires. Death. Murder. Politics. Dictators. Division. Look at the world we’ve created for ourselves. That’s all I’m going to say.
This interview has been edited and condensed from two conversations. Listen to and follow “The Interview” on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, iHeartRadio, Amazon Music or the New York Times Audio app.
Director of photography (video): Aaron Katter