…Train with the best. Don’t take shortcuts. Stella Adler used to say, “Act from your grandparents,” because kids today are growing up in a completely different world. But the struggles our grandparents faced — the strength they had — that’s what you tap into. Look at the Great American Songbook. It’s the amalgamation of the American experience — Black jazz artists, their struggles, alongside Swedish, German, English, Lebanese, Native American, Scottish, and Irish influences. And a significant portion of it came from the sons and daughters of Jewish immigrants. Without them, there would be no Great American Songbook, and that music translates worldwide…
I had the pleasure of talking with Robert Davi. Robert is an American actor, singer, and filmmaker whose career has spanned more than four decades across film, television, and music. Best known for his portrayal of complex villains, he has appeared in over 160 films, including Die Hard (1988), The Goonies (1985), and Licence to Kill (1989), where he played the formidable drug lord Franz Sanchez. Beyond acting, Davi has cultivated a career in music, performing as a jazz vocalist with a particular emphasis on the work of Frank Sinatra, an artist he deeply admires. His directorial work, including The Dukes (2007) and My Son Hunter (2022), has further demonstrated his creative range.
Born in Astoria, Queens, New York, in 1951, Davi grew up in a tight-knit Italian American family with roots in Sicily and Naples. His early years were shaped by a deep appreciation for the arts, particularly music and theater. After moving to Long Island, he attended Hofstra University, where he was awarded a drama scholarship. His passion for performance led him to train under renowned acting teachers, including Stella Adler and Lee Strasberg, both of whom played a key role in shaping his approach to the craft.
Davi’s professional breakthrough came when he was cast in the 1977 television film Contract on Cherry Street, starring Frank Sinatra. The project marked a turning point in his career, introducing him to Hollywood and solidifying his position as a promising young actor. Encouraged to relocate to Los Angeles, he soon found steady work in film and television, often cast as imposing figures, law enforcement officials, and antagonists. His performance as Jake Fratelli in The Goonies showcased his ability to infuse depth and personality into villainous roles, a trait that would become a hallmark of his career.
In 1989, Davi took on one of his most recognizable roles as the primary antagonist in the James Bond film Licence to Kill. His portrayal of Franz Sanchez, a sophisticated yet brutal drug cartel leader, was widely praised, with many critics regarding it as one of the franchise’s most memorable villain performances. Throughout the late 1980s and 1990s, Davi continued to work consistently, appearing in major action films such as Predator 2 (1990) and Showgirls (1995). On television, he starred in Profiler (1996–2000) as FBI agent Bailey Malone, a role that allowed him to explore a more heroic and layered character over multiple seasons.
Parallel to his acting career, Davi has maintained a deep connection to music. A classically trained singer, he initially studied opera before shifting his focus to acting. In 2011, he released Davi Sings Sinatra — On the Road to Romance, a tribute album recorded at Capitol Records, the same studio where Sinatra himself had worked. The album received critical acclaim, with many praising his ability to interpret Sinatra’s music with sincerity rather than imitation. His live performances, including concerts at major venues in Las Vegas, have further cemented his reputation as a respected jazz vocalist.
In addition to acting and music, Davi has explored filmmaking. His directorial debut, The Dukes (2007), a crime comedy about a doo-wop group struggling to navigate life after their musical success fades, was well received on the festival circuit. More recently, he directed My Son Hunter (2022), a politically charged film focusing on the personal and professional controversies surrounding Hunter Biden. His work behind the camera reflects a continued interest in storytelling beyond traditional acting roles.
Despite his reputation for playing tough characters on screen, Davi’s personal interactions within the industry have often been marked by camaraderie and humor. He has recounted fond memories of working alongside figures such as Frank Sinatra and Arnold Schwarzenegger, with whom he shared a friendly rivalry of practical jokes on the set of Raw Deal (1986). His connection to Sinatra extends beyond film and music; he has credited the legendary singer with offering guidance and encouragement during the early stages of his career.
