Matthew Perry's First Roles in Theatre Ashbury

“A quest to do something significant.” — G.H.S.

The students waited patiently in the class. Disbelief was on their faces when he walked into the theatre. He sat casually on the edge of the stage as the kids looked on. He was relaxed. He wore jeans. The tail of his striped shirt was untucked, and his running shoes were untied. He did not need any introduction, for most of the drama group were his devoted fans. He was a household name; he was revered by the students at Ashbury College.

The young man was Matthew Perry, and this encounter would be one of those pivotal moments in education that would be remembered. Matt spoke about his work, experiences in Hollywood, and his relationships with many famous people. He recounted his desire to work with Robin Williams on the film Dead Poets Society (1989). Williams wanted him to play the role that Robert Sean Leonard would ultimately play, but Matt was under contract elsewhere. He also spoke of auditioning for Oliver Stone’s Born on the Fourth of July (1989). When he finished the audition, he extended his hand only to be met with a stare. The kids asked about his friendship with River Phoenix and Phoenix’s drug overdose. You could still feel the hurt in Matt’s voice as he described his close relationship with River and his work on the film A Night in the Life of Jimmy Reardon (1988).

Matt was wonderful with the students. He signed autographs and listened intently. He responded with honesty about being a professional actor. He spoke about the struggles and the inevitable disappointments but encouraged the kids to follow their dreams.

When the bell rang, announcing the end of the day, the students left, and Matt and I went to the drama office to talk. By this time, he had enjoyed a diverse theatre career in TV and film. From 1988 to 1994, he had made several movies and guest-starred in numerous sitcoms. As we talked, however, it became clear that there was something wrong. He was unhappy and somewhat depressed. He was disappointed with his current state of affairs. He thought his career had stalled, and he was spinning his wheels. He spoke of continuing with his writing, but he was close to giving up due to some recent setbacks. His new dramatic pilot, titled L.A.X. 2194 (1994), was slow to take off. As a backup option, he attempted to secure an audition for the pilot Six of One, later to be known as Friends (1994–2004). However, due to contractual agreements with L.A.X. 2194, he was not considered for an audition. This was extraordinarily disappointing and frustrating for him.

I encouraged him to persevere. Something would change. He had the skill and the talent. Matt had integrity, and the notion of giving up really wasn’t in his nature. He needed to stay determined. At this moment, he just needed a vote of confidence and a person who would listen.

As he left, I watched him cross the soccer field with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low. Not even I would have guessed what was to happen next: Matt got an audition for Six of One, and he landed the role he is best known for, the role of Chandler Bing. That changed everything.

In 1981, Matthew was enrolled at Ashbury College in grade seven. He was in my Dramatic Arts class, but he was not involved with Theatre Ashbury, a co-curricular theatre programme. Matt was an avid tennis player. He was one of the top-seeded players in Ontario for his age, and that took up all his after-school time. This was his passion at the time.

When I cast The Death and Life of Sneaky Fitch in late September of that year, Matt was not in the play. It was only after rehearsals had begun, and after much encouragement from me, that Matt chose to audition. Due to his late arrival, he was cast in a minor role.

In drama class, Matt had a rare gift for improvisation. He was able to portray various characters in a way that made us laugh. He had a keen sense of humor that was beyond his years. He was a good kid and very mature for a grade seven student.

Sneaky Fitch was a Western comedy with a powerful message. It allowed the students to layer their roles and develop characters that had depth. As rehearsals progressed, one of the lead actors—who played Rackham, the play’s antagonist—began to act unprofessionally. Despite my warnings, he did not change his behaviour. I cut him from the play.

Matt’s role in the play was small, and by the second act, his character was shot by Rackham and died. Matt had developed his character thoroughly, and with his quick wit, he had made his death scene one of the most humorous moments in the production. Everyone in the cast laughed each time we rehearsed it. I was impressed with Matt, so when the role of Rackham came available, I immediately cast him.

Rackham was the villain. This was a serious role, a large role. Matt brought the necessary professionalism, intensity, and energy to the part. He became skilled with his pair of six-guns. He learned to master a lightning draw and he developed the skills to holster them while twirling them around his fingers. He blazed his way through the play, outdrawing and killing his opponents. He created a believable character, and he commanded respect when he moved on the stage. He was accomplished in playing the humorous moments as well as the more serious events. He was, in large part, responsible for the success of the production.

With Sneaky Fitch, Matt tasted success. There is something powerful that draws a young actor to the stage. Performing in front of an audience and the feeling of success, knowing your performance has touched people in an emotional way only endures. Matt was hooked. Acting soon became his passion. And this passion would grow and mature into a professional career.

