Mia Farrow Absolutely Adores Patti LuPone: “She Cannot Tell a Lie”

At the age of 80, Mia Farrow is preparing for her very first Tony Awards ceremony. “I’ll be Alice in Wonderland,” she says. “Oh my gosh, I followed the white rabbit—and look where I am.”

Although Farrow’s been a film legend since her unforgettable turn in Rosemary’s Baby nearly six decades ago, she’s somehow never been nominated for any of the awards under the EGOT umbrella. At least, she wasn’t until she returned to Broadway last fall to star in as Sharon, a lonely Iowan who lives with a ballsy New Yorker (Patti LuPone) in Jen Silverman’s The Roommate. Farrow is now up for best leading actress in a play, against talents like Sarah Snook and Sadie Sink.

“She’s a true friend,” Farrow says of her brassy co-star. “She’s somebody you can really, really count on. She’s a very loyal person, and truthful and wonderful in every way.”

Though she’s known primarily as a film actress, Farrow was the first American actress to join the Royal Shakespeare Company. Even now, she says her heart belongs to the theater. “There’s just no better community,” she says. “Everyone is so supportive of each other.” And she feels that support even though Farrow—who’s done five Broadway shows—considers herself relatively new to the Broadway community. “Unlike me, many have already worked together,” she says. “If you’re Audra McDonald, you’ve worked with countless, countless people over time. Or if you’re Patti, or Jonathan Groff. Everybody knows each other. Everybody respects each other. Everyone understands the challenge and the joy and the privilege of being there.”

Sharon, a freshly divorced senior citizen, could certainly use a support system at the beginning of The Roommate—and finds one, at least temporarily, in LuPone’s Robyn. Throughout the play’s limited run, Farrow conveyed both the fizzy lightness of falling in love and plumbed the depths of despair and loneliness.

But unlike Sharon, Farrow receives plenty of support from her children—specifically Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Ronan Farrow, who encouraged her to take a risk by doing the play in the first place. “I asked my son, Ronan, who is one of my very closest friends, and he read it,” she says. “He said, ‘I think you should do it. No question.’”

While she’s certainly happy she took his advice, Farrow also knows she’s imparted a lot of wisdom to Ronan over the years. “I try to teach my kids that you’ve got to stand for what’s right, no matter the cost,” she adds. “And you hope that the cost will never be that great. But in cases in history, the cost has been that great. Look at Raul [Wallenberg], look at Martin Luther King. You stand for something.”

Below, Farrow sits for a long chat about her career, her thirty-year friendship with LuPone, and the one line she got added to The Roomate’s script.

What was The Roommate’s rehearsal process like?

There was only a three-week rehearsal.

That’s not that much time.

Well, no. I read about the olden days when there were out of town tryouts, and you got six weeks rehearsal—or two months even. So, I did learn the play before we started rehearsal because it’s a lot of talking.

We began rehearsals in New York, and I was thrilled that it was Patti. Honestly, by the time we opened, that was just the beginning because the discovery process continued. Some family members, including Ronan, saw the play opening night, which I never wanted. I never invite anyone.

Really?

I have never invited anyone to any play I’ve ever been in. I don’t want to disappoint them. I’m too nervous.

But, also, the fact of the three weeks of the rehearsal process—I knew that once we began doing it, there would be more. By the time we ended it had evolved for Patti and for me into something deeper. At least, we thought it was better.

You and Patti LuPone have been friends for years. Can you talk to me about your relationship?

I love Patti’s company. I love her as an individual. Apart from her magnificent talent, she’s loads of fun. She’s extremely loyal, and, as far as I know, she cannot tell a lie.

I’ve known her for a very long time. We met through Steve Sondheim, who took me to one of her New Year’s parties, I guess 30 years ago. We live not far from each other, perhaps 20 minutes.

She’s a blessing in every way. And, of course, I admire her work, but as a friend, she’s invaluable. That’s Patti.

Who came up with the idea to take a joint bow before the show?

That was Patti’s idea, because she did not want … She is the consummate performer, let’s face it. She said to [director] Jack O’Brien, “Look, we don’t want to walk in that kitchen and have all our applause.” She said, “Let’s get it over with, and then we can walk in the kitchen.” I wouldn’t have known that. I wouldn’t have thought of that, or I wouldn’t have presumed that it was the right thing. But clearly it was.

