Richard Feldman
Drama Faculty

New York native Richard Feldman grew up in the Bronx. He attended Yale University, where he earned a B.A. in English, as well as the American Conservatory Theater actor training program. He currently teaches at N.Y.U.'s graduate acting program, as well as at Juilliard, where he has been a faculty member since 1987.

Richard Feldman in 1986. (Photo by Nick Granito)

What are the most striking differences between Juilliard now and when you started teaching?

My first Drama Division faculty meeting as a guest director was very intimidating. An atmosphere of formality pervaded the room. I couldn't put my finger on it; it was as though there were a secret truth about acting which we were all meant to know but never speak of openly. We all seemed trapped in some Edith Wharton novel. These past dozen years or so, all of us in the Drama Division have been working hard to exorcise the ghosts of that cold, formal Juilliard School. Our meetings now are passionate, filled with debate and laughter. We even have food. I hope this change in atmosphere has spilled into the classrooms and hallways, and that we all experience Juilliard as a warmer, more human place. Art is messy. The spirit of curiosity and exploration means laying aside the need for perfection. It sometimes feels like we're fighting the very architecture of the building—the labyrinthine hallways, the whitewashed studios, the blear of florescent lights, the ancient air still circulating from the old, old days—but I think we're winning. The School is more open, more upfront, more connected to the hurly-burly right outside our (unopenable) windows. I hope our work is a little more irreverent and a lot more soulful.

What about Juilliard in the "old days" would current students find quaint or surprising?

My hair was black (see photo), and the library carpet was a fabulous bright green. I miss it.

How has your teaching changed over the years?

When I started out, I thought I had to know everything and have all the answers. Now I practice more what I preach, which is the art of asking questions. My goal is to make myself obsolete—unnecessary to my students—because I've helped them shape a process, rather than provide them with answers.

Who was the teacher or mentor who most inspired you when you were growing up?

I've had many great teachers in the theater—the late John Stix and Michael Langham chief among them. But my mentor as a man was Bruno Loewvenberg. He was not famous or an artist. He was something greater—a fully-realized human being.

Bruno was 89 when I met him. I was a student at ACT in San Francisco; he and his wife Lisbeth were looking for a student to live, rent-free, in their home out by Land's End in exchange for doing work around the house. Their home was a treasure chest of music, art, and books. Books on shelves, mantelpieces, tables; books piled on the stereo speakers. I thought I had come to San Francisco to study acting at ACT, but it turned out I was there to learn how to begin becoming a human being under Bruno's tutelage. Bruno had lived through the 20th century. Born in Germany in 1890, he emigrated to Palestine in 1913, was drafted into the German army, and served through the final months of World War I. He owned a book and print shop in the wild Berlin of the '20s; he was interned in the Nazi concentration camp at Buchenwald from 1937-38, was released, and became a refugee during World War II in Shanghai. Fleeing the Communists in 1949, he came to San Francisco, where he started over once again.

Late nights, philosophizing, listening to Bach and Bartok, drinking vodka, he nudged, cajoled, and inspired me on my continuing journey toward becoming a human being—more courageous, less precious with myself; less serious, more committed (he also taught me how to drink, which often meant knowing when to stop or when not to start).

If you could have your students visit any place in the world, where would it be, and why?

Golly. I've been to some beautiful places in Europe and North America. My wife, Carolyn, and I are lucky enough to have a little cabin in the Adirondacks which we love. Some of my favorite places in N.Y.C. include Yankee Stadium, the diorama room of the American Museum of Natural History, and the Strand Bookstore—but why anyone else should visit places I like is something I don't know the answer to. I do know this: Get out of the house—90 percent of life is just showing up.

What would people be surprised to know about you?

A few things: I started out as a classics major in college. I left the theater altogether for six blissful years and worked in the used and rare book trade. Also, I'm pretty good with a chainsaw.

If you weren't in the career you are in, what would you be doing?

Teaching classics and coaching the cross-country track team at a semi-prestigious liberal arts college; or, in a universe where mothers' wishes come true, a lawyer at the A.C.L.U.