Armand Assante is an actor whose five-decade career has been defined by independence and range, often choosing roles outside a conventional Hollywood path—from early American films to European and international productions. He earned an Emmy Award for his portrayal of John Gotti and received four Golden Globe nominations for Gotti, The Odyssey, Q&A, and Jack the Ripper. His work spans projects such as 1492: Conquest of Paradise, American Gangster, Judge Dredd, and The Mambo Kings, consistently marked by a strong physical presence and a deeply internal approach to performance.
Over the years, how has your approach to building a character evolved?
What’s evolved most is that I’ve become a far more critical thinker than I was even twenty years ago. My process is deeply rooted in research—not just of the character or the script, but of the writer. I try to understand where the writer is coming from: their experiences, their motivations. If I can connect with that, I learn much more about the characters they’ve created.
Ultimately, my job is to take that understanding and put the character into my DNA. If you’re going to live on stage or in front of a camera, it has to become part of you. That’s the foundation of how I work.
When you’re on set, how much do you rely on improvisation?
I don’t improvise in an indulgent way. I’m very disciplined about respecting the text—the words are there for a reason. That said, behavior can be improvised. You can explore how a character moves, reacts, exists within a moment.
When I was a younger actor, I was trained to be very obedient to the author and the director, so I never indulged improvisation. I regret not studying it separately, because it’s a powerful tool. I’m a very intuitive, instinctive actor, and it could have served me further.
Improvisation can help uncover subtext and behavior, and with the right actors and director, you can arrive at something magical. But as someone who writes, I respect the writer’s intention. So for me, improvisation is a tool, not a replacement. I always come back to the text.
Is there a performance that defines you as an actor?
I’m told repeatedly that a few performances left the deepest impression. Certainly Gotti is at the top. It became a global film—popular across Europe, Russia, even Asia. That kind of reach was unexpected.It also typecast me in certain ways, because people began to associate me with that authoritarian presence. Then there’s The Mambo Kings, which had a remarkable global life despite a very limited initial release. You never really know how a film will resonate.
When you prepare for a role, do you start from instinct or research?
It becomes a combination, but I’m very rigorous about research. If I don’t understand why a story is being told—its relevance, its origin—I don’t feel I’m doing my job.
The process should never be rushed. Real creative work requires time. If you don’t put in the groundwork, you risk superficiality.
And there’s another aspect people underestimate: the work of the writer. A script might take years to distill. Acting is not just about the actor—it’s about honoring a collective process.
Was there a role that pushed you somewhere personally uncomfortable?
Yes. Recently, in a film I just did called Revival, directed by Armenian filmmaker Jivan Avetisyan, and earlier in On the Beach, directed by Russell Mulcahy, who also created Highlander. Both roles were very close to who I am, which made them more difficult.
When a role touches something deeply personal, you’re exposing parts of yourself you don’t usually access.
Both characters dealt with catastrophic circumstances, and I had to ask myself how I would respond to that. That requires digging into emotional reservoirs that are not easy to reach. Those roles left a strong impression on me.
You’ve portrayed real figures like John Gotti. How do you make a real person feel authentic without imitation?
With Gotti, I relied heavily on transcripts. He was one of the most recorded figures of his time, so I studied everything—what he said, how he said it, who he was speaking to. The transcripts revealed behavior.
I also understood the environment he came from. I’m a New Yorker—I knew those neighborhoods. I met with his original lawyers, Albert Krieger and Bruce Cutler, and spoke to people who knew him.
The key insight for me was that he sought no redemption. Once you understand that, it informs everything.
The goal is not imitation. It’s understanding the internal logic of the person—their worldview, their impulses.
What still excites you about acting after so many years?
Storytelling. That’s the core of it. But beyond that, I’m fascinated by behavior—why people do what they do.
What I look for is the subtext beneath a scene. What makes it alive? What gives it electricity? That’s what I’m always chasing.
I’ve always been instinctive, even when I was younger playing music. If you can tap into the impulses that make something feel alive, that’s when performance becomes electrifying.
What advice would you give your younger self?
Don’t compromise—and go through the fear. It’s the same thing I’ve said to myself since I was very young.
Fear is always there, but it’s often an illusion. You have to go right through it.
The other thing is will. Your will is part of your talent. There are talented people everywhere, but not everyone has the will to take the work to its conclusion.
That’s what the greats do—they pursue something until it’s fully realized. If I could go back, I’d tell myself: take everything to its conclusion.