Sometimes she would give me a hint—something like, “You’ll get a bigger laugh if you say that a lot louder. Or maybe do that one quicker or something.” Occasionally, like three times, she would give me a hint on how to get a better laugh. And she recommended a book to me, which is really helpful. It’s called The Craft of Comedy, which frankly, in full admission, I haven’t yet read. I didn’t have time when we were doing the play. I fully intend to someday. It’s here at the foot of my bed, along with the other things that I have to read.

Did you connect your own personal life and experiences to Sharon’s?

Well, I didn’t. Only in my emotional core, but not the circumstances. That’s the playwright, wonderful Jen Silverman.

My character had her book club. She felt abandoned by her son. I would’ve said to her, “All children go away. You remember the three little pigs? They go and make their lives. That’s what you want. You want them to.”

The play began with one way of thinking, and then there comes meaning in general life and excitement, and a person, most of all, that becomes very meaningful. And love comes. And that’s so beautiful. And then is it lost? We don’t know. But it was a beautiful journey to play.

Towards the end of the play, the way that you spoke as Sharon changed. Your voice dropped. Was that intentional?

Everything you saw was intentional. I did nothing for those months. There was a theater and there was my hotel room. That was it. My day off, I did my laundry.

There were only two times that I did anything different. One was on Thanksgiving. I joined some family members at Ronan’s apartment. It was lovely. The other was during rehearsal, on an afternoon off. Ronan and his friend took me to lunch in the park. Those are the only two times.

I didn’t drink coffee. It’s a lot to keep in your head. I just kept to a routine, so that all of those lines and all of those thoughts would remain, I don’t know, placed. I just couldn’t do anything else.

Looking back on it, do you feel that was the only way to achieve your performance?

I don’t know. Other people, I’m sure, they would’ve had a different way. To have the privilege of stepping before an audience and delivering to the best of one’s ability—that’s what actors do. It was so fun being in that theater. Through the wall, we could hear people vocalizing in another play. I love the whole thing.

Patti and I, usually just before the show, we would run through the first scene. She’d come down to my room. And then we would go down and we’d say a little prayer. She’d hug me and she would say, “Okay, let’s have fun.” And we would step out on stage.

The vocal thing that you mentioned, I did find that to be helpful, actually.

Oh, you did?

Yeah. It emerged as my character took over in the last part of the rehearsal. I know this sounds crazy, but the character began to emerge for me.

I asked Jen if I could add a line, which is very unusual for me. But it’s at the end, and I’m talking to God. I said, “Can you give me something to say about the search for meaning?” Because I didn’t want it to be just about the empty house.

Of course, if she had said no, she would’ve known better than I. But I felt I needed to say, “We search for meaning. We look for meaning and then we find it. And then it goes away completely.” So she did put it in, and she told me later that she kept it in for the new publication of the play.

You’ve said that you were debating whether to even return to performing. Has this experience changed that? Is this play the last thing you’ll do, or would you like to do more?

I don’t know. If I were given a part that asked that much of me—a part with an emotional journey of one kind or another—that is rare. Really rare, if you think about it. So yes, I would if that would come along.

Patti needs to be working all the time. She’s touring, because she’s doing her concerts. I think if you have a talent that magnificent and you can sing like that, maybe that talent takes the driver’s seat. Patti was over at my house, and there was a shelf above my books of knitting wool. She just said, “I just have to keep working. I don’t knit.” [laughs] I believe you don’t knit. But I can knit. I can be quiet. I can not see people for long periods. I take walks, I read a lot. I listen to music.

If I look back over all the things I’ve been given to do over my professional lifetime, I think [about] this play and my first movie, Rosemary’s BabyIt gave me a career. People remember that film, thanks to Roman Polanski, they remember that film. So I’m welcomed back, which is a wonderful thing. Now, I don’t know if I’d ever be given another play like that—but I would definitely do another play if it were the right play.

How did it feel to learn you had been nominated for a Tony?

Oh my God. I was washing my hair. It was out of my mind. That was not anything I expected at all. And even Patti early on—who’s got, God knows how many Tony awards and nominations—but early on, she said, “Now, the way our play is scheduled, we can forget about Tonys. Because we will be closed mid-December, and the Tonys aren’t until June.” See, I didn’t know any of this. And I’m like, “Well, I’m not thinking of the Tonys.” This is back in August or something. She said, “Well, our little play will be forgotten by then.” I’m like, “That’s okay.”

But I was just gobsmacked. I started crying, which I don’t even know why. And I started missing my mother, because she was always in my corner. There’s nobody who would’ve been happier or more proud of me than my mom. That would’ve meant so much to me, for her to know that. Maybe she does somehow. And maybe she’s way past caring. But I’m not.