Everywhere one looks in Bryan Cranston’s dressing room at the Neil Simon Theatre on Broadway, there are images and reminders of Lyndon Baines Johnson. A Lone Star flag from the 36th president’s native Texas decorates one wall; photos are taped to the mirror; books about him sit on a coffee table. Cranston, 58, is thoroughly immersed in his acclaimed performance as LBJ in Robert Schenkkan’s play All the Way, which opened in New York in March and will run through June 29. But when his cell phone rings, it’s the familiar strains of the theme music to Breaking Bad that fill the air.
Cranston will always be inextricably linked with that Emmy-winning series and the character of Walter White, the chemistry-teaching family man turned meth-cooking drug lord. And that suits him just fine. (He’s even writing a memoir, due in 2015, about those years.) Every night when he signs autographs outside the stage door, he meets young fans who’ve been to a play for the first time simply to see him in action. “Kids who know nothing about Johnson are coming because of Breaking Bad,” marvels Cranston, who first garnered awards attention on the sitcom Malcolm in the Middle. “And I say, whatever it takes. Get ’em in the theater.” This summer audiences will also see him in Godzilla (opening May 16), a new version of the Japanese monster epic that first hit movie screens in 1954, two years before the actor was born.
Cranston grew up in Los Angeles, the second of three children whose parents were actors (and, in his father’s case, a producer), and his upbringing was tumultuous. “It wasn’t until my mid-30s that I was comfortable in my skin. I wanted to be a husband and father, and I wanted a career in something I loved,” says Cranston, who has been married for nearly 25 years to actress Robin Dearden, whom he met while shooting an episode of Airwolf; their 21-year-old daughter, Taylor Dearden, has joined the family business. In this interview, Cranston proves himself as spellbinding a storyteller off-screen as he is on-, discussing luck, late blooming, and the roles of a lifetime.
Parade: You’ve described your childhood as difficult and your parents as ill-suited to being parents.
Bryan Cranston: I think [parenting] is a job you go into with no experience. My mother loved performing, but she chose to be a wife and mother, and years later she definitely had some resentment. I always likened her to Blanche DuBois from A Streetcar Named Desire, who depended on the kindness of strangers. She was very flirtatious and was married four times. My dad married three times, and there wasn’t a lot of stability there, either.
So here’s two people who decide to settle down and have kids, and it’s going pretty well for a while. We had a nice little tract house in the Valley, and one year we put a swimming pool in because my dad’s acting career was doing well. The next year my mom said, “We can’t afford the chemicals for the pool, so we can’t swim.” One year we got a new car; the next we got rid of it and got an old car. When you’re a kid, you’re much more resilient than people give you credit for. It’s only in retrospect that you go, “That wasn’t a very good situation, was it?”
When I was about 10, I saw my dad less and less. Then he left the family when I was 12, and I didn’t see him again until I was 22. It was like falling off a cliff: My dad’s gone; my mom is crushed. My brother and I went to live with our grandparents for a year. We went kicking and screaming, but the stability that they brought us was exactly what we needed.
When you didn’t see your father for 10 years, did you feel abandoned?
You have nothing to relate it to at the time, but certainly there are anger and resentment and abandonment issues you have to deal with as an adult. When someone asks me, “How did you tap into the anger and viciousness of Walter White?” I say, “Well, it’s there.” An actor’s job is to be open to it.
What would Walter White’s motto be? Cranston talks about his memorable roles in this exclusive video:
What led you to follow your parents into the fairly unstable profession of acting?
Well, I was set to become a policeman. My brother and I were members of the Explorer Program of the LAPD, and I had an aptitude for it. The plan was to get a degree in administration of justice, and I took acting as an elective. My first day in acting class, I was issued a scene that said, “A teenage couple is making out on a park bench.” When we were called up, I went to kiss the girl, and she was on me—embrace, passion, I’m dizzy, I’m lost. At the break I said to her, “Do you want to have lunch sometime?” She looked at me like I was a lost puppy and said, “Oh, no, no, no. I have a boyfriend.” I would have bet anything she was into me. But she was an actor.
So now I had a strong feeling I was not going to be a policeman. I hopped on a motorcycle with my brother and we took off for two years to travel. We were in Virginia in fall and it was raining, so we stopped at a picnic area that had a cement slab with a roof. We put our pup tents up and stayed for six days, because it never stopped raining. One day I was reading a book of plays, and when I looked up it was pitch black. I was so into the play—Henrik Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler—that I hadn’t noticed. Nothing had ever taken me on a journey like that before. I was 21, and I thought, “Let me be bold and attempt something I’m in love with.”
That’s remarkable. Let’s talk about Breaking Bad. How do you create a character like Walter White?
The better the writing, the more guideposts it gives you. [Breaking Bad creator] Vince Gilligan’s writing was so deep and visceral. I had a plethora of ideas for how Walter should look: what his hair should be like, how much he weighs, how he walks. My goal is always to get to the emotional core of a character, and with Walter it was harder because he was depressed. He didn’t know how he felt. Then he got this diagnosis that, although it gave him only two years to live, was very liberating. He did something bold for the first time in his life, and his emotional core exploded like a volcano.
