We had just finished taking photos in the rehearsal hall at Lincoln Center and stepped out into the cool evening. The glow from the building washed over us as we crossed toward The Smith to meet her manager. Our conversation carried easily from the rehearsal hall to the street, shifting from laughter to a shared meditation on what music feeds us now.

Tamara stopped mid-stride and laughed. “We have to be honest with ourselves. Some of this music out right now just isn’t made for us. We’re not the target audience. And that’s okay. We want to be, but we’re not.. Because we have standards.” She laughed again, the kind of full-body laugh that makes you laugh too. “It’s catchy, it’s doing what it needs to do, but we’re grown. We need something we can feel. We need meat.”

It was classic Tamara—funny, unfiltered, and deeply perceptive. Beneath the joke was her constant search for meaning, for truth that resonates.

She grew up in church and trained in classical voice and sociology at Oberlin Conservatory, and that mixture of spiritual grounding and disciplined study lives in everything she does. When asked when she first realized her voice could hold all those worlds at once, she said, “I always knew. When I went to Oberlin, the first thing I told my teacher was, ‘I don’t want to sing opera.’ She looked at me like she had seen a ghost. I told her, ‘I just want to learn how to sing properly. I want good technique for whatever I want to sing.’ I always knew that I could, but college was where I really started to stretch out. That’s where I learned jazz and leaned into opera. I already knew gospel and R&B, but college was when I started doing it all at once.”

That openness to possibility is still how she defines herself. “These days, I tell people I’m a vocalist. I used to say ‘entertainer,’ but ‘vocalist’ feels right. People forget that it’s a real thing. There are folks who use their voices in all kinds of ways—singing, recording, voiceover, sketch comedy. When I did sketch, I changed my voice instead of my body. I could shift my accent, tone, and rhythm to create different people. All of that is vocal work. That’s part of what makes me who I am.”

As she talked, her pace slowed slightly, and her tone softened as she described the rituals that center her before performing. “God and music,” she said. “Just talking to God and centering myself. Sometimes I listen to what I’m about to sing, but most of the time I just listen to what I want to. It might be gospel. It might be D’Angelo—I’ve been on a D’Angelo kick. It might be Doja Cat. Whatever I’m feeling that day. And I pray too. I know it sounds cliché, but I really do pray. My prayer is that love and light go before me, and peace and joy follow, so I’m sandwiched in love, light, peace, and joy. Then I can leave knowing I gave what I came to give.”

At the moment, she is starring in Blue at Lincoln Center, Jeanine Tesori’s contemporary opera about a Black family navigating grief, faith, and community after police violence. “I knew about this opera years ago when the Washington National Opera did it,” she said. “I didn’t know Jeanine then. I just knew the person playing the son. I read about it and thought, Oh, an opera about police brutality. Cool, they’re getting progressive out here. Then, when this came up, I was like, Oh, it’s that opera. And first of all, anything attached to Jeanine’s name, I’m down to do, because I trust it will be both rigorous and rewarding.”

Her expression turned thoughtful. “One of the reasons I stopped singing opera was because I didn’t want to sing about magic and flutes anymore. Real things are happening in the world where my feet touch the ground. No shade to the classics, but they were very Eurocentric and not rooted in the world we live in. And all the other music I love—gospel, R&B, hip-hop—it’s all grounded in reality. ‘They Not Like Us’ by Kendrick Lamar, that’s based on real things, real conflict, real emotion. So there’s no reason opera can’t be that too. The fact that there are people like Jeanine making work that reflects the times, just like Nina Simone told us to, is what made me say yes. And also,” she said with a smile, “a girl always needs a job.”

She described what makes Blue different from anything she has done before. “This is the first time I get to bring musical theater into opera. For so long, it’s been keeping them separate—one or the other. But this time, I get to use everything. I’m painting the text in my chest and in my mix, not doing the whole thing in an operatic voice. I finally get to use all the parts of my voice in one piece. I’m not muting one and elevating another. Everything is working together.”

That sense of integration carries through all her work, including her time as Effie White in Dreamgirls, opposite Joy Woods as Deena. “That show taught me how to carry a story and how to close the book,” she said. “If I carried Effie’s story around all day, I would be downtrodden. You have to step out of it. I think sometimes we love our art so much that we become it, and we forget where it ends and we begin. That show taught me to pace myself. It’s still the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Effie sings tenor when the group sings, so you go from squalling at the top of your voice to singing lower harmonies right after. It’s exhausting.”

Her solution was as technical as it was spiritual. “To make it my own, I didn’t rely on power; I relied on storytelling. Where others might belt, I would belt and run, because for us a good run—clean, centered, and in tune—moves people just as much as a belt. That’s our language as Black artists. That’s how I made it mine.”

Between the worlds of opera and theater, she said she feels most at home in the middle. “I spent ten years in opera, and this is the first time in a long time I’ve been in a room where everyone speaks the same musical language. The casting for Blue feels like friends, like we’ve known each other for years. Maybe that’s why it feels like home.”

Her background in comedy adds an extra dimension onstage. “Comedy taught me timing,” she said. “It helps me catch little moments that aren’t on the page. A look, a breath, a beat—it makes the story feel alive. I don’t add words, but I bring those instincts from comedy with me. They help me read a room and keep the audience connected.”

