play Archives | Stage & Candor

Posted on November 2, 2017November 15, 2017 by admin

In Process: The White Dress

I am a guest at the first rehearsal of The White Dress—a new play by Roger Mason, directed and choreographed by Adin Walker, which will be presented at The American Theatre of Actors from November 2nd through November 5th. The play follows Jonathan, a young person navigating their gender identity—with a vivid, dynamic ensemble accompanying and guiding him along. Everyone is on a journey; each character is navigating their own path to self-discovery.

It’s time to meet each other. The rest of the team, in the basement of the South Oxford Space, talks to Roger, who is in Los Angeles. He is on speaker, being passed from person to person on someone’s phone, which somehow makes him larger than life. He is infectiously enthusiastic. We all go around the room, introduce ourselves, share our pronouns, and share stories of our first encounters with our identities—as a room, we once threw up out of physical attraction, we were once called a racial slur immediately after learning about slavery, we once demanded the right to play the flute as a child.

They start with a read-through around the table—a new draft, with a few surprises in it. But it’s clear that this is a process that will really begin in the bodies of the actors. This process will begin with movement, with establishing a gestural vocabulary that will inform the text. They read the play without its stage directions—I have no script to consider, so I focus on the language itself and I close my eyes a few times. Expressions of love and recklessness run throughout—lines like “Remember when you didn’t give a damn?” stick with me. On identity— “Did you put them on? Then they’re yours.” We hear Charles Inniss (the sound designer) play a theme for Jonathan. Serafina Bush (the costume designer) shows us an array of wild and fabulous reference images. The square space between the rectangular tables is full of possibility.

The next time I’m in the room, they’ve spent almost a week with the piece. I walk in and Mayfield Brooks (the movement dramaturg) and Michelle Vergara Moore (playing Hazel, Jonathan’s mother) are working on a movement piece together. Mayfield tells Michelle that they are making a “score, pattern, structure.” They are working with a silk jacket. Mayfield works like the conductor of an orchestra—if conductors of orchestras gave their entire bodies to their performance.

With their own movements as well as their words, they encourage Michelle to follow her actions through to their natural conclusions—“Do that whole thing again, but have a pathway.” The philosophy of movement in this piece, as Adin describes it, is to explore how each character is “carrying the identities and signifiers that are inscribed onto their bodies.” Michelle is learning the language of her character’s body—they talk about the dance she is doing as if it is an internal monologue: there is a moment of remembering, there is a moment of release.

The rest of rehearsal is devoted to first attempts. Izzy Castaldi and Stanley Mathabane track their teenage characters’ relationship through a few different moments: they experiment with a sleepover scene, a nosebleed moment, a kiss where lips don’t touch. Adin wonders if the entire show could be done without using a single chair. They decide to try the scene at hand without chairs. This is the time to try things, after all—and I look forward to witnessing the decisions they make.

***

The White Dress is playing at The John Cullum Theatre at the American Theatre of Actors on November 2 to November 5, 2017. Tickets can be purchased at thewhitedressplay.com/.

Posted on October 12, 2017October 12, 2017 by admin

A Conversation with Duane Boutté, Michael Laurence and Thom Sesma

Duane Boutté, Michael Laurence, Thom Sesma

Thomas Jefferson, Charles Dickens, and Count Leo Tolstoy are trapped together in a room. That’s the basic premise for Scott Carter’s play, The Gospel According to Thomas Jefferson, Charles Dickens and Count Leo Tolstoy: Discord, which recently opened at the Cherry Lane Theater as part of Primary Stage’s season. I recently sat down for an engaging conversation with the three talented, charming, and intelligent actors who bring Jefferson, Dickens, and Tolstoy to life.

Margarita Javier: I love the title of the play: The Gospel According to Thomas Jefferson, Charles Dickens and Count Leo Tolstoy: Discord. What can you tell us about it?

Duane Boutté: Where to begin?

Thom Sesma: How much do you know about it, firstly?

Margarita: I know the playwright, Scott Carter, found out that these different people had written their versions of the gospels, so he wrote an imagined meeting between the three of them in the afterlife. And then they get into a philosophical discussion, all their ideals clashing.

Thom: Thanks for explaining it; now it’s all so much clearer to me! [laughs]

Margarita: But how would you describe it?

Michael Laurence: That’s a pretty good summary. They’re trapped in a limbo, sort of No Exit style.

Duane: And they’re all on a quest to find out why the three of them are together, and that ends up being very, I think, powerful, when they finally do figure it out.

Thom: They’re three very cerebral, self-sufficient individuals, and this meeting of the minds is between three very self-sufficient, powerful egos who can’t help but result in conflict, without effort.

Michael: And it’s a conflict that’s sort of ignited by the discovery—and I don’t think this is a spoiler because it happens pretty early on, the title kind of sums it up anyway—but it turns out that they all edited a version of the New Testament. And so that sends them hurdling into a clash of ideas around theology.

Thom: That’s the premise. But essentially, to reduce it to the most basic idea, it’s about three guys trapped in a room who aren’t getting along.

Duane: It’s about an afterlife, it’s about salvation, it’s about Christianity.

Thom: It’s about doubt, skepticism, and faith. Faith at work even when you don’t realize it.

Margarita: How much did you already know about the characters you’re playing—Jefferson, Tolstoy, or Dickens—before you embarked on this project?

Duane: I think we all knew a little about these people, as much as anyone else. I think we’re all pretty well-read as individuals. We know about Jefferson from history, we know about Tolstoy because we all saw a miniseries of War and Peace at some point in our life, we’ve all read Christmas Carol or seen Oliver! the Musical. But Scott Carter, the author, in addition to being incredibly read and well-informed and deep into the research for this play, is also the most generous playwright I think I’ve ever worked with in sharing his research. So about three months before we started working, we all started getting packages in the mail.

Michael: A tome every week. Giant biographies.

Duane: More reading than you could ever do in a lifetime.

Margarita: And did you actually read all of it?

Duane: We did our best. [laughs]

Margarita: Have you read the gospels that they each wrote?

All three: Yes.

Duane: That was the easy part.

Thom: Those are relatively short.

Michael: He sent me, I think, six biographies of Jefferson, and each one of them is a doorstopper, a 900-page tome.

Thom: I got two biographies of Tolstoy, a stack of essays, several videos, a documentary on Tolstoy’s life, a video adaptation of War and Peace, a new translation of War and Peace, a new translation of Anna Karenina, and a number of other translations of his fiction.

Duane: I got about the same. I got two biographies, I got his notes on Dickens’ American tour, I got three novels, short stories, and videos. We just sort of take it from where you are, and pull what to use as your research for that week.

Michael: I think he told me in a note after the third or fourth package arrived, he said, “I’m helping you to build the Jefferson pavilion in the Scott Carter wing of the Laurence library.” Just a giant shelf of books and videos. [laughs]

Margarita: Is accuracy important to this play in terms of being true to these people or are there liberties taken?

Duane: It’s important for a way in, and then the play is the play. Things are taken at face value of the play, but also knowing that people are coming into the experience with maybe some knowledge of perhaps one more than the other two. So there is a responsibility, but when it comes down to it, the play tells you what you need to know.

Margarita: How has it been working with the director, Kimberly Senior?

Thom: Kimberly’s terrific. It’s a great room to be in. First of all, to be with a couple of incredibly generous actors, guys who are fun to spend time with. Kimberly’s the same way. She makes the room a very safe place to do your work. I’ve heard it said that 75% of a director’s job is getting people on the same page and then getting out of the way. And she has done that since day one. She’s just tremendous.

Duane: She gives us a lot of room for exploration.

Thom: And she challenges us, too, to not take the easy way out.

Margarita: You’re currently in previews. How has the audience response been so far?

Duane: It’s been good. They’re laughing with us a lot, which is I think part of the hopes for the play: that people are drawn by the characters, and their humor, and then they’re more inclined to follow the more philosophical aspects of the play.

Margarita: I’m interested in talking about the casting. I know the casting notice specified that it was open to all ethnicities. Even though these were historically white men, the casting doesn’t necessarily correspond to that. Is this something that Scott has always intended? Was it just for this production? Is it something that makes any difference in the way it’s performed, or does it not matter?

Michael: I’m the “necessarily” in that sentence [laughs]. There have been a few other productions of this play, and I think this is the first production that is not three white actors playing three white dead men. And I think that was purposeful; I think that was in line with Kimberly’s vision of the play in New York, in a post-Hamilton theatrical landscape.

Duane: Kimberly has expressed that she’s grown tired of seeing and working on plays that don’t reflect the world that she lives in. And along with that, she’s wanted to find opportunities in things that she’s now working on. So this is not just this play, this is something that’s important to her going forward in her work. She wants to find ways for the plays to reflect the people she knows. So she came into this with the desire to have a cast of mixed races and really had to hold out for that. It didn’t turn out for her in the initial casting. She had to really be patient. And she was, and I’m grateful that she was.

Thom: You know what’s been really lovely? It’s that we’ve been performing now for a full week, right? A full week of performances. We have an African American playing Dickens, we have an Asian American playing Tolstoy, and a white guy playing Jefferson. I haven’t heard one single comment by anyone about the diverse landscape that’s onstage right now. Which is great, which means it doesn’t matter.

Margarita: It doesn’t. And I imagine it’s a more sophisticated audience going to this show. Because there have been comments about that kind of thing in other productions, even Hamilton had a bit of backlash.

Duane: I think in Hamilton, and also in this play, it adds relevance for me, because we all have these ideas of Thomas Jefferson now, who in our company is the one role played by a white actor. And he’s now running in relation to actors of a different background, which I feel from the inside, I carry who I am in everything I do. So I think it informs Dicken’s reaction to Jefferson, Dicken’s reaction to America. Dickens did visit America, twice, and had strong opinions about slavery and class. I think that for me as an African American male, it’s easy for me to adopt his perceptions, because I agree with them.

Michael: At least one of the themes of the play, one of the major themes, is race relations. I think, in a way, it brings another layer into the room and the experience for the audience watching this play, because the legacy of race relations, the legacy of slavery is threaded into the biography of Jefferson and Dickens, and in a more indirect way Tolstoy as well, because there’s a sort of analog there with Russian serfs and Tolstoy’s relationship to people “who are owned,” as Dickens says in the play. So I think that, whether it’s pointed to or not, there’s an added layer there of some kind.

Margarita: Why is it okay for a person of color to play a historically white person, but it’s not ok for a white actor to play a historical person of color?

Duane: If you look at the canon of American plays, and you’re going to give a ratio of how many roles there are in produced theater that call for white characters, compared to the roles and opportunities available for black characters, or Asian characters, who are more underrepresented, etc., and how many people in this country whose stories aren’t being told. So for that reason, it’s just not time. We’re not there yet. When will we be there? I can’t say. But it’s not time yet.

Thom: To put it another way, to use this as a point of departure: To see a white person playing, for instance, the King of Siam, indicates white ownership of that character. Of that role. In other words, it’s an extension of a kind of slavery, if you will, to put it very crudely. That somehow it’s still ok to be colonial. When in fact it’s not. Why is it correct in the other way? Because it’s the only way we can give the public greater exposure. It’s interesting also, the thing about Hamilton, I just have to point this out, in terms of people’s backlash towards Hamilton: Hamilton is about people of color telling the story of the white person. “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story.” That’s what that’s about, so that’s why the backlash of show is missing the point.

Margarita: I agree and I feel the same way because I’m Latina and historically a lot of famous Latino roles have been played by white actors and like you say it’s kind of ownership of your role, but it’s also misrepresentation because then it’s portrayed in a way that’s not accurate to our real experience and that furthers the divide and people’s misconceptions about our cultures.

Thom: It’s not just ownership of the role; that minimizes what I’m trying to say. It’s ownership of the race. Ownership of the culture. And that’s what perpetuates more than anything else. You know, there’s a huge controversy right now over the casting of a production of Evita. Which is interesting because ethnically, Eva Perón didn’t have any Latina blood in her. She was Basque and French, right? Or Italian. And yet they never even saw Latina women for the role simply on the basis of their talent; they were excluded because they were Latina.

Margarita: What do you think this play is telling us, why is it relevant to us now in this moment of time?

Michael: For some of the reasons we were just talking about, in terms of how America is haunted by its own past.

Duane: Kimberly came into our dressing room a few nights ago, and said that a friend of hers thanked her for this play because it’s about things that we don’t get to see and discuss in the theater. Religion. Christianity. God. Atheism. And for that reason I find it unique, important. It’s a thing that we avoid because it’s a very tender topic for a lot of people. And it’s potentially divisive.

Michael: I also think it’s enormously relevant in the sense that America, our country is in the throes of an existential crisis right now. An identity crisis, the culture wars of the ‘80s have reared their heads again. The political divide is deeper than it’s been since the 1960s. More savage, more violent. People are more deeply entrenched and tribal in their thinking and their politics. Not to talk about it only from the Jefferson side of things, but I feel that responsibility every night, of walking out onstage and playing one of the great Presidents in our country’s history who, for all of his flaws, which are unmasked appropriately in this play, bring those questions, even just in terms of separation of Church and state which, again, is something that is also tearing questions around that issue. And here we’re reminded that the origins, the founding of our nation, that there was an experiment there, a new experiment in the world, about separating those things and why that was and how that came about. That’s important to see.

Thom: The fact that Christianity has been hijacked by the radical right, has been turned into a truncheon that they can beat anyone with, is frightening. Because it’s not just the origins of our country, it’s the origins of Christianity itself, which is based on charity, which is rooted in thought and kindness and suffering. It goes back to what Duane was saying, what Kimberly told us about her friend. Generally, there are people in the theater who tend to be progressive; left-leaning people don’t want to talk about those things. Don’t want to talk about faith. Don’t want to talk about belief. They will talk about skepticism. And I think that most of those people, like these characters, are more spiritually oriented than they actually realize.

Duane: And it’s not a play just for Christians. It really isn’t, you know?

Michael: It’s relevant too to how essential it is to see three cerebral, great figures who shaped history, each of them in their prominent ways, discussing religion and politics and being nuanced and thoughtful in ways beyond 140 characters.

Thom: And revealing themselves not as icons, but as humans. Deeply flawed, fallible, passionate humans.

Margarita: What are your personal artistic influences? Anything that moves you or any particular work or artist that has really motivated you throughout your career?

Duane: Tough question.

Michael: For me there’s almost too many influences to name here, but I will say, something that is very moving to me personally is I have always been steeped in the lore of Off-Broadway. When I was a teenager, I was meeting Beckett and Albee. And the Cherry Lane, which is ground zero for a lot of those early Off-Broadway experiments of the ‘60s and ‘70s, for me, it’s such a joy to be performing there.

Thom: I’m so glad to hear you say that because I feel exactly the same way. I was telling someone else about that. You can have a career, for 35, almost 40 years, on Broadway and TV and film, but man, I feel like I’ve arrived. At this extraordinary, legendary place. To “trod these boards,” as they say, where Beckett had his American premiere.

Michael: You walk into the stage door and there’s a giant poster of Beckett looming on the wall. And Sam Shepherd and Irene Fornés. Albee.

Thom: We just let the ghosts take care of us. [laughs]

Margarita: Since you mentioned Beckett, Michael, I wanted to tell you I saw Krapp 39.

Michael: You did? Oh my God, wow!

Margarita: Yeah, I studied Beckett in grad school.

Michael: Did you really?

Margarita: Yeah! I saw your play and I loved it.

Michael: Oh thank you!

Margarita: Are you still writing?

Michael: My last play was called Hamlet in Bed, it was at Rattlesnake. And then last summer I took both pieces, Krapp 39 and Hamlet in Bed to the Edinburgh festival, so that was a dream come true. And I’m working on a new play now. Writing—I don’t want to say I love it more than acting, but…

Margarita: Does writing inform your acting? Or does your performing inform your writing?

Michael: I’m sure it does in many ways I’m not great at articulating. But I’m sure it does.

Margarita: And Duane, you’re a composer and a director. What’s it like for you, as a director, when you’re performing for someone else?

Duane: I have to turn it off. Absolutely turn it off. One of the things that I always tell myself is “your director is very smart,” no matter who I’m working with. The other person is sitting on the outside looking at things that I’m not. It’s not my job to look at. So listen to your director. Always say yes, and maybe eventually you’ll figure out why you’ve been asked to do what you’ve been asked to do. It’s nice to just focus on one character and that character’s track and journey, and let someone else be responsible for all the rest of it.

Margarita: What, if anything, is your dream role?

Duane: One of my favorite playwrights is August Wilson. I’ve only been in one of his plays.

Margarita: Which one?

Duane: Joe Turner’s Come and Gone. That was in Denver during graduate school. It was a company production, but I was a student. So I would love to do some of his plays. They, for me, are right up there with O’Neill and the other greats. And I’ve had a good time with Shakespeare; there are certainly a lot of those roles that I hope I don’t outage.

Margarita: Which one? Name one.

Duane: Hamlet. I’d love to play Hamlet.

Margarita: You can still play Hamlet!

Thom: You know, I’ve gotten to play a lot of my dream roles. I’ve been very blessed in that way. And I know it sounds like such a cliché, but my dream role is invariably the one I’m working on. It really is. Because it has invariably all the same chewiness—you still have to be truthful, you still have to be naked, eager to work what teaches you. Willing to follow where it leads.

Michael: I’ve been lucky to play many dream roles, and there are many more that I’m a little long in the tooth to play as well. I have always wanted to play Jerry in The Zoo Story. I actually auditioned for Albee for a production of that, and I didn’t get it because I think I was trying too hard. But we ended up having a nice long conversation about Beckett. More than anything these days, what I love doing is working on new plays. So my dream role maybe hasn’t been written yet. I can tell you there are so many playwrights that I would love to work with. A couple of years ago in one season I worked with both Branden Jacobs-Jenkins and Sam Hunter, who are two of the most brilliant playwrights I know. So I would eagerly jump into anything, any worlds that they create. Annie Baker, I would love to be in an Annie Baker play. We’re lucky to be living in an era of so many extraordinarily gifted American playwrights. And you know, if none of that works out, I’ll go and write a dream role for myself.

Margarita: Discord is currently running through October 22. Why should people come see this play?

Duane: Because it’s good. And it has heart.

Michael: And funny. It’s very funny.

Thom: Because there’s nothing better than a good night at the theater. What are the six most beautiful words in the English language? “We are going to the theater.”

Duane Boutté (Charles Dickens) played Harlem Renaissance artist “Bruce Nugent, young” in Rodney Evans’ film Brother to Brother, and “Bostonia” in Nigel Finch’s Stonewall (’96). Boutté appeared on Broadway in Parade and Carousel (Lincoln Center), and Off-Broadway in The Bubbly Black Girl Sheds Her Chameleon Skin and as “Louis Chauvin” in The Heliotrope Bouquet by Scott Joplin and Louis Chauvin (Playwrights Horizons).

Michael Laurence (Thomas Jefferson) previously appeared at Primary Stages in Opus and The Morini Strad. Also: Talk Radio (Broadway), Hamlet in Bed (playwright/performer,Rattlestick), Appropriate (Signature), The Few (Rattlestick), Genet’s Splendid’s (La Colline, Paris), Poison (Origin), Krapp 39 (playwright/performer, DramaDesk nomination), “John Proctor” in The Crucible (Hartford), Starbuck in The Rainmaker (Arena). TV: “Shades of Blue” (recurring), “Damages,” “The Good Wife,” “Elementary,” others.

Thom Sesma (Count Leo Tolstoy) has appeared in leading roles on and Off-Broadway, and at some of the nation’s leading regional theaters, including The Old Globe, Yale Rep, Cincinnati Playhouse, Arena Stage, McCarter, and Baltimore Centre Stage. Most recent credit: John Doyle’s acclaimed revival of Pacific Overtures (Classic Stage Company.) Television: “Madam Secretary,” “Jessica Jones,” “Gotham,” “The Good Wife,” “Person Of Interest,” “Over/Under,” “Single Ladies,” and more. Proud member AEA and SAG-AFTRA.

Posted on July 31, 2017July 31, 2017 by admin

A Conversation with Morgan Green & Johnson Henshaw

To hear some people tell it, New York is the only incubator for the most exciting young artists. But as the Sharon Playhouse proves, creating work outside of the Broadway and Off-Broadway sphere isn’t just a way to pay the rent — it’s a way to make the art you really want to make.

We took a break from the city and met with Johnson Henshaw, Artistic Director of Sharon Playhouse, and director-in-residence Morgan Green after their first run-through of The Music Man — their third collaboration this summer — to talk about the inventive restructuring of the Playhouse’s season, the importance of trust, the goal to foster emerging theater artists, and their thoughts on the future of this art form.

Michelle Tse: How was the first run-through?

Morgan Green: It was good. I have a headache [laughs] but it was really good.

Michelle: Should we get you some water?

Morgan: I’m good. I just had some; I’ll be okay. [laughs] No, but it was very exciting to see everything together. Johnson was there, and we had the smallest little audience so I feel like there was a lot of pressure in a good way, so that the actors were really focusing.

Michelle: That’s good. That’s exciting! So I wanted to start with asking about why you, Johnson, chose to do a director-driven season, particularly with an emerging female director.

Johnson Henshaw: I’m a director myself, and in my 20’s all of my playwright friends had so many opportunities for fellowships and mentorships and all sorts of ways that theaters in New York were trying to connect with them — they were trying to foster and incubate them. There’s not a lot of that for directors. Then I did this fellowship with the Old Vic in London. I went over to London, and visited many of the major theaters there — the National Theatre, the Donmar. Those theaters have these incredible incubators where they take young directors who have just gotten out of drama school or university and they start giving them space and time and money — they’re fully salaried! — and they start prepping them so that they are ready to do mainstage productions at the National Theatre when they’re like 26 years old. So then those directors are being seen by commercial producers and other artistic directors. Their work is getting seen much earlier and their careers are so much more dynamic and fruitful because of it.