As of 2024, Davi continues to be active in entertainment, with new music projects and film roles in development. His latest album, I’m Not Anyone, further explores his deep appreciation for classic American music, while his work in film and television remains a testament to his enduring presence in the industry. Whether through his commanding performances on screen or his expressive interpretations of jazz standards, Robert Davi has built a career defined by versatility, dedication, and a deep respect for the arts.
Robert, it’s a delight to meet you. Before we dive in deep, I want to learn about your personal origin story. Can you share the story of your childhood and how you grew up?
Well, first off, my family is from Naples and Sicily, so I come from Italian descent. That’s where my grandfathers were from.
My grandparents came from outside of Palermo. On my father’s side, the Davi side, they came from Torretta. On my mother’s side, the Rulo or Ruli side — depending on which part of the family came through Ellis Island and how the name got changed — they came from Naples, Nusco, and Avellino, which is up in the mountains.
So both sides of my family come from the mountains of Italy.
The name Davi is actually spelled with an accent over the “i.”
Anyway, I was born in Astoria, Queens, New York. When I was five, we moved to Long Island, to Dix Hills and Deer Park, and I grew up there. I stayed until I went to college at Hofstra University on Long Island.
Then I moved to Manhattan, studied with Stella Adler, and got into the Actors Studio with Lee Strasberg. I studied voice with Samuel Margulies, Dan Farrow, Roland Wyatt, and several other instructors. Michael Signorelli was my first teacher.
And then I headed west.
Amazing. So let’s hear the next part of the story. How did you get your first gigs, your first break? How did that start?
Well, of course, I had gotten a scholarship to Hofstra for drama, and I was winning awards. I took first place in New York State for dramatic interpretation in the forensic league and first place in the solo competition for singing at the New York State School Music Association.
When I studied with Stella Adler, I was doing plays and really honing my craft. Acting was something I took seriously as a discipline. I’ve always believed that you find the best teachers out there, study with them, and learn everything they have to offer.
At the time, they were making a film called Contract on Cherry Street with Frank Sinatra — it was his first film in eight years. I landed a role in that, which led to three months of filming. We had to do some pick-up shots in Los Angeles, and that was actually my first time ever on a plane — flying to L.A. in 1977.
After that, I came back to New York for a bit and did a play with George Abbott, Teri Garr, Glenn Close, and Chris Sarandon. Then my agency told me, “Hey, you’ve got to move to Los Angeles.” So I did.
I had a management company backing me that had worked with the rock group Kiss, Toby Beau, and a bunch of other artists. They helped get me set up in L.A., and from there, I just started working.
So, you probably have so many fascinating stories. You’ve been in the business for decades and have worked on so many movies. Do you have one or two favorite anecdotes from your life as an actor?
I guess I’d have to say working with Sinatra. For an Italian American, doing my first film with Frank Sinatra was incredible. He wasn’t just a towering figure in music and film — he was also one of the first artists to speak out against anti-Semitism and racial bigotry. And he was just a terrific guy.
The story I always tell about that is kind of a “beginning” story. I have so many over the years from different films and different people, but this one stands out. At the time, I had been fired unjustly from a restaurant in New York. I told one of the actors on set, Harry Guardino, about it while we were filming in Little Italy.
About a month into shooting, Harry came up to me and said, “Come on, the old man wants to take us to dinner.” Now, Sinatra and his crew had their favorite spots — Patsy’s on West 54th, Patsy’s Pizzeria in Harlem, places like that.
This time, though, we got in the car — Harry Guardino, Gilly Rizzo (the great Gilly Rizzo), Frank, Martin Gabel, myself, and another gentleman. We drove for a bit, then suddenly, they made a U-turn and pulled up right in front of the restaurant that had fired me. My stomach dropped. I looked at Harry, then at Frank. Harry just grinned, and Frank said, “Come on, let’s go eat.”