That ability to connect also shapes how she chooses her projects. “I don’t take work where I can’t see myself in the story,” she said. “In Blue, I have brothers. I’m the only girl in my family. The police talk is real. The fear for the Black men in your life to come home safe is real. Dreamgirls—being overlooked, not fitting how they want you to look—that’s real too. Even The Voice. Everything I sang there was something I would sing in my own show. I still sing ‘Higher Ground.’ It’s funky, it’s fun, and I can church it. Everything I do has to be real to me.”

Then she said, “Every story doesn’t have to be rooted in trauma. I love shows like Abbott Elementary. I want to see more of that—more whimsy, more joy, more silly. We don’t need a white savior in every story just because they paid for the project. Let’s build our own capital so we can tell our own stories.”

Before going inside, she named the women who move her. “Angela Birchett. Ayana George. Kecia Lewis,” she said. “Ayana especially. People think her success came out of nowhere, but she’s been doing the work for years. Watching her finally be right where she belongs is inspiring. Angela told me when I moved here, ‘Learn everything I do because you’re going to do it,’ and she was right. And Kecia Lewis in Hell’s Kitchen—her performance made me sit up straight. It called to the artist in me to operate at my highest capacity. That’s what I want to keep chasing.”

Then she added, laughing a little at the memory, “And Kara Young—she’s that girl. I met her at Black Women on Broadway with you. I didn’t know much about her, and you said, ‘She’s going to win a Tony this year.’ And then she did. And then she won another one! I was like, girl, I don’t know what you’re over there doing, but it’s working.”

She thought for a second, then said, “And Tamika Lawrence in Oh, Happy Day—I was so moved by how she used every part of herself. The body was tea, but beyond that, she was mesmerizing. She acted, she was funny, and then forty-five minutes in, she sang, and I was like, wait, you’ve got that voice in there too? That’s the kind of artist I love to watch.”

When asked what she hopes people associate with her name, she said, “Freedom. I want people to see me and think, that girl is free. And then ask themselves how they can get a little freer. Whether it’s your art, your money, your love life, or where you live, be free. Go live somewhere else for a while. Don’t let anyone convince you it’s not possible.”

The mention of Jeanine Tesori brought a smile back to her face. “Jeanine is like working with my future self,” she said. “She doesn’t take things too seriously, but when she speaks, everyone listens. She meets people where they are. Today she showed the cast how to talk to my belly because I’m pregnant. She came up and did the little zerbert thing, and I was like, yes, that’s exactly it. I want to be that kind of woman—kind, funny, real. I know God sent her to me to pull out the part I’ve been protecting. She welcomes all of me.”

As the restaurant door opened and the warmth spilled out, she turned back for a moment. “I love Broadway Black,” she said. “I’ve been following it since before I moved here. I always knew when I got to New York, I wanted to be a part of this. You built something that makes people feel seen. I’m here for the long haul.”

Her words lingered like music as we stepped inside, laughter from the dining room rising to meet us. Tamara Jade carries every world she’s touched—church, conservatory, comedy, opera—and somehow they all sound like her.

The post Tamara Jade on Freedom, Faith, and the Power of Using Every Part of Her Voice appeared first on Broadway Black.

The recent controversy around Patti LuPone and Kecia Lewis, compounded by LuPone’s dismissive remarks about Audra McDonald and her derogatory name-calling toward Lewis, has sparked a renewed conversation on Broadway about race, privilege, and the power dynamics that shape the industry. At its core, this disagreement is not just about noise complaints or personal grudges. It exposes a much deeper issue: the marginalization of Black artists in an industry that often fails to recognize the full worth of their contributions.

The Dispute: From Noise Complaints to Microaggressions

The initial controversy began when Patti LuPone, performing in The Roommate at a neighboring theater, found the sound from Hell’s Kitchen—a Broadway musical starring Kecia Lewis—to be disruptive. LuPone contacted the Shubert Organization owner, like we all do (read: no we don’t), requesting adjustments to the sound levels. A standard professional grievance in any theater setting. After Hell’s Kitchen made the changes, LuPone sent flowers to the sound and stage management teams of Hell’s Kitchen.

However, what seemed like a resolved issue to LuPone quickly escalated when Kecia Lewis picked up on the underlying dynamics of the situation. Lewis identified LuPone’s actions for what they were: not only rude and dismissive but racially microaggressive. As a Black woman, Lewis recognized that LuPone’s complaint wasn’t simply about sound—it reflected a deeper disregard for her peers and discomfort with the cultural expression of Black artists. Lewis also shared a troubling instance where LuPone refused to sign a Hell’s Kitchen Playbill, stating, ‘I’m not signing Hell’s Kitchen, they’re too loud.’ This comment, coupled with the formal noise complaint and her swift action in wielding her power without engaging in dialogue with those affected, underscored how Black voices and creative work are often disregarded, even in the same professional spaces as their white counterparts. It’s also crucial to note that Lewis never labeled LuPone as racist; rather, she called out the bullying, privilege, and microaggressive behavior LuPone exhibited. The words Lewis chose in her statement were carefully crafted, respectfully calling LuPone into community with the grace and dignity one would expect from a theater veteran of her caliber.