Directors in New York have to tie themselves to playwrights. They have to really fight for those relationships. [Morgan and I] talked about this a little bit. The playwrights you get, that’s how your boat floats or sinks. It’s so often that the director’s work takes a back seat. When I had this opportunity, I was like, This should be a place that’s a theater for directors. Where they get to come up and do work that they’re excited about, as opposed to an artistic director being excited about [a certain] play, and finds a director to do that work.

I wasn’t sure originally that it was going to be all one director for the whole season but I had reached out to people at Playwrights Horizons, the Public Theater, Manhattan Theatre Club, and New Georges, and I said, Who are young directors you’re interested in? There was a bunch of names on each of those lists, and some people were on two lists, but maybe not all of them, and there was only one name that was on every single list, and that was Morgan’s. I actually didn’t know her work. I didn’t know her. [laughs] This was all happening around late December, and Minor Character the show that Morgan did with [her theater company], New Saloon, had been asked to be in the Under the Radar Festival as part of the Incoming lineup.The show was sold out, but I got a friend of mine to write Morgan to say, Hey, this is my friend Johnson, he just got this job, he wants to come see your show, can you get him in? And she said yes, of course.

I thought I would go see Minor Character, and if I liked it, I’d be like, Why don’t you direct a show this summer? What show do you want to do? And I was so blown away by it, it was so incredible, and one of the best things I’ve seen in the theater ever, I couldn’t believe it. And the ways in which it was great felt like the work of a really great director. It was so smart and so stylish and moving. So I met with Morgan, we had breakfast, and I sort of was like, Will you come and direct all the plays? Because first of all, I wanted to bring Minor Character here, but I didn’t want that to be the only show that Morgan directed this summer. Selfishly, the best part about this job, is I get to program work that I want to see. It’s the best part of being artistic director.

Because this audience is an older audience, the work that has typically been done here at the Playhouse is very traditional and I was trying to figure out what were the programming choices that would be great for a director to tackle but for this audience would feel welcoming. So my guidelines were a classic American musical, a classic American play, and a new work, and that was Minor Character.

Michelle: So Minor Character kicked off the season for obvious reasons that Johnson just touched on, and tonight we’re seeing Far Away. Why Far Away?

Morgan: Like Johnson was saying, there are all these opportunities to direct new plays and to ‘pitch’ yourself to playwrights as a director. I have been doing that, and I have relationships with playwrights that I like, but it’s really rare for an opportunity like this to come, for someone to ask me, the director, What do you want to do? So for the play, Johnson originally proposed it be a great American play, so I was thinking about Arthur Miller and Tennessee Williams, but I really wanted to fill that slot with a work by a female playwright. I love Caryl Churchill, and I’ve always loved her, and I feel like she’s not done enough in New York or America in general — she’s not as well known here, she’s in England. And she’s one of the greatest living playwrights. So it felt like a really special opportunity to do a Churchill play, whereas that would not happen in the city, and nobody would let me do it, unless I self-produced it. So I jumped at the opportunity, and Far Away is a play that I’ve wanted to direct since the first time I read it. I had visualized it when I was reading it, which is a good sign. I didn’t direct it when I first encountered it because I didn’t understand the ending. As I came back to it for this as an option for the middle slot, I still didn’t really understand the ending, but I was kind of excited by that challenge. I was also excited by its relevance, how it feels like the whole world is going to war, struggling with the responsibilities as an artist, and the distance between art and politics. Caryl’s is being self-aware and critical about artists, and I was excited to engage with that.

I was also really excited by the contrast between Minor Character which is Chekhov — but it’s also extra Chekhov, because we do 6 different translations on top of each other — with The Music Man, a musical with 27 people and huge, with this really spare, really poetic dynamite little play in the middle that is 45 minutes long, but has three distinct time periods and worlds within it, with this crazy hat parade spectacle. I got to have that theatrical event happening that is physical and design-based, which feels like an essential part of theater to me. I’m not that excited about plays that are just people talking to each other. It basically has all the things I like about theater in 45 minutes. [laughs]

Michelle: Well, that’s perfect then! You just mentioned being able to very quickly visualize Far Away. Is that how your process comes about most times? How do you negotiate between visual and literary cues?

Morgan: Yeah, I was thinking that [about Far Away because it can be seen] in terms of something that’s unusual. But to me it’s still not actually that radical because everything I’m doing this summer is text-based.

A lot of my work is text-based. The text is almost always the first thing versus a visual or an idea. So for me it does start with the text, and sitting alone and visualizing the text, and it feels right if I can get a picture [in my head]. It’s very instinctual, and it’s also about choosing the right material for the setting. I have maybe a bucket list of plays or projects that I want to do, but it doesn’t feel real till I’ve seen the space, see what would work in the space, what would be good for the audience at this time; it’s like this perfect storm of things that have to click into place.

Michelle: So how did the choice of The Music Man come about?

Johnson: I had two musicals in mind that I didn’t say anything about, but Morgan immediately said, I really want to doThe Music Man, and that was the show I wanted her to do. The story of a con man who comes to middle America is … so real.

Michelle: Absolutely. We just saw Death of a Salesman last night.

Johnson: Oh! Theater Mitu’s? What did you think?

Michelle: We loved it. We sat in the front row, so it was incredibly immersive. We very much interpreted it as empathizing with a Trump voting family. I also hadn’t seen that play in so long that I forgot about how agitated I get sitting through Willy’s monologues. It was very much like… dude, get a grip. We ran into a large group of friends and many of them didn’t make that connection, though.

Morgan: Oh, wow.

Johnson: That’s wild.

Michelle: They were either thinking about their own fathers, or family or friends, or whatever it was. Anyway, it just seems like it’s something that’s popping up everywhere, and folks are making connections whether the directors meant for it or not.

Johnson: Well, [Willy] is so emblematic of the worst parts of our culture. So as we look at these stories of patriarchy, and whiteness, and oppression, he’s in all of those.

Morgan: One of the things I was trying to deal with after Trump was elected — there was all this criticism about him, obviously, leading up to the election, every horrible thing he did, every lie, and everything that was revealed that was like, Is this the thing that’ll take him down? No, that’s not it. There was nothing that happened that was so bad that would prevent him from succeeding, so I was thinking about the public that elected him, and that there was more of those people in New York, around me, than I realized. So I was really connecting to The Music Man in that it’s a story about townspeople in middle America who accept a fantasy and enjoy it, because it sounds good and it feels good. They just buy into it, even when they find out that it’s a fantasy and they’ve been lied to and cheated. They kind of forgive this white guy. So I was interested in looking at myself and people who enjoy the feeling of believing in a fantasy. That’s so much a part of the American dream and the American psyche, and advertising, and Twitter — I mean, we’re just fed pieces of information and we consume them, digest them, and take them for truth. We don’t stop to think or criticize. And if we do, and something is revealed to be a lie, we’re still okay with it, because it felt better. It feels better, and is more satisfying to just buy the fantasy. And I experience that too in myself, so it was not so much getting to Trump voters specifically, but at American people who buy the fantasy.

Michelle: I definitely looked up the exit polls for this town when I was preparing for this interview. [laughs]

Morgan: You did?

Michelle: It went…

Johnson: For Hillary.

Michelle: Yeah, well, 800-something to 500-something. So it’s interesting to me. I also looked up the demographics, which says it’s about 98% white. This summer season you’ve put on and are putting on work that is perhaps challenging to the audience, but I wonder, at a place like the Sharon Playhouse, is there any fear of touching on subjects like racial disparity, gender disparity, or any marginalized issue, without basically pissing off most of your subscriber base?

Johnson: This pocket of Connecticut, Litchfield County, is in many ways a weekend community. So many of the people up here are city people, who come up here on the weekends. So it’s a sophisticated bunch.

Morgan: In Minor Character, men play women, and women play men, and actors of all races play the different characters. It’s really fluid, and one person who came to a dress rehearsal that the only good part of the show was when the women were kissing each other. So I feel like there is also that contingency of an audience here. There’s also people who totally loved it and embraced it. I think New Saloon, my company that I made Minor Character with, I don’t think we’re trying to make a bold statement about racial politics in our piece, but we are making a statement about identity and its fluidity and how we all hold many identities inside of us. I think that the intentionally diverse casting is trying to crack open some stereotypes. The diversity in the casting of that piece is essential to the project. We couldn’t do Minor Character with an all white cast. That felt important to get to do here.

Michelle: In that sense, what do you think of color conscious casting, which is what I’d call what you just described in Minor Character’s concept, versus a director and casting director trying to check off boxes in trying to satisfy diversity in a way?

Morgan: I try not to do those kinds of plays, or if I do, I play against it. In The Music Man, the Paroo family is written as an Irish family, which had more social stigma when it was first originally written, but no longer does. So I’ve cast the Paroo family as an African American family. The storyline is about how Marian is treated in this town in Iowa, so I think it heightened the urgency, especially because of the whole plotline about her younger brother and his safety and success in the world. So there’s a young Black boy running around in a town that is stirred up by this white guy and it becomes sort of an angry mob. That’s really scary right now.

Johnson: In the run-through today, I was so struck by the line about Winthrop’s father being killed, about being dead, which is usually, like, whatever. But when you have this young Black boy, upset, and his mother trying to explain things to him, it just made me think of Philando Castile, and so many others…. All the black bodies that are being killed every day, and those children that are left behind…

Michelle: Absolutely. I’m very interested in coming back and seeing it done in this way. I want to now zoom out a little and go back to a great point that was brought up, about the disparity between fellowships and mentorship for playwrights versus directors. I would argue there are even less for designers. Though all this seems very doable to me.

Johnson: Yeah.

Michelle: So, how has the experience been, what are the lessons learned, and what can others take away from this type of programming? How would you encourage other artistic directors or administrative folks to be inclusive in their guidance of emerging theater artists?

Johnson: It’s a leap of faith. You have to trust the artist. I’ve only seen Morgan do one show.

Morgan: He was very trusting. I couldn’t believe it.

Johnson: Well, I don’t think great work happens without great risk. There are so many theaters in this country. There are so many theaters in New York that are picking the trusted directors, the old steady hand, with the way that it has been done before. It feels to me, if I’m going to be a young artistic director, I should do something different. I should make a different choice. I should think about who’s going to make the next great theater, and give a platform. I’m really proud of Morgan’s work, and now she’s had three big productions in a row. I won’t speak for whatever she’s learned, but there have been insane learning moments. No artistic director can ever tell her she’s not ready to do a musical. No artistic director can tell her she doesn’t know how to do a stylized Caryl Churchill play, you know, and that’s so exciting to me. To give her that experience…

Morgan: Yeah, it’s a ton of experience right in a row. It forces this kind of feverish creativity.

Michelle: It must be all overwhelming.

Morgan: Very overwhelming. But it’s pushed me to be really collaborative with the designers and the actors and trust them in the way that Johnson’s trusting me. I think [Johnson] told me I brought about 80 people here, all in all.

Johnson: 70 people contracted.

Morgan: Right. So I brought my entire New York network with me. So it’s not like I actually did this by myself, you know? There’s a lot of other people involved. The pressure I find useful, but that’s just the kind of person I am. I like the pressure, but it is and was overwhelming.

Michelle: Right. Because other than the Lincoln Center Theater Lab—

Morgan: Right, which is not practicing, it’s a lab.

Michelle: Exactly. Other than that, I don’t think I’ve heard much else for directing.

Morgan: There are a lot of residencies and apprenticeships that are centered around assistant directing, and I’ve done a lot of those, and it’s a good way to learn, and met a lot of people I learned a lot from. In terms of getting our hands dirty, and making work, there’s not a lot of opportunity for that. There is in London, for example, so it feels like there’s a real dirth for directors in that.

Michelle: In Europe, to my knowledge, it’s mostly government subsidies that allow that to happen though, right? We are on a different system.

Morgan: Yes, it’s a completely different structure.

Johnson: Yes, but it used to exist in New York. New York Theatre Workshop, throughout the ‘80s, that’s where Michael Greif started, in the New Directors Project, where they would throw up these plays that were hugely foundational for a lot of the directors who are now directors on Broadway. The Public Theater, you look at what Joseph Papp was doing, he was finding young directors and just giving them rooms and giving them actors and paying those people, and saying, What happens in this room?

Michelle: That doesn’t quite happen anymore.

Johnson: It doesn’t quite happen anymore like that. I wish that all those Shakespeare plays in the park weren’t directed by Daniel Sullivan. I wish they were directed by young directors. We just keep seeing the same plays directed by the same people. It’s so boring.

Michelle: I agree. And so both of you are relatively young for being in the positions that you are in. What would you say is the steepest part of the learning curve so far?

Johnson: This summer has been a lot just in terms of getting 70 people up here to Sharon, Connecticut, and getting them all to the theater, making sure they’re housed. The logistics of producing here are tough. But in terms of the experience of being an artistic director…As a director, I’m always so nervous about sharing my own work, you know? And I have this sense of modesty, or I’m embarrassed to tell someone that I think what I’ve done is good. The great thing about being artistic director is that I get to scream from the rooftops about how special [Morgan] is, and that feels awesome.

Morgan: It also feels awesome to me. [laughs]

Johnson: But with the learning curve, I don’t know. Morgan and I haven’t agreed on every choice this summer. There have been some moments of disagreement. I think figuring out how to negotiate those disagreements has been a learning event.

Morgan: Right. And for me, it’d be how to take notes from an artistic director. I haven’t had that experience before, figuring out what things I can really negotiate on and what I need to fight for. Another thing that I think I’ve been getting better at out of necessity is articulating my ideas and my vision so that it is clear to people that are not inside my head, or don’t have the same relationship to theater as I do. To be clear about what I want to do, I have to change the way in which I’m describing it, based on who I’m talking to. I feel like being forced to do that so many times, with so many different kind of people this summer, I’ve gotten a lot better at it.

Michelle: Communication bootcamp!

Morgan: Seriously, yeah. I can’t assume somebody knows what something looks like in my head. I have to break it down.

Michelle: So as a theater and as directors, what do you hope the future of theater would look like? What do you want to see more of, or less of?

Morgan: I want to see more work that is breaking out of traditional theater conventions. I feel like I see a lot of theater that I’m sort of expecting. I feel excited to see work that is breaking the mold, so that in order for that to happen, people need to be given opportunities that aren’t necessarily given to them. So what Johnson’s doing here feels like that, but also for women, for queer artists, and people of color, having more opportunities to make their work — with support, because it’s so hard to do it on your own.

Johnson: I just want to see less of the straight white male gaze. I feel like so many of my theatrical experiences come through the viewpoint of a straight man, and we’ve seen that. I want to see so many more people’s work than I’ve gotten to see.

The funny thing is, in these Far Away talkbacks [which happens after every performance], there are people who love it, and people who are angry that the play makes them think. They’re angry because they’ve been challenged and not simply entertained It has emboldened me hearing that to only want to present work that challenges people, that challenges their perception of what should happen in a theatrical space. I want to make work and present work that people are still talking about later, that they’re still responding to. I’ve learned that so many people go to the theater and really want it to happen in there, and end in there, and to never engage with it again. I hope that nothing we do this summer ends in that space. I sort of hope that of all work.

The Wassaic Project, [an artist-in-residency program 20 minutes away in Upstate New York,] some of their residents came over, saw Minor Character, and loved it. They went back and told the rest of them, You have to come see this. They’re visual art people who don’t think that summer theater is going to be cool. They all came and lost their minds. I’ve now had so many conversations with people who have stopped working in theater because the rules of it, and the system of it, is so oppressive about the type of work that had to be made. So many of them have seen Minor Character and have been so inspired and thought, Oh right, theater can feel like this. It can feel dangerous and totally new while exploring something really old. I hope to keep being a part of work like that.

Michelle: Absolutely. Morgan, you mentioned quickly opportunity for women. I wonder if you can expand on your thoughts on opportunities for women and directors, perhaps particularly for musicals. I’ve been thinking a lot about not just what we touched on earlier about the lack of a support system, but even in terms of someone like me going to ‘diversity’ panels, and feeling like I’ve been going to the same one for five years in a row. It’s so circular. I wonder what a young 20-something just out of school can do beyond somewhat following the system that already exists.

Morgan: I can talk about my own experience with it, which is that I just made work. It was small, and dinky, and scrappy and self-produced, and I’d invite everybody I could to come see it. Most of them didn’t come until the third or fourth thing that I invited them to. I just kept going. A lot of the things I knew they wouldn’t come, but I’d invite them anyways, just so that by the sixth time – I guess I was pretty annoying… But it’s a dangerous line to walk because you can’t force yourself to receive recognition or gain support. It’s a delicate balance I think. But that’s what I’ve started to tell younger artists who ask me about it. Make work, and invite people to see it, as opposed to sitting and waiting. Instead of asking for opportunities, make them. I guess that’s pretty generic sounding.

Michelle: Yes, and it’s also hard to make it or make work as young theater artists if you don’t have some sort of financial support. So once again it becomes a very circular movement, where everyone who is able to make it in this industry is at least middle, upper-middle class.

Johnson: Totally.

Michelle: Yet theater is suppose to be a form of art empathy, and yet the spectrum of voices needed is impossible to achieve with this current model. It’s frustrating.

Morgan: That is really frustrating, and I think that without financial support, what I have noticed is that it just takes a lot longer. If you have that cushion, you can just do your work all the time and nothing else. If you’re working to support yourself, it’s a much slower slog. It takes a long time to get anywhere.

Johnson: That’s the worst. That sucks. It sucks that the big institutional theaters aren’t doing more.

Morgan: This is the first year that I am freelance directing and not doing five other jobs. So I tutored, did admin work, waited tables, did all the things. I actually have no idea if I’ll be able to sustain this. It’s very up in the air, so we’ll see.

Michelle: I think and hope that you will. Lastly, any other advice, and what’s next for both of you, after The Music Man?

Morgan: What I said before, I think: Make work. Sometimes you do have to be silent for a really long time and listen and learn. I was so frustrated by doing that for so long, but now I’m feeling grateful for putting in that time. Also, going to see stuff and learning from other people.

What’s next for me, is I’m directing a play by Milo Cramer, who is in New Saloon, called Cute Activist, at the Bushwick Starr in January. We just did a reading here this summer actually, very casually. Johnson read in it [laughs] and it was amazing.

Johnson: I would agree, make work, find artists you love and write to them and tell them you love their work and ask how you can help them make their work.

Morgan: That’s so good.

Johnson: Because the most important way to get people to come see your work is to be a part of a community. I think singlehandedly that is the key to success. It’s such a small world, and people want to help their friends.

Morgan: That’s true.

Johnson: And be nice to people. Don’t be a jerk.

I don’t know what happens next! This has sort of been a big, grand experiment. I think at the end of the summer we will take stock, and see what’s right for the playhouse moving forward. And I’m going to try to make some work. Morgan has very much inspired me to.

Michelle: Amazing. That’s the best type of collaboration.

Johnson: And I made a friend!

Morgan: Yes you did!

[Everybody laughs]

Johnson: It’s the best part of it all.

Michelle: Wonderful. Thank you so much for sitting down with me!

Morgan and Johnson: Thank you so much!

Morgan Green is a theater director and co-founder of New Saloon. She is thrilled to have the opportunity to direct three shows at the Sharon Playhouse this summer. Recent credits include Minor Character: Six Translations of Uncle Vanya at the Same Time (The Public Theater), I’m Miserable But Chance Scares Me by Milo Cramer (The Brick), Parabola by Sarah DeLappe (JACK), and William Shakspeare’s Mom by Milo Cramer (Ars Nova). Morgan is a New Georges Affiliated Artist, part of the 2012 Williamstown Theater Festival Directing Core, the 2013 Lincoln Center Director’s Lab, and a 2014-2015 Bob Moss Directing Resident at Playwrights Hoirzons. She was the Associate Director for Pam Mackinnon on Amelie, A New Musical on Broadway. Upcoming works include Cute Activist by Milo Cramer (The Bushwick Starr) and the West Coast Premier of The Wolves by Sarah DeLappe (Marin Theatre Company).

Johnson Henshaw is a film and theater maker. He has developed theatrical work with New Georges, New York Theater Workshop, PS122, Dixon Place, the Public, and the Goodman Theater in Chicago. While at the Public Theater he assisted the writers Tony Kushner, Branden Jacobs-Jenkins play An Octoroon whose production would be cited by the MacArthur Foundation when they awarded Mr. Jacobs-Jenkins one of their ‘Genius Grants’. For nearly 3 years Mr. Henshaw produced a monthly performance review in Brooklyn called Pillow Talk which featured performers such as Erin Markey, John Early, Kate Berlant, and Sasheer Zamata. Because of Pillow Talk, Johnson was approached by the Meredith Corporation to create and produce a comedy web-series for their new coporate channel DIGS as part of the Youtube 100 Channel Initiative. Johnson and co-creator Kim Rosen created Craft & Burn which the New York Times called, “raucous, and darkly funny.” In 2013 Johnson was selected by the Film Society of Lincoln Center to take part in their first Artist Academy, a laboratory for emerging filmmakers. He is a co-founder of Nobody Cares Productions with Kim Rosen. Their first television pilot “Entrepeneur” was bought last year and ultimately lost on the shelves of development. Johnson splits his time between Sharon and Greenwich Village with his partner Michael and their poodle, Henry.

Posted on April 25, 2017July 16, 2017 by admin

A Conversation with Mfoniso Udofia & Ed Sylvanus Iskandar

Mfoniso Udofia and Ed Sylvanus Iskandar are the latest dynamite duo to take over New York Theater Workshop, and this time with two plays, Sojourners and Her Portmanteau, two plays in a nine-play cycle Udofia is writing. We sat down with these dynamic, emerging, and important voices in contemporary American theater to talk about time, family, immigration, and history – all essential themes to the play and their overall work.

Darrel Alejandro Holnes: Thank you for sitting down with me.

Ed Sylvanus Iskandar: Oh, thank you!

DAH: And thank you for having me sit in on your rehearsal today. That was a really great opportunity and privilege. A lot of my first questions are in response to what I saw here in this brief scene that was rehearsed for the last hour. And my first questions is – both of you feel free to jump in – family is essential to the play, so what role does your family play in your process: inspiration, support, obstacle, all of the above?