When we walked in, the reaction from the staff — people I had worked with just a couple of months earlier — was priceless. The general manager, the one who had fired me, turned a shade of white I had never seen before.
We sat down, had dinner, and after a little while, one of the gentlemen at our table got up and left. About ten minutes later, he came back, placed an envelope in front of me, and said, “This is your severance pay. They shouldn’t have fired you. I had a little talk with the guy.”
Turns out, this man was someone who — let’s just say — had some influence over the restaurants in New York City. A very interesting character. A hell of a nice guy from what I knew of him. That was a fun little moment.
Another thing Sinatra did that really stuck with me — he noticed a scar on my neck from when I was born. I was a forceps baby, and the marks had always been there. He looked at me and said, “Hey, you’re a forceps baby.”
I said, “Yeah.”
He pointed at his own scars and said, “So was I. See these? Don’t let the scars bother you, alright? They make you who you are.”
That kind of encouragement from him, right from day one, meant a lot to me. He remained supportive throughout the years. That was a really important relationship for me.
Now, another story — I’ve told this one before — was on the set of Raw Deal with Schwarzenegger. We used to torment each other, just messing around. Arnold had his stunt double, his stand-in, and a few of his buddies, and we were all fair game for pranks.
One day, during a scene, Arnold and I walked into a small office room. The camera was behind us, so it was a tight shot. Every time we entered the room, I felt something hitting my head. I instinctively put my hand up to check, but I tried to do it subtly, so the camera wouldn’t catch it.
After a few takes, the director, John Irvin — a terrific English director — said, “Robert, don’t put your hand up. It’s blocking the shot. Keep your hand down.”
We went for another take, and I felt it again. I still had no idea what was going on. Turns out, Arnold had his friend Sven — Sven-Ole Thorsen, the strongman from Denmark — shooting those little cocktail toothpicks with the ribbons at me. And of course, this was all at Arnold’s request.
I kept trying to block it without being obvious, but every time, my hand would end up in the shot in some way. Finally, the director lost it. “Robert, I said put your hand down!”
Meanwhile, Arnold and the guys were having a blast watching me struggle. Eventually, I just left my hand down, and the next thing I knew, one of those damn toothpicks was sticking out of my hair. The director finally saw it and yelled, “Sven!”
Then there was the time I got Arnold back. We were in Wrightsville Beach, and he was outside talking to Maria (Shriver) and his agent, Lou Pitt. I was on the second floor of the hotel when I started hearing these little explosions — poppers, those tiny things you throw that make a cracking sound. They were hitting my balcony window.
I looked down, and there was Arnold, throwing poppers up at me while casually talking to Maria, like nothing was happening.
So I thought, Alright, time to return the favor.
I went into the bathroom, grabbed a garbage pail, emptied it, and filled it with lukewarm water and soap suds. Then I quietly opened the balcony door, making sure the curtains blocked the view. I waited for Arnold to step right under my balcony. He was mid-conversation, just lighting up a beautiful cigar — looked like a Davidoff Churchill Cuban.
Just as he took a deep puff, I dumped the entire bucket of soap suds on him.
Maria cracked up. Most people would have flinched or yelled, “What the hell?!” But not Arnold. He stood there, completely stoic, soap suds dripping off the tip of his cigar. Then he slowly looked up at me and said, “This means war.”
And that was it. Let the games begin.
We had a great time working together and became close friends over the years. We were tight until about ’96 or ’97 — then, you know, life gets in the way. But we had a lot of fun.
Another funny Arnold-related story happened at the Die Hard screening.
He said, “Come on, we’re going to see this film Die Hard that you did with Goldblum.”
I said, “Goldblum? You mean Bruce Willis.”
We went to 20th Century Fox to watch it for the first time. The movie was fantastic — John McTiernan did an amazing job. Up to that point, Bruce hadn’t had a big film success, and this was it.
