Hi Jean- Michael, thanks for taking the time to speak with us. You trained at Studio 58 and later at the Stratford Festival’s Birmingham Conservatory. How did those early experiences shape your foundation as an actor, and what lessons have stayed with you throughout your career?
Studio 58 taught me discipline very early on — showing up ten minutes early, checking the schedule, and committing six days a week. I learned the building blocks of stage performance and creation, and, just as importantly, the difference between acting from the heart and hiding behind a persona.
Stratford was a bath in the absolute genius of Shakespeare — the depth of the language, the rhetoric, the imagery. I trained in stage combat, dance, neutral mask, voice, and movement. It took everything I had learned at Studio 58 and deepened it. Ultimately, though, I learned the most simply by performing night after night. Theatre training gives you range, depth, and endurance.
During your four seasons at the Stratford Festival, you tackled iconic works like The Tempest and The Merchant of Venice. Which role challenged you the most, and how did it influence your approach to performance?
Playing Ferdinand in The Tempest was hugely challenging. I was still new to both Shakespeare and the Stratford stage. I remember standing backstage before my monologue on opening night — eighteen hundred people in the audience — feeling so nervous I thought I might pass out. At a certain point, I got angry and stopped worrying about what they were going to think and thought, just do what you came here to do. I flipped them the bird — internally — and walked on with purpose. Sometimes, a healthy contempt for the audience is exactly what you need.
Another challenge came during The Merchant of Venice, where the director had a very convoluted vision. Upholding it over months felt like pulling a plow for six months. That experience taught me something important: as actors, we’re often just grateful to be working, but it’s equally important to ask whether you truly want to serve the vision of a particular show.
As a bilingual actor who has performed across both Anglophone and Francophone stages, how has working in two languages expanded your understanding of character and storytelling?
There’s a saying that my head is in English and my heart is in French, and I think there’s some truth to that. At times, I feel like an outsider in both worlds, but I also feel incredibly lucky to work in both languages. English is concise and malleable, with a culture that values subtlety and restraint. French revels in the senses, passion, musicality, and volatility. I try to bring elements of both into my characters and storytelling. And I’ll admit, I absolutely love doing accents.
You co-founded a drama school at Théâtre français de Toronto, nurturing new talent. How has teaching and mentoring influenced your own craft and perspective as a performer?
Teaching — whether co-founding the drama program at Théâtre français de Toronto or teaching at Stratford Festival and the University of Toronto — has solidified the fundamentals of acting for me. It’s incredibly rewarding work and continually reveals what is profoundly human. I also believe that when you’ve benefited from the generosity of great artists and teachers, you have a responsibility to pass that knowledge on to the next generation. So I give back when I can.
Transitioning from classical theatre to contemporary screen work, what adjustments did you have to make in your technique, and has one discipline ever fundamentally changed how you approach the other?
Learning to communicate to the back row of an eighteen-hundred-seat theatre is technical and muscular. Transitioning to camera work — which requires you to go inward and allow the camera in — was a major challenge at first. But the saying is true: if you can do theatre, you can do anything.
Stage work develops your voice, stretches your imagination, and sharpens your physical articulation. One area where it helped immensely was comic timing. Performing comedy in front of a live audience teaches you precision — and helps you discover your own inner clown.
Your screen credits include Orphan Black, Frontier, and French Exit, among others. What do you look for in a project or role, and is there a thread that connects your choices across genres?
I usually trust my initial gut reaction. When I read sides or a script and feel genuine excitement or curiosity, that’s a good sign. Over the years, my taste has evolved, and I’m still learning to trust that instinct more and more. When it’s honed, it becomes a reliable compass.
Can you share a moment from your film or television career that tested your emotional or technical limits as a performer?
One moment that stands out involved major script rewrites that I didn’t receive until about twenty minutes before shooting. Suddenly, I had a large amount of new text to memorize. I remember sitting in my trailer, sweating, and very methodically applying every technique I knew. Not only did I learn it word for word, but I surprised myself by how quickly it came together. It reinforced how much preparation matters under pressure.
As someone who has worked with celebrated directors and on acclaimed productions, how do you approach collaborating with filmmakers who have strong artistic visions?
In my experience, the higher up you go in terms of scale and experience, the easier collaboration becomes. There’s usually more time, more resources, and less insecurity. Directors at that level often know exactly what they want, but they’re also open to other ideas. They trust their casting, which creates space for real dialogue and play.
Saint-Pierre’s Renuf Aucoin has quickly become a fan favorite. What initially drew you to the character, and how did you prepare for the role in Season One?
Renuf starts out as kind of disgruntled — dissatisfied, a bit bitter, not particularly happy in his job. Over the course of the first season, he turns things around and becomes a team player, and that evolution really appealed to me. I spent a lot of time researching the islands, especially the accent, which helped unlock his physicality. French speakers tend to gesture a lot, and that informed his movement.
When Allan suggested the moustache, something clicked — it was absolutely the right call. Finding the balance between humour and truth, without slipping into caricature, became a very interesting line to walk.
In Season Two of Saint-Pierre, Renuf’s calm exterior is tested as old secrets resurface. How did you prepare for this evolution, and what new facets of the character did you discover?
Renuf’s English isn’t strong, so in Season One he’s often listening and trying to understand what’s happening around him, which gives him a slightly bumbling quality. Season Two really tests his loyalty. Thanks to the writing, I discovered much more depth — not just his attachment to the island and community, but how deeply his past has shaped him and how much he carries emotionally.
Without giving away spoilers, what can viewers expect from Renuf’s journey this season—especially as his loyalty, instincts, and heart are put to the test?
Episode eight is particularly significant. Renuf is thrown back into memories from high school and forced to choose where his loyalty lies. Revisiting a dark moment from his past tests him deeply and reveals much more of who he is.
Finally, what do you hope audiences will experience or take away from watching the new season of Saint-Pierre and your performance as Renuf?
Season Two is full of adventure, and it deepens our relationship to the island — or rather, the archipelago of Saint-Pierre et Miquelon. We get to know the characters more fully, and the world becomes richer, darker, and more complex. As an audience member, I think it’s ultimately a more rewarding season to watch.
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