30 Minutes Alone with Treva Etienne

The "30 Minutes Alone" interviews give inspiring insights into the real-life journeys of successful filmmakers, writers, actors, and other industry professionals from around the world.   

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A native of London, England, Treva Etienne has worked as an actor/writer/producer/director in the UK and Hollywood for thirty years, featuring in Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, Black Hawk Down, Eyes Wide Shut, and Terminator Salvation and producing/directing the hit BBC comedy series, The Real McCoy. Currently, he stars as Dingaan Botha in the Steven Spielberg-produced hit TNT sci-fi television series Falling Skies. 

You’ve spent the last few years living and working in L.A. but you grew up in London. What was it like to grow up British?

I was always kind of a curious kid and I really didn’t know much about acting. I grew up in Notting Hill which was very colourful and vibrant. A lot of minorities from the Caribbean, Africa and India had moved in after World War II to rebuild England after Hitler destroyed huge parts of it. My family, originally from Dominica, was part of a second or third wave of immigrants. There was a tremendous amount of racism and minorities being murdered as the nation adjusted to the fact that all these black and Indian immigrants who had come to repair England were here to stay. And they were having kids, and their kids were having kids, at a time when England was going through a period of tremendous post-war grief for those who had died. It was quite a tragic and vicious time.

When did you get your first inkling that you might want to get into the entertainment business, and acting specifically?

In England, you only get two or three good months where you can go outside, and the rest of the time it’s raining. Plus, as I mentioned, it wasn’t particularly safe to let kids from minorities play outdoors so we tended to spend a lot of time indoors. I would draw and write and make up stories in my early years. I also watched a lot of cartoons, westerns, sitcoms, and gangster movies, all American. The gangster movies especially appealed to me with actors like James Cagney and Humphrey Bogart, because they spoke in a very fast, machine-gun way. I had a very severe stutter as a boy and started copying them unconsciously, walking around the house and driving everyone crazy talking like an American gangster, but it helped me overcome my stutter. I think I was about seven or eight when acting came into the picture.

What sparked your interest in acting?

We moved around a lot and at my fourth school, they were doing Sinbad the Sailor as a Christmas play. I played one of the king’s servants. It was the first time I’d ever been on stage. The following year I was in The Hobbit where I played the front end of the dragon Smaug opposite an Indian Bilbo Baggins. I didn’t do much acting for a good few years after that, but I was always thinking about it, always curious about how I could make that work. And that curiosity became more of a determination that, hey, I could do this.

When did things get serious?

When I went to high school, I took a theatre class and had a very encouraging teacher. I also joined several London youth theatres, including the Anna Scher Theatre School. She was a phenomenal teacher, an amazing lady. A lot of the kids who went to her school went on to become famous actors in television, stage, and film, working class kids from different backgrounds and cultures. I was with her for about two or three years, and in that time I also became more confident as a writer. In my time with her, I wrote eleven plays, two of which won a few awards. When TV or film productions were looking for child actors, they’d come to Anna’s school first. Her school is still running today. I love her, she’s definitely one of my heroes. 

Did your involvement in acting extend beyond school?
After that, I joined different youth theatres and my confidence continued to grow, my stutter slowly losing its edge on me. Then came opportunities to participate in fringe and pub theatre, as well as the Edinburgh International Theatre Festival and theatre tours in Amsterdam, which led to bit parts and then bigger roles in television and eventually my first agent. It kind of snowballed, really. I played Macbeth at the National Theatre and went to the US to join an American Shakespeare company where I did Measure for Measure. Then back in the UK, a fellow actor and I started a theatre company where we taught inner-city kids and wrote plays for them to perform. Kind of a spin-off from all the things I’d learned with Anna Scher. A lot of those kids went on to become successful actors as well. I was only 16 at the time, but it was a kind of giving back. It was also a chance to develop my craft as a writer, as an actor, as a producer and director, dipping my toes into those areas without any real training, but just giving myself permission to try. Meanwhile, the projects became more ambitious. It was a great learning experience.

It sounds like your theatre experiences have always contained a strong social element.

For about seven years, we had a theatre company called Afro-Sax. We were “Saxons” because we were English, but we put the “Afro” in front to show our cultural identity. We had a lot of success because it was a time when you could get substantial financial support from the British Arts Council, who were eager to get more arts events into the poorer areas of London. We were at the forefront of that movement, encouraging kids to stay off the streets, stay away from crime, and typical things that teenagers do. Give them an outlet where they could channel their creativity. And as with Anna Scher's school, those kids moved into television sitcoms, movies like Guy Richie’s Snatch, and may became successful musicians. I’d love to do a documentary one day about all the people who came through our door and how they each found their own success. 

You talk about the British Arts Council’s support for community-based theatre initiatives as happening in “those days”. I get the sense that ended at some point.