Then my character, Special Agent Johnson — Big Johnson — comes on screen. I do my entrance: “Who’s in charge? Not anymore.” Cigarette in hand.
Arnold sits up and goes, “This is fantastic. You look great! This is a great movie.”
But as the film went on, my character — like a lot of the authority figures in Die Hard — started to come off as more arrogant, even clueless. The FBI guys, in particular, had to be a little cocky to contrast with Bruce’s character.
Arnold started looking at me sideways. Finally, he turned and said, “What’s wrong with you? What are you doing? You turned into an idiot here! What happened to you?”
I had to laugh. “It’s not me, Arnold. It’s the script!”
So yeah, so many stories from so many films.
It’s been said that sometimes our mistakes can be our greatest teachers. Do you have a story about a humorous mistake that you made when you were first starting and the lesson you learned from it?
I was in New York City, studying and taking the subway all the time. You’d people-watch, daydream, maybe go over a scene in your head. One time, I got so lost in thought that I completely missed my stop. By the time I realized, I had to get off and re-enter the subway, but I didn’t have any more tokens or cash.
So, I went up to the turnstile window, and there was this nice elderly man working there. I said, “Excuse me, I was daydreaming and missed my stop. Can you let me through? It was just a mistake.”
He looked at me and said, “Young man, I’m 56 years old, and I never made a mistake I didn’t pay for.”
Needless to say, he didn’t let me through.
I had to borrow a 50-cent token from someone, but I never forgot that moment. I never made a mistake I didn’t pay for. Just a simple little lesson, but one that stuck with me.
There have been so many life lessons along the way. You learn something from every experience, every person you cross paths with. Stella Adler was a tremendous influence — one of the most pivotal figures in my journey. But beyond her, wisdom comes from everywhere — parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, your interactions with people. Faith, teachers, great educators from elementary school to college — they all shape you.
Adler, though, was something special. She came from the Yiddish theater; her family had deep roots in it. She was the only American actor to have worked directly with Konstantin Stanislavski.
Now, Stanislavski was the Russian director behind the Moscow Art Theater. He developed what people now call method acting. He was the first to really analyze what made great actors great at the turn of the 19th into the 20th century. He studied them, broke down their techniques, and put it all into books and exercises.
When the Moscow Art Theater came to New York in the 1920s, it was a revelation. Every serious theater artist was mesmerized by his work and philosophy. They started using his books as the foundation for their craft.
But Adler was the first to go and actually work with Stanislavski directly. She studied with him for six weeks and brought back an evolved version of his technique — something more refined than what was in his early writings.
Learning from her was a tremendous experience.
Wow. So do you find that your expertise as a professionally trained singer influenced your career as an actor?
Well, I think a lot of things contribute to it — I’m very good with accents, for example. But I believe it really comes down to having an understanding, an ear for rhythm and music. As Gustav Mahler said, music is the closest to the absolute meaning of creation.
Think about it — music is pure subtext, a spiritual experience without words. Then, when you add words to it, it becomes something even deeper. Having a sense of music or poetry gives you the ability to interpret roles in a way that feels natural and true.
There’s definitely a strong connection between the two. Acting enhances music if you’re singing, and music enhances acting. They feed into each other — it’s a concurrent relationship. That’s why so many great actors were also incredible singers: Bing Crosby, Al Jolson, Frank Sinatra. The way they interpreted a song was the same way they interpreted a character — there’s a natural crossover between the two.
Your role as Franz Sanchez in License to Kill is iconic. Do you have a specific process for bringing such complex villains to life?
Well, Franz Sanchez is really a nod to Frank Sinatra. Cubby Broccoli was very close with Sinatra — they always toyed with the idea of having him do a Bond song or even appear in a film. Because I was friends with him, I think naming the character Franz Sanchez was a subtle tribute to Frank Sinatra.
They were championing me for the role — Cubby Broccoli, his wife Dana, Michael Wilson, John Glen, the great director of the Bonds.
