"The guy who plays the Punisher offers to make me a cup of tea. When I decline, Jon Bernthal, forty-nine, reaches for a square tin box and pops off the lid to reveal a pile of purple gummies. I am certain there's weed in them. "Want one?" He asks, pushing the tin in front of me. I pause, eyeballing them. "They're soft throat lozenges. Sugar-free. These fuckers are good, dude.""
"An hour earlier, he met me inside the stage door at the August Wilson Theatre in Manhattan-where he's starring in the Broadway adaptation of Dog Day Afternoon -dressed in blue jeans and an orange hoodie, an American flag on the left breast. Under the flag are the words "We Support the Troops." He was shirtless beneath the sweatshirt, a tattoo on his left pectoral that says "Lil Bird," his nickname for his wife, Erin, peeking out. He had the hood pulled over his head, which was already covered in a stocking cap."
"This is exactly how I expected Bernthal to dress, given the roughneck originality of his work: He transformed The Walking Dead into a show about morality; he blistered the screen with profanity and chaos, opposite Brad Pitt, in Fury; he found the soul of an ultraviolent superhero in The Punisher. The independent film Small Engine Repair, in which he plays a townie from Manchester, New Hampshire, and We Own This City, embodying real-life crooked Baltimore cop Wayne Jenkins, are platonic ideals of a Bernthal performance: He can be charming and funny, pulling hard on a cigarette or sipping on a Mike's Hard Lemonade, walking the line between tenderness and menace."
Jon Bernthal offers a cup of tea and then presents a square tin box filled with purple gummies, claiming they are sugar-free soft throat lozenges. He pushes the tin forward, asks if the other person wants one, and describes them as very good. After declining tea, the other person accepts a lozenge, while Bernthal eats one and settles into a relaxed posture for a candid conversation. Earlier, he met the person at the stage door in Manhattan wearing blue jeans, an orange hoodie with an American flag and “We Support the Troops,” and visible tattoos. His appearance and background connect to his history of playing morally complex, profanity-filled, and ultraviolent roles, often balancing charm, humor, tenderness, and menace.
Read at Esquire
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