[Ed and Mfoniso laugh]

ESI: I think because I left home when I was seven to go to boarding school I have been on a fairly consistent life-long journey in terms of defining and redefining for myself what “family” actually means. And family is…not special for me anymore. I still say I go home to Indonesia because my parents are still there, the home I grew up in is still standing, but I think when I say “family” now it feels like it’s about a community of people that I have been lucky enough to be accepted by. And that includes my biological family, but that seems to define for me not only a space emotionally in my life, but also the way I like to work and the kind of work I like to do with an audience watching. Which is really, I think, more than anything driven by the ability to further social connections – real ones. It’s how I conduct my rehearsal process. It’s how I like to let my companies and my car spawn – I’m constantly cooking. I can’t help it. It’s my nervous tick. It’s not a nervous tick. It’s a thing I like to do in order to keep myself grounded. This is actually kind of amazing here because I love working at New York Theater Workshop. There’s a little kitchen that just feels like a home. I really can settle into the rehearsal process in the way that you normally can’t in self-rented or borrowed rehearsal space. What the general managers do, which is really so amazing, is they literally give you the third floor. And you can figure out a way to make it work. And I do think with a play like that and a process like this – two plays together – that my job is to make family out of the people that are most regularly in the room, and to incorporate the designers who will now start to come in and join us in tech. And you know, I’ve come to the realization that once the play opens my job is actually over. And my real job is about making sure that whatever we’ve built together has a foundation to continue.

DAH: Like a family?

ESI: Yes.

DAH: Beautiful! And you, Mfoniso?

Mfoniso Udofia: I write about immigrants, also I’m the child of immigrants. My family’s been instrumental, at least for me, for the creation of these plays. In that my mother has become my biggest champion. When you talk about the child of immigrants and what trajectory is, there’s so many hopes and dreams. My mother looked at me and she was like, You are going to be a lawyer! Propah! You go do that. And so it was a huge thing when all of a sudden I was like, Mommy I’m an artist, and she’s like, No you’re not. At all. And so to turn around because family for me – it’s not as if I have much spread, you know, it’s quite localized. What my mom thinks, what my father thinks, what my brother, my sister – they’re my people here. So there are not many other people. So when my mother turned around and said, “Aye, daughter you’re an artist” it’s like breathing. And so it makes creating these plays…I mean creation in general is plot. So to have that family support, especially when I was wondering for the longest time if I would get it, is incredible for me. And then yes to what Ed said, you’re also building family. But I’m so lucky to have biological family to go, Oh yes, this is a good thing. as I’m building family and being in relation to some incredible artists, some geniuses in their own right. You know? I also have the core support that I find I need in order to write plays about families.

DAH: Sure, sure. And that’s a beautiful thing. Also beautiful, yet just as complicated, is how, in the scene that I observed, love seems to be defined as “mountains of desire, bitter river of burden.” Can you explain what this line means and how that works through the play?

MU: “Mountains of desire and a bitter, bitter river.”

DAH: Yes, that’s quite a line. Care to elaborate?

MU: I’m not sure, and this is where I get … Am I gonna say this? Yea. Sometimes I think American Western love is illogical [laughs]. It’s extraordinarily romantic, and this kind of straight thing. Maybe I’ve watched too many romantic comedies. I probably did and then I went, Ooo this is what love is. And then I was in the middle of it going, This is not love! I don’t know what that thing was. I think love is complicated – is an action, actually. It’s not this thing that just falls on you. And if it does, it doesn’t stay a thing that just falls on you. So, there is, there can be love and burden. I don’t know that it is necessarily a terrible thing. It doesn’t have to be. It doesn’t also have to be a thing that you…You know, you can look at that kind of love, you can go, I choose this. I want it. I walk into it. Or you can look at that and you can be like, I don’t. I can’t do that for now. Because the love I have of myself or my own desire won’t let me carry the burden of the love that I might have for you – it’s complicated. That line of love is complicated and purposefully convoluted. And love and desire, duty and birth date, they went through all my plays and they live side-by-side, because I don’t know if I…I think as an artist myself I’m trying to figure out exactly what the natures of love are. And at any given point, even in my relationship with Ed and relationship with the actors and my relationship with any production company, love is always changing. You know what I mean? So I’m not into the purest feeling of it. And so depending on where you are I think you will hear that line differently.

DAH: Interesting. And Ed, in your vision, of this play and of both plays, how do you see the characters negotiating desire and burden. How do you see those themes working throughout the play?

ESI: They’re not separate. It’s two flipped sides of the same coin, which is also how I think of both plays. I don’t think of them as two separate plays at all because I think the expression of love causes burden. And I think if love is going to be worth anything, it’s going to require that amount of work. I think that…Yes, I think I can say the experience of working on both plays and getting to know Mfoniso as a collaborator, it’s an amazing thing because I find myself challenging my own definition of what love means from the assumption of what I think I’ve given, and continue to find more that I’ve assumed – that I then need to ingest and choose to give more of, in order to actually continue deepening and building. And I can say that that’s probably the most full love I have given an experience. Because the journey of it has been so full and it’s been so expansive.

DAH: I love that word that you used, “journey.” Can you tell us a little about the journey of all nine plays?

MU: [laughing] How much time do we have?

DAH: Can you discuss how what people will see in these two plays are paintings that are part of a larger picture?

MU: So when I started writing, the first play I ever wrote was The Grove – it’s the youngest play and I was writing about the eldest daughter, some immigrants…And she was in the middle of figuring out what identity and duty and love, you know, where those things shred up against each other. Then I realized that in order to understand Mac you have to actually understand from whence she came. And so then from there came, what is now known as Sojourners, which was first called Towards because I knew I going towards something, but I didn’t know what,so that was the title of it. The Grove, then Towards, and then to understand the parents I had to understand the revolution in country and that’s where you get something like runboyrun – which goes back and forth between the Nigerian homeland and now the American resettlement place that they are in. Then from there came my number of nine, which will be five interior plays that follow Abasiama and Disciple Uffat, and the last four are gonna be love plays which follow their children as first generation youth in America or discovering what blackness is without a certain kind of historicity attached to it. Technically these could go on forever, they’re not. I’m gonna end it at nine. A promise that I’ve given to myself that it has to end at nine, but as I’m writing I’m discovering how concerned I am with lineage and I do think that that is something of a very immigrant mentality too. Like now that I’m here, what does “forward” actually mean on soil that is not my historical soil. So I don’t know if that explains the question, but that is at least the scope of the project.

DAH: Yeah. And I think that’s definitely what people need. I’m also an immigrant. So I absolutely understand what you’re saying about lineage. And in thinking about that I recall how the character played by Chinasa has a line about the baby’s name and time. Time must certainly play an important role in this play and in any sort of nine-part series, as you just explained,, that follows this family over generations. Why write about time? And let’s broaden that and also say, why write about lineage? Why bring that to the contemporary American stage?

MU: It was particularly important for me to write about West African, Nigerian, Ibibio, migration here and what lineage is. In my culture you actually count where you’re from, you hold it. You come from compound culture. You know your grandparents, you know the history of your great-grandparents, and your great-great – which is very, very, very different somehow, than what I find happening here, and I think we might be in the middle of a change. It’s like more 32-year-olds are staying at home with mom, you know. There’s a shift starting to happen. However, we don’t build community and lineage that way here. I see my people from home being able to count their history. Lineage is important for me, because when you come from that culture and you come into this culture, what do you retain and how? It’s as simple as, in one of the plays, Abasiama and Upem, you know, they’re fighting to figure out how to make fufu here. And they’re going to get products that are not yam in order to do it. So it’s fighting to figure out: How do I make lineage here now that it’s different than the way it was back home and I’m not going back home?

DAH: Are those some of the struggles you’ve faced?

MU: It’s some of the struggles that I’ve watched my people face. And yes, I can implicate myself here and I am interested in this because I have heard the stories of grandmothers and great-grands and my great-great who is this Big Man. And I wanna be able to pass some of that to my children as well, so I want to answer the question, what is that new tradition that I need to make here, in a different space, for me to carry on that culture?

DAH: And is that something that resonates with you Ed, as to why you were drawn to these projects? Is it also something that you can relate to personally?

ESI: What specifically?

DAH: This idea of time, lineage, and how it’s negotiated between the characters – what we carry maybe, from one generation to the next.

ESI: Yes and no. Because my relationship to time and lineage is very different for all the reasons we chose to work together. I am an incredibly linear person and everything about how I negotiate achievement, finishing, and construction is linear and very logical. And one of the very first things Mfoniso said – I’m paraphrasing – to me in one of our earlier conversations, before we committed to this play together, is the notion that for her time is a spiral and time is relative and your experience of time is completely insular and about how it is you understanding how to listen to yourself and how to contextualize yourself within the definitions of time of those around you. And I can relate to that very deeply. Although it still is interesting because it’s not necessarily natural in my thinking process. But I came to the scene in New York and created many long-form pieces, which is something I’m very interested in. The average run time with a show I’ve done in New York is typically six-plus hours. And I learned over the process of making those plays that an audience’s experience of six hours does not mean the same thing as an actual experience of six hours depending, of course, on your choice of activity within those. To be even more simplistic in that particular analogy, I have sat and watched plays that are sixty minutes that felt much longer and ones that are six hours that can speed by. So that is, I think, where we connect. And it’s also where we differ because my natural instincts normally take me to a place where I want to move forward when Mfoniso is still in a place of thought. And I think that is both our strength and our challenge. And we’re guilty of it in this relationship together.

DAH: Considering what we’ve just discussed, what do you hope the audience walks away with after seeing these plays? And I’m sure the list of things is endless, but specifically thinking about time, lineage, maybe time as a spiral, as linear – what are you hoping they walk away with at the end of the day?

MU: Multitiered. These plays aren’t just about time and lineage. The subject is something a bit more political. I hope that the audience walks away with a more nuanced imagination regarding the lives immigrant bodies lead on American soil. I also hope that people walk away a little shaken by how quick they are to potentially judge and assess someone’s motivation when they are within that struggle. Like the pairing of Sojourners and Her Portmanteau. Some of the weeping I’ve seen people do about what Abasiama does at the end of that play without understanding what Abasiama is going through to then maybe come back in Her Portmanteau and get even more information. Perhaps we can nuance-out what bodies of color do in moments of struggle. I hope that people will actually get up and go out and read some books. Because people don’t read books.

DAH: A couple titles?

MU: Ben Okri’s The Famished Road, Chinua Achebe’s There Was A Country and Things Fall Apart, Helen Oyeyemi’s Icarus Girl and the way in which she’s constructing fairy tale stories from other mythologies, which is part of what’s happening here as well. And then even just researching: exactly where is Nigeria? Where are the Ibibio people? Do I know these people? And why haven’t I even thought to think and ask about who and what and where they were? So, those are some of my hopes.

[Everyone laughs]

DAH: So, Chinese-Indonesian director with American training, Nigerian-American playwright, is the global perspective an American perspective? This should be a prompt for you to discuss trends in contemporary American theater, perspectives in a contemporary American theater, and what it means to have creators – playwright and director – with these different backgrounds in that space.

MU: Do you want to go first before I go? This is a complicated one.

ESI: I could try. I might be better able to answer this question by posing a response to the previous one. I’ve been thinking, a lot in the past two weeks especially, about the gift of being able to work on Sojourners a second time. It’s something that I have not had a great deal of experience in doing – having an opportunity to revisit and build upon and advance from and learn through. And what’s most interesting to me is in this second attempt at turning the story of Sojourners, is I find myself continuously letting go everything I imposed upon the play. And I find myself reaffirming the nuance in the text and the nuance in the stage direction.

That I was not able to fully comprehend the last time. Which also reveals a level of re-commitment and reveals an actual trust in what’s on the page that I feel I did not have the first time. Because my response to the play initially was, Surely this is a Nigerian A Doll’s House [by Henrik Ibsen], because my cultural framing is Western. And I feel the conversation I had with the play initially, even though I fully believed that I had advanced beyond the conversation that I actually did have was about trying to figure out how it fit within a Western construction. I honored it’s variation, I honored it’s uniqueness, but I do think my basic map in my head, or through my gut, was in comparison to linearity and a Western dramaturgy I have become used to, not just because of training, but because of the way a play looks on the page.

And what I feel the gain of this experience has been for me is, a further understanding of A) the basic truth that when we need to write something that it’s all intentional – which is something I fully love so much. And there I think she is similar to Ibsen. You ignore a stage direction and a word or a punctuation mark at your peril. And B) I also then fully understand that the play can only fully do its work and and fully realize its impact if it’s staged from the perspective of that trust.

It’s not that I didn’t believe I trusted the play last time. I would never sign on to a play that I don’t trust, or a voice that I don’t trust or a person I don’t trust. But it’s a higher level of trust that I’ve developed in the interim. And it is linked to what I now understand I can be more intentional about on the stage. And I find everything is stripped down in a gorgeous way. There’s just less of everything. There’s less space. I think I’m trying to make, in between scenes, to try and foreground story that is always useful, but may not be necessary because I was afraid that the story that’s in the text, wasn’t enough. And I find myself doing less in the scenes themselves – in a fairly radical way.

The scene that you experienced watching in rehearsal, previously does not look a thing like that. It has changed from a scene about a woman moving within her home and negotiating how it is to leave the door, to a scene in which this woman has no inkling to the choice that would take her to the door at all. And so has become a scene in which it’s two people on a couch. And that is also I think the right way to frame what I now believe fundamentally is my job, which is to construct every scene in such a way that the audience can listen.

The text is so rich it is outrageous how much work I have to do before rehearsing to actually get fully on top of it. And I suddenly realize that is also the level of attention I’m asking for from an audience. So if I’m not allowing them to tune into the auditory context of the physical picture, I’ve not done my job. I’ve created, successfully, distractions rather than amplifications, which was my original intention. So I do believe my intentions have always been sincere, but I do know how much I have learned.

DAH: Mfoniso, sometimes people say that the United States is a nation of immigrants. This play, and also our conversation so far has also discussed the idea of immigration and what that means and what those stories are. So my question to you now is, is the immigrant story inherently an American story? And is the American story essentially an immigrant story? Are Sojourners and Her Portmanteau inherently American stories?

MU: Am I gonna say some of these stigmas out loud? Yes. America has some work to do. And I do think yes, America is a country chocked full of immigrants that after maybe the third or fourth generation develop the worst case of amnesia and forget. And then we’re somehow cycling from an immigrant nation to a violently xenophobic one within the same – it’s a vicious spiral that is almost nonsensical. What kind of peculiar American amnesia is this? And so it’s like we have to constantly teach ourselves to remember, which is part of the plays, what it is to remember to not forget. Because we are a country of immigrants and that makes us special.

Ed’s sight is different than my sight; it’s different than your sight; and the way I look at the story is different than the way Ed will, or the way somebody else will. And as a nation of immigrants, we also have to be a nation of plural ideology. And that’s what I feel like America doesn’t do very well. There’s something else that happens as amnesia trips us up and then we become set in this weird non-porose American way. And so we should be. We are a nation of immigrants.

And it becomes a real issue for me when I don’t understand why I’m not seeing more plural stories on the American stage. Why me and Ed together – myself creating this play, and Ed setting it up from page to stage is just this radical, amazing thing. When actually that’s the thing. And why haven’t we been taught earlier how we shred up against each other? That our gazes are different? Why is this learning happening in what feels like a very singular narrow way? Why isn’t this the American theater normative, if we are a nation of immigrants and if theater is a representational art form – which we claim theater to be – because what Ed is talking about is true and is particularly salient in our case. There are two different gazes; we have read two different cannons; we have two different histories, none of them – I don’t know that we should be ascribing value to one over the other, but my sight is critically different than Ed’s sight. So the way in which we work together, that is the American theater. But by God, we’re taking photos of it and putting it in an exhibit and going, Look at this beautiful wonderful thing, when it should be the thing!

DAH: When it should be the norm.

MU: Right.

DAH: Right. Last question. I teach dramatic writing at NYU and I always end interviews by asking theater-makers what advice they have for young theater-makers: so student directors, student playwrights, you know. And not just students formally enrolled in the university, but anyone who’s just starting out and in this field and in this industry. Any tips? What do you wish someone had told you ten years ago?

ESI: I would say don’t do it unless you must because the theater is far too important a space to be met by anything less than a total commitment of your life. To squander even a single person’s gamble that night, on purchasing a ticket, only to be met by incompetence is the only real crime I can imagine an artist can commit.

MU: I second that. I tell some of my students to rigorously pursue their inherent, innate, illogical – the way I write plays, the way I construct plays, makes some people discomforted, some people…There’s a range of emotions when people first meet my play. But I had to. It’s been seven years now. The rigor that’s involved in the playwriting, and then the trying it out and teaching people and then knowing that it works, and then the rigor it’s advocating against a new – I shouldn’t say “new” because then it makes me like, like I was birthed now and there are other people who write like me. The rigor of the education and the teaching into and then the standing behind your work when people might not be able to see through it is a real skillset. And I say “rigor” because there are some students who are like, I did this new thing. It’s great. But they haven’t practiced it and gone through the steps to go, No, does it really work? How do I stand by it? I’m not saying just pursue your illogical passions – it’s like, do so rigorously. And perhaps it’s not illogical, pursue whatever is inherent in you. And I think the keyword is “rigor.” I don’t know that I’d be anywhere without it and I don’t know many artists who are. With the artists that I love, I think about their longevity, the span of their careers. There is rigor attached to it.

DAH: Excellent. So previews begin April 22nd and the play opens May 7th. I will be there. Thank you so much!

MU & ESI: Thank you!

Mfoniso Udofia, a first generation Nigerian-American storyteller and educator, attended Wellesley College and obtained her MFA from ACT. She co-pioneered the youth initiative, The Nia Project, providing artistic outlets for youth residing in Bayview/Huntspoint. Mfoniso’s Ufot Family Cycle plays, Sojourners and Her Portmanteau, will be produced this coming Spring 2017 as part of New York Theatre Workshop’s season. She is also Playwrights Realm’s 2015-16 Page One Playwright and in Winter 2016 they produced the World Premiere of Sojourners. In Spring 2016, The Magic Theater in San Francisco produced the West Coast Premiere of Sojourners and the World Premiere of the third installation in the Ufot Family Cycle, runboyrun. Mfoniso is currently working on Oregon Shakespeare Festival’s Play On! commission translating Shakespeare’s, Othello. She’s also the Artistic Director of the NOW AFRICA: Playwrights Festival and a proud member of New Dramatists class of 2023. Mfoniso’s plays have been developed, presented and/or produced by Playwrights Realm, The Magic Theatre, Dr. Barbara Ann Teer’s National Black Theatre, Hedgebrook, Sundance Theatre Lab, Space on Ryder Farm, NNPN and New Play Showcase, Makehouse, Soul Productions, terraNOVA, I73, The New Black Fest, Rising Circle’s INKTank, At Hand Theatre Company, The Standard Collective, American Slavery Project, Liberation Theatre Company and more. Mfoniso was a finalist for the 2015 PoNY Prize, the Eugene O’Neill NPC, Bay Area Playwrights Festival, Many Voices Fellowship, Page73 Development Programs, Jerome Fellowship, NYTW’s 2050 Fellowship and Lark Playwrights’ Week.

Ed Sylvanus Iskandar has directed over 150 productions globally. NEW YORK: The Mysteries, Restoration Comedy, and These Seven Sicknesses (all NYT Critics’ Picks, The Flea Theater); The Red Umbrella (Drama League); The Golden Dragon (The Play Company at the New Ohio Theatre). REGIONAL: Head Over Heels (Oregon Shakespeare Festival), Don Juan, Translations, and The Collection (Stanford Repertory Theatre); Homemade Fusion (Pittsburgh CLO); Don Carlos, Brand and Miss Julie (CMU); The Dumb Waiter, No Exit, Death and the Maiden and Sexual Perversity in Chicago (Edinburgh Fringe Festival). INTERNATIONAL: Venus in Fur (Singapore); Memphis (Japan) OTHER: As Founding Artistic Director of invite-only NYC collective Exit, Pursued By a Bear (EPBB), Ed has served over 12,000 free home-cooked meals and shared 150 priceless nights of theater over the course of staging 8 Labs and 40 Salons, including NY or world premieres of The Further Adventures of Hedda Gabler, Arok of Java, and the musical Dani Girl, alongside new versions of Don Carlos, The Master Builder, and King Lear. Restoration Comedy and These Seven Sicknesses both began their NYC lives as EPBB Labs, later transferring to critical acclaim as productions at The Flea. EPBB fulfills a vision of theater that deepens the audience’s ability to engage by creating empathy for the human effort behind the art. Ed’s body of work with EPBB was honored with the 2013 National Theatre Conference Emerging Professional Award, conferred by Bill Rauch (Artistic Director of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival).

Posted on April 18, 2017April 18, 2017 by admin

A Conversation with Lauren Yee

When you see King of the Yees, the latest work by playwright Lauren Yee, you’ll either feel like Larry Yee is your father, or you’ll wish he was. Now having its world premiere at The Goodman Theatre in Chicago, the play is a two-hour journey through Lauren’s changing relationship with her dad, imbued with sharp emotional insight and unrelenting joy. It’s hard not to be swept up in the exuberant warmth as we follow Lauren Yee (the character) through San Francisco’s Chinatown, searching for a deeper relationship with her father…and good, cheap liquor.

We sat down after the show’s third preview to talk about representation, the future of Chinatown, and being a character in your own play.

Kelly Wallace: This is the first full production of King of the Yees. What’s it like to see that after it being in development for years?

Lauren Yee: I feel like it’s been such a joy and privilege to have seen this piece through from the very beginning with The Goodman Theatre and do it all the way up until the world premiere. How often does that happen? We started it when it was just an idea and then they commissioned it…we had a reading, then a workshop. I would say this play has been through the process rather quickly, but at the same time, I think it’s been like three and a half years since I started thinking about it. It’s a reminder of how theater is sometimes not nimble. I feel like theater having the ability to respond to the world it lives in is a great characteristic for theaters to have.

