We were lucky to catch up with Timothy Davis recently and have shared our conversation below.

Alright, Timothy thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. The first dollar you earn is always exciting – it’s like the start of a new chapter and so we’d love to hear about the first time you sold or generated revenue from your creative work?

So… There are several “firsts” in the fields of both acting and writing, and amongst them, your first paycheck.

My first acting paycheck ever…. I spent a summer in Chicago after I graduated from college and before I went off to drama school. And I was very lucky in that I was cast in two productions near simultaneously: a repertory Shakespeare company that did performances for the Chicago school system, and a stage version of Reservoir Dogs, that was promoted as “the only stage adaptation authorized by Quentin Tarantino.” I have no idea if that was actually true, by the way, but it was a very cool thing to put on a poster and to tell your friends over drinks at Sky-Ride.

I don’t really remember the auditions for the Shakespeare rep, but I remember auditioning over and over for Reservoir Dogs — like at least four times — and so BADLY wanting to play Mister Blonde. And they cast me as Marvin Nash — the cop Mr. Blonde kidnaps. I was so furious. The producers later explained to me that they really liked my auditions but couldn’t cast me as one of the gang — they were all hardened criminals who had done hard time in jail and I was this fresh-faced pup right out of university.

I remember the rehearsal process… Marvin’s a relatively small part, but I was determined to give the character an arc. So my idea was to have as much bravado and defiance as I possibly could when I was introduced, so when I end up begging for my life, it would be even more devastating. Our director afforded us some improvisational rehearsals, and after one run, one of the older guys — I think it was Mr. White — came over and said to me, very confidentially, “You might wanna tone down the rebellion a bit — the guys legitimately wanna kill you now.”

So anyway, I spent may days doing two Shakespeare plays in repertory — Romeo + Juliet and A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and then my evenings getting my ear slashed off in Reservoir Dogs. I made I think $50 a show from the Shakespeare, and $25 a show from Reservoir Dogs. So that came out to like, I don’t know, almost $300 a week. Which is what I had made at my college job. So I was blissed out, and assumed the employment would last forever.

The first time I got paid to be on television was for an episode of Law and Order: Criminal Intent. It was a co-star role. The casting director, Jonathan Strauss, must have called me in for the show no less than a dozen times — I have immense gratitude for him bringing me in that frequently. Anyway, I was tied to a chair — just like Reservoir Dogs, that just occurred to me! — and I begged for my life before my wife killed me. This is apparently a running theme of my career that I’ve never noticed before, I felt dumb shooting it — I’d never been on a television set before. It was a fairly complicated piece of business, and the director seemed annoyed that the logistics of the scene weren’t easily accomplished, which of course gave me a tremendous amount of anxiety that I was screwing it up. But I got my first television credit. And I still make residuals off that to this day. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee with my next one.

I don’t remember the first time I got paid to write — I’ve done odd jobs here and there, writing projects on request or punching up scripts. But the first pilot script I sold with my writing partner… I harbor that as a point of pride for us. It was right before the pandemic and the strikes. No one was buying stuff — they’ve been saying that for five years now, by the way. And there was no ancillary justification for making a sale to the studio — I wasn’t a big name, I had never been staffed on a show, never had anything produced… The studio bought the project because the script was good. And that’s the only thing I CAN control and count on — the quality of my work.

That show never made it out of development. But I have hope the next one will. It wouldn’t be the first or last time I will have defied the odds or common consensus.

Timothy, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

I’m an actor and a screenwriter. I’ve worked in film, television, and theatre for roughly twenty years. I’ve also been a lifetime member of the Actors Studio for about the same amount of time, which is crazy to contemplate. I still feel like a young student, Eli Wallach patting my cheek for paying such close attention.

I’m probably best known as Chef Ryan from the Showtime hit show, Billions. That was a gratifying gig that opened up a lot of opportunities for me, for which I am ever-grateful. I’m obsessed with Shakespeare.

As a screenwriter, the work I’ve sold has all been single camera comedies, but in my estimation, my best work is in feature films and one hour dramas.

Any resources you can share with us that might be helpful to other creatives?

I’ll tell you the resource I wish I DIDN’T know about — graduate school.

When I was leaving university, I knew I wanted to be an actor and I knew I had almost zero skills that could constitute a craft. The joke is, in most university “training,” you do a play, and at the first rehearsal, you do the best version of play you can with zero rehearsals. Then you show up the second day, and do the best version of the play you can with one rehearsal. And so on. And perhaps you learn something by happenstance or osmosis, but it’s evolution at a glacial pace, and the only thing you’re learning is how to do that one particular play.

So I needed something more holistic and intentional. And effective and productive. And my social conditioning dictated to me that one gained proficiency in a vocation by going to school. And the more school, the better.

Now… I am grateful for many aspects of my graduate school experience, and for many of the lifelong friends I made there. And for some of my teachers. But charging young students forty-sixty-eighty-thousand dollars for the privilege of learning primarily stage craft, and then releasing them into not only this capitalistic knife fight of a country at large, but into the highly speculative entertainment business to boot… It’s unconscionable. The exorbitant fees these institutions charge while provisioning theatre students with so few of the necessary skills to work in film and television, financially cripple young artists. And drive many of them out of the profession entirely.

I know so many talented actors and writers who quit the profession — not because they weren’t gifted. Not because they weren’t resilient or passionate or determined. But because their financial survival necessitated quitting the business they had just spent quadruple their life’s savings learning. Were I not particularly resilient — i.e., stubborn beyond all rational thought — I would have quit, too. But what happened to my friends is CRIMINAL. Institutions of higher learning don’t owe us employment. But for fifty grand a pop, their batting average should be exponentially higher.

Had I been financially literate, or had I any sense of or interest in how the entertainment BUSINESS worked, I would have sought out teachers and studied with them privately. I would have worked just as hard — probably harder, as my studies would not have been interrupted or distracted by pulverizing debt. And I would have started my career unburdened by essentially a mortgage around my neck.

For you, what’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative?

Being creative is its own reward. And every once in a great while, you’ll be part of telling a story that affects someone in a meaningful way.

Years ago, I was doing this play about an NYPD firefighter on 9-11. It wasn’t a particularly well-written play, and the production was a struggle, but I was drawn to the intention of the material, and put everything I had into it. Everything. It didn’t draw much attention, and its run was quickly coming to a close. And theatre’s like snow. If you’re there, it’s beautiful. But if you miss it, it melts away. So I was prepared for it to be forgotten. Except…

One night, as I was leaving the theatre, stepping out into the Manhattan air, exhausted and drained, ready for a long ride home on the F train… I was stopped on the sidewalk outside the lobby by some audience members. I was introduced to a man who said really nice things about the show. We talked for a bit before he told me he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see the show — his brother had been a fireman, and had perished on 9-11.

I offered whatever kind words I could, but they felt insufficient. I was just silently hoping the show helped him in some way. And then, as we shook hands to part ways, he looked me in the eye, took a deep breath and said, “I saw my brother up there tonight.”

My favorite acting quote that I think comes from the great Robert DeNiro is “acting is living other people’s lives without suffering the consequences.” I’ll never know that man’s pain. I’ll never really know the price his brother paid. But we embraced that night. Like brothers do.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://pro.imdb.com/name/nm3175928?rf=cons_nm_meter&ref_=cons_nm_meter
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/itstimothydavis/?hl=en
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCSBeLDTDo9qb5fEm724C9EA

Image Credits

PHOTOS BY MATT KALLISH