LuPone’s Recent Remarks: Escalating the Disrespect

The controversy took a darker turn when, in a recent profile for The New Yorker, Patti LuPone not only called Kecia Lewis a “bitch” but also dismissed Lewis’s accomplishments by comparing them unfavorably to her own. LuPone inaccurately inflated the number of Broadway shows she’s been a part of, while downplaying Lewis’s Broadway experience. This wasn’t just a personal attack—it was an attempt to diminish Lewis’s credibility and artistic contributions.

To make matters worse, LuPone’s remarks about Audra McDonald, in which she expressed disappointment over McDonald’s support for Lewis, further compounded the racial dynamics at play. LuPone’s frustration with McDonald’s stance is telling—it reflects how Black artists who stand in solidarity with one another are often criticized, even by their white peers. This attempt to undermine McDonald’s support for Lewis reveals the discomfort some white artists have with Black voices standing up for themselves, particularly when those voices challenge the status quo.

The Implications of “You Should Know Better”: Dismissing Audra McDonald’s Voice

Patti LuPone’s statement to Audra McDonald, telling her she “should know better,” is a particularly telling moment that reveals the implicit biases at play in Broadway’s treatment of Black artists. On its surface, the comment appears to be “not that deep,” but when viewed through the lens of race and power, it takes on a much deeper meaning.

First, the assumption that McDonald “should know better” reinforces a belief that Black artists should conform to white standards of behavior, professionalism, and conduct, regardless of the circumstances. This statement subtly implies that McDonald, The most nominated and decorated performer in Tony Awards history, should already understand her place in the hierarchy of Broadway as a Black performer and that publicy (or privately) challenging or confronting disrespect is out of line, no matter how many Tonys you have. It also minimizes McDonald’s veteran experience and frames her as being less capable of making valid, nuanced decisions—an all-too-common racial stereotype.

Second, the statement places the burden of “knowing better” on the Black artist, subtly suggesting that McDonald should have been more accommodating, more silent, or more deferential in the face of LuPone’s behavior. This type of thinking perpetuates the idea that Black artists should tolerate the microaggressions and disrespect they often face in order to “maintain the peace” and avoid rocking the boat.

Lastly, it undermines McDonald’s authority and voice. To tell a Black artist they should ‘know better’ is to implicitly suggest that their judgment or response to a situation is invalid. McDonald’s advocacy for Kecia Lewis—another Black artist—was not an attack on LuPone’s professionalism but a call for accountability in light of the racial dynamics that the industry has claimed it wants to address since the ‘Broadway Reckoning of 2020.’ LuPone’s response, however, invalidated McDonald’s perspective and reinforced the idea that white voices should be prioritized, while Black voices—especially those speaking out—are seen as unprofessional and unworthy of respect.

This moment exemplifies how power dynamics and racialized expectations work to suppress the voices of Black artists in Broadway’s predominantly white spaces. It exposes how white artists—even those with immense stature like LuPone—are given a pass for dismissing or silencing the opinions of their Black peers, while Black artists should “know their place.” It also serves as a reminder that even established Black artists like Audra McDonald are not immune from being treated as less than in this system, no matter how much they’ve achieved.

The Racial Undertones: A System of Privilege and Power

LuPone’s actions reflect a deeply entrenched problem in the theater world—one that fosters a system of privilege, allowing white artists to control the narrative while Black artists are often forced to remain silent and submissive. The broader industry permits figures like LuPone to dismiss and belittle the work of Black artists without facing the same level of accountability. LuPone’s response to Lewis’s rightful critique exemplifies how power dynamics continue to marginalize Black talent in Broadway’s predominantly white spaces.

The racial undertones of the entire situation are evident in the way LuPone’s words and actions—whether intentional or not—seek to silence and diminish the contributions of Black artists. Her treatment of Kecia Lewis and Audra McDonald is symptomatic of a longtime industry illness where white stars are the first right of belief, while Black artists must constantly fight for equity and basic respect.

The Unseen Forces Shaping Broadway’s Power Dynamics

These microaggressions—those small, often unintentional slights—are an everyday reality for Black artists. LuPone’s refusal to sign a Hell’s Kitchen Playbill is an example of how implicit bias works on an unconscious level. It wasn’t a calculated attack but rather an unconscious reflection of her ingrained biases, where the cultural expression of Black artists and their work are undervalued. What may have seemed like a simple noise complaint to LuPone became, for Lewis, a striking reminder of the subconscious and unchallenged biases that frequently affect Black artists.

In Broadway’s ecosystem, implicit bias influences who gets heard, who gets celebrated, and who is silenced. Black artists like Kecia Lewis and Audra McDonald are often expected to bear the weight of their success quietly, without challenging the established power structures. When they do, even in small ways like calling out disrespect, their actions are frequently perceived as “difficult” or “disruptive,” especially when their white counterparts—like LuPone—are praised for doing the same things.