First, I start by understanding the character. You read the script, find the essence of who they are, and then dive deep to bring them to life.
For Sanchez, I turned to music. The character was a composite of Pablo Escobar, the Ochoa brothers, and Carlos Lehder from South America. Since Escobar was Colombian, I leaned into that — studying cumbia music, learning the customs, and figuring out how Sanchez would move, look, and interact with others.
Then you let your imagination take over, building on the smallest details in the script. Language is a big part of that. I start with music and then expand into the social environment, the geography of where the character is from. The script gives you clues, and you use those to shape your interpretation.
Your imagination puts the character in different situations, and from there, you bring them to life.
I once spoke to an actress who played monsters in horror films, like the devil. She told me that after taking on those roles, she carried a bit of that darkness with her for a few days and had to pull herself out of it. Did you ever have that experience when playing a villain? Did it stay with you when you went back to real life?
As a villain, especially in a Bond film, my job is to justify the character — to play a human being. I wouldn’t play demonic possession or go into those areas because that’s an energy you don’t want to conjure up. As far as I’m concerned, it’s dangerous. I’ve actually turned down roles that dealt with that.
But when it comes to finding a character and justifying their actions from their own perspective, I don’t look at it as playing a villain. Ian Fleming, in Casino Royale, talks about how Bond and the villain are mirror images of each other. Timothy Dalton, John Glen, and I discussed that approach for License to Kill — how Bond and Sanchez share certain traits, like their intensity, their sense of revenge.
So I played Sanchez as a human being. The audience may see his actions as cruel or villainous, but if you break it down, everything he did was in reaction to something. He never made the first move — he didn’t pull the trigger first, like with Truman Lodge, my accountant.
To build the character, I did a lot of research. I read The Underground Empire, and Michael Wilson and I had deep discussions about that world and the people in it. I even met people from Colombia who had connections to Pablo Escobar — architects, insiders. You dig, you mine for those little details, those jewels that help shape the character.
Your album, Davi Sings Sinatra, was a hit on the jazz charts. I know you had a personal relationship with Frank Sinatra. What did his music mean to you, and why did you choose to make that album as a tribute to him?
Well, because I did my first film with him. He was the first artist — the Italian immigrant — who really broke through. People forget that in 1906, The New York Times wrote that Italians were considered “lower and dirtier than the Negro.” In 1886, there were more lynchings of Italians in New Orleans than any other group. They were looked down on, called “wops” — the same kind of discrimination most immigrant groups face.
But they didn’t stay victimized. They embraced this country, and Sinatra was someone who said, “I’m Italian, and look what I can do here in America.” Just like Bing Crosby did for the Irish, Al Jolson for Jewish people, others for Hispanics, and the great Duke Ellington for Black music.
Artists like Sinatra transcended struggle and pain by putting it into their craft. That’s why it’s so unfortunate that the arts aren’t more emphasized in schools today. When I was young, even in second grade, I had the opportunity to take clarinet, to learn an instrument, to express myself through music. We had drama classes, readings — real creative outlets.
But today’s education system feels brittle. It doesn’t provide those same opportunities, and that’s why society is struggling in many ways. Poetry — whether in music, literature, or any art form — cleanses the soul. Even what we’re doing now, having this conversation, could be considered a new form of art. But that doesn’t mean we should ignore the classics.
Back in 1778, to get into college, students had to read Cicero and Plato in Latin or Greek just to be accepted. Today, it’s like, “Yeah, just come in.” There’s no reference point, no deeper foundation. And that kind of learning does something to your mind, to your understanding of the world. It’s so important.
You’ve been in over 160 films. Do you have a personal favorite project, and if so, why?
Well, there are several. One of them is The Dukes, which I directed and co-wrote with Chazz Palminteri. That film is important to me because it marked the beginning of my journey as a director and auteur — putting my own stamp on a project.
