Tyne Daly on Joy of Stage Work and Starring in ‘Brigadoon’ in Pasadena

In the acclaimed revival of “Brigadoon” now playing at Pasadena Playhouse, Tyne Daly is by far the marquee name, as the “Cagney & Lacey” star appears as the Widow Lundie, a role that got a gender switch from the character’s original incarnation as a Mr. Lundie. She’s not on stage a great deal, compared to the romantic leads whose coming-together she helps facilitate in the classic Lerner & Loewe musical-fantasy. But don’t imagine that Daly using her backstage breaks to sneak across the street to browse at Vromans or any other such diversion. She’s attentive even during her time off during the show, even if she can only hear it and not see it from her backstage berth.

“I listen to the play, every night,” Daly says. “I’m very old-fashioned. There’s no room backstage, but they have little stools for me and I can sit and listen to how each scene goes, how each number goes over.” She has just one explanation for this nightly focus on what’s happening even when she’s out of the action: It’s “because I love storytelling.”

Audiences are loving listening to Daly — as well as seeing her, of course — as she affects a Scottish brogue, playing a woman who comes about as close as the town of Brigadoon has to an official leader. The village is idyllic enough that it doesn’t seem to require a government — just a historian, which is an important role when you have to explain to outsiders who accidentally stumble in just how it is that they have landed in a place that only appears out of the mist once every hundred years. It also falls to her to remind the romantic leads about the virtues of love and sacrifice, in a denouement that just about ensures the mist will have made its way into any audience member’s yes.

Variety caught up with Daly midway through the run of the show, which Los Angeles Times critic Charles McNulty said “may be the best local staging of a musical I’ve seen in my 20 years covering the scene for The Times.” Does that mean a Broadway run could appear out of the fog, too? Daly isn’t looking that far ahead; she is about theater being of the moment and not the next step on any ladder, as she explains.

How has your experience been so far with the show?

I understand we’re a hit. My ego is too enormous to never read the reviews, but I get the company to save them until the gig is over. I just find that good reviews or bad reviews damage the work. Either way, you could be seduced or you can be disappointed, and it throws me off my game. Anyway, I’m having a great play, playing with the folks in “Brigadoon” and at that venue, at Pasadena Playhouse. I’ve learned not to say “the Pasadena Playhouse,” because they get very testy. It’s the state house, and it’s been there for a while, and theaters have great vibes in them, you know. I think the energy stays in the walls. Pasadena Playhouse has a lot of good vibes.

The Pasadena Playhouse — sorry, just Pasadena Playhouse — is an anomaly. It feels like a neighborhood theater, yet once you’re inside, you are seeing invariably Broadway-level productions.

Well, but local theater is the point, or it’s supposed to be. When I worked at the Mark Taper, which I did several times, Gordon Davidson was always threatening to make a rep company. I said, “I’m the first in line. Please do it.” Although the town is not designed for theater like other cities are that are older cities. But I loved the speech that was given on opening night about the continuity. In “Brigadoon,” I’ve got a speech about  how we have a historical continuity with this land. And historical continuity with the territory of the theater itself is helpful. It’s full of living people — 68 of them who run this show, and there’s not an AI anywhere! Live musicians, live actors… and all those terrific kids are shoving the furniture around all night as well. There’s nothing that’s mechanized, that isn’t human-driven, which delights me.

The piece itself was rewritten by a colleague of mine with whom I did “Master Class,” Alexandra Silber. She called me up and said, “The Lerner and Loewe estate has assigned me this thing and I’m doing it, and I want you to be part of it.” And I said, “Yes, honey. Let me read it.” I think it’s beautifully done. Alexandra was commissioned by the Lerner and Loewe estate to refresh the book, and if she hadn’t refreshed the book, I wouldn’t have a part. She’s just really smart and a really good actress. She was with us in New York at the Manhattan Theater Club with “Master Class,” whch I also did in London for a while, but she did not come with us to London, and I was sad to lose her. Some Brit had broken her heart, and she didn’t want to go back to London. Anyhow, she’s written the book, and the score remains delightful. Did you know the show, when you saw it?

Yes, but primarily from repeat viewings of the film. It’s been so hard to see stage productions, since it doesn’t get revived often, even though when any of us were growing up, it was a household name and a standard part of community theater. It’s funny that it is so rarely produced, and yet it’s still a recognizable enough name that now on Broadway, there is “Schmigadoon,” and most people will get the reference, even if they’ve never seen a “Brigadoon.”