Implicit bias isn’t always intentional, but it’s just as damaging. When LuPone criticized Hell’s Kitchen in a way that suggested the work of Black artists didn’t deserve the same level of respect as other Broadway productions, it exposed how pervasive these biases are in a world where privilege often goes unchecked. Her behavior toward Lewis and later toward McDonald when she expressed support for Lewis showcases the dynamic of privilege at play. White stars, regardless of their behavior, are often excused, while Black artists face harsher judgment and severe scrutiny for similar actions.

In short, implicit bias is what allows Broadway to continue upholding racial power dynamics without actively acknowledging them. The difference between how LuPone’s actions were excused versus how Lewis faced criticism speaks to the unconscious prejudices that influence even the most minor interactions. These biases are a part of a broader system that continues to marginalize Black voices in the arts, even when those voices deserve to be heard just as loudly and clearly as their white counterparts.

A Tale of Two Responses: Lillias White vs. Patti LuPone

The disparity in how Broadway stars are treated based on their race is starkly evident when comparing two celebrated performers: Lillias White and Patti LuPone. Both of these legendary actresses have had moments of tension with audiences, but the reactions to their behavior could not have been more different.

When Lillias White, a Black Tony Award-winning actress, called out an audience member during a performance for using what she believed to be a recording device (which was later revealed to be a captioning device), the backlash was swift and severe. White was criticized by some for her approach, with many questioning her professionalism and demanding an apology. However, the reality of her frustration was apparent: Black artists are constantly navigating a space where their voices and boundaries are not always given the same respect as their white peers. White was met with harsh judgment for standing up for herself and the integrity of her performance.

In contrast, Patti LuPone has snatched phones from audience members and publicly yelled at theatergoers on multiple occasions. Instead of facing criticism, LuPone is often praised for her outspokenness and boldness. Her actions, while similarly aimed at preserving the integrity of the performance, are seen as “part of her legendary persona.” This stark contrast in responses reveals a deeper issue in Broadway’s treatment of Black artists versus white artists. While LuPone’s behavior is excused or celebrated, White’s is scrutinized, even though both were merely standing up for their space and their craft.

This double standard speaks volumes about the unequal expectations placed on Black artists. This kind of disparity highlights the ongoing need for Broadway to reassess its approach to addressing issues of race, power, and respect within its community.

The Broader Implications: How Black Talent is Undervalued Across Broadway

The implications of Patti LuPone’s behavior are deeply troubling, especially when considering that she felt so comfortable publicly disrespecting Kecia Lewis, a Tony Award-winning actress. Suppose a renowned Broadway icon like LuPone can dismiss and belittle a Black artist of Lewis’s caliber without facing significant consequences. In that case, it raises serious questions about how other Black actors are treated behind the scenes. Black talent in theatre, even those with the highest accolades, is often subjected to microaggressions, marginalization, and erasure. This is not to suggest that an artist without accolades deserves such treatment, but if someone as established as LuPone feels emboldened to act with such disregard, it serves as a stark reminder of how pervasive these issues are. Black artists, especially those without the same platform or recognition, likely face even greater challenges in navigating the industry. It’s a clear signal that Broadway must confront the systemic racism that continues to undermine the voices and contributions of Black performers at every level.

An Industry at a Crossroads

The LuPone controversy, serves as a poignant reminder that the fight for equity and respect on Broadway is far from over. It’s not just about complaints or personal disagreements. It’s about how race and privilege continue to shape the opportunities and treatment of Black artists in an industry that claims to be a space for creative expression and diversity.

As artists, creators, and leaders in the Broadway community, we must continue to push for an industry that genuinely values and respects Black talent. The conversation about race, professionalism, and the impact of language is not and will not be rooted in a single incident. It’s ever evolving and we have to be willing to create a space where all artists, regardless of race, are allowed to thrive, be heard, and be respected. This moment presents a crucial opportunity for the theater community to reflect on its internal dynamics and examine how power and privilege influence not only the work on stage but also the relationships behind it. It’s time for accountability, and for an industry that prides itself on being the most diverse in creativity and inclusivity to truly reflect those values in how it treats all of its artists.

The post Power and Privilege on Broadway: Patti LuPone’s Disrespect of Kecia Lewis and Audra McDonald Explained appeared first on Broadway Black.

Beginning May 2nd, Woods will step into the role of Audrey. No stranger to Skid Row, she returns to this production after having originated the role of Chiffon in this 2019 Off-Broadway revival. In this interview, she talks about how she got here to this full circle moment, all she’s learned, and how she hopes her work impacts future artists. Check out the full interview below.

Broadway Black: Joy! Joy Joy!

Joy Woods: That’s me!

Broadway Black: Talk to me about this full circle moment. How did we get here?

Joy Woods: Well, we opened in 2019. We were in previews when I graduated college (AMDA). I was 19 years old. I was only in school for a year and a half, so there was still so much to learn. And those six months we had to do the show before the pandemic was a dream. We all got so close really fast. We baked bread every day, and we were always laughing. Always, always. And then the pandemic happened. And I had so much life to live because I was 19, freshly 20, and didn’t know what I was doing with my life, with theater, everything. I was go, go, go. I was doing workshops, I did a City center show all right as the pandemic hit. So when we went back in September 2021, I was about to be 22. I’d lived, I’d loved, I’d have my heart broken. I traveled, and I was just a little bit older. We came back. It was really nice to revisit and meet everybody again. By that point, I was in a place where I could do the show and have a life and learn about myself and be a person at the same time while learning how to do all this.

