Legendary Vancouver actor Bernard Cuffling is an unapologetic name-dropper. And why shouldn’t he be? He has rubbed shoulders with theatrical heavyweights John Gielgud, Laurence Olivier, John Neville, Brent Carver, and many others during his 60-year (and still counting) professional career. He’s especially fond of superstar Ginger Rogers.
It was 1983. The play was Charlie’s Aunt, and Ginger, accustomed to movie rather than stage work, was nervous about eliciting laughs from a live audience.
“I said, ‘Ginger, you have the most incredible blue eyes,’” Bernard recalls. “So, when you give me the feed line and I give you the punch line, just flap your eyes—left, right, and centre—like you did in Top Hat. Then we’ll turn our backs to the audience and walk upstage. As we walked upstage to thunderous applause, she grabbed me and whispered, ‘Bless you, darling, bless you.’”
That was Ginger to a tee, says Bernard: thoroughly professional and willing to take advice.
Revered as both an accomplished actor and director, Bernard was born to London working-class parents in 1945. They had neither the money nor the connections to send their son to a prestigious drama school like the Royal Academy or Guildhall. So Bernard attended an ordinary school in an ordinary neighbourhood and learned on the job, part of a troupe of 30 aspiring thespians who practised their craft after hours
They called their endeavour Teenage Theatre and focused on updated adaptations of Treasure Island and The Three Musketeers.
“We created a young company that rehearsed in the evenings. Our music teacher joined the group. He wrote the music and some of the lyrics, and we made it up as we went along. It was absolutely unique. We were pioneering.”
Teenage Theatre was a strong beginning, but Bernard had to earn a living
Leaving school at 18, he worked in a betting shop by day (as a “settler,” figuring out the customer’s winnings for the cashier) and rehearsed at night.
“I have two loves,” he continues, “acting and horses.” Not the gambling part, he’s quick to point out, but the steeds themselves. As for continuing his love of acting, “My upbringing at Tavistock Rep was to say your lines and don’t bump into the furniture.”
Repertory theatre didn’t earn him much money, but it introduced him to London’s acting community.
“Actors looked out for each other,” he says.
So, when a fellow thespian encouraged him to come to Canada in 1974, he willingly complied. He first landed in Edmonton. A year later, Arts Club director Bill Millerd cast him as the lead in My Fat Friend, bringing him to Vancouver. He’s been here ever since, touring western Canada and abroad from his west coast home.
Being part of a tightly knit, supportive community served him well in the UK, but Canada was a different kettle of fish. He was the new boy in town, and his solution was to bury himself in his work and do his very best.
“I’m very proud of giving 100 percent on stage,” he says. “I never walk through a part. The whole premise of being an actor,” he continues, “is to convince the audience that what you’re doing—which is phony—is real.”
Professionalism has paid off. Bernard reckons he’s been in hundreds of plays over the years, over 75 at the Arts Club alone. Now happily settled in Vancouver, he has no regrets about leaving England.
“I’m a Canadian actor with an English accent,” he says.
But times change, audiences are fickle, and many of his work connections have disappeared. He knows English accents are no longer in vogue. And he knows technology has diminished the classical kind of training he received as a young man—the training that earned him three Jessies (for outstanding performance as well as a lifetime achievement award) and a star on BC’s Star Walk, just like in Hollywood. (Vancouver’s stars are larger and more ornate.)
“Young actors whisper,” he says. “Why are they whispering? The old ones deliver because they’ve got the technique. The young ones? They never learned to project. It comes from camera work,” he laments, “and they get away with it.”
What really sets him off, though, is meddling with the creative. He feels too many companies are dependent on government funding, leading to bureaucratic oversight. He notes that Trump’s crackdown on culture south of the border has spawned a chill, which he fears will spread to Canada.
“Why are we doing the work we’re doing?” he asks. “Is it to please the politicians? You’ve got it in the hands of crass people, and at the top of the pyramid is the President of the United States, who made his name in reality television. It’s depressing.”
He paints a bleak picture, but don’t worry: Bernard is addressing the state of his craft—and especially retirement—with positivity.
“[Retirement’s] an abyss, and I’m going to fight jumping off the abyss. I refuse to accept that 80 is old. My discipline is work, work, and work.”
When asked what drew him to theatre in the first place, he replies, “I think it’s showing off.”
He remembers singing in the family kitchen as a five-year-old every Saturday night and being rewarded with sixpence. That feeling of being recognised and rewarded stuck with him, added to a desire to forge his own path regardless of the risks. He welcomes the unknown.
“The one thing I love about being an actor is you never know what’s going to happen next. You could be out of work, wondering how you’re going to pay the rent, and then the phone rings. ‘Can you do so and so?’ ‘Yes. Start on Friday or Monday.’ It’s a crazy way to think, but I love not knowing what the future’s going to be.”
And the phone does ring. He’s a born raconteur and delights in telling stories.
Every summer, Bernard leads public tours through Vancouver’s Orpheum Theatre, regaling fans with tales of the city’s illustrious theatrical past.
He’s a consultant and performer with Western Gold, one of only two professional Canadian theatres dedicated to showcasing veteran actors.
Last summer, in a change of pace, Bernard was cast in the Vancouver-shot feature film Final Destination: Bloodlines, a popular comedy/horror franchise.
True, his character dies in the opening moments, but Bernard says it was great fun working with a director more than half his age.
“I had a ball. I said to Zach, ‘I’m having a great time, and at the end of it, you’re paying me.’ It fascinated me. I learned so much. I’m not an actor who just goes to my trailer. I like to stay around.”
He particularly enjoyed sitting in on a post-production edit to see how the computer artists quickly killed him off.
“I love youth because youth is a mirror to me,” he says. “When I see the embryo of talent there, it just lights me up.”
Inspired by youth, Bernard vows to press on. He’s learned stamina helps, but more importantly, it’s a love of the craft that leads to longevity. “You have to have passion,” he continues. “If you don’t have passion for the arts, get out. It’ll kill you.”
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