Then there’s My Son Hunter, which isn’t as widely known, but I think it’s an important film. It tells the story of Hunter Biden and everything surrounding that. It was a compelling project to work on.
Over the years, I’ve done many films that I consider favorites for different reasons, but recently, I finished one that I find particularly interesting. It’s kind of wild because back in 1988, I played a Palestinian in a film called Terrorist on Trial: The United States of America vs. Salim Ajami. I portrayed a Palestinian kidnapped by the U.S. government to stand trial for acts of terrorism. At the time, I was an Italian Catholic who knew nothing about that world.
To prepare, I did extensive research. I went to the Israeli consulate, the Museum of Tolerance, and a Syrian church. I spoke with a wide range of people — members of the PLO, Jewish leaders, political figures, even Israeli tank drivers from the far right — to get the broadest understanding of the character, Salim Ajami. Alan Dershowitz was the technical advisor on the film. Ron Leibman, a terrific actor, played the Jewish defense attorney, modeled after Dershowitz, who was assigned to ensure the Arab defendant got the best possible defense. Sam Waterston played the prosecutor.
It was fascinating because the children of the rabbi who led the Museum of Tolerance told me, “You taught us something we didn’t know or understand.” When I first took on the role, it was controversial — just like discussing these topics is today.
But here’s the twist: I had never been to Israel before. Then, last June, a friend of mine got married there, so I went. I sang a couple of songs, visited Jerusalem, and spent time in Tel Aviv. Not long after, I got a call from Danny Abeckaser — Danny A — who I’ve done several films with. He was making a movie about the first suicide bomber in 1996, and he asked me to play a U.S. senator whose daughter is killed in an attack. My character then sets loose a Mossad agent who’s been in hiding in America. That film, The Operative, is on Netflix now.
Then, unbelievably, I got called back to Israel again within a year. In April, Danny reached out with another project — this one based on a true story from 1942 called Bardejov. It’s about Emil Fish, an 88-year-old Holocaust survivor who made a pledge to honor the memory of his town, Bardejov, in Slovakia. Danny met him on a plane, heard his story, and decided to turn it into a film.
Danny sent me the script and asked which character I wanted to play. I was immediately drawn to Raphael Rudolph Lowy, the head of the Jewish Council of Bardejov — an incredible, complex character. I told Danny that’s who I wanted to play. He ran it by Emil Fish, assuring him I’d give a powerful performance. Emil approved, and I took on the role.
It’s an emotionally powerful film, not a big-budget production, but incredibly impactful. My character saves 300 girls from Auschwitz. It comes out on March 19th on pay-per-view in the U.S. and Canada, and I’m very proud of it. It was deeply meaningful for me to play an Orthodox Jew. Yeah, it’s wild.
So my grandparents were survivors of Auschwitz. My mother’s parents — my grandfather was from Hungary, and my grandmother was from Romania. He actually survived because, at the end of the war, during a death march, an SS soldier hit him on the head with a rifle. They thought he was dead and left him there. The partisans found him, and he ended up joining them.
Well, that’s exactly what happened with Lowy in Bardejov. He was beaten, thrown in jail — but he was defiant, a strong figure. A lot of Holocaust films portray Jews solely as victims, but in this story, the town takes a proactive stance. They fight back against the Hlinka Guard in Slovakia. We filmed in Tel Aviv and Slovakia, in the very town that Emil Fish has been rebuilding. There’s a memorial wall there. It was an incredibly emotional experience.
I’m excited for people to see it.
And then, October 7th happens. The timing of this film — how relevant it is now — it’s a reminder. Because when I was growing up, there were so many Holocaust films and constant reminders of never forget. But over the decades, I’ve noticed that message fading.
It’s interesting because I’ve known for years — from various people — how anti-Semitism has been growing in universities. One person in particular, David Horowitz, was a communist. His family were communists. He was involved with the Black Panthers but had a shift in 1970 after a specific incident. He wrote Radical Son about his transformation.