KW: When you first started brainstorming this, what was your process like taking this from an idea to a script?

LY: I knew I always wanted to write a play about my father. I always thought he deserved to have his own piece. And then when I started writing it, I didn’t really know what the “why now” of it was or what shape it was going to take. Then, coincidentally, some of the real life events that happened in the play happened, just as I was starting to sit down and say, “why now.” My father has been dedicated to this community and these political causes for years and years, what is the “why now”? It’s almost like you sit down to write the play and then the universe rolls out the answer in like a wonderful way.

KW: When did you show the script to your father?

LY: Late in the process. I think my father first saw it when we did the New Stages workshop production, which is fairly late in the play’s evolution. It had been around for awhile, and I think at first I told him it was a play about Yees. I said it was about the Yee Family Association. And when he heard that, he was like I know how I will help you and put me in touch with all the different Yee branches across the country. I got to meet these very similar men at very similar organizations around the country who were very much like my father but not quite. Like, I got to see the bizarro versions of him. Doing the play was actually my strange way of getting to know my father, in a very roundabout sort of sense. I didn’t say to him, I want to write a play about you and know you better. But I said, I want to write a play about other people named Yee. There was a point at which I told him and that I was writing this play and it’s about him. And I remember his reaction to it. We’re a very non-confrontational family, and I think we were driving in the car, and I was like, Oh, this play is about you, and he said, Oh…okay, and kept on driving. I think, luckily, it’s a portrayal that’s filled with a lot of affection.

KW: You can definitely tell it comes from a place of extreme warmth.

LY: Yeah, so I felt more comfortable about that. Also, Act II is all of my father’s favorite things in one play. That also feels like a gift I’m giving to him, and hopefully to other people.

KW: There’s a frustrating tendency for people to say this is a Chinese show, this is a Black show, this is a gay show…whereas we’re supposed to accept the universality of every play about straight white characters unquestioningly.

LY: This play is very definitely set in a very specific world with a very specific aesthetic and in that kind of very specific story…it’s still all of us. This play is a play for anyone who has been through that relationship with their parents where they’re coming of age, have a great relationship with their family, but at the same time, there’s this awkward transition from your parent parenting you to you going out into the world on your own and saying this is who I am, let’s meet each other as adults. I feel like that’s something everyone goes through. What’s also interesting is that this play very clearly refracts Lauren’s, and my, experiences growing up as an American in San Francisco with many different references. The play touches on everything from Sesame Street to Greek mythology to “Thriller” to kung fu movies…it’s kind of a hodgepodge of all the interests I had growing up as a child.

KW: Was it hard to write yourself as a character?

LY: I think it was kind of fun. The interesting thing is that when I first started I thought that in order to write the play, I needed to make it very dramatic. My first draft was making the relationship between father and daughter much more tense and dysfunctional and I thought I was writing my own August: Osage County where they hate each other and they don’t know one another. I think that the story I’m capable of telling is the story of a father and a daughter who love each other a lot, who have a great relationship, but have never been able to connect in the way that Lauren wants to. I feel like that is so much more reflective of a lot more people.

KW: Is it harder to cut and edit things from this as opposed to some of your other work?

LY: Yeah, I think so. I think the play always continues to delight me, just because it’s a lot of things that I love and have a very strong relationship to, obviously. But at the same time, it’s been a lot easier for me to separate myself from the story than a lot of people would expect. When actors embody these roles, they worry I’m going to be offended or that they’re doing it wrong, and I feel like we’ve assembled such a lovely, open-hearted group of actors, that I never worried about that. I always believe that they understand what the play is.

KW: What was it like to try and cast someone to play your father?

LY: We got lucky very early on. One of the first workshops I did of this piece was with Francis Jue, whose background is very similar to mine. His parents were born and raised in San Francisco, they lived in Chinatown, he grew up outside of Chinatown, he’s a Chinese-American kid from San Francisco. In addition to being a really transcendent performer, he also just inherently gets the world that the play is set in because that’s what he experienced growing up. I don’t think that’s necessary to do the part, but I think it gives it this wonderful texture.

KW: Have you been to Chinatown here, since you got to Chicago?

LY: I have! I went to visit the Chicago Yee Association. It was great, it was the same struggles my father goes through. It’s like…no one wants to join, I didn’t want to join, but they guilted me into it. But once you have the right connection, there’s this incredible generosity that happens. They take you out, you’re like family. I think that’s kind of the two sides of this. Chinatowns are like any other ethnic or specific closed community. To an outsider, it can seem kind of unwelcoming, but as soon as you have the right way in, the world opens up. I find those organizations throughout the United States to be super interesting.

KW: Do you still struggle with balancing holding on to the traditional parts of your community while not standing in the way of forward motion?

LY: Yeah, I think it’s something I struggle with all the time. Every single human being related to me lives in San Francisco. My brothers, my cousins, my parents, all their siblings. We’ve been in San Francisco for like a hundred or a hundred and fifty years. So, for me, there always is that struggle of living outside of that community and not giving my children the same experience that I grew up with. You couldn’t go into a restaurant without somebody knowing someone else. My father walks through San Francisco and people recognize him on the street. I can’t give them that.

KW: Was the play always a “show-within-a-show”?

LY: Yeah.

KW: What made you decide that was the right way to structure the story?

LY: I think the play, thematically, always seemed to be about representation and how to tell a story and how to represent something specific and idiosyncratic and complicated onstage in a nuanced way. It felt like in order to tell the story of Chinatown, viewing it through the lens of wondering how do we tell this story seemed very important.

KW: There’s a joke in the show where your dad answers the question about who the show is for with “the Jews”! Who do you think the show is for?

LY: I think there’s always joy in seeing audience members who are Asian-American or from San Francisco or have a very specific firsthand knowledge of what’s going on in the play. There’s a joy in that they’ll just get some of it in a way that other audience members don’t. But I am really interested in sharing this story with all different kinds of people. It’s a play for anyone who dearly loves their parent and finds them so totally frustrating. If someone could see the show and think, that’s my father, or at the end of the play, if they leave and want to call their parents and start asking these questions…that would make me happy.

KW: The line where the father says “if you don’t vote, you never know what could happen”…was that always in the show? I would imagine it gets a very different reaction now.

LY: It didn’t mean anything before!

KW: The whole audience had this sort of mournful laugh.

LY: Before you didn’t get a reaction to it at all. It was like, oh yeah, of course. But I think that particular joke plays differently. It’s always been a part of who my father is and what he believes in. Whoever we are, we need to represent and exist in the world. If you don’t demand that, you don’t get to exist.

KW: Where did you, real Lauren Yee, land on the question of whether or not Chinatown is still something that needs to exist?

LY: It’s complicated. I think Chinatown, over the next ten, twenty, thirty years will always be shifting. I’m not one of those people who thinks we have to hang onto something because it has existed before. Theaters die, organizations die, because nobody needs them anymore. But I feel like what we can do, in positive ways, is figure out how to open up those communities and get people whose interests might intersect with it in there. For example, it’s very hard to join the Yee Fong Toy Family Association. I wish that process were more open, it’s just very hard. I feel like the more that we share these stories and the more we’re talking, the more information gets passed down. As far as Chinatowns in particular, you do have more mainland Chinese folks coming in and being part of Chinatown. And then you have new, specific enclaves. Here in Chicago, a lot of the suburbs have a lot of Chinese immigrants moving in. I think Asian-American identity in the United States will continue to evolve and I think it’s just a reality that you have to adjust with it. In ten or twenty years, there’s going to be an even larger mixed-race population. I think it would make me sad if that wasn’t considered a part of what Chinatown and what Chinese identity is.

KW: What do you really want to see from plays and playwrights in the future?

LY: I want to see plays do what only plays can do. There’s so much good TV and film going on right now, amazing stuff, and I think we could do what they do, but we’re not going to do it as well. That’s not what theater does best. Theater is best when it celebrates the act of live performance and sharing it with this live audience who is assembled here tonight and sharing the space with you. The more we can invest in events or experiences that can only happen in person, the better.

Lauren Yee returns to Goodman Theatre, where her play King of the Yees appeared in the 2015 New Stages Festival. Her plays include Ching Chong Chinaman (Pan Asian Repertory Theatre, Mu Performing Arts, SIS Productions and Impact Theatre), The Hatmaker’s Wife (Playwrights Realm, The Hub, Moxie and AlterTheater), Hookman (Encore Theatre and Company One), in a word (rolling world premiere at San Francisco Playhouse, Cleveland Public Theatre and Strawdog Theatre Company), Samsara (Victory Gardens Theater, Chance Theatre, Eugene O’Neill Theatre Center’s National Playwright Conference and Bay Area Playwrights Festival) and The Tiger Among Us (MAP Fund and Mu Performing Arts). She was born and raised in San Francisco and currently lives in New York.

Category: Conversations

Tags: Chicago, king of the yees, lauren yee, play

Posted on March 8, 2017April 18, 2017 by admin
A Conversation with Kimberly Senior

In Emily St. John Mandel’s 2014 novel, Station Eleven, she imagines a world where a theatrical troupe called The Travelling Symphony travels the country, performing Shakespeare after a plague turned the United States into an abandoned dystopia. Should we ever find ourselves in that reality, Kimberly Senior is ready to roll her sleeves up and get on the road. With a firm belief in the enduring power of art and the absolute necessity of stories, she creates art that stimulates and inspires. Her latest project, directing Theresa Rebeck’s The Scene at Writers Theatre, opened on March 2nd. Much like some of her previous work, it asks the audience to grapple with a lot of tough questions about conscience, moral relativism, and the complexities of human relationships.

We sat down the night before opening to talk about the show, her commitment to parity, and what role art and artists will play in the current political climate.

Kelly Wallace: So let’s start with this show, The Scene. How are rehearsals and previews going?

Kimberly Senior: Good, it’s been such a great experience from top to bottom. The play, which was written ten years ago, is even more resonant today. It really deals with the idea of what happens if we live in a world without consequences – where meaninglessness is key, not giving a shit about anybody means you’re awesome, and selfishness is the top value. It’s harrowing. Then last week the playwright, Theresa Rebeck, came to town.We’ve known each other for a while. It’s our first time being in a room together. She has this amazing light and pushed us to work even more towards the things we were already doing. We’ve had five previews, so we’ve had five different audiences now. I was sitting behind these two women and at intermission one turns to the other and goes, “Oh my god, I love it!” And the other one goes, “Oh my god, I hate it.” And then they started talking away about that and I was like, Yes, yes, yes! Everyone identifies with a different character. It just feels really resonant. I wish I could stay in previews forever because I love working during the day, seeing the play manifest at night, changing things, being a fly on the wall.

KW: Most of the creative team for this show is female…

KS: It’s at least 60% women working on this show. And it’s a huge value of this theater. Not just gender parity, but racial parity. I want to start using the word parity more, because I believe it’s more about equality than about diversifying. It’s about how are we addressing these things and reflecting the world that we live in. Our world now looks like that optimistic Benetton commercial from the 80s. So, how are we putting that on our stages in our theaters? This theater is incredibly supportive of that mission and has also really made it their own mission. I think we all feel enriched by that.

KW: You’re the resident director here; you’ve directed here quite a bit. What do you like about Writers Theatre?

KS: My values and ethics are represented throughout the organization, and I love the audience here. They are brilliant. The people are passionate, and intelligent, and hungry to have intellectual conversations. They’re supportive of the work and the artists. Very few theaters give the opportunity for the artists to interact so much with the audience and I feel – maybe because it’s a small community – I get to know them. I recognize people here. I love the depth of experience that you get. I also feel like Writers is one of the places where their mission is the artist and the word, and that is true. I do some of my best work here.

KW: Talking about the Benetton commercial sort of world, I was thinking about that because your show has a cast that is…I believe there’s one white man in the cast?

KS: There’s no majority; we have four different races onstage.

KW: It doesn’t seem like any of the characters within the text are race-specific. My question is…one of the things that is frustrating is that the default in casting seems to be “cisgender, white” unless it’s specified otherwise. What do you think about how we can get out of that narrative? Whether it be race, gender identity, disability, etc.

KS: It’s interesting. I think it starts with our playwrights when they’re doing those casting breakdowns in the front of the script – make it so there isn’t a default. It can say “Kimberly, white female.” Starting to specify “white” could be one interesting way. I think that’s part of it, to make sure those things aren’t just givens. And when is it a necessity that a character be a certain race, gender, etc.? Of course, there are times that’s essential to the telling of the story. And then there are times where it really doesn’t matter. I remember a lot of the conversation five/six years ago was about how great it was that we had all these “gay” plays, which are plays about being gay. But, as it turns out, gay people also have parents and go to work and eat food…why is every single play with gay characters talking about the experience of being gay or about coming out?

KW: Yes, exactly! Literature is the same way. The story is always inherently about sexuality or coming out of the closet.

KS: As opposed to a story with someone who just happens to be gay, right. I think within the LGBT world things are starting to get better, and now we’re moving into this landscape of queer, gender non-conforming, and trans…how do we tell those stories? I think that we’re attempting to keep pace with how those stories are being told in the public eye as well. Though, obviously, it’s been in the private world since the beginning of time.

KW: I think of something like Moonlight. It’s not about being gay. It’s not a coming out story. It’s not about sexuality. It’s just about a life, where he happens to be gay.

KS: It was amazing. And we’re also talking about identity and how do we all walk around and claim our identity? I don’t want to be removed from being called female. I lead from that place, I am that place. But it isn’t all I am. I have days where I’m like, “Am I the worst because I’m this cisgendered straight woman? Does that make me terrible?” And the answer is, I’m not the enemy. But for the former majority, the former default, they need to name their identity as well. I don’t have to always say who I am, but I should. I think that’s helpful. Playwrights writing stories about what it means to be in the world as a person is helpful. I don’t wake up every day and think, “Wow, what is it like to be a half-Arab/Jewish woman, mother, freelance theater director living in the world?” We don’t wake up with those questions, so our stories shouldn’t always have to be about them.

KW: Right, well, that’s what you are. It’s your lived experience, you don’t necessarily spend every day thinking about it. One thing that I think we struggle with is including all of it, the intersectionality, and how all of it fits together…

KS: I love that idea of lived experience. We have to acknowledge that this is the only skin I’ve ever been in. To be able to be candid about saying, I don’t know what your experience is. You’re a whole different person taking up a whole different space in the world than I am. So I need to open myself up to hear from you, to not make assumptions about you. We need to be open and ready to listen to somebody else’s lived experience and be ready to claim terrific, wonderful ownership of our own lived experience. I hope that’s where we’re going; it’s become an imperative now because some people are being denied their voice.

KW: Do you feel like being an artist is different now, in this political climate? Do you feel a different responsibility?

KS: Yes. When you go back through history, one of the first targeted groups in totalitarian regimes are the artists. I guess we’re a threat. I think with being something that could be dangerous, with being something that could be weaponized, understanding that it’s a privilege – it’s a responsibility. I guess we are now speaking on behalf of everyone. I think it’s important to think about the stories we’re telling. A friend of mine, who is a fantastic writer, has written a beautiful play that’s about two different couples and the decision to have a baby. Which is a totally real experience that a lot of people go through. It’s so well-written, it’s funny, it’s heartbreaking. It draws from experience I’ve had in my life. I’m very connected to it and it means something to me, so I said to him, “There’s just only twelve months in the year. And I can only do so many projects. So I can’t work on this right now, because there are some other stories that I think I have to push to the front of my queue that are speaking more to this specific moment. Your play is every moment.”

I’m also very interested right now in a generational conversation that I’m finding myself feeling challenged to have. I’m gonna be 44 soon and I’m just acknowledging that I’m not part of the same generation that 20 year olds are in. I grew up in a different way. I have different vocabulary. I have different levels of understanding. I think talking about “non-binary,” “gender nonconforming” – that’s language I want to understand.

KW: I think a lot of people feel that way. That they want to be an ally, they want to be there to help…

KS: But they don’t know how. To be an ally, you have to have vocabulary to be able to engage. And I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing. That’s just an example of a way that I feel like I need to catch up. So I’m interested in stories that are accessing the generational divide of mutually well-intentioned people and where those conversations go wrong. I think it’s really interesting, explosive theater. And then what happens to us going forward. I think it could open up a vein to help people to start talking. A mother could say to her daughter, I don’t get it. It’s not because I’m a jerk, or your enemy. Help me.

KW: When you think about what we were saying about artists being targeted, funding for arts programs potentially going away…how would you explain to someone why they should invest in the arts?

KS: Well, it’s the opposite end of the threat thing. If we’re a threat, we must have a power to have a voice. In a culture where the media isn’t invited into the White House…we have to rely on our artists to get the story out. Theater began as a news source. Artists would travel from town to town and put on shows about what was happening in these different towns. That’s important – that we are a way to keep different perspectives alive. We’re a way to create representation. And we have to do better. I know a lot of artists who grew up in red states. And after the election, I knew a lot of artists who would say, I grew up in Alabama. I have to go back there and make theater with those people. They have things to say, they have voices. How do we support greater representation on our stages, how do we support all these voices in our country? The arts are a great way to do that. You’re angry? Let’s send some theater to your town and help your story be told. That’s what I would say. It is an amazing opportunity to create community and create dialogue. In theater, there’s a shared experience of going to the theater together. When communities are dying, when we’re all on our devices, it’s one of the few places left where you can come together in a non-partisan way and be with people who are different than you. When you go to a church, there’s a shared system of belief, a religious organization. When you come to the theater, you don’t know who you’re gonna be sitting next to.

KW: The power of art or culture is empathy — seeing other human beings, even if they’re fictional characters, for some reason, does something for people.

KS: Because it’s just a step away enough. If you’re talking, it becomes personal. I think sometimes people feel a little attacked when they don’t understand something. The great news is if you take away our funding, we don’t need much. We have all these historical stories about theater companies and plays that existed in the ghettos during the Holocaust and we have wonderful stories that grow out of marginalized communities. What more evidence do we need that theater has to exist? When people are in their last, most desperate moments and everything is taken away from them, the power of stories is the thing that has survived again and again and again. All of our religious texts are stories of survival. There’s not one religious text that isn’t about a marginalized people. They’re all coming from this place of forces working against them. What do you do? You create stories, you write them down, you pass them on. You can take away our funding but you can’t take that away. You can’t kill us.

KW: Thinking about your work on Disgraced…I think the quote was that it was a “powder keg of identity politics.” Now we hear that phrase a lot in the mainstream political world…

KS: The experience of working on that play over five years has been really interesting. The world caught up to the play. Ayad [Akhtar, the playwright] and I talked about this the last time we worked on it together. Lines resonate in a different way. A lot of Amir’s hostility in his rants are things that when he said in 2011-2012, people hadn’t heard that language before around Islam. Now…Trump is saying that stuff, so the audience would laugh at it now, whereas in 2012 they were horrified by it. But now they recognize and know what it is. It’s kind of amazing.

KW: If you had to describe Chicago theater to a New Yorker, what would you say?

KS: There are short and long answers to that. A lot of it is about economics. Everything is so expensive in New York, as you know, so that means that to be able to live as an artist there is more complicated. To be able to produce is more complicated. Here, there’s just a lot more space, a lot more time, and in a way there’s more money because the cost of living is so much less. So there’s a lot of freedom. There’s a lot of risk-taking that happens because it can. I love the New York community in very different way. There’s a great standard of excellence, there’s an ambition and a drive and a pace…my metabolism makes sense there. It’s also easier to have a community here in Chicago. Everybody drives and hangs out at each other’s houses because people have houses you can hang out in.It just changes the conversation. My friends who I make plays with, we’ve grown up together here in a way. There’s a great sense of community here. There’s no anonymity here. And there definitely is anonymity in New York. There’s pros and cons.

In some places it feels like non-equity equals non-professional. Like, union status equals a certain level of professionalism. Which isn’t wrong, but here in Chicago there is a huge, thriving non-equity community. Which goes back to economics. You can work for free and have your daytime job and still make theater. I was able to cut my teeth on dozens of productions. I think I’ve directed something like 140 productions professionally. I couldn’t have done that living in New York. I was able to do that here because there are a breadth of companies that are producing on a low budget.

KW: There’s just so much here in terms of smaller theater companies…

KS: I can make a play above a Mexican restaurant and increase my skill set and put in my Malcolm Gladwell “10,000 hours” and experiment. The crossover between highly experienced artists working alongside novices happens a lot in this community and there’s a lot of mentorship, both accidental and intentional. I think that’s really special. It’s a result of the fact that there are so many artists making so much work at so many different levels. Then there’s the other thing, which is…in L.A., there’s always the chance that you might get film or TV. In New York, there’s always that chance the show is going to go to Broadway. Here…I mean, those chances exist, but not in the same way.

KW: As a director, you did not go the “traditional” path with getting an MFA…

KS: I didn’t get a grad degree, I didn’t assist anybody.

KW: I know it’s hard to say if it was better or not…

KS: I don’t know any other way. Everybody has a different path. My path isn’t at all what I thought it was going to be. I thought I was going to assist a bunch of people and do fellowships and go to grad school. I was planning on all those things; I think those things are great. I ended up being in this town and one thing lead to another and suddenly I was like, Well, I can’t go to grad school next year because I already have four shows that I’m doing. I also worked in the administrative offices at Steppenwolf Theatre for a very long time. I think what was cool for me was my day job was at Steppenwolf, so I got to work at this big, high-functioning professional institution. I learned, just by being around, about writing grants and marketing and being around those conversations while I was making my own art with spit and duct tape at night. Getting to have that balance was a tremendous kind of grad school for me. And as it turns out, I’m a really big nerd who reads all the time anyway. I start director’s groups and we all get together and exchange books…it’s like I’m still in grad school! It’s a very long degree.