Was it hard to leave the role?
Yes. Usually when you get a role they give you a set of circumstances: “He can do this, but he can’t do that.” With Walter White, over the course of six years, I covered it all. I could kill someone; I could caress my baby and kiss my son on the forehead. The whole spectrum of the human experience.
Did the darkness get to you?
You learn how to prepare and protect yourself as an actor. If a scene isn’t coming up for a while, you don’t stay on the edge; you shut down. Then when they say, “We’re about 20 minutes away,” you start ramping up, much like an athlete gets ready for a game. When we wrapped for the night, I’d go to the makeup and hair trailer and get two moist hot towels. I’d put one over my bald head and wrap the other around my face like I was getting a shave at an old-time barbershop. And I’d just sit there for a while; it feels like you’re getting a hug. Then you slowly rub off all the makeup and dirt from the day, put on some moisturizer and, oh, you feel different. I’d take off Walter’s clothes, put on Bryan’s clothes, and go home. And I’m not him.
You could have taken any role you wanted after that. Why did you choose LBJ in All the Way?
It’s the story and the writing, and in this case, they both hit home runs. People are still sketchy about who Lyndon Johnson really was, what motivated him. Now, 50 years later, I think it’s appropriate to revisit his legacy. I’m not asking for revisionist history, because the awful experience of Vietnam is what it is. But Johnson accomplished tremendous things domestically. He was probably the most politically savvy president we’ve had since Roosevelt, and that was a key component to [doing] wonderful, foundational work in the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the Voting Rights Act of 1965, Medicare—it goes on and on.
On the flip side of that coin is political hubris. My theory is that Vietnam was the result of that hubris; I don’t think he wanted to be known as the first president to lose a war.
What were you surprised to learn about Johnson?
I saw a letter in the LBJ Presidential Library [in Austin, Tex.] from Jackie Kennedy to the new president, a few days after the assassination. Two things struck me. She thanked Johnson for having the courage to walk behind the family in the funeral procession. She was sure, and I’m sure, that the Secret Service wanted him in a covered car. And she thanked him for writing letters to her children. I thought, here’s a man who took on this enormous job just days before, under this horrible situation. And he took the time to write to John-John and Caroline, to talk about his respect for their father. It had a huge impact on me, the humanity of that.
What can Barack Obama learn from LBJ?
There are two things LBJ had that our current president doesn’t have. One is extensive experience in Congress. By the time he became vice president, Johnson not only knew everyone, he knew what their pet projects were. So he was ready to make deals and trades. “You support me on this, I’m going to give you that bridge.” [laughs]
The second thing is the [political] climate. In LBJ’s time, politicians knew they’d have to cross the aisle: “Our philosophies might be opposite, but I’m going to try to work with them.” And what we have now is a digging-your-heels-in: “They are trying to hurt the country. Only our way is the right way”—whether you’re in the Republican or Democratic camp. It is so polarizing and distrustful and disrespectful.
Why did you want to do Godzilla?
I initially turned it down—I thought, “I can’t do Godzilla after Breaking Bad; that’s a huge step down.” But I was surprised at the level of the writing, and the director, Gareth Edwards, had some great ideas to strengthen the heart of the story. And why not do something that’s fun and escapist? So I got down off my high horse and said, “Yeah, let’s do it.”
What advice have you given your actress daughter, Taylor Dearden?
Virtually none. Because of the relationship, she needs to not be under my watchful eye or under my shadow. She needs to find her own identity. So we talk in general terms about acting. What Robin and I are grateful for is that she’s very talented. She’s got a sensibility and an instinct I didn’t have at 21. To be honest, if she wanted to be a horticulturist, I’d be thrilled. I just want her to find her passion.
Cranston talks about the joys of baseball and coaching his daughter in Little League in this exclusive video:
You’re known as one of the nicest guys in Hollywood. How do you stay grounded?
I don’t know why I’ve been so fortunate in this life, but I’m not going to take it for granted. Never feel you’re entitled to anything. To have a successful career, you need a healthy dose of luck. And then having mentors: Tom Hanks has given me jobs several times [including in That Thing You Do!]. I saw the way he behaved on the set, his ability to convey respect and appreciation for others, and I made mental notes. That’s the way I am leading this cast [in All the Way]. Let’s keep the drama in the show, not around it, and let’s all be thankful.
Is there an advantage to becoming so successful later in life?
Certainly. There’s less restlessness as you get older, and you do get wiser. I got comfortable with trusting that I’d get a job. And I was very frugal. I didn’t put the pool in; I didn’t buy the brand-new car. I had a middle-class life, better than my upbringing, until I was 40. I didn’t have stardom, and I didn’t crave it. If I could say, “I make my living as an actor,” that was everything to me. That’s still the accomplishment I appreciate most.
Mark K. Updegrove is a presidential historian and the director of the LBJ Presidential Library.
