By Joy Tanner
(16-minute read)
Spoiler alert! Deb McGrath, 70, wins award.
Deb McGrath and I recently spent three, very fast hours together. We came to the conclusion that former U.S. Vice President Dick Cheney could potentially be an evil automaton (“is that really you in the Oval office with George W.?!), that if she were single, she just might Dance in the Dark with Bruce Springsteen (get in line) and that the power of laughter, particularly through improvisation, is a much needed tool for dislocating these very troubling times. She is a petite powerhouse, a gracious hostess and a sublime storyteller. I am greeted at the door by her husband Colin [Mochrie] who just happens to be ACTRA Toronto’s 2010 Award of Excellence recipient. They are the only ACTRA couple to have been bestowed this prestigious award. Classical music is blasting in the background and Deb announces, “I’ve showered, but I don’t have any makeup on. We’re not doing pictures now, are we?” No photos today, and she looks great sans makeup. Hugs are exchanged and then she jumps right into, “We just finished recording a radio spot for PRO CANADA, which aired on CNN!” I have barely removed my coat as she continues, “Haley Wickenheiser (former Canadian Olympic hockey player and Toronto Maple Leafs Assistant GM), she’s amazing! We recorded behind her. They are interviewing Rick Mercer, Ron James and Scott Thompson for this campaign.” Heavy hitters in our industry. Did I mention that Deb is incredibly politically astute?
Her words tumble out of her like rapids. “I think I’m in shock [over the current geo-political landscape].” Colin will go away [on comedy gigs] and he’ll say, “I miss you…. I miss you yelling at the papers.” We laugh a lot in this house. Colin and I do bits for each other. I love this image as we settle into the interview. She makes tea for me, “Chai? I discovered this for my mum.” It is apparent throughout our conversations that her family is a priority and their names are peppered throughout the discussion. One cannot have Deb without her family.
She pours milk into her grandmother’s Depression glass creamer and offers it to me. The conversation shifts and I ask about the role of self-care while she navigates the current chaos. “We first make sure that we are watching and are involved in positive stuff [on various media outlets]. It’s putting the mask on yourself first.” We agree it’s been a rough five years and return to the significance of the performer during times of strife. Addressing the generosity of her sibling entertainers, she is emphatic, “And when the plague hit, ALL artists stepped up. The comedy community, the improvising community, two weeks into it, it was like, ‘Let’s do a fundraiser, let’s do a show.’ We were doing Zoom shows for no money. We were reaching out to people who needed a laugh. Comedy is an incredible healer. And the community is incredibly generous.” She goes on to list an arm’s length of examples.
In spite of this, “Artists are taken for granted in terms of what they do. I will go so far as to say, the longevity, the beauty, the laughter, the distraction…” Her voice trails off, “Yeah, I think artists are so often dismissed. I’ve never quite understood it. Even when the L.A. wildfires happened, and Canada was down there helping.” She addresses the misperception that most people have: that all actors are wealthy. “But isn’t that what we want? To make a good living, entertaining?” Speaking to the previous misconceptions, she responds, “Believe me, the donations that are going to underrepresented communities are coming from wealthy actors.” Again, she highlights artists’ generosity. But things spill over, “When Colin would speak up online, people would say, ‘Stick to comedy.’ And yet, is he not a citizen, does he not vote?” She brings up a great point. The entanglement of social media and the inability for many to separate the artist from the activist; this becomes a blurred and often hostile line.
Our conversation shifts to Little Mosque on the Prairie, the CBC series that ran for six seasons from 2006 to 2011. I ask her how it shifted the zeitgeist in Canada. “I was extremely proud to be in that show. As far as the political aspect? Oh my God, there was a huge impact. That we dared to show Muslims and brown people as real humans with humour and shenanigans and problems with their teenage daughters …” Deb recounts a story about a U.S. press conference that went sideways, highlighting the xenophobia that was so prevalent. She notes that there were talks of a U.S. spinoff that, not surprisingly, never got off the ground. “So many people talked to me about how much they loved that show.” She notes that Mosque helped pave the way for Sort Of “in its brilliance for the trans and South Asian experience as well.” She continues, “I may be overemphasizing, but I think it opened people’s eyes; people who thought that ‘burqa’ was the whole thing. I will say this, as I’m a bold rascal; at the beginning, it had a real message, it went places. And then it got soft.” She doesn’t pull punches and I ask her why she felt this happened. “They had record numbers for CBC those first few episodes. I think people got nervous. I never understood the ‘Oh we love that, but we’re going to change it for that.’”
Do you see a pattern? She doesn’t shy away from making her point.