Right. Well, I’m very grateful that we’re not doing the snarky version. When we went into rehearsal, there was a review of “Schmigadoon” saying it was hilarious and wonderful and marvelous, and I thought, “Oh, dear. We’re in trouble.” But, I think it’s a genuine and interesting and loving story, and I’m hoping there’s still some room for that in the theater. Katie Spelman, the director and choreographer, said, “We’re treating this as a brand new play,” and she was right, and I think it’s worked. I hope so.

What I remember about the movie is that it wasn’t very good. The difference between the movies and the theater is live time and frozen time. Frozen time is a moment that’s frozen; you can look at it again if it was good. But theater is: I’m there, you’re there. You’re not allowed to take its picture or record it. You just have to remember it. And the energy of that is always exciting for me. The actor’s medium is the theater. Movies are a director’s medium, and TV is a producer’s medium where they’re the biggest sensibility that’s going on. But in the theater, you have to turn it over to the live bodies, and play it out in front of the live bodies. You know, I’ve been an Equity member for 65 years, and it’s still exciting.

What is it like for you to dip into theater again and again? Your list of credits on Broadway… it’s not quite Brigadoon, it’s not once every 100 years, but there are gaps in-between. Your first play on Broadway was 1967, and then I think it was another 20 years or so before you came back and had your Tony-winning role in “Gypsy.” The intervals have gotten shorter since then.

Well, that’s good. You know, I came with my young husband and our first baby to California because his career was happening here. He did a play at the Mark Taper Forum, under a series called The New Theater for Now; they were unfinished plays, and the audience was invited to see a play that wasn’t completed yet. The people were lined up around the building, downtown, and I was so excited by that, and so I worked with them. The Broadway credits had to come after I got famous on TV and I could put the asses in the seats. You should forgive the phrase.

A lot of the people that came to the St. James in New York to see “Gypsy” were waiting to see Mary Beth Lacey play Rose, and I had about 15 seconds of the opening number to disabuse them of that idea. But we had toured for 14 cities before we came in, so we were ready. Arthur Laurents and Jule Styne and all those guys wanted us to be ready, mostly because the producers wanted to make their money back on the road first, in case I died the death when I came into New York.

So, the adventures in the theater trade, I like to have whenever it works. Sometimes it’s the other stuff. I never did make a movie career, though I had some fun with Mr. Eastwood [costarring in “The Enforcer”]. But, you know, television… I’m an old lady who’s trying to ply my trade.

When you did “Gypsy,” you said it was a mountain, but, your quote was, “I’m a mountain climber.” Coming into this show, it’s a smaller role, but is there a way in which every one seems like at least a mini-mountain?

It’s a much smaller mountain. But I get to tell the story. It’s pure storytelling. It’s “once upon a time,” where I explain what happened to the mythical village, and the legend thereof. And, yes, it’s fun to do. I listen to the play, every night. I’m very old-fashioned. There’s no room backstage, but they have little stools for me and I can sit and listen to how each scene goes, how each number goes over, because I love storytelling.

So it’s a smaller assignment, but it’s just as nervous-making and exciting, because I’m 40 years older, and so is my brain, and so is my body. At the end of an eight-show week, I’m knackered. But I have the joy of my fellow players and a live band. We have a bigger orchestra on the stage at this Pasadena Playhouse than we did at the St. James Theatre for “Gypsy.” And the conductor is a dream. It’s alive. It’s not a recorded, frozen experience, so it’s just as nervous and just as exciting as ever.

It’s a little thrill for the audience when the curtain opens at the end and we finally see the orchestra, because we’ve gotten so wrapped up in the action, we’ve stopped wondering where the orchestra is. But we know there’s one there somewhere.

I’m not used to having an orchestra in back of me except in concert versions, which I’ve done, with Reprise and Encores and stuff like that. To have the the orchestra in back, and not below and in front of you, is a little different. There are monitors on the rail of the mezzanine so that we, the singers, can get conducted from that. But I’m a little infirm in one eye, so I can’t see Brad up there. But I don’t have a big singing obligation at all. “Gypsy’s” like seven out of the 11 numbers; this is a little smidge. But I’m not jealous, not me, no, no. I’m not jealous of those real singers who can make those sounds —Daniel Yearwood [as Charlie Dalrymple] and Max (von Essen, as Tommy Albright) and Betsy (Morgan, as Fiona MacLaren), they are wonderful. I love talent. I like to be around it. I like to be in the midst of it.