Everything changed in the early nineties. Margaret Thatcher had laid down a lot of new rules about how she wanted to spend money, and the arts were one of the first things to get chopped. Budgets were cut, money was focused on a few big theatre companies, and all the smaller companies which had been doing so much for their communities, slipped like dominoes into the abyss. Now there’s nowhere for the kids to go, few outlet to develop their talents, and they’re back out on the streets. Who knows how many great actors and directors never realized their potential for lack of a champion? It’s a very tragic thing.

Champions, I like that. Every young artist needs someone in their corner.

I was very fortunate to have people in my life who saw something in me that they wanted to support. Teachers, directors, fellow writers, people I’m in touch with still to this day. They believed I could go all that way, that if I just kept working hard, I could do it.

Do you remember any specific advice you were given?

I met an actor at a party once who was in a big soap opera at the time called Brookside. He said something really key to me, something I share with other actors whenever I talk to them. He told me, just remember, Treva, you may be the greatest actor of your generation and still die an unknown. He reminded me that there were many great actors in the days of Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud, Marlon Brando, some of whom were as good or better, but that there was only room for one. The media and studio system simply chose them instead of others. That really stuck with me. It humanized my entire journey as an actor, imbued it with a sense of gratitude. In our industry, especially at a certain level, actors get spoiled. So many things are done for you and given to you, it’s difficult to keep your heart centered because your ego is constantly telling you something else. False messages about yourself supported by false people for false reasons. So his advice was really important.   

What were your first big break-out roles?

I was 21 when I became a series regular on a hit show about firefighters called London’s Burning. I did that for three and a half years, then left and started my own production company, Crown Ten Productions, again focused on working with kids in schools. We also took part in producing panel discussions at the annual Edinburgh TV Festival among other things. At age 27, I became involved with BBC’s comedy series, The Real McCoy, which was essentially Britain’s answer to In Living Color. That was my first mainstream, nationally-televised work as a producer-director. I joined as associate producer, primarily because of the work I’d done with my production company in the years before, but eventually also wrote and directed comedy sketches. So within a relatively short time, I became a qualified BBC producer and trained director. I also had a chance to work with the great black actor Norman Beaton, who was like our James Earl Jones or Sidney Poitier, on two of episodes of his Channel 4 comedy show, Desmond’s. He was an amazing man. Bill Cosby later invited Norman to star in a couple episodes of The Cosby Show. At the same time, I found myself working alongside a lot of actors who had gone through the Afro-Sax companies.

That must have felt good.

Yeah, there was a lot of pride in that. 

What became of The Real McCoy?

In 1995, the BBC cancelled the show. They never really gave us a reason, they just said it was time for a change, which didn’t make a lot of sense given that the BBC was famous for carrying shows for years. And the show was a big hit. But still wanting to direct, I turned my attention to making two original short films through my new production company Keylight Films, Driving Miss Crazy (winner of an HBO Best Short Film Award) and A Woman Scorned.

Talk about your experience as an independent filmmaker.

Right after The Real McCoy, I got a lead role in a Swiss action film, but eleven days into shooting, the production ground to a halt. Shortly afterward, however, while I was attending a workshop at a conference in Strasbourg as a BBC panelist, the Swiss film's producer told me he still had a fridge full of 16MM film stock and would I like to have it? I already had the idea that I’d like to make a short film so I said I’d love to, and he Fed-Exed it to me. So all we had left to do was hire cameras and crew, and I knew I could ask people for favours and we could do it on a weekend and use my flat as our location. So I wrote Driving Miss Crazy and found the wonderful actress, Diane Parish, but on the day before we were supposed to shoot, my investor fell through. So I phoned Diane to break the news, and she said, I’ll give you a thousand pounds. Which was so wonderful of her, but I still needed twenty-five hundred to make the film. Then I remembered a story about Spike Lee making a list of everyone he knew back when he was getting ready to shoot She’s Gotta Have It. So I made my list and phoned everyone, told them what had happened, and promised to pay them all back if they fronted me the cash. I just kept calling, not stopping to count, and after two hours I had raised eight thousand pounds. I checked with the company insuring our equipment, found out we were covered for a month, and decided to do two films.

Besides now having more than enough money to make Driving Miss Crazy, what made you decide to make two movies instead of one?

I’d watched enough short films that I knew if you make one film, it labels you forever. But if you do two, especially that are very different, people see you have a creative range. And I thought, when am I going to get the opportunity again to make another one? Especially since I already had the equipment and all these rolls of film? So we made A Woman Scorned as well. And as a result of another acting job I got shortly afterward for the award-winning BBC show Holding On, I was able to repay everyone. Sadly, I couldn't afford the editing process and had to sit on both films for the next two years.

Sounds like the years between 1995 and 1998 were a bit dry as far as acting went. Apart from making your two shorts, how else did you keep the creative juices flowing?