In the ’90s, in Hollywood, through his organization, he was already talking about this growing anti-Semitic sentiment in schools and universities. And now we see it playing out. Of course, everyone wants peace — no sane person doesn’t. But years ago, I wrote on Breitbart about “Why not turn Gaza into a white Disneyland instead of a weapons cache?” With all the money that flows in, why not build it up like Dubai? Make it a place for commerce, for people to be free and happy?
Back in 1994, I was filming with Blake Edwards in the south of France. We spent a few weeks shooting in Jordan, and I met King Hussein and his sister. They asked if I’d teach an acting class there. I said, “How about raising $50 million? Not for me, but to bring in actors, directors, cinematographers, screenwriters — create a school where Jews and Arabs work together creatively. The majority of the money would go into a film fund, so when a great student script comes in, we can actually produce it. Small budgets, but let them tell their stories.”
Because communication and working together through art would do more for understanding than bullets ever could.
That idea came from when I was filming Terrorist on Trial. I was being coached by a Palestinian in Beverly Hills, and he told me a story — either a Palestinian giving his child to a Jewish family before going off to war, asking them to raise the child in that faith, or vice versa. It was a beautiful sentiment, an act of deep understanding.
That story stayed with me. Imagine if we could actually create that school, that kind of collaboration? Now people are starting to talk about these things more. When we were filming in Israel, we had Palestinians and Jews working side by side. Politics is divisive, but something like this — something creative — could build bridges in a way that nothing else can.
So you have so much impressive work, Robert. Want to share what you’re working on now and what you’ll be working on in the near future?
Right now, it’s about releasing The Birdcatcher. I’ve also got a TV project called Paper Empire that’s supposed to come out at some point — we’re just waiting to finish and shoot some additional material. And I have a couple of films lined up, but right now, it’s just talk until the money is in the bank. Once that happens, I’ll know for sure and can say more.
But I do have a new album coming out — it’s almost finished. And there are a few other interesting things in the works that I’ll share when they solidify. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.
So this is our signature question. You’ve been blessed with so much success and wisdom. Looking back to when you first started, for someone considering a career in entertainment, could you share five things they need to build a successful career?
- First, you need belief in yourself. A passion and self-belief that’s stronger than anything. It has to be unwavering.
- Second, preparation. You need to study. These days, with TikTok, Instagram, and all that, people think you don’t need acting classes. But understanding the craft is essential. Acting is about understanding — understanding the human experience, the story, the word itself.
- Third, faith. Whatever your faith is, its rituals and traditions deepen who you are and give you a stronger connection to yourself and the world. I’ve studied Buddhism, Zen, Sufism, Kabbalah, and Rastafarianism — on a surface level — to understand different perspectives. My faith is Catholicism, but I’ve been to synagogues. Tradition is important. Don’t lose sight of who you are.
- Fourth, train with the best. Don’t take shortcuts. Stella Adler used to say, “Act from your grandparents,” because kids today are growing up in a completely different world. But the struggles our grandparents faced — the strength they had — that’s what you tap into. Look at the Great American Songbook. It’s the amalgamation of the American experience — Black jazz artists, their struggles, alongside Swedish, German, English, Lebanese, Native American, Scottish, and Irish influences. And a significant portion of it came from the sons and daughters of Jewish immigrants. Without them, there would be no Great American Songbook, and that music translates worldwide.
- Fifth, persistence. You have to keep going, no matter how many times you get knocked down. If you don’t get an audition, if you’re rejected 700 times — get up and go again. Find out why. Analyze, work harder, study harder. Take opportunities, even in student films. There are so many aspects to this industry, and the ones who succeed are the ones who refuse to quit.
This is our final question, Robert. You’re a person of enormous influence, and people take your words seriously. If you could spread an idea or inspire a movement that would bring the most good to the most people, what would it be?