The year 1982 saw the launch of Lord of the Flies. This would be the first production involving my pedagogical philosophy I called Theatre as Education—the guiding philosophy of my work in Theatre Ashbury and the focus of my book. One of the first things I did in designing the theatre programme was to create a culture of excellence. It was my belief that students would rise to the occasion if the goals of excellence were clear and expected—and the vast majority of students involved in Ashbury’s Dramatic Arts programme and Theatre Ashbury did exactly that.

Matt was the first to audition for Lord of the Flies, and he was cast as Jack, the antagonist. It was a demanding role, both emotionally and physically. Matt had to develop a character whose psychopathic behaviour progressed slowly.

The play followed a group of privileged British public school boys marooned on a desert island during World War Three. The cast was large and involved boys from grade five to eight. The play documented their change in behaviour from the time they arrived on the island to the time of their rescue. It was their journey from being civilized to becoming barbaric. It documented their descent into hell.

The cast had to learn to be barbaric. They needed to know the context of the production and the underlying psychology and sociology of the characters. The terms persecutor, victim, bystander, and rescuer would become common points of reference. We had to discover the reasons why good people would turn into murderers, as well as why some of the characters acted as bystanders while others became rescuers. The most important word became why. We needed to ask difficult questions—such as, why do kids kill? Why do decent human beings turn into cruel and sadistic killers? They needed to understand the underlying psychological forces at work.

The actors had to shed their private school image and replace it with a savage persona. This would prove to be challenging, as they would have to learn new behaviours and express them on stage. If the play was to be a success, the audience would have to witness the characters’ gradual decline from private school boys to monsters.

I believed that the fundamentals of such behaviour could be taught to the young cast. They were intelligent and inquisitive. If the process was thought out carefully, they would be successful and have a chance to show what they learned on stage. My responsibility was to teach them in a safe manner. They needed to learn the reasons behind the psychotic behaviours.

News of the unruliness of some of the actors who filmed Lord of the Flies in 1963 would act as a beginning lesson. The film was shot entirely in Puerto Rico at Aguadilla, El Yunque, and on the island of Vieques. As filming had progressed, some of the kids had begun to emulate their characters’ malevolent behaviour. As we viewed the film, we analyzed the behaviours and emotional states of the characters. Some we emulated and some we changed.

All rehearsals involved discussion and debate. We charted all the major events in the play. Each would become one step closer towards the breakdown of the island society. Each would act as a stepping stone towards understanding the changes portrayed in the script.

Once the cast had an intellectual understanding of the given circumstances in the play and their significance, they could begin the next crucial step. They had to develop emotional triggers or memories that would be used on stage. Since the cast was young, their own emotional memories were limited. We used what we could, but we also relied on external stimuli (film, TV, and others’ experiences). Konstantin Stanislavski’s concept of the Magic “if” where one creates a fictional situation and asks the actor how they would feel if it happened, was invaluable in filling in any blanks. Creating realistic emotional memories would be necessary to convey the power of William Golding’s novel.

As we discussed the characters’ descent into savagery, I taught the importance of control. All the actors had to learn to control their emotions, reactions, and movements. No actor was to use an emotional memory that was too overpowering or too new to them. This was paramount for their emotional and physical safety.

The play was filled with physical and psychological violence. Most of the cast had to master stage fighting. The actors needed sharpened spears, which would be used not only for fighting and defence but also for the gathering of food. The kids went to the nearby woods, chose their own branch, and then together in rehearsal, carved and decorated them to reflect their individual character and personality. This helped make the play true to life.

Teaching stage fighting is an art. The art is making it look real when the audience knows it is not. Like the acting itself, stage fighting must be believable, flawless, and look real. You want the audience to feel a certain cognitive dissonance. Stage fighting must come from within. It must be motivated and executed psychophysically—Stanislavski’s concept for having the psychological, emotional, and physical states as one.

Much of the success of the play would depend on this realism. The cast was eager to learn. They wanted to create effects that were realistic. Most had only film and TV to relate to when it came to violence. Stage fighting is quite different. All had to learn discipline. They had to treat their learned moves with respect. None were to be practised outside of the theatre and without direct supervision from me. We began with falling and hair pulling. Next, I taught them how to slap, push, punch, and knee their partners. We also learned how to slam heads into the stage floor and lift a body from the stage and carry him off stage on our shoulders. Wrestling took care of itself.

The spears took incredible time, concentration, and discipline. The students had to be taught to respect them and use them safely during a stage fight. The training was intense. Rehearsals were every day after school until 6 p.m. and all day on Sundays. This was necessary to develop the realism and believability of each character and situation.

The cast worked hard, and each member became more mature and professional with each rehearsal. This was excellent, but it began to present a problem. The play was about kids. Because of the discipline and high expectations, the actors were becoming small adults. They were losing their childlike qualities, and their innocence was still needed in the play. The beginning depended on it. They were playing the end of the play. They were forgetting the descent into depravity, the slow transformation into barbarism.