And then it got to a point where one of my deepest fears is like, I’m in a show and I don’t feel like I’m learning anything. And so I asked the producers if I could cover Audrey, and they said yes.

BB: Wow! Girl, What??

JW: Yeah, we were out. And I said  “Why not me? What would be the thing that would keep me from doing this?” COVID was happening, and we were running out of covers, and I was like, I think this is the perfect time for me to say something. And it ended up going well. 

But I think, like, a week after it was added to my contract, I booked SIX (Broadway). So I’d only gotten to go on maybe three or four times before leaving. I’d gotten, like, two and a half rehearsals, and then I was put on, and then we just didn’t have any more rehearsal after that because I was just going on, and it was fine. Because when you’re in the show for three years, you know it you know it like the back of your hand.Which is why the put-in today is hilarious.

And then I left. I did SIX. I learned my voice. I never thought I was much of a singer, but I learned about myself and about my body. And leaving from six to do The Notebook (Chicago), I learned. I loved more, I hurt more, I grew more. And I’m just really grateful for the time that I’ve spent away from Little Shop because it’s made coming back so much sweeter every time. And the last time I was doing Ronnett, and when I left this January, I thought, oh, that’s my last time. And then a week later, they asked if I could come back to do Audrey. And I was like, how much? (laughs)

But yeah, even, like, leaving to do Dreamgirls (North Carolina Theatre), there is so much that I learned.

Read more after the photo gallery

BB: Yes. Dreamgirls. You sounded fantastic. I wish I could have been there. Tamara Jade, who played Effie, is a good friend of mine.

JW: Hopefully, she’ll be here on the 17th. We have a press opening. She’s trying to make it over. But we all got really close there, too. 

I think being in Little Shop was so important in teaching me how to navigate community in a show when these are the people you see every day. You want to act like you’re family, but you need to respect everybody’s boundaries as well. Like, you saw the dressing room. All the girls share one. And the boy’s dressing room, they’re all together, so it can get really ugly really fast. 

But this has been the first time where unrest is something we can navigate together, and I’m really appreciative of that. And I just hope that I can continue to be a role model or a leader in that way, creating community and keeping it intact, and making sure that show’s on stage while also being able to learn and do laundry. 

Like, last night, I was sitting panicking about the put-in, writing in my notes all these thoughts, all these notes that I might have. All this feels good, to grow and learn. I’m really enjoying learning here, and it’s really great that I haven’t stopped learning.

BB: As someone who has now played all of the roles in Little Shop of Horrors, what would be the best piece of advice that you can give to help someone navigate this show?  

JW: I would say that the show itself, the material itself, is so good, all you have to do is listen to what it says, and the missing piece is you. How do I put this? It’s all there. You don’t have to try to dig for anything. There is no secret to doing it right or doing it the best. What’s going to make it the best is the fact that it’s coming from your literal person, how you sound, how you walk, how you think. It’s going to be different for everybody. I know that’s so cliche, but after seeing so many people do the same roles, it’s like each one was magic. They’re doing the same thing, but it’s the individual that’s making it special. And the more you really lean into saying the words the way you do, you’ll be set.

BB: Now, you also talked about how you didn’t consider yourself much of a singer. Where is that coming from?

JW: That was a confidence thing. And it still is. When I did MCC’s Miscast a few weeks ago. We ended up recording it, and it was released today. And even listening to it, I was like, “oh, I don’t know how it feels. I don’t know how it sounds.”  But I just never thought I was much of a singer because I just never thought I would be hired to be anything other than an ensemble dancer.

BB: And so, are you leaning into that now?

JW: I am! Even if I didn’t want to. Last year, I even got tattoos about it. It was special.

BB: What tattoos did you get?

JW: This one is for SIX. It’s got a little six in there. And then I just got a 22. Because I was 22 in 2022, and it was a very intense, special year for all of the reasons.

BB: What did you learn?

JW: Too many lessons! (laughs) I learned the usual early 20s lessons about boundaries and, speaking up for yourself, choosing yourself. Learning how to walk away even when you want something, but you know it’s not good for you. And that goes with relationships and work and habits and all the things. 

Showing up is the hardest part. That’s been a lesson that I’ve been saying for years, but really it came into play last year because when you’re moving that fast, when life keeps giving you these opportunities, you get tired, you get fatigued, you wonder, what was the point? “Am I ready for this? Am I right for this?” But you are! You wouldn’t have been put there if you weren’t. And the only person to shine a light on that is you. You can build community as much as you want. You can receive all the external validation and affirmation from the universe and from the people around you but if you’re not showing up, it doesn’t matter.

BB: Tell me, how do you think being one of the first Black women to play off-Broadway Audrey will affect this community?

JW: I would first like to give a shoutout to Jana Djenne Jackson, who was the first Black woman to go on in this production for Audrey. I’m just the first one to be on stage every day for it. But, I want to give all my props to her because I really did watch and learn from her. Even when she was an urchin, she was so talented and so sweet. Working with her was a dream.