I was never a singer. I trained at the Musical and Dramatic Academy, but I could act like a singer. When I did Feinstein’s in New York, I was pretending. My old producer from “Cagney & Lacey” came; he said, “I see what you’re up to, Daly. You’re pretending to be a singer.” I said, “Yes, you’re right.” But I look forward to my summer job. When I was a child, my parents did summer stock — 10-for-10-week stocks; that’s 10 plays in 10 weeks. You learned a new play every week, and I grew up on that. This is a lot more relaxed schedule than that, but I’m considering it my summer job.

You said that when you were training as actor, everyone had to train to be in musicals, because that was just expected of an actor.

And do you know why? It’s our form. It’s the American form. The Brits have got my boy Bill — Bill Shakespeare. They own that. The Italians have opera, right? The French have Molière, which they celebrate over and over and over again, in rhymed couplets. We have the American musical, and I think we do it the best of anybody in the world. And “Brigadoon” predates “Bye Bye Birdie,” “West Side Story,” “Gypsy,” “Peter Pan,” “Oklahoma!,” “Carousel,” “My Fair Lady,” “Music Man,” “A Little Night Music,” “Annie”… I mean, there’s a long line. And in a way you could make an argument for “Brigadoon” for starting all that. It is so early in the relative history of that kind of narrative musical. And the dances tell part of the story, and the songs tell part of the story. It’s not just a variety act.

This production seems to be serving as a redemption for “Brigadoon.” People have said, “Oh, there were always problems with the book,” or they just remember the movie, which I keep going back to, wanting it to be better than it is.

Tell me your opinion. What went wrong with that movie?

Vicente Minnelli wanted to do it on location, and they ended up on sets, which just don’t ever look like they’re really outdoors, although it almost all takes place outdoors. And the Gene Kelly/Cyd Charisse chemistry isn’t totally working, and I always found Jeff, the supporting character, the alcoholic played by Van Johnson.

Isn’t Happy Anderson wonderful in that role? I think he manages the snark of that character, and then the turn into what’s up with him, why he’s so unhappy. I saw it in the rehearsal period change and morph into something really genuine. I like him a lot, and I think he’s wonderful in the part, and has made that person a person, right, not a cartoon.

Your character, of course, is now the Widow Lundie instead of Mr. Lundie. It might be a stretch to say Brigadoon is now a matriarchalsociety, necessarily — but it sort of tips that way more, a big part of that being changing your character to a woman.

She’s done it in a couple places. Donna Vivino [as Meg Brockie] now is the owner of Brockie’s, not just a little B-girl who’s trying to get laid. And the keeper of the wisdom is pure “once upon a time.” She just tells the story, and that’s what we do for each other. Human beings tell stories to each other about themselves, and they always have, and they always will. … I don’t like to give spoilers… [Warning: slight spoiler ahead.] There’s a minor surprise in my turning up as the barkeep at the end, which is something that I suggested to Alexandra, because I thought it might be a fun bookend. Because the keeper of the wisdom, the one you confess to, is your bartender.

That was your idea, to also play the bartender?

Yeah. If I had time in the quick-change to put on a big red lipstick, I’d do it, but then I can’t get out of it fast enough to show up again as the widow at the end. Oh, you should see the fast changes. … This is something that you might not know. Do you know there’s only one way to do a fast change?

No, what’s that?

Slowly. Slowly. It’s the panic of saying, “No, no, no…” You have to have the steps. You have to do them very slowly so that you can show up not sweating.

I want to mention all my colleagues because I think they’re all so wonderful. Betsy is just a dreamy lady, and Mr. von Essen and Daniel Yearwood… Oh, I’m in love with my company.

Of course people are wondering, could this go to Broadway? Do you have any designs or hopes for that?

I don’t play that game. Every play that goes anywhere, everybody says, “Are you guys gonna move?” I have no idea. That’s a whole other department. I’m sure that Alexandra has hopes. I’m sure that Ms. Spelman has hopes. But I don’t know that that’s the most important thing that happens to a play. I think the most important thing is that it gets produced around and is of service. To have it be at Pasadena, which is you say, a source of local pride, that’s what it’s for. That’s what Gordon Davidson wanted out of the Mark Taper, to be of service to this L.A. community, and he did it for a lot of years. So that’s in the lap of the gods, my friend.