Something had to be done. At Ashbury, all students were required to go out of doors at the morning break and at lunchtime. You can imagine kids from grade five to eight running wild outside and playing games. Running, shouting, hitting, and pushing were the constants on the playground.

I realized that this could be the perfect teaching tool for the cast. They had to learn to be kids again. For four days, the cast of Lord of the Flies would observe, take notes, and discuss the behaviour presented before them. From a second-storey window, twenty-three actors observed their peers. It did not take long before they reverted to the behaviour of kids again.

Due to the limitations of our theatre in 1982, I had to change the way Piggy and Simon were killed. Although most actors had spears, Matt was the only one to have a knife on stage. In the novel, Piggy is killed by Roger, who throws a rock from a cliff that crushes Piggy’s head. We did not have the height to construct a mountainside, so we decided to cut Piggy’s throat and toss him off the side of the stage. It was visceral for the audience. The effect had the desired outcome. We were able to mask the cutting of his throat and Piggy was trained to fall without incident.

The killing of Simon was harder. In the play, Simon discovered that the “beast” was not a “beast” but rather a pilot caught in a tree with his parachute blowing in the wind. Simon ran onto the stage shouting his discovery while Jack and the other actors were engaged in a bloody celebration after killing a wild pig as a storm raged and powerful music played. When Simon entered, the kids mistook him for the “beast.” Shouting, they chased him through the audience where he was cornered on a window ledge at the back of the theatre. Matt grabbed him, lifted him high in the air, and took him to the stage, where he threw him into a group of actors. They immediately surrounded him and began to beat and stab him with their spears. When the mob dispersed, the audience saw a bloodied and dead Simon. Both scenes required much stage blood and in-depth rehearsal and psychological preparation. Lord of the Flies was the bloodiest play in the history of Theatre Ashbury.

The most difficult special effect in the play was the pig’s head. In the script, when Simon discovers the head, it begins to drip with blood. We used sound effects for the flies and threatening music to foreshadow the forthcoming events. Simon believes the pig’s head talks to him, and when the pig’s mouth opened, it needed to drip blood. This was accomplished with a simple radio control device bought at a toy store. It was engineered so that the mouth would open and close. The blood was in a small plastic bottle whose pump was controlled in a similar way.

One of the things Theatre Ashbury was known for was its extensive and powerful soundtracks. Not only would we open and close our productions with a song, we would back scenes in a play with mood music. This brought a layer of deeper meaning to the scenes. The actors learned to act with each piece of music to convey the emotions of the writing.

By the time the production opened, the actors were ready. Each had created a believable and layered character. They were focused, concentrated, and extremely intense. All could speak about the psychology of their character, and each had a good understanding of the human behaviour presented in the production. Theatre as Education was ready to take to the stage.

One of the things audiences experienced with Theatre Ashbury was the realism—or, more appropriately, the naturalism—of the shows. Naturalism in the context of the theatre is a production that attempts to create a perfect illusion of reality. For those who were new to Theatre as Education, the plays could be a real shock. Because of the age of the actors in Lord of the Flies, audiences expected a typical grade school play, similar to a Christmas pageant. What they experienced was something quite different. For many, it was a surprise. We had even divided our ushers into two groups. One was dressed as an Ashbury student, and he was helpful and polite. The other was an actor from the play in costume being outright rude and uncooperative. It set the mood for what was to come.

Opening night set the standard for Theatre as Education for the next thirty years, and Matt led the way. The audience was full. What they witnessed was the “birth of violence.” The production was a success on many levels, and it set the standards of excellence that I would later write and adapt as part of Theatre Ashbury’s philosophy. Theatre as Education was here to stay.

The production received critical acclaim from the Ottawa media. Many of the future productions were also given rave reviews by media here in Canada and Europe. In fact, despite a few positive reviews from teachers at Ashbury, Theatre Ashbury received more praise from outside sources during its history than from the college itself. The college often criticized the programme for being too provocative.

Matt performed his last play with Theatre Ashbury in the spring of 1982. Ledge, Ledger, and the Legend by Paul Elliott was a dramatic comedy about suicide. After leaving Ashbury, Matt went to live with his father in Los Angeles.

Matt died tragically and unexpectedly in 2023.

When I first met him, I knew our dramatic relationship was special. He was a dedicated actor that exhibited a sharp sense of humour and a keen work ethic. Those who worked with him respected him for his creativity, drive, and personality. Working with him was a privilege.

Over the years after he left Theatre Ashbury, even through his climb into stardom, he continued to be a friend. He was an incredible person and actor.