But I would say, we’re making space, y’all. The door is opening, and we’re allowed to walk thru it. Even when it looks like it’s closed, it’s open. Just push it. Closed mouths don’t get fed. We have to keep trying. We’re making our way, and Audrey is Black AF at the Westside Theatre until September. Come see truly one of the funniest shows in New York right now.

The post Count It All Joy! Joy Woods Brings It Full Circle with <em>‘Little Shop’</em> appeared first on Broadway Black.

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EMERGENCY!: Written and performed by Obie Award-winning playwright and Russell Simmons Def Poetry alumnus, Daniel KOA Beaty and presented as part of the Fall Crossroads Festival Theatre by Crossroads Theatre Company and Voza River’s New Heritage Theatre Group. The one-man show runs until October 10th at the Arthur Laurents Theatre at the New Brunswick Performing Arts Center.

EMERGENCY! is billed as a captivating theatre experience that begins when a slave ship emerges from the depths of the Hudson River in contemporary times. Funny, thought-provoking, and always entertaining, Beaty performs over forty characters that together unearth the many meanings of freedom across Black America.

Raised in Dayton, Ohio, a child of a heroin-addicted, incarcerated father, in and out of prison 60 times and an older brother addicted to crack cocaine also in and out of prison, Daniel Koa Beaty is a passionate advocate for criminal justice reform as well as a voice for the impact of mass incarceration on children and families. For years, Daniel battled low self-esteem and depression rooted in his childhood trauma, including physical and sexual abuse, even as he graduated at the top of his class at Yale University and American Conservatory Theater.  He soon discovered the power of the arts to help heal childhood trauma, transform that pain into power and inspire a new generation of change agents to dismantle the systematic racism and oppression at the core of the challenges Daniel, his father, brother, students and so many Americans face.

“Purpose is the bridge past ego and purpose is rooted in what we can give. And ego is rooted in a focus on self.’

Daniel’s work as an actor, singer, writer, and activist is deeply rooted in a desire to tell stories that illuminate our shared humanity by giving voice to the voiceless and often overlooked in our society. He believes a story is at the heart of every challenge and every possibility, and we individually and collectively have the power to write a story that creates opportunity and access for all.

An award-winning actor, singer, writer, and community activist, Daniel’s critically acclaimed plays Through the Night, Emergency, Mr. Joy, and The Tallest Tree in the Forest – Paul Robeson, have been performed at venues ranging from the Public and Lincoln Center to the White House and maximum-security prisons. He has garnered numerous awards including an Obie award for writing and performance and five NAACP Theater Awards.

We had the chance to sit down with the multi-hyphenate artist. Check out the full interview below.

Daniel KOA Beaty c/o Jeffrey Richard Associates

DREW SHADE for Broadway Black(BB): Emergency. Why bring back your play Emergency now?

DANIEL KOA BEATY: We’ve all been through such an intense time with the pandemics of cOvid and race in this country and Emergency imagines if a slave ship were to rise in front of the Statue of Liberty in front of New York City in the present day. It’s really an opportunity for us to ask what stands in front of our freedom and what stands in front of our ability to see ourselves as connected to each other and responsible for each other. I think that’s really a question we’re asking as a nation and as a world right now. I think also people are a bit overwhelmed by all we’ve been through and Emergency uses music and humor, it’s a play with over forty characters. It’s an inviting theatrical way to process a lot of what we’ve all been dealing with.

BB: How has your approach to the piece changed?

DANIEL: You know this is my first time back on stage in over two years. I’ve always looked at my opportunity to perform as being a vessel. A vessel for spirit and I define spirit as God and also ancestors. I feel even more of an urgency to be a vessel to offer something that’s going to feel healing, inspiring, and loving to people because of all that we’ve been through. So, I would say that my approach is the same but the sense of urgency and the desire to have it reach people is even more profound.

BB: Do you have any rituals that help you get into the space of this piece?

DANIEL: Absolutely. I do a lot of stretching and vocal warmups because to play the characters I have to go very high in my range to very low. Then I also have a moment of prayer where I really offer myself as a vessel to the spirit and just ask that the story but also even just the vibration of my voice, of the body in space can be a balm, can be a healing, can be a joy, and inspiration to someone in the audience.

BB: We’re in a time where it seems more people want to create work for themselves. You’ve done multiple one-man shows where you’ve played multiple characters. Do you have any advice for someone looking to do the same?

DANIEL: The main thing I would say is..something I say is that purpose is the bridge past ego and purpose is rooted in what we can give. And ego is rooted in a focus on self. And so a lot of times when people hear ”solo show,” one of their fears is that the person is just going to be up there kind of showing off or it’s going to be self-absorbed or boring. But, one of the things that I’ve found is that if you root the storytelling in what you want to create and then also your expression of it, in terms of something you want to say that’s greater than one’s self, if there is something you want to say about humanity or about one of your passions, while still making it personal and theatrical and exciting using your talents that that’s going to reach audiences more but its also going to make it more producible.

