Philip Quast has just finished a lunchtime bowl of avocados and almonds and is rummaging in a drawer looking for his house keys. “God, look at my hair!” he says, catching a glance in the mirror. “I never brush my hair! Let’s go.”
The 67-year-old actor is out the door bent on giving me a whirlwind tour of the streets of Redfern, where he has lived for more than 35 years. “It’s fascinating, so eclectic,” he says, pointing out the oldest houses (some built by convict labour), the public swimming pool tucked into a grassy hill, a Japanese fusion restaurant, street art by First Nations artists and the community vegetable garden in Reconciliation Park.
To musical theatre fans, Quast is best known for playing the villainous Javert in Les Miserables in the original 1987 Australian production. As a young actor from Tamworth who trained at Nida, it was his big break. He eventually played the role on London’s West End (I saw him there, in 1989, from a seat in the nosebleeds). He bought his brick Victorian terrace during that time (Redfern wasn’t as ritzy back then) and has stayed put ever since.
Quast has had a rich and varied career on stage and in TV and film. He has worked with directors including Sam Mendes and Broadway composer Stephen Sondheim. He has won three prestigious Olivier awards.
But most Australians would know Quast best for his 17 years on the ABC’s Play School.
When I ask if it’s really him singing “There’s a Bear in There”, the iconic theme song for Play School, he bursts into song by way of proof. His rich baritone voice lovingly enunciating each word. I actually get goose bumps. It’s intense.
“People recognise my voice, but not me because I’m older and fatter and all that stuff, not that I care,” says Quast as we walk along Redfern’s main drag. Back in the Play School days, he used to be swamped by fans. “My kids were so embarrassed when I picked them up from school,” says Quast, smiling.
Quast is a self-deprecating, warm conversationalist who listens as much as he talks. He credits Play School as his most important role, and for teaching him the most about the craft of acting. “Things would go wrong, and we had to play our way out of trouble,” he says. “I learned to play without fear, and to be honest in performance, because we might forget a line or which camera to look to and the kids would pick up on that. Now, I like to think I am fearless in a rehearsal room.”
As we walk, he chats about his theatre career performing in some of the greatest plays ever written – Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, Chekhov’s The Seagull and The Cherry Orchard, Shakespeare’s Macbeth – and much-loved musicals, Les Miserables, South Pacific and Sweeney Todd. “Music has the ability to change lives in a way that other shows don’t,” he says. “Songs are so immediate, they go straight to the heart.”
But musical theatre can be a lonely life, he says, and harder than you might imagine. “People hear my voice and think it just comes out easily, but I work my butt off. I don’t go out drinking and I always come home after a show – and I’m still married! When the kids got a cold, I had to try not to get sick so I could go on stage eight shows a week. Musicals have been a curse and a great love.”
Quast and his wife, Carol, have been married for 43 years. She is not in show business. Carol studied to be a drama teacher and then had a career in academia, teaching others to be teachers. She is now a storyteller at Story Factory in Sydney, a creative centre for people from under-resourced communities. Together, they raised three sons during his busy international career.
“I met the love of my life when I was young and we grew up together,” he says fondly. “My career and us growing together as a couple happened at the same time, and as a family we wanted to stay living together. Carol would have to pack up the house and bring the children [to wherever his plays were]; she had to do that so often.”
He keeps walking and talking, pointing out the yoga studio he went to before he had a knee replacement, and a convenience store that sells American sweets that you can’t get anywhere else in Sydney. “I am naturally loquacious, so stop me if you have a question,” he says.
Alright. So why are you retiring from the stage? Many actors work beyond 67. Don’t you want to do King Lear?
“My body is tired,” he says, slowing his pace. “I’m not sure I have a lot more to say to young audiences and I just want to do some more fishing.”
There is no sign of tiredness in Quast’s performance in Cost of Living at Sydney Theatre Company. It’s a slice-of-life drama about human connection in an increasingly inaccessible world. He plays a lonely trucker who is caring for his ex-partner who, after an accident, now uses a wheelchair. On stage, he looks remarkably relaxed and at ease, a master of his craft.
He says he still wants to work in TV and film, and he plans to continue teaching acting. But he no longer wants to do plays or musicals, with the gruelling eight-shows-a-week schedule.
“I don’t think I have anything left to say in theatre, it’s not my turn any more,” he says acknowledging that younger voices are coming through in theatre and screen that speak of something that is more representational of what Australia is, “and at long last”.
“There’s a palpable anger among young people that we fucked the world up,” he says, adding even teaching is a challenge. “I am seen as an older man with privilege and power, and that brings mistrust. But I have no ego, I am not a victim. I just want to pass on my knowledge as best I can.”
“I’m in a play now where it’s been a joy seeing actors who are relishing the chance to play characters of diversity who are not just inspirational and token, but flawed and three-dimensional.
“I have loved seeing more diversity in the actor training at Nida,” says Quast, who teaches at the prestigious drama school. “Actors need to be trained and new writers, especially, have to be given a voice and the work might not be excellent for a while, but it will get better and better. We need to be brave in supporting this new work.”
Back at his home he points out the watercolour paintings on the walls. “I’m a dabbler,” he says.
When Cost of Living closes, Quast plans to go “sustainable fishing” before he prepares for a season of cabaret in London, where he will sing songs from the musicals he has loved and tell stories of his life as an actor.
“I have a tinny down the coast and I fish for bonito and tailor and I smoke them and pickle them,” he says with a glint in his eye. “I love being out at sea and I have no plans after that.”
Philip Quast is performing in Cost of Living at Sydney Theatre Company until 18 August