I think one of the challenging things for people in the arts is that we always have to be beginning. It doesn’t matter how many plays I’ve directed because the next time I walk into a room for the first rehearsal, it will be the first rehearsal of that play with those actors at that theater…you have to start over every time. It has to be okay for you to feel terrified constantly.

KW: As you said, you teach too, what’s that like?

KS: All I want is to be in the classroom. It’s the best. Part of it is, like we were talking about earlier with the generational conversation, I have to be around people who have new ideas. It’s the future of the American theater that I’m teaching, I want to hear from them. What stories do they want to tell? What are they excited about? What are their conversations? I remember trying to teach my kids how to tie their shoes. It was so hard for me to explain how to do it because you do it without thinking. A lot of the things we do in our work, whatever your job is, you do without thinking. Teaching makes you rewind and pull apart your process and your thinking. I think that is really important. I’m constantly reinventing the way that I approach work and I think it’s because I’m constantly getting new feedback and a lot of that is from students There’s a kind of think-tank approach. I mean, I’m not teaching math. There’s not a finite answer.

KW: It’s not definite in the way math is.

KS: Right, that’s why I’m like, You can’t do anything wrong in this class except be a jerk, not show up, not get your work done, or be unkind to people. But you can’t be wrong.

KW: You have this mentor role as an educator, and you’re a parent…what do you feel is important to be teaching kids and students right now?

KS: We’ve touched on a lot of the things, but I think it’s guided by a passionate curiosity about others and the world around you. A very big thing is about agency and ownership and breaking down a lot of our coded behavior that we have. Something I’m personally working on is speaking in declarative sentences. Removing the word “just” and “sorry” and “kind of”…

KW: “Just” is such a big one.

KS: And the word does nothing. Removing “I guess,” “sort of” – removing that language from my speech, from my emails. “Would it be possible if…?” “Does that make sense…?”

KW: “If that’s okay with you…”

KS: There’s a sense of ownership that I’m trying to teach. You have a point of view and it’s yours and it comes from your lived experience and from your perspective and it is of equal value as the person next to you. I’m trying to do that for myself and help others do that. I think there’s something about finding our own power, coupled with passionate curiosity. I’m really trying to remove anger or victim mentality. Not, “you can’t,” but “I can.” I’m trying to change that language.

KW: Where do you feel like theater is going? Where do you want it to go in the next five to ten years? Where do you want to see us?

KS: I would like theater to keep pace with the world around us. It’s exciting and terrifying that we don’t know what’s to come. I would hope that our theater is brave enough to ask the hard questions and stand up for itself and the stories that need to be told. Theater should be a safe space to explore. The things we shouldn’t say and do in real life, we should do in the theater, so then we can talk about them. I don’t think all of our theater should be nice and rosy and all of us holding hands and hugging and kissing. That’s not what the world looks like. And I know it’s hard for somebody to have to play Hitler or a serial killer, but those things exist and I think if we put them onstage and we’re not afraid of showing those things and we talk about them, we can go and heal outside in the world. We can heal ourselves. I believe every act of theater is a political act by being a publicly witnessed event. How do we stay with our politics, how do we keep pace with the important stories being told? Have plays about what it means to be seen in the world. How are we activating the issues around us through tremendous humanity and empathy and passionate curiosity?

Category: Conversations

Tags: Chicago, Kimberly Senior, play, The Scene

Posted on February 14, 2017July 16, 2017 by admin
A Conversation with Annie Dow & Eddie Martínez

Within just a few years, Tanya Saracho has emerged as one of the most vibrant, creative, original, and, in many ways, important contemporary playwrights. Seeing her fantastic new play Fade, which is currently at the Cherry Lane as part of Primary Stages season, you understand why. In it, Lucía, an aspiring writer, crosses paths with Abel, a janitor in the building she now works in. The two bond over their shared Mexican background. Stereotypes and preconceptions are shattered as the two converse, and issues of class, culture, identity, and more are explored in depths rarely, if ever, seen onstage. We sat down with the two talented and engaging stars of Fade, Annie Dow and Eddie Martínez, to discuss their process and the play’s meaning and importance in this current political climate.

Margarita Javier: I really loved the play a lot, but first I wanted to know if you guys could talk a little about your background, where you’re from, how you got here.

Annie Dow: I’m from Monterrey, México, and I came here for college. I came here when I was 18. I grew up in Monterrey, doing my thing, doing theater stuff in my high school. So I caught the acting bug, I applied to NYU, got in.

MJ: Why did you want to go to NYU?

AD: Before acting was really in my head, I had this idea that I really wanted to go to a liberal arts college, one that had the trees and brownstones. I had this visual of what I really wanted. And then of course I applied to NYU that has basically no trees or brownstones, it’s just the park and that’s it (laughs). And I knew it’s a great theater program. I came to New York City for the first time when I was 15, and it was all Broadway and big eyes and “Oh my god, this is it! This is where I wanna be!” You know? So a few years later I was here.

MJ: How did you like it when you first moved here?

AD: You know, it’s weird because there was a lot of culture clash. I mean, I grew up speaking English at school and watching American TV, but there were a lot of little things that I didn’t know. Like saying, “Hi,” to people? Do you hug them? Do you kiss them? Do you handshake?

MJ: I had that too, because back in Puerto Rico we greet each other with a kiss on the cheek. But here they don’t do that.

AD: Right! And in groups of friends, or people you haven’t seen in a long time, it’s a big hug. Okay, great, but what do you do in the professional world, and what do you do on a date? It’s bizarre. ’Cause a handshake feels extremely cold, sometimes a little too cold for work, but then on a date kissing someone you just met on the cheek is weird. So that kind of stuff was a little disorienting at first. I was lucky enough that my program was very interested in the individual person’s perspective, so there was a lot of “Oh this is how you do it? Okay we’ll do that. And that’s how you do this other thing? Okay we’ll bring that in.” So it wasn’t like I had to shut down who I was or where I came from. I got to bring it to the table.

Eddie Martínez: I was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois. My parents are both from El Salvador. They met in the early ’70s in Chicago. I started doing theater late, when I was 16 or 17, around junior year of high school. My guidance counselor was asking me “What do you want to do with yourself?” And I sort of always was into film, so I thought I wanted to be a filmmaker. I started talking about that and she told me about a summer program at Columbia College Chicago, which is like a liberal arts school in Chicago, and through that I did an acting class, ’cause it was a backup to some of the film classes which ended up being full. I did the acting class and caught the bug right there. Ended up going to Columbia for theater, and then I got involved in the sketch comedy improv scene at Second City in Chicago. I was part of the first all-minority sketch group. We called ourselves BrownCo, ’cause all the touring companies are GreenCo, RedCo, BlueCo, so we were like, “BrownCo!” (laughs). It was just a joke at first, but it stuck. And then I got involved with doing shows with Teatro Vista, which is, I think, the only Latino equity theater company in the Midwest. I worked with Steppenwolf out there, the Goodman, Lookingglass. So yeah, most of my work has been out in Chicago.

MJ: And what brought you to New York?

EM: This show. I’m still in Chicago. I’m here just for the three and a half months or whatever it’s been or it’s gonna be. I got involved with the show like three years ago. It was just a reading at the Goodman Theatre in downtown Chicago. I’ve known Tanya for 10 to 11 years. You know, she started out as a playwright in Chicago, she was an actress in Chicago, so we know a lot of the same people, and we worked at a lot of the same places. You know, we were the Latino theater community in Chicago. So through that she just reached out to me and was like, “You know, I think you’d be good for this part, do you want to do a reading for it?” And the show was only like 55 pages at the time. So we did a reading of it at the Goodman and then a year passed and that was it, I did the reading and that was that. And then the people at Denver Center wanted to maybe commission it and all that, so then we did the New Play Summit at the Denver Center, and I went to Denver for two weeks to do that. Through that they decided to produce the show and then I did it this time last year in Denver for the world premiere.

MJ: And Annie, how did you get involved with this show?

AD: Oh man, it was just a goodness of heart, a good friend. Cristina Nieves and I had worked on one of Tanya’s other plays in New Jersey and I didn’t get a chance to meet Tanya at all during that process. We weren’t too familiar with each other. And when Primary Stages picked up the show, Cristina told Tanya, “You have to meet her.” So you know, casting reached out and I actually ended up doing a reading before Eddie jumped on.

EM: Yeah, ’cause after Denver it was sort of up in the air. I wasn’t promised anything.

AD: I think Primary Stages did an original reading in October or something to see where the play was and what made it work and what didn’t etc. So I came in for that, and then we did that other reading in December? November?

EM: Early December.

AD: Yeah, and then it was like, “Okay now you’re doing the show.” Okay! So it was really just the power of community. I’m eternally thankful to her [Cristina] because I never would’ve been on anybody’s radar if it wasn’t for that.

MJ: I’m wondering about your process in approaching your characters, especially since I notice there are some similarities in yours and your characters’ backgrounds. So specifically for this play, but also when you have to play a Latino character in other projects, how do you approach that? Is making sure the accent is correct something that you focus on? What are your processes as actors?

EM: There are some parallels between me and Abel, but then there’s these huge differences that I can’t even relate to. But we’re both from blue-collar working-class communities, which is what I grew up in. I went to Catholic school for 13 years but it was still very much representative of Chicago; Latinos, Black, Asians, everybody. So I grew up with the American experience. Hip-hop culture was also something that influenced me a lot growing up, because there weren’t a lot of salvadoreños in Chicago, so they thought I was Mexican or Puerto Rican or Middle Eastern, you know. I heard everything. But approaching Abel, I think the first thing I did was just learn about El Sereno, Boyle Heights, the people out there and what they’re like. And the little differences because, yeah, it’s similar communities, but LA and Chicago are two different things. As far as accents or anything like that, I didn’t really focus on that too much. I thought about doing this sort of, you know, more like Chicano rounding everything out, that sort of thing, but I felt like I’ve met a lot of people out there that don’t speak that way, and I sort of wanted to represent that. You gotta find the right places where it comes out and where it’s just like, “I’m at work, and it’s standard American English.”

AD: For Lucía, it’s hard because biographically the main stats are all very similar, I think. I mean, I look the way I look, I have the name that I have. It has put me in a position of being able to “pass” for white a lot of the time, so it creates an interesting dynamic where I was never really tokenized. It would be one or the other. Like extremely, “Oh, you are Mexican, you are a foreigner. Tell us about your culture, let’s go have Cinco de Mayo.” It was kind of like that level of interest and specificity, which is to say not much. And then on the other hand it would be me finding myself in rooms of people having very candid conversations about race or class or whatever and forgetting who I was and where I came from. So having to kind of be in the position that Lucía is in, of, like, “Oh man, do I say something? Do I call these people out? Do I pick my battles? Where is the line? What responsibilities do I have to represent who we are and where we come from? Do I even have the authority to do that?” Those kinds of questions have been in my head for a while, and so when this play comes along, I’m like, “Oh, this is exactly it.” So preparing for this was a lot of grappling with those questions, asking friends, asking people who immigrated the way I did, which is basically through education and work. Do you speak in Spanish to your servers? Do you wait? And it raises a lot of questions, especially coming from a place where I was the majority. They’re hard to contend with and interesting and fascinating questions. For me it was mostly engaging with those questions in my own life and with my friends and life. So in terms of the externals it’s not like I had to do a lot of body work or had to put on a voice. I think the closest was to do a Mexico City accent which is not my…

EM: Differentiating that, because you wanted to get it authentic. I remember you talking about getting it right for the mexicanos who do come see this.

AD: Right. Because I can pull off a pretty good Mexican Monterrey fresa [upper class] accent, but I think that comes across as a little provincial to someone from Mexico City. And Tanya wanted something a little more Mexico City, so I had to do some research, watch some YouTube videos, talk to some people I know. So for me it was a lot more internal work. Then of course getting into what position do I have to put myself in, in relation to the world around me, and am I going to do the things Lucía does? I think in Lucía’s mind it’s a lot of, “It’s either me or him, and I have to choose me.”

MJ: One of the things that resonated with me about this play is how it deals with authentic representation, of Latinos and, in this case specifically, Mexicans. The play does poke fun of it when they talk about the executives having created a “generic Latino” character, so I wanted to get your thoughts about authentic representation in general, what has your experience been, and how this play deals with that.

EM: Yeah. I think that there’s still a lot of work to do. I’m trying to think of what Latino shows are really out there right now.

AD: There’s that new Netflix one.

MJ: It’s really good, One Day at a Time. With Rita Moreno.

EM: Oh, yeah yeah! I haven’t gotten a chance to see it.

MJ: It’s about Cubans, and it’s really good.

EM: People are saying it’s a good representation.

MJ: It is, and they have Latino executives and writers.

EM: Yeah, I think that’s what it is, more than anything. Nothing’s going to change until Latinos are behind the scenes. Producing, show running. It’s why it’s exciting, this sort of position that Tanya’s in right now. She may be one of the pioneers of this, you know what I mean? ’Cause it’s 2017, but yet we’re still scratching the surface. I think there’s still a lot of the archetypes that have been out there, like when I audition for stuff it’s still very much the thug, the criminal, or the janitor. Why I said yes to this, why I was okay playing a janitor in this, is because it’s more than that, you know what I mean? But there’s definitely those parts out there. The “wise janitor,” you know? But I’ve also done stuff that had nothing to do with my race. I did a movie called The Dilemma, and I played an IT guy. And actually the part was originally written for, I think, an Indian guy. And I went in there and I didn’t try to do an accent or anything like that. ’Cause that’s a whole other thing that I’m having issues with now. Somebody asks me to audition for an Indian or Middle Eastern, and I’m not. So I’m kinda turning those things down now. With this particular part, I just went in and did my own thing and they ended up changing the character and made him Latino, and that worked. But that’s not always the case. And it was comedy. I think comedy, I think they say something in the play about where in comedy it’s okay and for other genres it’s not. So I think in the comedy world there seems to be a lot more diversity. I hate that word sometimes, but yeah. I’ve had voiceovers where I’m the voice of a taco, things like that. Which I’ve done. But, you know.

AD: Oh, yeah. Or like, “Selling that cerveza!”

EM: Yeah, that sort of thing. So there’s still a lot of work to do, but we’re still in a place where we need to make money. But I’m a lot more conscious of what I do, especially after doing this show. I think before maybe I would’ve been a little bit more open to doing things that, even though I didn’t agree with, I was like, “Well, I need the money!” But now with this show it’s like, no. You have to put your foot down at a certain point or it’s going to continue. I mean they’ll replace me, you know? It is what it is. But there’s still a lot of work to do.

AD: I think for me it’s almost kind of coming at it from the opposite experience. I’ve had casting directors tell me, almost in confidence, “Oh you’re so lucky you get to play white.” And because I came from a place where I was the majority, suddenly realizing, “Oh, there’s something wrong with who I am? Being white, playing white is better than Latina? What does that mean?” And then also on the other hand people being like, “Oh you’re not Latina enough to play a Latina.” And it’s like, “But I am Latina! Do you need my passport? It’s here!” So I’ve had a lot more fluidity in terms of the ethnicity that I play or the nationality that I play. I do think that Eddie has a point when he says that things change a lot when the artist gets to bring their own lives into it. So I’m looking into, like, Orange is the New Black, where you get to actually bring in your own experience. And the Latinas aren’t “Latinas,” they’re Dominican and some of them are Mexican, and that creates a thing. And the Asian girl, Soso [played by Kimiko Glenn], who’s very privileged, is different from the rest of the Asian people in prison. And I think that does something. If we can’t create our own material, then at least let us bring something of our background, of ourselves, because if you don’t have the experience to draw out a full-fledged character, which is okay, then at least let the actor bring something to the table, or hire writers that are doing that. Shows like How to Get Away With Murder having Karla Souza there, or watching Sara Ramirez when I was a little younger in Grey’s Anatomy was transformative for me, because I was like, “She’s me! She’s not this idea of what I’m supposed to be.” And learning to challenge people a little more on that when doing a commercial or when doing whatever it’s like, “Oh, do you mind if I try this? Or is this okay, can I try it?” And most of the time people are open. Or maybe I’ve been lucky enough that I’ve auditioned for the right projects. But we still have a long way to go, and I don’t know, there’s just something more colorful about differences.

EM: Again, a lot of shows, a lot of productions, I think, are trying to be better about stuff like that. I know a playwright here that I was hanging out with a week ago, and he’s a consultant on the show Power, and what they have him there for is basically to make sure that when Dominicans speak Spanish, they sound like Dominicans, and that the Mexicans sound like Mexicans. Because in so many shows in the past, somebody’s Mexican but they obviously sound Dominican, and we all know that, we catch that. Or somebody’s supposed to be Puerto Rican and they obviously sound Mexican. So they have him there and it’s a position now, and that is a good step.

AD: It’s like that show Narcos, I think, where it’s like the colors of the Latino rainbow, but they’re all supposed to be Colombian. And it’s like, “Great, this is showcasing Latino diversity this is awesome,” but…

EM: Some of them nail it. But some of them are obviously not Colombian.

AD: I’ve just always assumed that the drug trade is multicultural and that’s what we’re going to do.

EM: We’re ALL drug dealers! (Laughs.)

MJ: I think that speaks to the fact that there’s still a pervasive idea that audiences are mostly white. You know? Because they don’t notice those things. But there are audience members for whom it does matter. Like you wouldn’t have a British character speaking in an obvious American accent, they would never do that, but they still do it with Latinos or with Asians as well. And I think it’s important to keep in mind that not only do we want more diversity on screen, but for everyone to realize that the audience is diverse as well. Cater to all of us.

EM: It matters.

AD: And I think at the same time it’s important to talk about creating that diverse audience. So especially theaters in the city they’ll put on this great Latino play or this great Middle Eastern play, and then where are the audiences? A lot of the time there is no culture of going to the theater because the theater has not provided anything that is interesting to us, and has been to a certain degree unwelcoming. I mean, for some people it has been dangerous to go out and participate in community events like theatergoing. So being able to reach out to these communities and continue engaging them is, I think, very important. Because, I’m sure Eddie has felt this way, but the show is a completely different show depending on who’s in the audience. It’s incredible.

EM: Where we get the laughs changes based on who the audience is.

AD: Yeah, if the audiences are mostly white, English speakers, then it’s a serious drama. And if it’s Latinos, or even younger people, it’s an uproarious comedy. It’s so strange.

MJ: Yeah, I noticed that when my friend and I saw it, we were reacting differently than a lot of the people around us. And we were like, “Oh, that’s because our experience and understanding is different.”

AD: Right, and I can imagine it’s uncomfortable to not be in on the joke for once. You know? But I think that discomfort is — I mean, I’ve been feeling it my whole life.

EM: I think that’s the best thing about the show: whether you enjoy it or not, or whether you agree with these characters and the choices they make, it creates a conversation. I think that’s the best thing about it. We’re talking about things that make people uncomfortable. And we want people to go home and talk about these things. I wish we had talk backs after every show, just to really be able to hash things out. So people are walking away with a clear message of what the show is trying to say, ’cause it can be interpreted, I think, a lot of different ways.

AD: Yeah, I mean it depends on especially what Lucía does or doesn’t do in order to get ahead. I’m sure there are many different perspectives on that, and whether that is okay or whether it’s not okay.

EM: Like the guy I told you about who’s a DJ, and he brought a date and she was a mexicana — dark skinned from Chicago, who grew up in a rough neighborhood, her dad was in jail for 10 years, and she ran far away from that lifestyle. She moved out here, created this whole new life, and then she saw the show and she loved it and she was crying. And I was like, “But what did you take away from it?” And she was like, “That you have to sell out!” And I was like, “Noooooo!” And this is somebody that doesn’t go to the theater, you know what I mean? She’s from a different world. And I was like, “Nooooo! That is not! No!” But it made me worried. I think people that go to the theater, they get it. But somebody who doesn’t, I’m afraid — is that what they take away? I wouldn’t want that.

MJ: I do appreciate the complexity in this play though, that it doesn’t have a moral absolute. Especially when it comes to Lucía’s actions, I think it can be interpreted in different ways. Do you hate her or do you understand where she’s coming from? That’s something to be discussed. The play doesn’t lay it out, and I like that, because I’m tired of seeing things where the moral is very obvious, especially in the context of a Latino play, to have that complexity in it, I was blown away by it. I think that’s a good thing.

EM: And I can’t think of another play that really talks about the classism thing.

AD: The only other play I can think of is one of Tanya’s plays. She seems to be the only one who’s really talking about it. And it’s an issue that, at least in México, is not talked about to the degree that it should be. So it’s funny that now I’m here and now we’re talking about it.

EM: In México they’re just now acknowledging their African roots, within some of the people. And that’s huge.

AD: And it’s not like it was, and maybe I’m wrong about this, it was never a taboo, or a conscious shunning of all that, it was just kind of like a whitewash. Like it doesn’t exist, it doesn’t matter, it’s irrelevant, why should we care?

EM: Who did that benefit?

AD: Right. And it’s almost infuriating that it’s so passive. It’s not coming out of hatred — it seems to be coming out of ambivalence, which is worse to me. Like I just don’t care either way.

EM: Yeah, that is worse, absolutely.

MJ: Yeah, and I had never seen it addressed before in an English-language play, and to have that addressed to a presumably English-speaking audience is great, because Latinos are usually lumped in as just “Latinos,” and we have so much conflict with each other, not just cultures but also class. And it’s good to show that to people who may not understand. That might help create a better understanding, especially for the immigrants living here, that there are these issues that we’re grappling with. Within our communities there is so much conflict, and it was great seeing that represented onstage.

EM: Yeah, or like Afro-Latinos who come here to the US and have to assimilate into the black culture, ’cause, “Oh, that’s who I am, that’s who I have to be.” And black culture isn’t acknowledging that. So there’s that, too.

MJ: Right, where do I belong in this conversation?

EM: Exactly.

MJ: Not that I want to get too political, but given the current political climate, especially all the talk about immigration and all the negative attention immigration issues are receiving: Do you feel any responsibility as artists, as actors, to address this in some way? To elevate the conversation? And how do you do so?

EM: Yes. How is what I’m still trying to figure out.

