The Orphan Black star on his upcoming film, a new season of Murdoch Mysteries and why he loves Midtown

 

On an unseasonably cold July morning, Kristian Bruun and I stand on opposing sides of a public tennis court.

While throwing the ball in the air, I volley the first question at the Blue Jays cap–sporting Orphan Black star, “So you’re a Blue Jays fan?”

With a characteristic quickness, Bruun returns both my serve and my query, “When they aren’t playing like garbage.”

He grins as I make a nearly graceful attempt to return his shot. “Fancy footwork there, Serena,” he quips as I run to rescue the ball from a puddle. If said in a different tone, the comment could be seen as a slight, but Bruun, with his sheepish smirk, is all lighthearted jokes.

After about 20 minutes, our raft of tennis balls is soaked through, and neither of us is good enough, or keen enough, to keep playing. The court is still drenched by last night’s storm, and although the sun’s fighting its way through still-ominous clouds, we decide to move our interview over to what Bruun refers to jokingly as his “office,” which is in fact the Common, an unfussy white-brick café populated by laptop-toting freelancers.

The 34-year-old Midtown native’s career started to explode last year when he began starring regularly on two Toronto-filmed television shows that have garnered international audiences.

The shows are near opposites: one is a historical crime drama set in Toronto at the turn of the 20th century (Murdoch Mysteries), the other is a sci-fi conspiracy thriller that follows a clutch of clones and their search for the truth behind their origins (Orphan Black).

Like the shows, the characters Bruun portrays are drastically different. On Murdoch Mysteries Bruun plays Const. Slugger Jackson, a hotheaded cop with a heart of gold, whereas on Orphan Black he takes the role Donnie Hendrix, a seemingly colourless suburban father with a dark secret.

During his downtime, Bruun performs at local comedy nights (often spotted at the Comedy Bar, either on or off the stage), writes documentary scripts (he’s in the process of shopping around his co-written and co-produced travel documentary Somewhere Else Tomorrow), and produces films (his co-produced film Play has received seven awards from eight festivals in five countries).

 

“It’s dangerous to get too comfortable. Nothing is a go until you show up on set.”

 

These days, though, Bruun has little downtime. Between filming two television shows, he’s also completing production of three silver screen flicks: Night Cries, Bang Bang Baby and an A-list-studded biopic about James Dean, which co-stars Dane DeHaan, Robert Pattinson and Sir Ben Kingsley, called Life.

Bruun’s childhood was mostly divided between playing in Midtown parks, music lessons around town and catching many, many flicks at the local theatre.

“My best friend and I must’ve seen Jurassic Park 12 times in the theatre,” recalls Bruun, who full-volume screamed his way through the first time he saw the dinosaur romp.

Despite Bruun’s great affection for film, it wasn’t until his first year of university that the cinephile even considered an acting career.

When I ask Bruun why he was sent away to Valley Forge Military Academy in Pennsylvania, he fires back, “because I killed a kid,” with a mocking glint in his Scandinavian blue eyes. “Nah,” continues the actor. “I was a little round music nerd who played lots of instruments and ended up on a trumpet scholarship at Valley Forge.”

From a young age, Bruun was drawn to the military, and by the time he was in high school he had plotted an army career for himself.

At the boarding school, Bruun would get bit parts in the plays, not because he was particularly drawn to drama — he’s the first to admit he was “terrible at it [acting]” — but because the all-boys school would bring girls in to play the female roles.

The Murdoch Mysteries star credits his deceased father for his appreciation of comedy, but it was at Valley Forge Military Academy that Bruun was forced to learn how to make people laugh.

“It was the best training,” says Bruun, unironically. “I mean, if everybody went to a comedy school and thought the teacher was going to punch you if you didn’t make them laugh, the stakes are much higher.”

At the Lord of the Flies–like school, Bruun learned how to use laughter as a shield.

“If you could make someone bigger than you laugh, then they’re not going to want to hit you,” says Bruun.

The actor did well at Valley Forge Military Academy. By the time he left, he was a first lieutenant and a platoon leader with plans to finish a physics degree at Queen’s University and then join the Canadian Army. But then a friend’s simple dare changed everything.

During his first year at Queen’s, Bruun’s dormmate dared him to audition for the comedy troupe the Queen’s Players. And with that innocuous goad, Bruun’s life’s trajectory was derailed.

“I didn’t even know you could study theatre,” exclaims Bruun, who changed his major from physics to classics and then drama and went on to study theatre at George Brown Theatre School. “A lot of people go to school for seven years to become an actor, not a doctor or a lawyer,” scoffs Bruun.

Chatting with Bruun, you’d barely notice that he’s making the transition from fameish (being occasionally recognized at the grocery store) to famous (acting alongside red carpet veterans like Sir Ben Kingsley).

Bruun is quick to note that he doesn’t think that he’s “made it.” The actor isn’t being self-effacing but cautious.

“It's dangerous to get too comfortable. Nothing is a go until you show up on set. Anything can happen to take a project away. It’s scary sometimes. But it’s also what makes this business so damn exciting,” he says.

That being said, Bruun is buzzing with enthusiasm, and he has a long list of actors and directors that he hopes to work with, including John C. Reilly, Bruce McDonald, David Cronenberg and Steven Spielberg.

Just two years ago, aspiring to work with film industry greats like those seemed like a pipe dream, but the idea doesn’t seem as far-fetched anymore.

The actor is still incredibly modest and reverent of his roots. He thanks his mother for endowing him with an appreciation of the arts and even gets excited about his first cover profile in a magazine.

“I remember reading the Post when I was a little kid. It’s so crazy that I’ll be on the cover,” says Bruun.