Colin Cunningham doesn’t do ordinary. Whether he’s leading a post-apocalyptic gang of outlaws or calmly delivering interstellar protocol in a military uniform, he radiates the kind of unpredictability that makes you lean in. He’s not a movie star in the traditional sense—he’s something better: a chameleon with swagger, a performer who brings danger and depth to roles most actors would flatten into caricature. Over a decades-long career in film and television, Cunningham has built a reputation as one of sci-fi’s most magnetic wild cards—and he’s done it all without ever sacrificing the weird, the wild, or the deeply human.
Born in Los Angeles in 1966, Cunningham didn’t take the straight path into acting. In fact, his first push toward performance came on a dare. That dare turned into a career, but not before he took a detour through theater, co-founding the Open Fist Theatre Company in L.A., and studying directing at Vancouver Film School. That directorial eye would later shape the way he approached characters—as not just roles, but architecture: how they move, how they shift, how they command space.
Audiences first got a taste of his presence in guest roles across genre television, but his breakout came as Major Paul Davis on Stargate SG-1. At first glance, Davis was a straight-laced military liaison, but Cunningham made him more than a functionary—he gave him weight, warmth, and a subtle kind of intensity. It’s a pattern that would define Cunningham’s career: take a supporting character and make them unforgettable.
Then came Falling Skies, TNT’s alien-invasion epic, and Cunningham’s full transformation into John Pope—a chaotic antihero equal parts Mad Max and Malcolm X. With a motorcycle, a sawed-off shotgun, and a hair-trigger temper, Pope was the show’s conscience and its wild card. One minute philosophical, the next feral, Cunningham brought a live-wire charisma to the role that turned Pope into a fan-favorite and elevated the entire series.
But Cunningham doesn’t stick to just one flavor of chaos. In Syfy’s grindhouse dystopia Blood Drive, he played Julian Slink, a flamboyant, sadistic ringmaster who looked like David Bowie got trapped in a death race. It was camp, it was horror, it was unhinged—and Cunningham gave it everything. Then in AMC’s Preacher, he flipped the switch again, playing the soft-spoken but deeply unsettling T.C., bringing Southern Gothic sleaze to life with eerie charm.
What’s remarkable is how Cunningham never seems like he’s chasing stardom. He chases transformation. He finds corners in his characters others might miss—the vulnerability behind the villain, the humor in the horror. He’s not afraid to go big, but he never loses control. Even when his characters are cracking skulls or spouting madness, there’s a razor-sharp intelligence at play. He’s not chewing scenery—he’s reengineering it.
Off-screen, Cunningham is equally complex. He’s a director and producer, with his short film Centigrade earning critical acclaim and an Oscar shortlist spot. He’s also a musician, fronting his funk/soul band and playing saxophone like he’s got a second life offstage. Recently, he relocated to Utah—not to disappear, but to rewire, recharge, and dig into a different kind of creativity. Even from outside Hollywood’s center, he remains an artist who chooses his roles, curates his projects, and shows up ready to burn the place down—in the best way.
Colin Cunningham is not interested in being the safe choice. He’s interested in being alive on screen. He brings edge to every role, unpredictability to every scene, and a kind of unteachable spark that makes you wish his characters stuck around longer.
He’s not the loudest name in the credits. But you remember him long after the episode ends.