You may remember Daniel KOA Beaty from his amazing performance of “Knock, Knock” on Russell Simmons presents Def Poetry Jam. It’s still as fresh as when we first watched it. Watch below!

 

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Get into this enlightening interview below led by Drew Shade, along with exclusive pictures taken by Martine Browne at the Park Lane Hotel. Smith is wearing a suit by the brand TAAK and is seen pictured with his close friend Josh A. Dawson.

DREW (Broadway Black): What was the experience of checking into your hotel with your close friend, Josh A. Dawson, with the anticipation of the next day looming?

BRITTON SMITH: Nerves. Fear. A lot of prayer. I always like to shake God’s hand and say “Yo, dawg! Please possess me. I have a plan, I have an idea of what I want to do, what I want to say, that represents the organization, that represents my hopes but God at the end of the day what are your hopes? What do you want to happen?” It’s always scary to have to surrender like that in front of people but it always is right. So, I know that’s always the way. But sometimes I can get so eager and excited to share that I don’t make time for 

*drops phone accidentally* 

Sorry, my headphones got messed up. Ummm.  I don’t make time play for the joy and the remembering of it all. So, having Dawson around was so medicinal. He’s the homie in every way. He’s grounding, joy-filled, we’re silly together, he also reminds me how big this moment is. He’s a friend that doesn’t mind affirming you, reminding you like “You that nigga, nigga! Like nawl That’s dope!” He’s seen the journey of BAC when it’s been super hard and takes my breath away from exhaustion, from angst, and from anger. So, celebrating it with him was perfect. There wasn’t a better person to be with that day.

DREW: Talk to me a little bit about your outfit choice. How did it come about? What made you choose the black and the simplicity of it all?

BRITTON: Mmmmm. I wanted it to be classic, a nod to the nights I remember watching. like “oooo everybody’s so fancy and so classic and uggghhh I just want to be able to fit in there one day.’ And I don’t fit in and I love that. I don’t want to fit in. I want to always be as me as possible.

So, I have a friend named Vaughn who is an incredible stylist. I worked with him on a shoot years ago. He’s also a strange ass Black dude. So, we connect around our silliness but also our passion. He introduced me to this brand from Japan and I asked him “Yo, can you get this suit’ and he was like ‘yeah but I can’t get it until Friday” and I was like “Oh, shit!” So, it came on Friday and by God’s grace she fet (fit) good and we had this woman, brilliant seamstress, come and tailor it on me that day. I just felt so silky, Drew, I felt so silky. Awww man, it felt good

DREW: As it should, it looked good, it looked clean on you.

BRITTON: I don’t know if you ever feel like this, sometimes I feel like… I don’t know, you’re a handsome man, you know when people be like “Go head, Drew! You think you look good!” But it’s very rare where I absolutely look back on photos and go “nigga, you look good.” But I  was like “Nigga you look goooood. You look rich, Go awwwfff. You look riiiccchh!” And that’s a rare feeling for me, to actually feel that and gas myself up in that way. So, I appreciated that.

Talk to me about your speech. Did you practice your speech? Did you speak from your heart? How did those words come out of you?

I did practice. The Sting really helps me understand that you can practice what you want but when the spirit hits… As like Tituss said in fuckin’ ‘Respect,’ when the spirit hits bro, ain’t shit you can do, nobody can do. And I love it, I love when the spirit hits. But I like to prepare, “You gon be on tv nigga, figure this shit out” So, I prayed a lot about it, a lot of it I wrote at my altar at the crib, and then it was like three pages. Then I asked one of our board members at BAC, his name is Ben, I called him like twice to just talk about some stuff and the first thing he said was “Britton this is too polite. You don’t want to forget that you’re going to be in a room in a container of your peers. You want to continue to be challenging our peers and this is a moment to do that.” And when he reminded me of that I was like “Oh, shit. Yeah!”  I went back to the altar, found some more courage, and had it all planned. I shared it with Josh the morning before, so nervously. And Some of it came out and some of it didn’t make it out. I don’t know, the moment of getting up and having to actually speak kind of took over what I had planned but I know it was God intervening and being like “I got you, bro. Just shut up and let me talk.

DREW: Is there anything that you didn’t say that you wish you would’ve?

BRITTON: Oooo (long pause)

Ummm… (long pause)

I’m going to say no. There is so much to say. But I think I said it all. Yeah, I think it was all said but there are some nuances and some specifics that I wish I had time to… or… breath to,  man I was so overwhelmed I… (laughs) I think I said it all, yeah I think I said it all. I’ll leave it at that.

DREW: What was the last thing you did before you left the hotel?

BRITTON: Oh can I tell you one thing I know I wish I had said, Drew.

DREW: Yeah go ahead!

