J. Smith-Cameron suggested that we meet for martinis at Bemelmans, the gilded piano bar at the Carlyle Hotel. I couldn’t have chosen better. The place, very old-school and very New York, seemed perfectly suited to Smith-Cameron, who has long been a fixture of the city’s theatre scene and who radiates effortless elegance. (She also smells divine, a trail of Narciso Rodriguez for Her eau de parfum.) Smith-Cameron has lately gained an avid following for her role as Gerri Kellman, the interim C.E.O. (and resident Mrs. Robinson) on “Succession,” the HBO series about a warring New York media family, which is midway through its third season. But few people in the cast are as dedicated to the city as Smith-Cameron, who moved to the West Village from the South in the nineteen-eighties to pursue a life on the stage. With a gift for wacky comic timing and the husky voice of a classic screwball heroine, Smith-Cameron became a stalwart player on the Broadway and Off Broadway scenes—a “bread-and-butter actor,” as she put it. In 1998, she won an Obie Award for her commanding performance as a shifty, melodramatic con artist in Douglas Carter Beane’s play “As Bees in Honey Drown.” Two years later, she married the celebrated playwright turned filmmaker Kenneth Lonergan, and together they became a kind of theatrical power couple, holding court at one of their favorite local haunts, the now defunct Café Loup.
For many years, Smith-Cameron, who is originally from Louisville, Kentucky, and still has a hint of a Southern drawl, operated under the radar. She liked it that way. Her dream, she told me, was merely to keep the lights on with stimulating stage work. She did act occasionally in films, namely in Lonergan’s three-hour 2011 epic “Margaret,” in which she is magnetic as the preening actress mother of Anna Paquin’s protagonist. But it was not until “Succession,” a bona fide sensation, that Smith-Cameron found herself famous beyond her Broadway bubble. Suddenly, hundreds of strangers were responding to her tweets—Smith-Cameron is very active on Twitter—with effusive commentary about her onscreen flirtations with the much younger Roman Roy, the horny scallywag played by Kieran Culkin. At the age of sixty-four, Smith-Cameron finds herself swarmed with “shippers” who make gushing fan art about her character’s sex life. She is loving every minute of it.
Full disclosure: our rendezvous at Bemelmans didn’t feel like a standard professional journalistic encounter. The martinis were ice-cold, and our waiter kept bringing us toasted cheese crackers. A woman nearby had brought along her two Shih Tzus, which wore fussy hair ribbons and sat beside her as she ate a slice of cake. I floated out of the restaurant tipsy from the drinks and the good company. When I checked Twitter on my way home, I saw that Smith-Cameron had tweeted, “i just had the greatest first date ever.” The feeling was mutual. Our conversation from that night—and on a follow-up call—has been condensed and edited. (Warning: mild Episode 5 spoilers ahead.)
How did you know you wanted to do “Succession”?
I had seen “In the Loop,” so I knew Jesse Armstrong’s name. Then, when I had the audition, they sent me a link for the pilot so I could get the tone of it, but I couldn’t get it to play! So I was, like, Fuck it. Doug Aibel, who has cast my husband’s films, was the casting director at that point. He cast “Margaret.” Well, I mean, Kenny had cast me in “Margaret,” but, you know. I guess it was perhaps Doug’s idea to see some women for that part, because it was written for a man. It was Jerry, J-E-R-R-Y, in the scripts that I read. The first scene that we shot was between Kieran and me, but it was supposed to be a guy, so the crude language in it was just the way they always talk to each other. I tried to do this thing where I straddled being unflappable but being grossed out. You know how Gerri is always wincing and rolling her eyes and pretending she didn't hear? But she’s not clutching her pearls. It’s so crazy, because I’m such a dizzy dame. Like, I wouldn’t be a good Gerri in real life.
What’s a “dizzy dame”?
I’m kind of daffy. You know, like Carole Lombard.
Have you always been blond?
Oh, no, I’m really a dark brunette. I have a brunette personality.
Did you always like old movies growing up?