Our exchange relocates from the Prairies to acting technique, specifically creating character. She’s made a living since the early ‘80s, although she attests that she’s been performing since she was two. Having come up in the distinguished Second City and the lens of improvisation, it colours her artistic aesthetic. I ask her how she creates characters that aren’t always likeable, for example, Mayor Popowicz on Mosque, or characters that are there only to create tension in the story. “You’ve got to like them. She (the Mayor) thought she was fabulous. There’s no after thought, there are no three a.m.’s (of reflection) for those characters. I’ve played a lot of pretentious, high-minded jerks. And always, they’ve got to think that they are right and helping the world. This comment I’m about to make (as the character), which is vicious at worst and tacky at best, is going to help change the world…”
And how does she distinguish between those characters, those who help drive a story, versus the agency we have to say “No” to. Those who appall our ethics, or offend our value when we are seen as cheap labour; what is her line in the sand? “I have a few. When voice work was my bread and butter and I was doing a million commercials, I wouldn’t do ads promoting cigarettes or alcohol. And I would never do an ad for a political party I don’t believe in.” It always goes back to the “political” with Deb; she cannot explicate the artist from this spiderweb. They are woven together. She finishes the thought, “Even in the days when I could rock it, I would never do nudity. And I don’t judge people who do. I always thought, ‘You’re so brave.’ But I thought, ‘Yeah….? No.’ And now for other reasons, ‘McGrath, 70, Wins Award,’ will not do nudity.” We burst into laughter as she fires up the stove to heat up the homemade soup her husband has prepared. By the way, she asserts, “70 is the new 40.”
I redirect her to the significance of improvisation. “If you were at Second City at the time I was coming up, suddenly, great agents wanted you, you got into all of the auditions. If you had that on your resumé and you were on the Main Stage, it was like an audition and everyone saw you. It was the only game in town.” It not only influenced the business side of her career, but more significantly, her acting technique. “The only time I have no nerves is when I am improvising with The Master,” she points to Colin who quietly sets down his carry-on in the foyer for an impending show the next day. “And I’m a very comfortable improviser. I always was. From grade three on, I was the female class clown. I was putting on shows at recess and coming in having memorized Laugh In from the night before. And I’m from a family, the McGraths,” she says in a Scottish accent, “we’re talkers, we’re funny. My dad was a card. So was my mom.” She recounts her father’s funeral, where there were multiple impersonations of Paul Lynde of Laugh In fame.
We circle back. “I think what improv does is you know you have somewhere to go.” She brings up Single White Spenny (2011). “Spenny was an improvised show. We did the pilot, improvised.” I find this both terrifying and refreshing. The pilot was “directed by the great David Steinberg. And they [Breakthrough Entertainment] loved it. ‘Let’s do it!’ But they were afraid of improv, so it became scripted. It goes back to my previous point.” Creative risk taking is a unicorn in this business.
Additionally throughout the interview, Deb graciously and generously drops the names of women she has worked with, those whom she admires; her best friend, Cheryl MacInnis, Naomi Sniekus, Sheila McCarthy, Paula Brancati, Barbara Radecki, even her neighbour June across the street gets a mention. Deb is aware of the power of collaboration, particularly with the women in her life. And these alliances have materialized great work. Expecting (2002), Little Mosque on the Prairie, Junior’s Giant (2022)to name a few. She says that “I think it’s key, we have to collaborate with other people.” She continues, “Women have so many interests. They have so many things going on. They’re not waiting around for the phone to ring. Women shift easily. At a certain age, we say, ‘I have other things going on in my life.’ And that’s what happened to me.” It became the pivot point when she started blending her writing skills with her acting career.
I ask her if she can extricate herself from her role as actor and her role as writer. Getting Along Famously (2006), Expecting and Junior’s Giant are all scripted with her DNA. It is clear that she has great respect for both, but they are two separate beasts. On ad libbing she explains, “Unless a director tells me to play around, or to find a ‘button…’” She recounts, “I’ve only done it rogue once and it worked, thank god. I feel that if I’ve accepted a job, and even if I think it could be better, I’ve accepted the job. So I’m now on Team Writer. And it’s my job to be funny or dramatic or whatever. But it’s my job to put that script out there. And the only time I’m not verbatim is when I’m blanking.” She laughs.