Well, everything has already been said, right? We all know the rules of society, to the point where it almost becomes a cliché. So how do you make it fresh? How do you say it in a way that resonates?
There are so many slogans used to push the next movement. Years ago, I wrote a poem — lyrics, actually — to Chariots of Fire. In 1980, I wrote:
“I speak to the children, the ones who are pure.
For they are the future, the key to it all.
Our vision has darkened, our way has been lost.
It’s they who must lead us back on the course.
Imagine a world of love and hope,
A world without hate,
A world where nothing separates the spirit of man.”
That’s the core of it. I have to speak through the symbols of my own upbringing, which is Christianity. There was a French Jesuit philosopher who coined the term “the cosmic Christ.” What he meant is that Christ is the Alpha and Omega — the beginning and the end — and through that, we are all interconnected. And that’s where we, as a society, keep falling apart.
I always felt that Christ was Jewish. Judaism is 4,000 years old — that’s 4,000 years of building a road, a path to righteousness through the Ten Commandments and beyond. Then Christ came. Even as a young man, I felt we should have continued that path rather than starting anew. We do have the Old Testament, but I always thought keeping that connection — celebrating Passover the way Christ did — would have been a bridge of continuity for all of us.
And then, where does Muhammad come into this? That’s another complex question. The same patterns exist in the political world. I believe in national identity — I want Israel to be Israel, Pakistan to be Pakistan, France to be France, America to be American. Each culture, with its history and traditions, is valuable.
Now you look at the World Economic Forum, and it’s trying to erase national identity. But is that a good thing? Personally, I don’t think so. I believe when we lose our cultural roots, we lose our humanity. We become easier to control. That’s something we have to be cautious about.
And then, there’s prayer. I studied Rabbi Schneerson — I watched his lectures and admired what he did, how he taught people to give by handing out dollars as an act of generosity. I saw a lecture where he spoke to a father of an autistic child. The father was struggling to understand his son, and Schneerson told him, “Just because you don’t understand him, doesn’t mean he isn’t communicating. He’s actually very close to God.”
That changed my perspective. To think of an autistic child as being in direct communion with God — it’s a powerful way to see things differently.
It sounds like the movement you’d inspire is for people to turn back to their own heritage and roots. Is that what you’re saying?
I think it’s about more than just turning back. There’s progress, and progress is necessary. But we have to ask, what is progress? We need to grow, yes, but also understand what worked in the past and build on it. Not divide. Not erase. We’re interconnected through the spirit of God — however you define that.
The cosmic Christ idea is one way to express it, but different traditions say it in different ways. In Kabbalah, they talk about the chalice, in other philosophies, they use different terms. It’s all fascinating, and honestly, a lot of it is beyond my pay grade in terms of breaking it down.
But I do know one thing: when we have empathy for each other, that’s when we’re at our best.
The challenge is, how do you respond to evil with love? That’s the hardest question. There’s no simple answer. But through art, through storytelling, through tradition — we can create understanding.
That’s why I believe in embracing heritage. Yes, growing from it. But not erasing it.
And on another note — I’m not on board with this whole pronoun movement. Am I wrong? Maybe. But I still believe in biological, scientific truth. And yet, we’re living in a time where we can throw science out the window for the sake of certain narratives. Why? Is it preparing us for a future where gender doesn’t exist? Where AI, robotics, and a post-human society take over? Is that where we’re headed? Some kind of Asimov-like world? I don’t know.
I’ve had atheist friends, and that’s their prerogative. But philosopher William James once thought about ending his own life — until he realized something. He said, “It’s not about believing in God, it’s about knowing God.” Feeling it in every fiber of your being.
It’s complex. There’s no easy answer.
Through art, we can create understanding. We can embrace tradition and grow from it.
Thank you, Robert, for this really fantastic interview!
Robert Davi Talks Jazz, Hollywood Pranks, and the Art of Playing a Memorable Villain was originally published in Authority Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.