MJ: I think even what you were saying before about turning down certain roles is a choice to address that.

EM: Yeah. The last thing I turned down was something where I’d be playing a bay worker, the guys who line up at, like, The Home Depot waiting for work. There’s nothing wrong with that. Like, I want to put dignity into any role, I would play those parts, as long as there’s dignity. If you show how they really are, they’re hardworking, doing it for a reason. But in this movie it was more like the white-savior thing, and I see too much of that. So that was one thing that I turned down. So yeah in that way, I think, I can be active. But it’s also going to the protests, things like that, which we’ve been missing out on ’cause we’ve been in rehearsals. I think in time we’ll know where we can do things.

AD: I think for me the most important thing that I’ve sort of learned over the last couple of years is: What’s the conversation that we’re having? Who’s in charge of framing that? Because if you start engaging in a conversation in the terms that the other person is using, you’re already losing. You really have to reframe the whole thing. And so I think the conversation that this country has been having over immigration, over nationality, over national origin, over race, puts anybody who’s arguing for inclusivity or for a bit more of a cosmopolitan, a political, or an expansive approach at a disadvantage, until we figure out a way to reframe the conversation. A show like Hamilton is, I think, doing an incredible job, and even with that — I love me some Lin-Manuel Miranda — but couldn’t we have a female Hamilton?

MJ: He said we could, actually. He went on record and said he’d support women playing the Founding Fathers.

AD: Oh good! That’s something that I’m excited about, just being able to reframe it so we don’t have this idea of the past or even the present that is shaped by somebody else who might not have the best interests of everybody at heart. I think that’s the most important thing for me. So I think yeah, artists and journalists, anybody who’s in charge of painting a picture of something you can’t see because you’re not there, I think there’s a huge responsibility there and I think, in a way, both those communities are at fault for what’s happening. Because we’ve abdicated that responsibility.

EM: In brown and black communities too, we want people to take part in our struggle, our plight of immigration, etc., but our communities as well have to address the homophobia, the sexism, because those are huge problems among the straight males in the black and brown communities. Still very sexist, misogynist, homophobic.

AD: Looking at it in a real, in a very unfiltered way, makes a big difference. I think a lot of people who maybe have formed certain ideas of Muslim immigrants or Latino immigrants or whatever, those impressions are not because they have been in touch with somebody who has affected their lives in a negative way. Those impressions are there because somebody told them that’s the way it is. So how do you change that conversation? How do you start telling at least the truth?

EM: When people interact with each other, it’s amazing how a lot of that goes away. You know what I mean? Like a lot of the people who are racist, they’ve been in all white communities in, like, the South. And they don’t really interact with anyone else. And even if they do, they’ll say, “Oh but they’re different!” Why are they different? Because you know them! ’Cause you interact with them. ’Cause they’re not this stereotype that you see on TV or the media or whatever. It’s just about interaction.

MJ: Yeah, and I think also greater exposure in the media is important to that effect. Because if you live in a community where there aren’t any Latinos or black people etc., and all you see is what’s on the news or what’s in movies, that’s the idea you’re going to have. And if we start to reshape the ways we’re portrayed that might have a positive effect. It might already be happening.

AD: Right, and it should be a diversity of experience. There are also women like Lucía, who have an ability to blend in and coast through and maybe trample on others to get what she wants. So there’s that too. The Latino experience is extremely diverse, but we’re losing the conversation because it’s been framed as this one or the other thing.

EM: And it’s not.

AD: Right.

EM: Another thing we do is we stereotype poor white people, rural America, and I think we need to be better about that. Connecting with those people. ’Cause if we all get together? Forget about it. That’s what they don’t want in this country. They want to keep it separate. And they use race and religion and all these things because it’s important to a lot of these people. But really? If the poor and the black and brown and LGBTQ and the women and the poor white people that have been forgotten in this country got together? I got chills.

MJ: is there a line in the play that resonates with you?

EM: So many good ones! “The language of assholiness is universal.”

AD: I don’t know. Oh, man. I’ve suddenly forgotten all my lines. I think Lucía has a moment where she grapples with maybe not knowing what her artistic contribution should be, so she tells Abel, “I don’t know if I have anything left to say.” That resonates with me because in it is wrapped up not only whether she’s maybe going through some writer’s block or if she considers herself a hack or not, but also who she’s supposed to be and what she’s supposed to say to whom. I think it’s a big question for her, and sometimes it is for me too.

MJ: Who are your biggest influences as actors?

EM: An actor that I’ve always looked up to is Benicio del Toro. ¡Puertorriqueño! Yeah, man, that guy to me is it, because he can play anybody. It has a lot to do with the way he looks, but it’s also how seriously he takes what he does. I aspire to that.

AD: I really like old-timey movies. So I think Greta Garbo, everything she ever did, was insane. She basically invented acting on camera. And then Bette Davis. The first time I saw Jezebel, I was like, “Oh my god!” So yeah. Nobody alive matters! (Laughs.)

MJ: What is your dream role, if you have one? Regardless of ethnicity or gender or any other constrictions?

EM: I like Aaron the Moor in Titus. I don’t think I’d ever play it. Maybe!

MJ: Oh, that’s a good one! Have you done any Shakespeare?

EM: I did As You Like it, [at the Denver Center]. I played Corin, the shepherd.

AD: I think probably Juliet. I just don’t think Juliet is some star-struck swoony ingénue. She’s a rebel! She runs away and gets married to someone she just met! And she fights with the guy all the time!

EM: That’s a Latino relationship right there!

AD: (Laughs.) Yeah! And you don’t see that. So I’d love to do that. Also if somebody reads this and wants to let me audition for the role of Hamilton, I will take that!

MJ: So I did a little research and I saw that you, Annie, co-wrote a short film and you, Eddie, I saw you were working on a script. Do you have aspirations as writers as well as performers, and how’s that going?

AD: I definitely write. I go back and forth between deciding whether what I write is meant for my own personal enjoyment or whether it is something that I should make, and I think at this point, given where we are, I think it’s something I should make. So originally I was supposed to produce a web series, but then I booked this role, so I’m pushing it to spring. So I’m excited about that.

EM: You’re doing it!

AD: Yeah, yeah, yeah, definitely! This has been a pet project for a few years now so I’m excited to get it off the ground.

MJ: What’s it about?

AD: I think, I’m not 100 percent sure on the title, but I think it’s called Kink, and it’s about a young woman who decides that she wants to be an escort to provide kinky services and what that entails. So she, you know, lets people lick her toes or that sort of thing. Yeah. And what that journey is. She’s also somebody who maybe isn’t that comfortable with her own sexuality, so learning to deal with that.

EM: I have two or three ideas for scripts that I’ve been thinking about for two years, but I wrote one short film. It is done. I just haven’t shown it to anyone. I have Tanya and another friend that I keep on saying, “I’m going to send it to you guys! I’m going to send it to you guys!” It’s inspired by the neighborhood I grew up in and Catholic school and basketball, which was very important, the community got into it more than they probably should have. These were eighth graders playing, and I’m pretty sure they were gambling on the side, and people fixing games. Like this is an eighth grade game, but they were the priests, the altar men, the cops. Yeah so it’s about that but exaggerated a little. Elements of comedy. The main character’s just this kid who wants a pair of Reebok pumps, and he’s got these whole Payless-type shoes he’s had for five years, they’re two sizes too small, but he still brushes them with a toothbrush to clean, and it’s sort of what he decides to do to get the Reeboks and all these situations he ends up in.

AD: Don’t you and I have a thing we’re going to work on now?

EM: Oh, yeah, what was that idea?

AD: We came up with something in the middle of rehearsal.

EM: And we were like, “We need to work on this.”

AD: What was it? It was like — oh what do you call those competitions?

EM: Oh, yeah, it was about in South Texas, at a grade school, a competition for El Grito, but how it’s all boys who compete in these competitions and there’s this little girl who wants to compete, but everyone’s like, “No, no, no, you don’t do that.”

AD: I think it’d be a short film. Just about that.

EM: I don’t even know, somebody was talking about it and we started riffing and then we were like, “We need to write it.” I know nothing about South Texas (laughs).

AD: That’s okay, I’ve been there (laughs).

MJ: You should definitely work together again because you have great chemistry onstage.

EM: Aw, thank you.

MJ: Finally, why should people come see this play?

EM: I think for the reason that we said earlier, about the conversation that can be had after seeing the show. Seeing something that you probably haven’t seen before about Latinos onstage, which is the classism. And it’s funny, it’s a good time! And it’s by one of the most important playwrights that we have right now, Tanya.

AD: Yeah. The same.

Annie Dow was born and raised in Monterrey, México. Regional credits include Much Ado About Nothing (Hero) with the Shakespeare Theatre Company in DC alongside Kathryn Meisle, Derek Smith, and Tony Plana; as well as the world premiere of Tanya Saracho’s Song For the Disappeared (Mila) with the Passage Theatre Company in New Jersey. In New York, she has participated in the development of new plays and musicals at CAP 21, Baryshnikov Arts Center, The New Victory Theater, Playwrights Realm, and The Lark. She has recently appeared onscreen in LMN’s I Love You…But I Lied, as well as Netflix’s “The OA” and “The Late Show with David Letterman.” Annie is also a veteran commercial actor and voiceover artist, appearing in multiple national and regional ads in both English and Spanish. She earned her BFA in Drama and Psychology at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts and is a proud member of AEA and SAG-AFTRA.

Eddie Martínez Chicago Theatre credits include: Parachute Men as Andrew (Teatro Vista), Big Lake Big City asStewart (Looking Glass Theatre), Our Lady of 121st Street asPinky (Steppenwolf Theatre Company). Denver Theatre credits: FADE as Abel (Denver Center Theater Company), As You Like It as Corin (Denver Center Theatre Company). Film & TV credits include “The Dilemma”, “The Break Up”, “Boss”, “Chicago Fire”, “Sense8’, and “Sirens”.

Category: Conversations

Tags: actor, Fade, Latina, NYC, play, Primary Stages, Tanya Saracho

Posted on January 5, 2017January 5, 2017 by admin
Giving Voice to the Body: The Cast of ReconFIGUREd

Honest Accomplice Theatre tells stories that are rarely brought to light: those that are silenced, pushed aside, or deemed too “fringe” for mainstream theater. Working with an ensemble of artists, the company works to bring these topics into the light; to create dialogue about the things we don’t see onstage when it comes to the lives of female-identified and trans people.

ReconFIGUREd, the company’s latest piece, is a heart-warming devised work about the experience of living in our bodies, and how it feels to inhabit the female and trans identity. We spoke with members of the cast about their process, their characters, and why theater matters.

Helen Schultz: How did you get involved with HAT/ReconFIGUREd?

Seth Day (He/Him/His): It’s actually a funny story! Although I had some theater experience growing up, I’m not an actor by trade. I wasn’t actively searching for acting gigs, but I’m a member of this Facebook group that is a forum to share queer-friendly employment opportunities, and I saw the casting call for ReconFIGUREd and thought, “Why not!?” To be honest, I almost chickened out of the audition, but the project seemed so important to me. The subject matter of the show is what really piqued my interest. It was the first time I had seen a casting call that was genuinely interested in the trans experience.

HS: Tell me about your character and creative/design role.

SD: I’m one of the two actors playing Luke, a trans guy in the first year of his transition, who struggles with feeling the need to perform toxic masculinity in order to be seen as male. He also has some family drama going on and has to balance that with dealing with his masculinity issues. It’s very exciting for me as a transperson to get to play a trans character, and to put a story on stage that feels more authentic than other trans representations in the media.

I’m also the prop designer, which was a first for me and a fun challenge! I really tried to give attention to detail to each and every prop in a way that each prop adds something to the story.

HS: Why do you think theater is such a powerful medium for telling this kind of story and to help change people’s minds and erase some of the stigmas associated with current identity/body politics?

SD: Generally when people see theater it’s for enjoyment, so I think when we go see a show, we let our guard down. If I were to walk up to someone and try to engage in a conversation about the body or gender or any sensitive topic, I think they’d probably be a little guarded. But when we let our guard down and are open, theater can really change us.

HS: Tell me about one of the scenes in the play.

SD: There is a power ballad sung from the last remaining estrogen in a menopausal body. What more do you need?

HS: Tell me about a moment in the development process that surprised or stuck out to you.

SD: At the beginning of each devising session, we would go around and introduce our name and pronouns (as these are things that can change!). And one session, one of the ensemble members asked us to use a pronoun I had never even heard of before, which was a really humbling moment for me. Sometimes I think just because I’m trans, I know all there is to know about gender, but that was a great reminder that we all have room to grow and learn!

HS: What is one thing you hope people take away from this piece?

SD: I suppose I don’t really care what people take away from the show as long as they’re still thinking after it’s over. My hope is that the show starts a conversation!

HS: What makes this show unique?

SD: I think one of the most unique aspects of this show is its honesty. That and the fact that about a third of the cast is trans! Which is just amazing.

Helen Schultz: How did you get involved with ReconFIGUREd?

Jo’Lisa Jones (She/Her/Hers): I saw a posting to audition for the devising portion, not realizing that a friend of mine had actually worked for HAT previously and gave them glowing reviews, so I knew I should go for it! The reason I first wanted to get involved was because I feel like seldom do women and trans folk have an opportunity to truly discuss and express what our bodies go through. I also wanted to share and relate my experiences with other people so that others feel comfortable to speak up and so that I could find some camaraderie.

HS: Tell me about your character.

JJ: My character’s name is Fiona, and she works in a women’s health clinic that also performs abortions. Despite having fertility issues, she gets pregnant, only to suffer a miscarriage. This character is loosely related to a short movement piece that I created about having an invisible illness, as I have PCOS [Polycystic Ovary Syndrome] and can potentially have fertility issues, so this character is very near and dear to my heart.

HS: Why do you think theater is such a powerful medium for telling this kind of story? How does it help change people’s minds and erase some of the stigmas associated with current identity/body politics?

JJ: I think it’s a fun way to be educated. You are moved by the characters and gain new perspectives on what others may be going through. People want to have fun, and I think ReconFIGUREd is a really fun show that has a beautifully crafted undercurrent of truth telling and insight – and other times we just let it all hang out because that’s appropriate too!

HS: Tell me about a moment in the development process that surprised or stuck out to you.

JJ: I think the strongest moment in the development process that stuck out was the day we were embodying mental illness and addictions. It was truly enlightening to me. I have been very fortunate to not suffer from either and, although I may logically understand both, I don’t always physically or emotionally understand what’s happening. It finally clicked that day because, rather than having a verbal scene, I got to see how it wears on the body, and that really struck a cord with me.

Helen Schultz: How did you get involved with HAT/ReconFIGUREd?

Jordan Ho (Xe/Xem/Xyr or She/Her/Hers): I started working with HAT in 2015 for the Tank run of The Birds and the Bees: Unabridged and I have been with them ever since. I stayed because this company is like home to me.

HS: Tell me about your character.

JH: I devised the role of Melanie in the show with castmate Holly Samson. There are many facets to Melanie: having a trans brother and a mother who works in an abortion clinic, on top of figuring out her race, ethnic identity, and coping with mental illness. It’s been a joy getting to create Melanie, and I hope anyone else who is suffering can find comfort in her arc.

HS: Why do you think theater is such a powerful medium for telling this kind of story? How does it help change people’s minds and erase some of the stigmas associated with current identity/body politics?

JH: When talking about the body academically, it’s easy to desensitize ourselves from actually addressing the issues. Not to say that literature and news articles are telling lies, but written word automatically makes these concepts abstract and not attached to our physical forms. And even if these concepts do manifest inside our bones, the natural next step is to act, which is why we do theater. I think there will be something powerful about seeing actual bodies tell the stories about how we carry and take care of our vessels.

HS: Tell me about one of the scenes in the play.

JH: There happens to be a musical number called “Gemme Femmes” that is horrifyingly entertaining. I grew up watching shows like Sailor Moon, The Winx Club, and Mew Mew Power, so I have a strong affinity to girl-power television. That being said, it is so, so interesting looking back and seeing just the opening intros and seeing these shallow molds of femininity veiled under the guise of being a cute television show for kids.

HS: Tell me about a moment in the development process that surprised or stuck out to you.

JH: Honestly, I was most surprised when we learned our character tracks and who was paired with whom. I’m a trans gender fluid actrex, so I just assumed that I would be assigned a trans character. But when I heard that I would be working with Holly to devise the role of a cisgender woman, I was really struck for a moment. And then I had a creative epiphany: because if Hollywood is so dead set on allowing cis people to play trans characters, then why can’t a trans person play a cis character? I will never forget this moment because it gave me such clarity that trans artists are capable of anything. Creating this role has helped me reclaim my femininity, and I’m so glad that Maggie, Rachel, and Holly have trusted me in this creation process.

Helen Schultz: How did you get involved with HAT/ReconFIGUREd?

Simona Berman (She/Her/Hers): I came on board this year for ReconFIGUREd and am outrageously happy to now be in the company.

HS: Why do you think theater is such a powerful medium for telling this kind of story? How does it help change people’s minds and erase some of the stigmas associated with current identity/body politics?

”And i said to my body. softly. ‘I want to be your friend.’ it took a long breath. and replied ‘i have been waiting my whole life for this.'”

When I first read this quote by Nayyirah Waheed, I literally took a deep breath as I was reading, unconsciously wrapped my arms around my body, and started to cry. Or at least dry heave a bit, because I stopped myself from crying long ago when I was bullied growing up and didn’t want to give the bullies anymore fodder for their fire. Much of that bullying was a catalyst in my long continuous battle with my body. Along with a few eating disorders, I also struggle with body dysmorphia: where I look in the mirror and see my arm and where the large muscle from doing gymnastics meets my large breast it triggers my brain to see my body as one big armbreast – much bigger than it actually is.

That quote by Nayyirah took me out of my head and separated me from my body and gave my body its own persona, arousing empathy in me for my body. As a self-hating Empath, it is easier for me to be moved to action by others, not so much for myself. I suddenly saw my body as a scared little girl, who opened her arms wide and said, “Please love me, I beg of you!” The quote made me want to take care of that little girl that is my body. This was easier for me to process as opposed to trying to just love me for me.

That’s what theater does for certain issues, such as the ones we tackle in ReconFIGUREd. Theater takes an issue and initiates awareness for someone to be able to see outside of themselves. For an audience, if they connect deeply to the story as if it was theirs personally, theater allows for aesthetic distance where the story becomes a safe friend that might help someone feel less alone or less awkward. It also opens up whole new worlds for people who can’t relate at all to the story personally, but being able to see, hear, feel the story played out can now evoke empathy for the characters. Or at least a better understanding, as opposed to just hearing about it or reading about it in a random story.

Helen Schultz: How did you get involved with HAT/ReconFIGUREd?

Holly Sansom (She/Her/Hers): I started working with Maggie and Rachel before the Honest Accomplice Theatre company was created, back in 2012. I was an original ensemble member and deviser for the show The Birds and the Bees: Unabridged. When HAT was formed in 2014, I came on as the General Manager as well.

HS: Tell me about your character.

Holly: I share the role of Melanie with Mx. Jordan Ho. Melanie is a cis woman thinking about her identity as a biracial person in America. She is also dealing with mental illness and how these aspects of her body affect her relationship with the world and the people in her life.

Helen Schultz: How and when did you get involved with HAT/ReconFIGUREd?

Jesse Geguzis (Squee/Squer/Squem): I had auditioned for the previous project and then I was asked to be a part of this project about a year ago.

HS: Tell me about your character.

JG: Luke is a young trans guy in college and struggling to be comfortable in his new body with old friends and family of origin.

HS: Why do you think theater is such a powerful medium for telling this kind of story? How does it help change people’s minds and erase some of the stigmas associated with current identity/body politics?

JG: I think theater can change the world. Everyone involved in this project is throwing their energy at creating change. I think visual mediums are the strongest vehicle to get into folks’ heads and leave them starting to change their thinking. It plants a seed. This company is gardening a new world by telling new non-heteronormative narratives.

HS: Tell me about one of the scenes in the play.

JG: My favorite scene is with my character, Luke, and his sister Melanie, fighting and trying to find common ground around identity struggles. The whole scene takes place with both characters wearing the same giant shirt, as a punishment for fighting by their mother.

HS: What is one thing you hope people take away from this piece?

JG: I hope people leave thinking about how to open up their minds more and more every day.

HS: What makes this show unique?

JG: It’s a company of only female and trans-identified folks.

Helen Schultz: How and when did you get involved with HAT/ ReconFIGUREd?

Kat Swanson (She/Her/Hers): I was lucky enough to be involved with HAT early through some of the first Birds and the Bees workshops, which I heard about through Rachel while working with her on another project. I remember being so struck by the questions being asked and by the process. I tried to be involved in whatever way I could from there. I helped out a bit with general support on one of the Birds and the Bees productions, and finally had the chance to be involved from the beginning of this project.

HS: Tell me about your character.

KS: My character is a struggling single mother named Donna. She has an eight-year-old daughter named Ari – short for Ariel – who she’s supporting on her own (the father has been out of the picture for some time now), which creates a lot of financial hardships. She also grapples with lack of self-love, binge eating disorder (BED), and back pain, partially caused by having larger breasts. Donna suffers from the classic single-parent time versus money dilemma: how can she be a good mother to Ari when all she has time to focus on is the next step, the next place to be, the next bill to pay? She’s in survival mode and is realizing the negative impact on her growing daughter.

HS: Why do you think theater is such a powerful medium for telling this kind of story and to help change people’s minds and erase some of the stigmas associated with current identity/body politics?

KS: I really think that seeing is believing and feeling is understanding. People who aren’t trans or women or disabled and so on don’t really know what gaps exist in their understanding. When you don’t live it, you just don’t know. You can read an article or catch on to all the political and social media buzzwords and think you know something, but you just don’t. People are often afraid to admit, even to themselves, that they don’t understand.