I didn’t watch much TV. I just read books. I lived mostly in South Carolina. I was born in Kentucky but we moved around the Southeast. We settled down in Greenville, South Carolina, for a long time. There weren’t VCRs and stuff like that yet. I have a big sister who I’m really close with, and she introduced me to cultural things a lot. She would introduce me to Broadway musicals—like, we put on the album, the LP, of “Oliver!” and would sing all the numbers. We watched old movies on Saturday mornings. And then I’ve just always loved them as an adult. I discovered Preston Sturges in my early adulthood.
Oh! I just saw “Sullivan’s Travels” for the first time this summer.
I’m so jealous of you that you just saw it! Veronica Lake was pregnant when she made it—did you know that? And I’ve always been in love with Joel McCrea. You know how he is so cranky? I married a cranky guy! I mean, O.K., that’s an understatement. He’s very cranky. When we met, we had a little snappy exchange.
Why were you snapping at each other?
It was at this evening of short, one-scene plays. Kenny presented the seed that became the movie “You Can Count on Me.” It was by far the best play. And he was also in a different play, being very adorable and very cranky. So I was, like, Who is that cranky guy? Is he gay or married or something? Because I just felt like I knew everyone in the theatre world at that time. I found out that he’d written the really good play of the evening. Then I passed him in a stairwell, and he was carrying his bike. I said, “Your play reminds me of a William Inge play or something.” And he was, like, “I don’t really know who he is.” And I said, “Did you go to college?” And he went, “Yes!” And I said, “Well, I didn’t, and I know who William Inge is!” And that was the whole first exchange. Right out of a Preston Sturges film.
What was your first big acting gig?
I got cast to do a whole season of regional theatre in Miami, in Coconut Grove. There’s a beautiful old theatre there that I think is empty now. I got hired to play all the ingénue roles when I was twenty. I did Ophelia, “Agnes of God,” “A Christmas Carol.” It was a real paycheck, and I joined Actors’ Equity.
Is that when you started going by J.?
My birth name is Jeannie Smith. When I went away to college, that suddenly felt very little-girlish to me. When I signed up for the auditions, I just put “J,” period, Smith. It became kind of a mystique, because they would call me to read any part—like, even the grandpa part. It was like being named John Doe or something! When I joined Equity, though, I couldn’t be just “J. Smith,” because there were too many people I could be mistaken for. So I took a family name, which is Cameron, and I was “J. Cameron” for a while. Then I made a Victor Nuñez movie, and it went to the New York Film Festival. He put “J. Smith-Cameron” in the program. He kind of made it up. I kept thinking I would sort it out later, because it sounded a little pretentious. At the time, I felt like a phony Brit in an Agatha Christie drama, like, “Oh, Lady Smith-Cameron.”
Did you ever join a theatre company in New York City?
I was in a short-lived but fantastic theatre company called Drama Department. It only existed for a few years. I did this play with them called “As Bees in Honey Drown,” by Douglas Carter Beane. This was his first big hit. I played a con artist who made up her personality from watching old movies. Her persona is made up of Rosalind Russell, Liza Minnelli, Audrey Hepburn, and Tallulah Bankhead. That was a formative experience. Then I was in “Lend Me a Tenor,” which was a hit, so I got stuck in it. Most plays don’t run on and on unless they’re musicals. I was in it for a year, which for a straight play is...Well, you lose your mind several times.
It does feel like doing eight shows a week is a quick way to lose your sanity. You must have great backstage horror stories.
My friend Patricia Elliott, an actress I did “The Voice of the Turtle” with, told me a great story. She was in “A Little Night Music” when that was the hot ticket. And she looked out, and there was Richard Burton in the house seats, looking at her like a goddess. She was kind of flirting with Richard in the footlights. And then it came to her verse, and she completely blanked. When she got offstage, completely weirded out, her dresser smacked her across the face!
Did you ever have something go wrong like that, where you forgot your lines?
Oh, many times. When you’re in a long run of something, it’s a bit like you’re on a tour of duty. You have horrible shows. “As Bees in Honey Drown” is this really frothy comedy, and was really successful. But there was one night when no one laughed at all. It was surreal, and we were all flipping out, but we trundled along. It’s kind of good, because then you’re not trying for the laugh and you’re just trying to play the truth of the moment. But also you’re humiliated.