Shortland Street star Stephen Lovatt on life, sobriety and performance after midlife lows

I was raised in a mixture of Dad’s traditional heartland Baptist and Mum’s high Anglican. Two versions of the Christian faith in direct conflict with each other – where Dad’s church said the Almighty absolutely split the Red Sea and Mum’s church saw the stories as conceptual interpretations. But Dad’s faith was very gentle and not judgmental. Although neither family was particularly chuffed when they chose each other. They met on a ship coming home from their OEs and they crossed a serious boundary to be with each other.

Stephen was 10 and three-quarters lbs at birth. Photo / NZ Woman’s Weekly

Childhood holidays were all about camping. Driving in the country, if we saw a river we liked the look of, we’d pull over and ask the farmer if we could cross their land to pitch our tents. One Christmas when I was about seven, we pitched our tents above the high tide line at Tolaga Bay. I woke around midnight and saw Santa Claus riding along the beach on a motorbike. That was the most magical thing.

My parents weren’t wealthy, but I was sent to a private boarding school which was a stretch they chose to make. But I was very unhappy there, even though I was aware it was a rare and precious experience. I also had to play rugby, which I hated. Being in the scrum with people punching each other and the coaches winking about it. I just don’t get male violence.

That school did offer amazing outdoors opportunities, running around with 12kg packs on our backs. Dropped off on a Friday at the base of some ranges with no adults to supervise, then picked up on Sunday night. It was mainly kids from farming or hunting families who chose to do those things. Kids for whom it was the most natural thing to sleep under a tarp. It was all very Boys’ Own Adventure, as well as sneaking down to the river at 2am to share a few Rothmans with our mates.

I canned out in my first year of university as it was really just a less disciplined version of school. I’d hoped we’d talk about literature, then write things to better understand the world. Instead, we had to make salient points about Sons and Lovers in 1500 words, so I took off and no one heard from me for six months.

I hitch-hiked out of town and was picked up by a guy who needed help operating a machine that made kiwifruit trays. Salt of the earth, I worked like a banshee for this bloke and I lived in his shed just south of Te Puke. On Saturday mornings, I’d walk into town and buy books. Then spend my evenings reading, listening to the radio and playing Five Hundred with the caretaker, a World War II veteran called Jimmy.

It was tough as I had no friends and I didn’t know how to go to the local pub, which was the home of the Nomads gang. My boss and his brother would go to the Cossie Club, but I didn’t know what that was. I hadn’t ever been part of a drinking culture, aside from my brief stint at university. But it was a very formative time, in the middle of nowhere, listening to my mate Jimmy crying about the things he’d seen in combat. I think it would make a great play. Maybe I’ll write it one day.

When I returned home, Mum and Dad had people over, so I went to the back door and knocked. Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, my father opened the door. When he saw me, he put his arm around my shoulder like it was the most normal thing in the world. Here’s their son, gone for six months and he just said ‘Stephen’s home.’ They must’ve decided not to make a big deal and let me tell my story in my own time. My parents were the opposite of helicopters.

After two years at drama school, I was convinced I was unemployable, so I went to the Whitsundays, where I cleaned toilets at a resort. It was hideous, so when a Wellington director tracked me down to offer me a play at Circa, I was on the first boat out. After that, I was offered Romeo at Downstage, and I spent the ’80s and ’90s doing endless theatre.

Stephen as Macbeth for Pop Up Globe in Sydney. Photo / NZ Woman’s Weekly

When I moved to Auckland, I couldn’t get work to save myself. I did a few plays and some guesties on TV shows, but I was rubbish because back then, we weren’t trained for screen acting. In spite of doubting myself, I made a show reel of the work I had done and I realised maybe I wasn’t the worst actor in the world.

My whole life, I’ve struggled with imposter syndrome because I didn’t grow up in an arts world. I’m from a family of farmers and engineers, but I went off to Oz with this tape and landed an agent. Two weeks later, I had an 18-month core cast contract on Medivac with Rena Owen, then it was off to the Logies. Even though I always had this sneaking sensation that I was wasting my life, apparently, I wasn’t.

After Covid, I became an Uber driver. I thought it would be humiliating but it was a wonderful job. Although you don’t make much money and it is very unhealthy to spend that much time sitting. One guy got in my car on a steamy hot Friday in downtown Auckland. It was about 5.30pm, the roads were jammed and this businessman slumps into the backseat. As we nosed into traffic, he’s doing this really slow, deep breathing. Eventually, I said ‘Tough day?’ and he cracked right open. Stranger to stranger. This tough-looking operator told me all the things he hated about his job as we crawled along Customhouse Quay. Eventually, we’re on Hobson St, and he started speaking about his wife and daughter, how much he loved them and he remembered why he was doing the job he hated. By the time I dropped him at his door, he was on cloud nine.

I don’t know if I was an actual alcoholic – and there was no way I could ever go to AA as I’m not dealing with a Godhead of any kind – but I have numerous friends who have unhealthy relationships with that drug and I was one of them. Even though I hadn’t come across alcohol in a serious way until after I left school, by my fifties, I was not the person I wanted to be. Alcohol was damaging for me. I was making bad choices and I decided I had to stop.

Stephen says 0% beer freed him. Photo / Stephen A’Court Photography

I found a zero alcohol beer that tasted like real beer and I drank that obsessively. That 0% beer turned the screws at the back of my tongue to trick me through a whole month without booze and it freed me. I don’t drink now and I don’t miss it one little bit. I’m incredibly grateful that stopping was relatively easy, which was maybe because it hadn’t been normalised for me in childhood, at home or school. That’s my theory, but who knows?

I definitely had a midlife crisis. It wasn’t so much crying into the darkness, more a series of despairing moments and being aware of the meaninglessness of life. I don’t think it’s possible to be a conscious person and not find causes for despair, which is why we have to find ways to live with that feeling. To take joy where we can find it and I find it all over the place. In friendships and all sorts of cheesy stuff. Like being a parent and a grandfather, I’m so grateful for that. Things are pretty sweet for me right now.”

As told to Elisabeth Easther

Stephen celebrates the legacy of acclaimed playwright Bruce Mason with a double feature of two of his greatest plays, The End of the Golden Weather and Not Christmas, But Guy Fawkes at Q Theatre, July 23-August 2. Visit qtheatre.co.nz for tickets. Stephen will also star in Silo Theatre’s Job from September 3-20. See silotheatre.co.nz

Alcohol addiction