Theater is such a unique art form in how it is able to combine all the other art forms to create a true, visceral experience. It is able to make the audience see and feel and have at least the opportunity to start to know. By attending and really opening yourself up to a play that portrays an experience that is not your own, you get a chance to empathize with other people. That empathy, especially when it occurs on a large scale, is – I think – what really has the power to make a difference in people and society as a whole.

HS: Tell me about one of the scenes in the play.

KS: Ooph – tough question! There are so many excellent ones. My favorite scene is one that portrays caretaking for a character whose mobility has been severely impacted by her battle with cancer. It’s really loaded – the daughter is getting ready herself and is helping her mother get ready for the day at the same time. The scene is great because the dialogue is very normal but also tells so much in so little. I think it’s something a lot of families can relate to, [regardless of the] situation they’re in. It hit a chord with me because my mom has been wheelchair-bound her entire life, but growing up, I realized that no one really understood what that meant for her day-to-day life. They had this general, blind pity and were usually kind – all good things – but they had no idea what it took for her just to get out of bed, to use the bathroom, things that able-bodied folk, myself included, often take for granted. I cried when I saw it because it just hit home so hard. I hope it makes able-bodied folks happy to be in their bodies to some degree, and also helps people who are in a similar position as this character for whatever reason feel more understood and represented onstage.

HS: Tell me about a moment in the development process that surprised you or stuck out to you.

KS: I didn’t realize how tough the development process could be. For a while, I thought I was the only one who was in rehearsal feeling as though I didn’t belong there, like I didn’t have anything to contribute. To Maggie and Rachel’s credit, things kept moving forward because they heard these concerns from several folks in the room and implemented things like a “question box”. [The idea of the box is] to try and help the cast understand each other better, and also understand what they each brought to the room – all while taking the “educator” responsibility on themselves. [Because of that], folks who are often put into that position involuntarily in their day-to-day lives didn’t have to take that role on here. It became such a safe space to discuss really challenging issues with lots of differing viewpoints. While it was tough, the end result and the value of realizing that kind of space is possible was immeasurable to me.

As for a specific moment… picking one, I guess I was really surprised to realize that a lot of people don’t view their periods as a negative thing. For some it’s culturally celebrated, for others it’s empowering and magical – it opened my mind because for me, my period had just always been a monthly “Congrats, you’re not pregnant!” notification and a frustrating, painful, messy pain-in-the-ass. It’s hard to explain, but it was a really memorable rehearsal.

HS: What is one thing you hope people take away from this piece?

KS: I hope people take away a new appreciation for the complexity of a person’s agency over their body, as well as the wide variety of experiences that are different from their own. I hope they see and appreciate something new, and I hope they ask questions and start talking about things they’ve been silent about before.

HS: What makes this show unique?

KS: It’s people and it’s honesty.

***

ReconFIGUREd is playing at The Tank on January 6 to January 15, 2017. Tickets can be purchased at http://thetanknyc.org. For $10 tickets, use code HATBODY.

Category: Features

Tags: empathy, feminism, gender, Honest Accomplice Theatre, LGBT, NYC, play, ReconFIGUREd, stigma, Transgender

Posted on September 26, 2016September 26, 2016 by admin
A Conversation with Nathan Alan Davis & Megan Sanberg-Zakian

The story of Nat Turner is going viral these days as the United States continues to confront slavery’s legacy when we witness and respond to police brutality, mass incarceration, and more. Nat Turner’s story is also made current by the premiere of the film, Birth of a Nation by Nate Parker and by the premier of the play, Nat Turner in Jerusalem this season at the New York Theatre Workshop. Since Nat Turner is on everyone’s tongue and mind, I sat down with playwright, Nathan Alan Davis and director, Megan Sandberg-Zakian, the visionaries behind the play at New York Theatre Workshop, to talk to them about all things Nat Turner including their new play, and the continued fight for diversity and inclusion in contemporary American theatre. Here’s what we had to say.

Darrel Alejandro Holnes: Nathan, you’re making your New York debut with what feels like a very timely play. Is it true what they say, that timing is everything?

Nathan Alan Davis: Who says that?!

Megan Sandberg-Zakian: They!

[Everyone laughs]

NAD: I mean, yes, timing. I definitely feel like there are forces at work, besides myself, in terms of this play. The way that Megan, myself, Phillip [James Brannon, who plays Nat Turner], and Rowan [Vickers, who plays Thomas R. Gray and Guard], all came together – the way the theater came around to support us and the work has kept us together as a team to continue the process all the way to production. [This] has just been a dream come true. It’s allowed us to, as fully as possible, develop this story and get the play out. So much of the timing and those types of things are out of my control as an artist, so when it all falls into line, it’s a beautiful thing.

DAH: Why is Nat Turner in Jerusalem so timely? What does it mean to see the piece produced now as conversations around race in America continue to heat up?

MSZ: Well, one of the scholars who writes about Nat Turner – his name is Ken Greenberg – has said that the story of Nat Turner continually resurfaces. There have been these moments over the last couple hundred years where the story suddenly arrives back in the consciousness, and how we’re telling the story this time and why we’re telling the story now probably has a lot to do with where we are right now. So I think the questions that you just asked are the set of questions that we are hoping people will be in conversation about and around the play. Why do we need to hear this story right now? I actually think that in a way, that is what the play is about. The play isn’t about here’s the story, the play is about why do we need to be in a room together and engage with this story at this moment? So I don’t know that I have a really great answer. If I did, I could solve everything.

DAH: Thank you for your response.

MSZ: Partially, for me, the thing that feels really rich and activated right now, around this story, is the questions [raised] about how we view violence. What is the story we tell around violent acts? What is our understanding of the social violence that is shaping our daily lives and our awareness of it? What is our stake in maintaining ignorance about violence? – Ta-Nehisi Coates calls it “The Dream” – What is our stake in staying ignorant of these really violent social systems? Then, what is our response to violence that resists those systems? For me – for all of us – it’s been a very uncomfortable conversation. When you read about – as we did in development – the shooters in Baton Rouge and Dallas who are taking out cops with sniper rifles… to experience the coverage of those things, and see the families of those people whose lives were taken, our reaction, whether it’s grief or activism or sharing on social media – whatever it is – [must be to] then consider our ongoing reaction of, or ignorance of, or complicity in all of the other kinds of deaths that are going on all around us…

DAH: What are the other kinds? To name a few…

MSZ: All of the deaths related to poverty and disenfranchisement in this country; the deaths of people who aren’t receiving adequate healthcare; the deaths of people who are in dire types of housing situations; the deaths of people who are wrongfully incarcerated in a system that is strongly biased; and of course, the deaths of people all over this country, particularly black people, gunned down by our police forces. So, it’s really hard, as a human being and a progressive person, to say that the violent taking a human’s life is somehow necessary.

In the play, when I hear Thomas Gray talk about all of the people that were killed during Nat Turner’s “insurrection,” as it’s called by Thomas Gray, the lawyer character, when 75% of the deaths were women and children – small children, infants and babies – it’s very hard to hear. It’s very hard to listen to, you know? You think about describing the deaths of those 55 people, and then you think about if you had a play describing all of the violent deaths of people under the system of slavery, it would be a 15 year long play.

DAH: Yeah, or a 400 year long play.

NAD: It continues.

MSZ: It’s just very uncomfortable stuff to engage with. So coming back around to my answer to your question, I wonder if part of the reason that the story comes back is that somehow we’re at a place where we’re more motivated to tolerate that discomfort.

NAD: I remember Megan and I had a conversation on the phone after I’d written an initial draft of the play, which barely anybody had seen; it was kind of a dream state type of the play; it didn’t really have a lot of the plot elements that this play has now. Megan read it, and it wasn’t even a complete draft, but Megan was like “I’m really uncomfortable! This makes me feel bad!” And that was the main takeaway for me; this is hard stuff to think about, to process, and to look at. It was actually a very important part of the growth of the play for me. You write something, and you have a response…I had to take a breath and be like, yeah, the territory that this delves into is extremely difficult to handle and it asks so much of the artists who are involved in creating it and carrying it and sharing it. It asks us to give everything to it, to honor it in the right way, and to live in a place of discomfort, and to not hide from it. It’s been extremely challenging and also a rewarding part of this process, staying in that conversation.

DAH: So a few of the words I’ve heard you both mention are: difficult, hard, complicated. I have not heard the word contentious, controversial. I’m wondering, is this play about controversy? Is this play a controversy?

NAD: I never looked at it that way, and I never defined it that way. I think when I approach a play or a piece of art, I’m not particularly thinking of it attempting to cause a controversy or attempting to respond to a controversy. To me, controversy kind of is in the realm of what people find aesthetically acceptable or what people find can or cannot be spoken, or should or should not be said. I’m not saying that…Megan mentioned, when the Nat Turner story does appear in our consciousness over and over again, controversy does erupt out of it. Probably the most famous example is the William Styron novel about Nat Turner, which caused a lot of controversy, because William Styron is a white author portraying Nat Turner, so there was backlash of that from black writers and scholars and people who just found that that wasn’t a fair or accurate depiction. So it happens. But looking at myself now, as an artist, I feel it is my responsibility to tell as much of the truth of the story as I could see. That means me looking inward, and looking outward, having conversations, and keeping the story moving forward. I think for all of us, we really want to honor the spirit of Nat Turner and the spirits of everybody who was involved in that insurrection, you know? Knowing that that is a real thing, and that this is a thing that happened, and that we just want to do our very best to bring as much light as we can to it. As one of many Nat Turner stories that will be told – I certainly don’t claim to be writing any sort of a definitive interpretation, I don’t think that exists, but we’re just really focused on doing our very best.

MSZ: I will say though, that we have a lot more information than William Styron did. I would say pretty much more than anyone else has had, in creating this story, just because there’s been a couple of books published recently and one in particular that is extremely exhaustive in terms of the research. I think that book was published after Nate Parker’s film was already happening. So I think once we read that book, by David Allmendinger, we felt a lot of responsibility not to actually have facts that we knew were wrong. For a play that’s very poetic, and is really an invented event, it’s very factually correct. I can only think of one thing in it that is tiny, that I know is not historically true.

DAH: And what is that?

MSZ: The lawyer character was disinherited by his father. His father made him the executor of his will where he was disinherited. In the play, the father also wills that lawyer a desk, to be the executor of the will on. I would say that was a poetic, dramatic underscore of that historical fact, but really, I don’t think there’s anything else. And I’ve been very, you know, nope, that’s not right, find another way to do that!

DAH: So historical accuracy was a priority for you guys?

MSZ: Oh yeah. I mean, it’s more like I don’t want the play to contain something that I know to be a historical inaccuracy. Although, I don’t think that it can be historically accurate, it is a crazy idea anyway.

NAD: It actually helps a lot, artistically. I think if I felt limited to “Oh, I can only have hard facts in the play,” or “you’ve got to make sure all the facts will tell the actual story,” that would be a problem. But when you actually get down to real specifics of the story – like if you find the historical truth – it actually brings a specificity to the play, which I think actually makes it more poetic. You also just have to realize these were real people, living real lives, with real problems, who did real things. It’s not this portrait of a distant past.

MSZ: Every single new fact that we’ve found, has been like oh, shit! It feels like it drops you deeper and deeper into the truth of what the story was and why we need to tell it. It’s like there’s no inconvenient facts for this play… This is what we do all day, except you guys are not usually here.

[Everyone laughs]

DAH: You mentioned William Styron and the controversy of who gets to tell Nat Turner’s story. Nathan, can you speak a little to the politics of racial identity and authorship?

NAD: Wow, that’s a big question.

DAH: I can point the question more if you want me to.

NAD: Please do, and I’ll either take the small point or the larger point.

DAH: In what ways does your personal experience of race inform your writing of the play, and what kind of responsibility does your unique experience as a person of color give you in telling stories with characters of color?

NAD: I guess the first part is that, in every way, being black in America yields full-time internal conflict. What does this country mean to you? How do I reconcile being part of this society? I think that the internal conflict and questioning, naturally, makes its way into all aspects of my life, especially the art that I create and the plays that I write. I don’t know that there is [a specific], identifiable way, it’s just a part of who I am, you know what I mean? The thing about responsibility is a big question because I think one of the biggest difficulties, being a person of any marginalized community, is that you feel the need to represent everybody in your group every time you have a platform, every time you have a chance to speak up. You feel that you’re not just speaking for yourself. I think on one hand, that’s just the truth, and I hope to embrace that responsibility. On the other hand, I need to find room for my own individual voice, my individuality. Who am I? What do I have to say? How do I do things as a person? I think oftentimes, if you get too caught up in representing, what does that mean? It doesn’t mean the same thing to me as everybody else. You can lose you own fire and your own artistic passion if you start to generalize your approach, because you’re repping a group. But at the same time, the need to rep the group is always present, you know? I think it’s a constant balancing act.

DAH: Megan, as a female-identifying director, can you speak to the absence of women in the show, and the ways in which their presence might be felt, whether it’s in the writing, or in any decisions you’ve made as the director?

MSZ: There’s a physical absence of women in the play. Women are talked about in the play, as the victims of murder, as mothers who die in childbirth or abandoned by their families – helpless victims. I think to some extent the play does a really great job of representing the 19th century view of women. The politics of the time, as we have them recorded, are very male. I am quite sure that there are lots of very interesting female viewpoints on this history that we just don’t have. That would be another really interesting play, but we unfortunately just don’t have it.

DAH: Are there any women referenced by the men who played an integral role in this particular history during its time? Someone we should all know about and have never heard of?

MSZ: The one woman that stood out to me in the research didn’t make it into the play at all. She was a woman named Elizabeth Harris, I think, who was a slave owning white woman whose house was deliberately skipped by the insurgents as a favor to one of the original core group. We don’t know why, we don’t have any other information on it, but the thing that we do know about her is that there’s a free black man who was living in the household of some of the white folks who were victims of the insurgency. Immediately following it, he sold himself back into slavery to this woman, Elizabeth, for $1, which to me is just the world’s craziest story. It makes you think about – as opposed to women as victims – women as protectors, and what women were actually doing at the time, in the context that they could, with whatever the oppressive and the unjust structures that were in place at that time. How were people resisting them? There isn’t anything about that in the play. The focus is on violent resistance and revolution.

DAH: That’s remarkable. She didn’t make it into your play, but has discovering her influenced how you think or dare I say fantasize about history at that time?

MSZ: My fantasy is that there were black women and white women – and women in between – who were finding ways to subvert this stuff everyday. But I think I kind of keep that narrative alive, because I need to, working on material that doesn’t really include us.

DAH: Would you say that intersectionality is a way for you look closely at mirrors that do not reflect your own face when you polish them? How is intersectionality at work when you work behind the scenes on this play?

MSZ: My assistant director is also a woman, a biracial woman, and it’s been incredibly important to have the directorial perspective of two intersectional women. Our design team is predominantly women, and our design team is very intersectional in terms of identity. That kind of multiplicity of holding of different identities and perspectives is incredibly helpful with this story. Working on a story like this, as a 21st century artist, I feel is an asset. If you are an artist that identifies as white working on this play, I think that it may be… More painful? Or harder. It’s like you get stuck in where the racial politics are now and then, somehow you can’t find your way out of it. Rebecca [Frank, assistant director] is black and Jewish; I’m Armenian and Jewish – there’s something about being able to breathe into owning parts of it and not owning other parts of it, and respect parts that I don’t understand. I think it gives it a little bit of the breath, and is maybe useful. As any human being, sometimes you just have to go, “This shit isn’t about me! And it’s okay that there’s a play that isn’t about women.” This play is very important. And it’s not about part of my own identity. It’s not about queerness, which is part of my identity. It’s really not about me or my identity, but in some ways, it really is.

DAH: Hmm. Your answer makes me think, Is this history, her story, their story, is this our story?

NAD: Yes? I think what Megan said was really poignant – our ability to find ourselves in a story that is relatively narrow and limited in some ways, finding an expanse within that. One of the most beautiful things about this process for me… I think it’s sort of a mark of our maturity. There’s oftentimes talk in and around the theater and in general about who has the right to tell what story. I think those are always going to be ongoing negotiations that we should be involved in, but I feel like being able to collaborate with people who have widely diverse identities and represent the facets of life is so enriching. It’s shaped this production the way that it is. This play is this play because of the people doing it – I have no comparison, but I will say that the way that everybody has been together… Megan came in and said, “Okay, we’re going to pray together every day, we’re each going to bring our own version of prayer, whatever that means to us.” Everyday, somebody would come in, and bring some kind of offering – whether it was a poem, a prayer, or some spiritual practice – and we’d do it together, so we found this collective identity together. It has been really essential for us staying cohesive. Having that foundation has been so key.

MSZ: For me, the play is a kind of a dance between history and poetry. Even in just the physical design of it, there’s a kind of dance between the intimate and the epic, the physical shape of it, experience of both the elemental and the apocalyptic, the personal and the interpersonal. To me, that’s what it is – the relationship where you can hold history and watch it become something poetic that can help you come back to it and understand it better. For me, that’s what it is. I think it’s a story that is critically important to all of us, but I wouldn’t say that it is “our story.” I think that we have a responsibility to come together, live, in rooms that have a shared encounter around this story, but I don’t think it’s all of ours.

DAH: Megan you talk about how in a way, the play is a story of violence. Thinking about this play as a story of violence and as a story of all male characters, is the story of violence also a story of men?

NAD: Yes, very much so. I think one of the things that causes of violence is the imbalance between the masculine and the feminine aspects of society. I think our value of men and of masculinity and that as an ideal – or making everything revolve around it, marginalizing femininity and women and femininity in ourselves – I think this is one of the reasons why we have such imbalance and violence in society. I don’t know that I went into the play attempting to expose that thesis, but I think it’s very much a part of that world, and very much part of the fabric of the world we live in now, but certainly in a more obvious way, in the world of 1831.

DAH: Is it also a marginalizing of peace?

NAD: Yeah! That’s a great way to put it. I do think in some ways we don’t recognize the peace that we do have. It’s that old story of the more violent, the more extreme things that happen are going to get more attention. Certainly, we shouldn’t ignore [that]– when violence happens, it should be known – but marginalizing peace is an interesting way to look at it because do we honor the peacekeeping, not only of now, but of our history? There’s that book, A People’s History of the United States, that goes into stories of everyday people that often wouldn’t be told. It features more stories about women, of people working together for change than we usually get. To a certain extent, our obsession over the violence or the wrongs can drown out the goodness that’s happening. We have to know what’s working if you want to improve upon it. The play tries to hold some goodness in it, even though the situation and the events of the play are extremely violent. I do think it’s important to hold space for light to come in as well, and for there to be some sense of hope or a possibility of peace, even if it’s distant.

DAH: Can you talk a little bit about the poetry that’s in the play? Or perhaps, not “poetry” per se, but please speak about the lyrical language that’s in the play. What are some of your influences? Is the play’s language a mix of southern vernacular and biblical language? How have your aesthetics related to language come together when writing this play?

NAD: I do consider myself a poet at heart; I’m not a poet in practice, and I don’t write poems very often, but I’m always looking for and gravitating towards musicality in language and creating poetic images. That’s incredibly important for the kind of theater that I want to make. I think that the experience and the world that’s created in someone’s mind when they’re processing poetry, to co-create a picture, expand the person’s horizons, just by the way the words are put together, is incredibly important. A lot of it also comes from the actual document; “The Confessions of Nat Turner” by Thomas R Gray, is written in this lyrical, biblical, heightened style. When I read that, that sort of ignited me, reading the style of that document. I felt like it was a place where what I do, what I’m attracted to, and what the document has given me kind of met, and I retained some of that style throughout the play. I’m always thinking about language, poetry, hip-hop – I love Shakespeare, I love language, and always have.

DAH: Can you talk a little bit about Dontrell Who Kissed the Sea, and in what ways that play prepared you to write this one?

NAD: From the purely practical standpoint, that’s the play that helped me get engrossed into the profession. Dontrell was the play that I used to apply to the 2050 Fellowship here at New York Theatre Workshop. I also learned quite a bit from seeing Dontrell produced – it had a National New Play Network Rolling World Premiere, so several small productions in different places. It’s also how I met Megan. Megan directed the production in Cleveland, and I met her through that process. It certainly paved the way. I’d hope that every time I write a play I’d get a little bit more refined in my understanding of the craft, that I get wiser, but I also feel like every play is it’s own puzzle I have to solve, so I can’t necessarily take everything that I might have learned on Dontrell and just apply it to this. I think, everytime I write a play it forces me to grow and transform, and this is no exception.

DAH: A favorite moment of mine in the play was a scene where the two lead characters debate whether the lives of the slave owners’ children were more, less, or just as important as the lives of enslaved children. It made me think of the lyric, “I believe that children are the future” from Whitney Houston’s “Greatest Love of All” song. Does that ring true as a key value in Nat Turner in Jerusalem? Can you talk a bit more about the thinking behind that scene in particular?

NAD: Wow.

MSZ: I think you saw the second time that scene was ever performed, so we’re still working on it.

NAD: I mean, for me, I have three children, all girls, and that’s just such a huge part of who I am that it’s always with me. I think it makes its way into my writing in different ways. When I’m around these little people who are just giving this very innocent unfiltered perspective about life – I find constantly refreshing, at times scary, at times challenging. What our children say or do – they mimic and reflect us – they live in the world that we made. I think that that scene is too fresh for me to have perspective that is useful right now.

MSZ: I was laughing at directing that scene because we got the scene at night, and these amazing actors memorized it – they must stay up all night or something. We have this tiny little amount of time to rehearse it before they perform it that night, so for that particular performance that you saw, they just did it in rehearsal. The guys have already figured out that at the end of the scene, Thomas kind of collapses, and Nat displays an enormous amount of compassion towards him, and it just felt like such a powerful moment of this white fragility idea that people are talking about now. The white guy falls apart by being overwhelmed by the things in the world that are really hard in his life, and the fact that he’s being asked to come up to this larger truth and be part of the revolution and it’s just overwhelming and intense. The person that’s actually in the oppressed position, in this case actually getting executed momentarily, is required to step in and comfort him and provide compassion. Yet that’s the only way forward. That moment is so real to me. I think that what the rewrite did, which is the text that you’re talking about, provided Nat with some language to say what you feel, what you experience, the things that cause you pain and grief, you can have company in that. You can stand with the rest of humankind and be in the beloved community if you choose to stand with us. I mean this is the poison of privilege. It makes you alone. It doesn’t allow you to be connected with other people. It’s so clear now how much loss there is there. Also, when Nat stands up and says, “The signs of revolution will continue to come until injustice ceases,” that’s one of my favorite moments, and also one of the things we were talking about earlier about what’s so scary about the play. It really does feel like that.