What resonates about “Brigadoon” in 2026? Obviously the changes to the book are substantial, but you aren’t sitting there thinking that it’s been radicalized for current times. Some people think, oh, the show’s about true romance, true love conquering it all. And then other people see more of the sacrifice angle, like, would you give it all up for what’s important? And then there’s just the theme of the town sort of separating itself from violence and the outside world. So there’s a lot of themes going on, but are there any of them that make it relevant to you?

You just answered your own question. It’s about everything. It’s about enchantment. It’s about a fairy tale. It’s about a legend. It’s about a society that’s been under the gun because the British are coming. “The British are coming” is what they’re talking about — about an empire trying to erase the history of a smaller and more vulnerable community. You know, it means to be about a lot of things, and I think it is in the form of a musical with dancing and singing and carrying on. What’s the matter with that? What do you got against true love, Willman?

Not a thing. Not a thing…

What have you got against love conquers all? What have you got against loss and grief and trying to repair your heart when it’s been broken? I find very little to vote against. Especially kindness. You know, the Widow Lundie underlines it’s not about fear and isolation. I was worried about that, and I think ultimately she has made it more inclusive, in terms of what the human beings feel.

Those songs, God, just kill you. Maybe my favorite song in the show is “There But for You Go I,” which just gives me the chills. And there’s a lot of fun songs. But “There But For You Go I” is a wondrous thought, and I don’t think that nobody feels that anymore… I mean, is it a sentimental piece? I don’t think so. My old mommy used to say there’s a big difference between sentiment and sentimentality. Real sentiments are wow, I believe in them. Sentimentality is a messy, diminished area. I don’t think it’s about sentimentality.

The romantic leads are a little older in this show than they were before, in their 40s instead of their 20s.

They’re not kids. They’ve got a little mileage on them.

And Betsy is just so good with what has often been played as kind of an ingenue and she seems more sort of knowing…

The character’s opening statement is, “I’m willing to wait until I feel it’s the real thing.” “I don’t wanna just get married, I wanna be married.” How’s that for a thought? It’s like, “I don’t want to just have a baby, I’d like to raise a child.” There’s a difference, in my humble opinion.

You are such a integral part of the show, with your character now setting the scene by appearing at the very top of the action now, which is another change.

Oh, the opening thing? This is an exercise called: How to kill an opening hand. The greeting hand, for the one (famous actor) we know, or have seen for long years and we’re so grateful for all their past efforts, blah, blah, blah. That kills a show. It reminds the audience that you’re in the theater watching actors. If we can kill the opening hand, we have won. Because all she does [in the added introductory speech] is set the scene in eight sentences. “Let me tell you a story. Here we are, we’re in Scotland. You got that, guys? And let me tell you what happened there.” That’s all that intro is. But it’s fun because…

You know what I love in the theater? There’s a lot of laughs for us. A lot of people love laughs. They count laughs. I love the silence. I love when I can say, “I’m controlling your breathing now, kiddos. Don’t breathe… Now you can breathe again.” And that means that you’ve got a whole bunch of strangers sitting and listening all together. That’s a communal activity that I don’t think is replaceable.

So you feel like that works at the beginning, so that it’s not, “Oh, here’s Tyne Daly, our star,” but that you’re able to take control of that…

Well, control is a weird idea too. But it’s about, are you willing to listen? And after you’ve listened, what do you think? That’s all. It’s pretty simple. I don’t think we’ll stop telling each other stories, and stories that happen in the same room. The theater’s great, you know. You can say, “Listen, come back on Thursday, I’ll be better.” And there’s no proving it. You’re not allowed to freeze it in time and look at it again. Sorry, too bad! Nope, not allowed. That’s what magnetizes me back to the theater.

Does enjoying doing this affect what you want to do next? You have gone a long time between theater stints before.

Well, now… Listen, I’m 80, baby. What do you call long? Two years? Four years? 28 minutes? [Which is the amount of time we’ve been on the call.] What is a long time? It’s a relative, relative idea. I’m only one person, and I do what I can. And what’s happening next, I have no idea. That’s the great thing. That’s called, ” You got something for me? Some place I can be of service? Surprise me, y’all.” I don’t want to predict it. That’s what we used to call, in the old neighborhood, a mug’s game. What’s gonna be next? Take a chance.

“Brigadoon” runs through June 14 at Pasadena Playhouse. For tickets, contact: (626) 356-7529 or PasadenaPlayhouse.org.