Mark Rylance has lots to crow about

Mark Rylance has been called one of the most gifted actors of his generation. And eccentric. He has a certain . . . reputation.

Take his Tony Award speeches -- he's won best actor twice, in 2008 for "Boeing-Boeing" and this year for "Jerusalem," and after winning each he recited an obscure poem from Minnesota poet Louis Jenkins. Sure, the verse is free-form and sounds sort of rambling, but if you listen carefully, you'll hear a pertinent theme. Come on, do we really need yet another actor thanking his fellow nominees and the good folks at William Morris?

Born in England, Rylance moved with his family to Connecticut, then Wisconsin, where in high school at 16 he played Hamlet -- and was hooked. (Dad played the Gravedigger, and his English teacher was a "gorgeous" Gertrude, he recalls.)

Then it was back to Britain, attending the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. His career blossomed, he married composer Claire van Kampen and eventually became artistic director of London's Globe Theatre, staging and performing in "Antony and Cleopatra." (He played Cleo.)

This past season, he dominated Broadway, playing a buffoon in "La Bête," then the outlandish hermit Johnny "Rooster" Byron in "Jerusalem," Jez Butterworth's raucous, edgy play that's been extended (now running at The Music Box through Aug. 21). Rylance sat down backstage recently with Newsday contributor Joseph V. Amodio.

Each performance, your character enters like a hungover Rocky Balboa, downing vodka and raw egg. How's that egg?

It's just soymilk, water and egg. Early on, the egg would hold onto the bottom of the glass -- it refused to go, and I'd be eyeing it, thinking . . . when? When? Now, it's not so bad.

I hear you've got the cast playing volleyball in the house before the audience enters.

Yeah, it's a terrific warm-up -- all about passing the ball to each other. Sometimes, the ball goes way out, a bad pass, and people have to dive and get it. That reminds you mistakes are great for plays. In football, a well-executed play is a thing of beauty, but a fumble or interception is when the whole crowd roars.

Rooster is so . . . intense. Is it tough, at home, turning back into Mark Rylance?

I take a 10- or 15-minute shower. And debrief myself. Like a ritual. Then, I'm excited to get drinks or dinner. But really, living with him isn't all that difficult.

Hmmm, would your wife agree?

I don't think she finds him as difficult as Hamlet or Henry V. She didn't like Henry V much. She found him rather pugnacious.

You're known for improvising. Do directors not ask you anymore to "freeze" a performance, typical of many shows?

Oh, no, I'd never work with a refrigerator man. Sometimes, you get attached to the timing of a laugh, but letting it go and finding another way is so good. In a lot of scenes, I have three or four choices I've used. Like in a band, when suddenly an instrument that hasn't played comes in. If I'm the trumpet, I'll play muted through that scene, 'cause I want the audience to enjoy this new character and for him to have the focus.

What do you recall of growing up in America?

I remember the sound of the train in Wisconsin -- the Milwaukee line -- that sense of . . . big things moving through. I miss the extreme weather. Even the sky seems wider here. The great sense of space.

And Connecticut? Your dad taught at Choate prep school?

I was there as a child and had the huge campus to play in. I remember when Robert Kennedy died, staging his funeral -- I had a little wagon, and made a coffin, walking it solemnly around campus, me and other friends.

An actor, even then. What's next for you?

I wrote a play, and I've just been offered for it to be published, which is so exciting. It was called "The Big Secret Live -- I Am Shakespeare -- Webcam Daytime Chatroom Show." Now, it's called "I Am Shakespeare."

Ah. Simpler.

I'm increasingly drawn to writing. I guess I've been at the other end for so long, I'm now drawn to the initial creation of words and situations.

Is there a role you haven't played you'd like to try?

Richard III. How about you? Are you writing other things besides this?

Actually, I'm working on a book, but it's hard to write that after spending the whole day writing . . .

It's difficult. Making time and space for it.

It's driving me crazy.

That's a good sign. It means you're going to do something about it.

Really?

Yeah! Don't kill the craziness. Make space for it.