A friend asked me to direct a talk show pilot which was truly a great experience. Then I was given an opportunity to sit on the UK Film Council, set up by Tony Blair to explore how the British film industry could be made more international in its appeal and sell the best of what Britain had to offer. I suggested you couldn’t really do that unless you included the minorities that had made Britain. Indian, African, Caribbean, Irish, Scottish, Welsh, Jewish, Mediterranean - the country was full of minorities who should be able to participate as well. So I wrote a paper called “Diversity in British Film”, which emphasized the role of minorities in the development of British cinema from the 1930s forward. Individuals like Alexander Korda, a Hungarian Jew who had fled Nazi persecution, started a prominent production company called London Films, and brought home the nation’s first Oscar for The Private Life of Henry the 8th, starring Charles Laughton. Meanwhile, I came out of the acting abyss with a stint as a series regular on a sci-fi show called The Last Train. Those were crazy days. I’d be on set all day then go back to my hotel to research documents for my government report. Then after The Last Train ended, I fell back into the abyss and drove an olive delivery van for two years.

Whatever happened to Driving Miss Crazy and A Woman Scorned?

We eventually finished them and they both aired on UK network television, first on Channel 4, then on the BBC. After that, I was invited to show Driving Miss Crazy at a film festival in Acapulco, where it won the award for Best Film. The prize was an opportunity to work at HBO as a trainee director, which was all very exciting because it felt like real recognition. I even got a letter from Chris Smith, former British Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport, congratulating me for it. I thought this was it, this was my chance to finally move into feature film work, and in America where there appeared to be more opportunities for black actors and directors. Unfortunately the HBO opportunity never materialized. 

And now, after working for the BBC, writing reports for the British government, and being promised a directing gig at HBO, you find yourself behind the wheel of an olive truck. 

Yes, it was all a bit surreal, really. To keep my spirits up, I just took it all as a cosmic joke. And then out of the blue, my agent called me and told me I had gotten a part I’d auditioned for several months earlier in a film Ridley Scott was making called Black Hawk Down.

You must have been elated to get a chance to work with the director of Alien and Gladiator.

Yes, but when I showed up in Morocco, one of the producers told me I wasn’t the guy they wanted. Someone had made a mistake and mixed up the actors’ photographs.

Another cosmic joke?

When he told me, I just sat back and laughed. It’s all I could do. Because I’d come through so many ups and down at that point. It had to be another cosmic joke! But he was so impressed with how I took it that he and Ridley figured out a way to put me in the movie anyway. He said, you don’t take life too seriously, do you? And I said, no, my life is a sitcom. (Actually, it had been a sitcom ever since I took speech lessons from James Cagney movies back in the day.) And he liked that energy and I got the part. And that later led to a meeting with Jerry Bruckheimer, which in turn led to parts in Pirates of the Caribbean and Bad Boys 2. 

Who could have predicted that?
It’s been a very crazy, interesting journey.

So you’ve had to stay open to whatever life throws you.

I've come to view every meeting I have with someone - wherever it is, whatever the circumstances - as an opportunity, a turning point. I keep myself open to the luck of the moment. That’s my relationship with the universe as it throws me one cosmic joke after another. That’s how life happens, that's how we meet the people we end up marrying, the people who become our friends. Chance encounters, serendipity, whatever you want to call it. I call them cosmic jokes because they elevate my sense of humour above any feelings of despair. If I’m wearing a suit on the way to an audition and a car drives by and splashes me, I think “cosmic joke!” I was supposed to go to this audition wet. And it keeps me from getting depressed by the expectation that I was supposed to show up dry. I decided early on that I wasn't going to get depressed, just occasionally frustrated. Maybe that came out of my stuttering as a boy. But I just decided I wasn’t going to judge or get mad, not see things as his fault or her fault, but rather as cosmic. Then it's just a matter of figuring out how to adapt while expressing gratitude for whatever comes.

And now you’re in North America, playing Dingaan Botha in TNT’s Falling Skies. What has that part of the journey been like?

Arriving in America with ninety pounds in your pocket is an extreme way to start a Hollywood career, leaving my daughter in England, telling her I’ll be back in two weeks if it doesn’t work. But I just trusted my instincts. It’s the only way I know how. If I want something enough, I go after it, that’s it. I try to honour what’s inside me. Most people move or don’t move out of fear. Few people make choices out of blissful joy. But that’s the way I’ve always tried to act, from my early days with Anna Scher to today, as “tumor-free” as possible. Look, the only real freedom we have is within ourselves. If ego is in the driver’s seat, and fear is giving directions to the ego, you’re going to hit a brick wall. I mean, we all need a bit of ego to step out there and do what we do and present a certain part of ourselves, but if we can balance the ego with humility, then we can be a source of generosity and inspiration. We can be brave and act bravely and honour what’s inside us.   

If you could give aspiring actors one piece of advice, what would it be?

Don’t give up on your dream. Listen to yourself first. And trust cosmic jokes. Trust life, because it always knows better. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, life throws you another cosmic joke. So take it as it comes. Always remember, acting isn’t our real work, life is. So there’s no shame if you’re a big actor, and you have to take a step back and drive an olive truck to feed your child before you can move forward again. Learn to love patience. See her as an angel saying, “Don’t worry, it will happen - just not yet.”