One of the things I keep listening to over and over again as we were developing the play is the long outtake interview at the end of To Pimp A Butterfly, that long interview he does with Tupac, and Tupac is like, yeah you’re young, but you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do now before you turn 30 because the world beats brothers down once you turn 30. You have to make your mark. Kendrick is like, yeah, I mean, what do you see for my generation, because things are getting really scary. Tupac says, oh yeah, white America isn’t ready for us. They think that whatever the next thing is is just us looting TVs out of stores. But it’s going to be Nat Turner 1831 up in here.

DAH: There’s this beautiful metaphor of crossing the river in the play, where Nat Turner discusses America coming to the river but not yet crossing it as a metaphor for this nation attempting to confront the horrors of slavery yet not engaging in true healing and reparations; thinking about diversity and inclusion in contemporary American Theater, have we come to the river, have we crossed it?

NAD: Wow. Great question.

MSZ: I don’t think that we cross the river. I think we go in the water. We get baptized, we come out, we go back in and get baptized again. I wish that everyone in the American Theater would let go of the idea that you could cross the river and come out of the other side and be like now we are diverse! That’s not a thing.

NAD: I’d answer just like Megan did. That was perfect. I do think that to some extent we look at it as a numbers game. We think if we check this box and that box, we’ve achieved. I do think assessment and numbers and important aspect of assessing progress, but they’re not the thing itself. The thing itself is a revolution of the mind and the reorientation of the way that we interact together, you know? It’s actually much harder and more painstaking, longer work. It’s not that it isn’t happening, but the question is where is it happening, and where isn’t it happening, and are we aware of that?

DAH: Any advice for young theater artists of color or who identify with a marginalized group?

NAD: I think the most important thing is to find a place where you have unquestioned support, where people know you and support you, and you feel as much as you can able to be yourself and grow. As a young artist, one of the difficulties I had was just being comfortable with my own skin – not that I’ve totally solved that in every way. I think especially for artists of color or marginalized groups, you often feel like you’re the person on the outside looking in, or you’re the odd person out. You just have to find that place where you’re you. People can hold you up and support you. You really have to believe in yourself, like authentically believe that you can do it, which is a very hard thing to do. I think maintaining a sort of somewhat irrational belief in yourself is a good thing, knowing that the mountain is really high, and if I just start climbing, I’m going to get there. There’s no guarantee that you’re going to be affirmed every step of the way, you have to cultivate that belief in yourself.

Nathan Alan Davis’ plays include Nat Turner in Jerusalem, Dontrell Who Kissed the Sea (NNPN Rolling World Premiere; Steinberg/ATCA New Play Citation), The Wind and the Breeze (Blue Ink Playwriting Award; Lorraine Hansberry Award) and The Refuge Plays Trilogy: Protect the Beautiful Place (L. Arnold Weissberger Award Finalist), Walking Man and Early’s House. His work has been produced or developed with New York Theatre Workshop, The Public Theatre, Rattlestick Playwrights Theatre, McCarter Theatre Center, New Neighborhood, Baltimore Center Stage, Merrimack Rep., The Kennedy Center, Theater Alliance, Skylight Theatre, Lower Depth Theatre Ensemble, Oregon Contemporary Theatre, Phoenix Theatre, Cleveland Public Theatre, The Source Festival, Chicago Dramatists and The New Harmony Project. He is a 2016 graduate Juilliard’s Lila Acheson Wallace American Playwrights Program and a recipient of NYTW’s 2050 Fellowship for 2015-16. MFA: Indiana University, BFA: University of Illinois.

Megan Sanberg-Zakian is a theater-maker based in Watertown, MA. She is a current recipient of the Princess Grace Foundation Theatre Fellowship, working with Merrimack Repertory Theatre in Lowell, MA, as their Director in Residence – nurturing, developing, and directing work that will premiere in MRT’s and other theatre’s upcoming seasons. Previously, Megan completed a TCG Future Leaders grant at Central Square Theater in Cambridge, MA, aimed at deepening the theater’s engagement with its community. In addition to her directing work, Megan is an activist and consultant supporting theaters to work towards inclusion and equity. She is a member of the Lincoln Center Theater Directors Lab, a Merrimack Repertory Theater “Artistic Patriot” and an Associate member of SDC. Megan is a graduate of Brown University and holds an MFA in Interdisciplinary Arts from Goddard College.

Category: Conversations

Tags: directing, director, feminism, gender, Megan Sanberg-Zakian, Nat Turner, Nat Turner in Jerusalem, Nathan Alan Davis, NYC, NYTW, play, playwright, playwrighting, race, violence

Posted on September 8, 2016September 7, 2016 by admin
A Conversation with Tyrone Phillips

Byhalia, Mississippi closed at Steppenwolf’s on August 21st, but don’t expect that to be your last opportunity to see this American classic in the making. The play tells the story of a young, blue-collar couple expecting their first child. The baby, Bobby, is born and Jim realizes immediately he isn’t the father because of an extra-marital relationship Lauren had with an African-American man. It complicates Jim’s relationship with Karl, a black man, who is one of his closest friends, and it lights the fuse to a powder keg that had been lying in wake in their small house in the small town of Byhalia. The play is doing the same thing for the theater community both here in Chicago and around the country. Byhalia, Mississippi, written by Evan Linder, has enjoyed productions in two countries and all across the United States, and if you love art that asks you questions, that demands something of you as an audience member, and leaves your mind turning at the final blackout, make sure you get a ticket when you have the chance.

I sat down with the Artistic Director of Definition Theatre Company and the director of the show, Tyrone Phillips, whose hand guided his incredible cast and whose vision took Evan’s brilliant words and made them so real that they hurt you, they give you hope, and ultimately, they heal you if you let them.

Kelly Wallace: I was so excited when I heard about this play; I was so glad to see that it was coming to this new space and having this second life. Is that gratifying?

Tyrone Phillips: It’s been so strange for me because I didn’t realize how many people hadn’t seen it yet, and we’re basically sold out. So it’s been great.

KW: How did you get involved with the play?

TP: Julian Parker was reading Karl’s part and was in the reading and we throw plays at each other all the time. He’s a co-founder of Definition Theatre Company as well, so once he said that, I said alright, let me read this play. And Evan [Lindner] sent us the scripts and at the time we were talking about producing it, just being co-producers, which we did. But I wasn’t directing. I went into rehearsals and took a page of notes and I just remember getting so invested in this play from the first rehearsal. We had half the cast that I’d seen or heard do a reading of the play. The one thing we didn’t have was Momma, and we didn’t have Cecelia Wingate until tech. But after I listened to her read the scene and I thought, this is Momma. It was written with her [Cecelia Wingate] voice in mind, and Evan jazzed me up about her. I met Cecelia and I went down to Byhalia myself, and to Memphis, and I rehearsed with her. Evan played Liz and she was here finally and met her cast and luckily it all worked out! She is a force to be reckoned with, as you now know.

KW: She’s incredible.

TP: I still remember reading the first scene of the play, between the mom and her daughter, and thinking this is an American classic. This is going to be done over and over again. We need to get this play. Immediately as I continue to read and find out about the son, Bobby, that’s where it got my heart. That’s where it got me as an artist, that we can actually say something here. There’s a reason this is all coming together for this story. And as time went on, no one could predict the events of the world. The show has become even more meaningful now.

KW: Of course it’s been through a long development process, it’s being done all over…

TP: Six different cities are doing it at the same time.

KW: So already, this story has been all over the country.

TP: As far as Toronto to Memphis to L.A., from readings to full productions. It’s really exciting.

KW: And now you are putting this piece up in this specific political moment. You couldn’t have planned for it, but here you are.

TP: I just knew that story could help. We’re all learning. There’s still things we’re trying to fix. At the end of the play, that question, no matter what happens, will always be relevant. How do we start to see each other as human? How do we do that before these things escalate? When we watch these videos of black people being shot on the street, and even after they’re shot and killed, the way that they treat the body…is not human. There’s something missing there. That’s what got me going. Finding out about Butler Young Jr., in 1974, shot and killed, hands behind his back. It happened back then and it’s happening now. How?

KW: The conversation between Karl and Jim where he admits that he doesn’t know who Butler Young Jr. is…

TP: I can’t watch the play from that moment. I couldn’t even watch it at opening. After Karl can’t find the words to describe it, it breaks my heart. From that moment on, the whole rest of the play, I’m crying the whole time.

KW: The range of emotions and the arc Karl takes, I found to be incredibly compelling. At the end, the play talks a lot about forgiveness. Do you feel like you would be able to forgive in Karl’s situation?

TP: It’s so interesting, all these characters change in front of us, which of course is another sign of a great play. Every single person changes. Momma’s the only one we’re not sure of, she just leaves, but we’re hoping and praying and wishing that when she gets in that car, she will change. Something’s gonna happen. I do think one day maybe Karl can come to forgiveness. One lady, after the first production, came up to me in tears. She was an older, white lady and she said that she had a friend in college – she could barely get it out. I stood there because I wanted to know what was happening and she said, “She just passed away, she was African American, she’s been my best friend her whole life.” She said, “I just hope I never made her feel the way Jim made Karl feel. And I don’t know. She’s already passed on.” My hope is that everyone finds peace for themselves, and that everyone finds forgiveness here and in the world. We can all be friends. But sometimes, there is just too much baggage to hold onto. People need to be okay with that sometimes. It’s not always about you. You’re not absolved of all of it. I could talk about this play all day. I was going through some personal things during the first rehearsals and love and forgiveness and how much and how far you’re willing to go to make a relationship work, and all of that was fresh in my mind. It’s been a healing process for me too.

KW: One of the things people seem to really love about the show, and keep talking about, is the authenticity. People look at these characters and say, “I know these people. I’ve seen these people.” It could so easily have veered away from that. You have many stereotypes in your head going in about poor people, or about “white trash,” or about how people in a town like that would behave. As a director, how do you feel like you dismantled that?

TP: That’s something I’m always asking – in my own work as an actor – and when I’m directing. This is new for me. This is the second show I’ve professionally directed. Be truthful, be honest. Love each other, tell the truth. That’s the motto of the play and that’s the motto of the rehearsal room. I know you’re all amazing actors, that’s why you’re here, and I’m gonna try to make you better. Cecelia’s a well-known director in Memphis. They were almost all older than me. There’s that. So coming into the room, I thought, what do I have to offer? Why am I directing this play? It is something every director needs to know. But how can I help them tell the story? The end, this child, that’s where I see myself. I told them my vision for this show is about Bobby. I want to feel him in the room when you’re walking, the arguments you have; I need you to know that everything you say and do in this house is affecting that child immediately. He’s right there, overhearing everything.

KW: He’s not onstage, but he is distinctly a character in the show.

TP: And he’s the most important character, in my view. I was always worried about that child, and he’s not revealed to the audience, not once. I didn’t want a fake baby. Everybody knows. Everybody knows it’s a fake baby. You check out immediately, because it feels like a prop. But it’s not, this is a real life. My actors were all also really talented, they’re great. It was awesome. You can only hope for a collaboration to go as well as this one between actor and director. They know I’m crazy, and they’re used to it. I give them notes and I can be like, “Well, that didn’t work at all!” And they can be like, “Yeah, that was pretty terrible…” and we’re okay. The honesty, the trust, it’s there. It happened very fast. They were creating these characters, and I just wanted to help them be three-dimensional. As you said, you connected to them personally, and that’s huge.

KW: What do you think the show has to bring here in Chicago? What do you like about Chicago as a theater town?

TP: I grew up in Chicago, so I know the audience. I was the audience, growing up as a child. I didn’t see much theater, but I was always involved in school. My family’s here, and that’s also very important to me. All artists need a support system. You can’t make a living in this business by yourself, you need a support system. This is home. If I ever go anywhere, I’ll come back. If you’ve got a job for me, I’ll pack my bags, but I’m still coming back here. To me, this is where the best theater happens. There’s heart in Chicago theater. The actors are the most hard-working. The institutions are trying to do better. Authentic acting happens here. It’s not about backstabbing or competition, it’s the best man for the job. I’m Chicago born and bred, I love it, and I won’t leave. Definition Theatre is also my passion, and as the Artistic Director, I hope it shows people that I’m staking claim here and building a foundation here and having a visible flag. I mean, we don’t have a building yet, but when we do, we will have a flag and it will be here. I just love it here. Why are you here? Why not New York? I mean, I love New York, don’t get me wrong.

KW: It’s interesting, I always like to ask people about why they’re in Chicago because the prevailing wisdom is that New York is the epicenter of the theater world. It’s Broadway. You know, the whole idea of it…

TP: Totally, and sure it’d be fun to do shows in New York.

KW: New York is great! Chicago is interesting in that I feel that there’s a diversity of opportunity in Chicago that’s very different from the New York theater scene. It’s interesting, of late, to see some of the conversations we’re having here about race, about gender, about how to treat artists, are not happening in New York. And I can’t imagine them happening on this scale in New York…

TP: Not anytime soon, no. Because of what it is. Because of the machine.

KW: Right. Here, you can actually communicate and be in a conversation with the people at the top of the chain.

TP: And you do!

KW: It’s been my experience here that, now, when something is brought to the attention of a theater company and you say you have a problem with it and want to have a conversation, you actually get a real response.

TP: It’s incredible. The heart and compassion and the level of care people have for their art…we need this. We need it now. I’m over the gun violence. It can all just numb you. I remember asking…how are we helping? How are we in theater changing the world? Is this play helping anything? To go back into rehearsal immediately after the trip to Byhalia, told me that yes, it is. It was more than reassuring. I know theater can change hearts.

KW: Theater, unfortunately, isn’t as diverse as it should be either, but at least you can see the conversation starting to be had.

TP: That’s what we want to do. Our staff is multicultural, as it should be. Theater should look like the world. And if you look at institutions – unfortunately Chicago is not the best either – I know there’s work to be done.

KW: It almost has to start at the top, but representation is so important. If you don’t see people who are like you succeeding in your field…

TP: Right! Why would you do it? I agree, I hear you. That’s what we want to do at Definition Theatre Company. The day that we don’t exist…I mean, there could come a day where we don’t need to exist, but I highly, highly doubt it.

KW: I think a lot of people working on these kinds of issues wish that they didn’t need to, that we could put ourselves out of business, but…

TP: It’s not going to happen anytime soon.

KW: A play like this makes you confront a lot of your internalized prejudice in an interesting way too. Have people expressed that kind of reaction to you? What do you hope they take from this?

TP: I want to take care of my audience members the same way I take care of my actors. Enlightenment is the best word I can think of. I don’t want to get into preaching and telling everyone they’re wrong. I want people to reflect. We’re all grown-ups – look inside yourself, take a look. Sometimes you don’t know. It’s making people take a step back and ask questions. All good theater does that. I remember being told that as a kid, that good theater asks questions. I couldn’t comprehend that as a child, but now I totally do. This play isn’t going to solve everything; it won’t just end racism. But people do leave changed, in their own lives, and with their own stories. Who hasn’t been in love? Or wanted to be in love? These things affect everyone.

KW: The emotions are absolutely universal. It’s a very focused story. It’s about these very specific people at this moment in their life, but at the same time, it speaks to things that transcend all of our human experiences.

TP: It’s absolutely crazy how good it is.

KW: What was it like being down there in Byhalia?

TP: I’m a new director, so that was something I always wanted to do. I wanted to go to the actual place. We were doing research, taking pictures, when we were stopped. I was with Evan, the playwright, and a reporter as well, and apparently there’s a bank down the road. So they thought maybe we were taking pictures of the bank. So we were stopped and questioned. And I remember thinking, “Holy shit, I’m gonna die here. This is real.” The problems we’re facing in this play are real. Evan talked to the officer for the most part, we were there for about ten minutes talking to him because we were taking pictures as research for a play. And sometimes I get so stressed out and I just try to remember…it’s theater. We’re doing theater here. It’s not life or death right now. But it immediately became that.

KW: And most white people don’t experience that. I would never feel that fear to take some pictures for my play.

TP: It was insane. But to see the town, to see how small it was, that helped. When they say, everybody is going to know, they mean it. When we walk down the street with our half-black baby, they’ll know he’s not adopted. This isn’t New York. That’s real life, when you’re in a smaller community. It’s a microcosm of the bigger picture in America. We’ve been hiding things, sweeping them under the rug. There’s no way to heal that way.

KW: The adoption issue really hit for me, being adopted myself, but both my parents look like me. Nobody would ever look at my family walking down the street…

TP: And think like…they don’t match.

KW: Right, it just wouldn’t happen.

TP: That’s the thing, it’s very telling. I want the audience to realize that when Bobby grows up, as he’s growing up, they’re the ones. They have a big say in how his life will go. It’s that town. That’s Byhalia, Mississippi. Nothing ever changes unless people are forced to look at it. The audience is moved to tears sometimes because they never thought about these issues this way before. People are fascinating to me. Our meeting…it’s for a reason, I feel. There’s so many people in this world, and even the strangers you pass, you can just smile at someone, and it could change their day. We’re all here for a reason. That’s it, that’s all you can do. You don’t have to do everything for everybody, but I want my experiences when I’m dead and gone to be positive.

KW: Where do you see the play going next?

TP: I see it going everywhere. My thing is that I want as many people to see it as possible.

KW: And of course bringing it to New York would be great for the audience, but you’re right that this show should be done everywhere, especially in the South. Do it in Mississippi!

TP: Yeah! Exactly, it should be everywhere. We can start those conversations. They’re already started, so it’s really that we need to confront those conversations. The play was preserved at the Harold Washington Library already, our first production. I just want more people to see it. That’s literally it. Theater can change the world. I believe in that, and it sounds cliché, but that’s how you actually get in someone’s psyche. Everyone sits down and we pretend and here we are. Evan was passionate and he was smart, and I’m honored he asked me to direct this play. Who’s telling the story? What stories are you responsible for telling and what opportunities are you giving? Two different conversations. Sometimes bigger theaters get confused.

KW: It’s so complicated to untangle. I’m a solutions person.

TP: Thank you, yes.

KW: We’ve found a problem. Now what are the steps we take? What do we do to make sure that all of this is resolved in a way where people feel heard and represented?

TP: That’s what we strive for at Definition. I grew up in a very diverse school environment, and I’ve seen it work. It’s not a mystery to me. The other part of it for me is that I’m Jamaican American, and people have no idea, but I’m first generation, born here from Jamaica. So, my outlook and experience as a black male and seeing the difference in how we’re culturally treated, it’s unique and propelling me. My mindset is just different. I want to show people that this is for you, too. The first thing I said when I started Definition was…if you don’t see anyone who looks like you, you’ll never know it’s for you. If a ten-year-old kid goes and sees a play and everyone in it is white, or even the reverse, you wouldn’t think, “Oh, that could be me!”

KW: I always think of that photo of the young boy with President Obama who was so enthralled by the fact that the President had hair like his.

TP: Yes! That is it. That’s the key. I’m passionate. I could talk about this all day.

KW: What do you want see Chicago theater go from here? If you got to direct the next five years…

TP: I see a beautiful world, I really do. Another thing that’s become really important to me are younger people that love theater. I’m really hopeful. They see past all the bullshit that we’re fighting. They believe we can do it. They think differently. I hope that we, Definition, can say hey, come here. We can do it. We’ll help you. I hope that all of Chicago is like that. What are you leaving behind? Legacy is really important to me. It’s morbid but…when I’m dead and gone, what have you done? What can you speak for? What can you say you’ve changed? What opportunities have you given someone else? Being able to spend time with these people and their passion and their energy and finding their voice because the media isn’t doing it and the world isn’t doing it…that’s exciting to me. There’s no place like Chicago – I couldn’t have started this company anywhere else. I couldn’t have found the traction or gotten the people that we have behind us. That mystifies me a little, but it’s also why I’m so proud of this city. I believe in Chicago, you can do whatever you want to. We’ve fought and scratched but we’ve done it all by not being afraid of asking. People are going to say no. But you won’t hear the no if you don’t ask. In five years, I hope I’m singing a song about how happy I am to be in Chicago.

Tyrone Phillips is the founding artistic director of Chicago’s Definition Theatre Company where he recently appeared as Torvald in A Doll’s House. He holds a B.F.A. from the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign where he graduated with departmental distinction. He is proudly represented by Grossman and Jack Talent. Recent onstage credits include Stick Fly (Windy City Playhouse), Genesis (Definition Theatre Company), and Saturday Night/Sunday Morning (Prologue Theatre at Steppenwolf Garage Rep). Tyrone has also studied abroad at Shakespeare’s Globe and was an artistic intern at the Milwaukee Repertory Theater. At Milwaukee Rep he was seen in Assassins (Ensemble), A Christmas Carol (Ensemble, U/S Bob Cratchit), The Mountaintop (U/S MLK), Clybourne Park (U/S Kevin/Albert), and A Raisin in the Sun (Moving Man, U/S Walter Lee). Directing credits include Dutchman, Evening News, A Taurian Tale, Just Suppose (Definition Theatre Company), Amuse Bosh (Pavement Group), Luck of the Irish, Lord of the Flies, and The Tempest (Niles North Theatre). Film and television credits include Boss, Divergent, Gimmick, and Intersection. In fall 2015, the Chicago Tribune named Tyrone a “rising star” in Chicago theatre.

Category: Conversations

Tags: Byhalia, Byhalia Mississippi, Chicago, Definition Theatre Company, Mississippi, play, race, Tyrone Phillips