The discourse shifts from acting and writing to pitching. But I warned you, Deb’s life is interlaced with politics and we get to a very personal subject, her daughter. “I’m so sick of them [producers] checking off the boxes, ‘Ok we have one show about trans [people], one show where they’re queer. But not too queer. When will we get to the point where it doesn’t matter?” Deb had pitched a show with her writing partner, Barbara Radecki, to the CBC at the same time that Sort Of was being greenlit. Her real-life daughter Kinley Mochrie, an actor and a trans woman, inspired the show pitch, which focused on Deb as her overzealous mom navigating their lives. Teaching crochet at the 519 (the Church Street community centre that supports 2SLGBQT+) and humorously interfering in Kinley’s life, this show nearly got traction. But it wasn’t greenlit, thankfully, according to Deb. Her takeaway? She’ll never pitch a queer show “because I shouldn’t be writing it. But I was doing it because of my daughter, at a time when few people were doing it, except probably trans creators. And they couldn’t get in the doors. And now they can, as they should be.”
Deb is a true ally. “Even though we live in this great country, tolerant for the most part,” she pauses, “I hate the word tolerant because it makes it sound like there is something to tolerate. Inclusive, embracing… When Kinley came out, she was rocking a great look, but we wouldn’t let her go out on the subway, it wasn’t safe …” Deb was one of a couple of non-2SLGBQT+ ACTRA members to be invited into the outACTRAto Committee. I ask her how can we make spaces and opportunities within the current miasma to make great art? “It circles back to your question, ‘what can artists do?’ When I was growing up, the word ‘gay’ had to be normalized. As friends of mine who are gay said, ‘we became the people you want moving into the house beside you.’ And see how far we’ve come?” She’s serious, even though there may be room for argument. She continues, “We’ve got to normalize it. We have to see it on our television screens. See it in movies. See queer people of all descriptions. And I will say ‘gay’ people for those older folks who don’t like that word. We need to see them participating in Parliament, like my local Member of Parliament. We have to see them in all walks of life.”
Politics aside, Deb is still a mom and her advice for up-and-coming Kinley? “I’ve given her lots of advice. And she’s so open to all of it. No holds barred… she’s so good at learning lines. I do the old actor thing, ‘if you’re on time, you’re late.’ But I also say, look for the unexpected in your role, look for a colour that you bring to it. She’s a woman of grace, so I know she’s not talking while the first or second [director] is giving directions. I tell her not to compromise herself, whatever that is. And it’s a hard business, so, really only do it if you love it. If you stop loving it, don’t do it.” Sage counsel for all actors.
Actor, writer, producer, improviser, Deb is also an activist, having sat on ACTRA Toronto Council for two terms. I ask her what it meant to her to be there. “The grace in those meetings. The respect that people had for each other. And I loved learning stuff. I learned so much about our union, how it all works. And that it’s not all about the actors. There are tributaries… there are agents and casting directors and all the things we deal with.” She mentions background artists, “That was one of my things. I didn’t like the way they were treated. That bugged me.” It was one of the reasons why she became involved. She continues, “I learned so much. I had no idea how much work is involved. The stuff that is solved. And I would have friends who would say, ‘Why aren’t you doing something about that?’ And I would respond, ‘Please come to a meeting! Look at our agenda. And people would get mad that we didn’t spend enough time on something. I get it. But, have you seen the agenda? I’m not staying until midnight!” She starts to wrap it up, “It was a great learning experience for me. A humbling experience, because I was that person. Years when I was a younger actor, I wasn’t reading all of the communications. I wasn’t involved.” And then something clicked for her. “So I thought, do it. Do it now.”
She grew up with a mother who was in the bookbinder’s union. “I know what it means to be unionized. I resisted putting my hat into running, but I had two presidents bugging me, David Gale and Karl Pruner. Because I didn’t think I had a lot to give. I’m acronym averse (there are A LOT of acronyms to learn). But you have gifts. Gifts that you bring in [to Council]. You have things to say. I realized what my gifts were and I brought them to outACTRAto. I know I’ve said to you and [ACTRA Toronto past president Theresa] Tova, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ I thought I could keep it to myself, but I thought, ‘No! Speak up.’ Are we even talking about acting or are we going to a truck rally?” We laugh. There is a learning curve and meetings can get raucous. In spite, Deb highlights the importance of getting involved.
“I love that my world is spent with actors who play a million different people.” And to be recognized by her peers with the Award of Excellence? She pauses, “Without sounding like a cornball, it means more to me than anyone could imagine.” The news came via a Zoom call and she recounts, “I was stunned and I basically cried in front of everybody.” And this coming from the recipient of the Queen’s Jubilee Award. “We don’t always see our work in Canada. We aren’t always aware of what people are doing. And I am just so honoured. Because I know how much is taken into account, how hard it is to choose the Award of Excellence recipient. There are so many wonderful people who are considered. I’ve sat in those meetings, choosing who it will be. And so it means the world to me, especially because it comes from my peers.”