BRITTON: Yeah, when they said Lynn Nottage was going to give us the award. I was like “That’s amazing!” And I was on Instagram and Kara is in her show and she posted something that said Lynn Nottage said that “when you’re on Broadway the world hears you.” And I was like “Oh, shit. That’s amazing!” and like what do I want the world to hear? And I think Black people in this industry, including myself, thought that we would become free when we got into the industry and we see that no one in the industry is free until they own something. People who are free on Broadway, the most free, the most able to run that shit, have their ideas heard, don’t get a lot of “No”’s, are the people who own things. So, as Im realizing that and coming into that. I don’t want to rent my freedom, I want to own it. I’m sorry to be like “Broadway is kind of too small for me unless I can own something.” So, I was going to say something like, Black people remember that the magic that is in us is bigger than all of this shit we’re even fighting for. Cause yeah we’re fighting for equity on Broadway but at the end of the day, unless we own, it ain’t gon feel as free as we want it to be. And we spend a lot of energy trying to fix the white man’s house when we could be building up our own and owning it. But I didn’t have time to say that or it didn’t come out. So, maybe God didn’t want me to say it but I was so charged by “What do you want the world to hear?” from Lynn Nottage and I was like “Ooo yes! Freedom is ownership.” Period.

DREW: I love that. I love it. Last question for you. What was the last thing you did before you left the hotel

BRITTON: Called an Uber and it came so fast I had to run.

(we laugh)

Yo, seriously. I did. I was like “Oh my God I gotta call an Uber’ and it was one of those two minutes away and I was like “Oh shit!” So I had to run to the Uber.

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Broadway Black writer Jerrica White had the opportunity to catch up with actors Lakisha Michelle May (Moxie), Chinasa Ogbuagu (Abasiama) and Chinaza Uche (Disciple) to discuss the play.

Chinasa Ogbuagu, Lakisha May, and Chinaza Uche all joined the production after doing workshops of the play. What seemed to draw them to the production was the idea that there were plenty of shows about African-Americans but less of Africans who live in America and what they bring to the culture.

For actress Lakisha May, who earned her MFA from the American Conservatory Theater and also holds a  BA from Spelman College, it was simple. She loved the fight of her character ‘Moxie’ a prostitute from the south who was not content with her station in life. May was able to contrast her personal history as a descendant of slaves and being the first in her family to graduate from college with the struggles of her character. Said May of the character,

She is a young woman that’s really fighting. One of her lines states “Just because I was born this way doesn’t mean I intend on staying this way”. She is trying to get out of this situation. What can you do?

Chinasa Ogbuagu, a Nigerian-American actress brought a different perspective to the play. According to Ogbuagu Nigerian (Ebo) culture has informed much of who she is but when she travels to Nigeria she is also very aware of her ‘American-ness’. Culturally she was able to relate very well to her character.

School is important to the culture coupled with hard work which is the American dream… which came from immigrants..

For Chinaza Uche, the American dream has always been hard. The actor who holds a BFA from NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts states simply,

The American Dream  has been built to challenge you. It is a battle to define “Who am I?” Defining oneself is a huge part of participating in the American Dream.

The actors were asked about how working with Mfoniso Udofia, who is known for her mixture of poetry and prose on stage, challenged them.  Said May,

There is a rhythm that is inherent in the work and while it may sound like the American South coming out of Moxie, it wasn’t easy.  The play is truly language intensive. My classical training was indeed used to approach the character.I feel that as a result of this work, I can now do anything and I look forward to the next language intensive play.

May reflects that she is left feeling she can do anything and do it in her own voice.

I am super grateful to be in this space and do this work.

For Ogbuagu, a deep respect for the genius of Udofia shaped a powerful experience.

She is so smart and she has found a way to write an amazing beautiful story that is also educating people on an experience that they are not familiar with and how could they be? I appreciate her for that.

According to the cast, Udofia was a stickler for punctuation and slash marks to keep the rhythm a certain way and for them, it worked. Said Ogbuagu,

When you adhered to the punctuation as written it flows and starts to work in a way that makes alot of sense.

As Ogbuagu and Uche ran lines together after rehearsals, this wisdom became evident and they both shared humorous moments realizing that if the stopped trying to do it their way, the dialogue worked a lot better. The cast collectively gave off an aura of warmth and respect when describing their impressions of Udofia. The playwright was repeatedly described as compassionate and strong and most importantly that she came through for the actors. Ogbuagu says,

That for me as an actor is everything. It’s really lovely. It’s everything.

The cast erupts into laughter as Uche adds,

You can really see who Mfoniso is as a playwright when you look at the scenes of Moxie!

Uche continues,

But truly, the compassion for the characters is huge. A great writer really takes care of the actor and she (Udofia) really does that by kind of telling us exactly what to do. There was always love and support to really develop what needed to happen. Yeah, she’s awesome.

The cast was also asked how director Ed Sylvanus Iskandar, who is Indonesian, added to the storytelling? According to Ogbuagu,

Ed has an immigrant experience of his own and while its not the same, he can understand some things and some things he had to learn too. He brought an amazing theatricality to this production and an elevation. Ed was able to come from a different experience and truly elevate the production. I loved that he did that.

Finally, the cast was asked what the wanted audience members to take away from Sojourners. 

May stated audience members should reflect on the intersection of Africans and African Americans.

It’s an opportunity for these two groups who are connected by the diaspora to be in the same space and deal with the stereotypes that each have of one other. There is a class story that can be taken away regarding the American Dream, especially from Moxie’s perspective.  The takeaway is that the American dream can’t always come in to fruition for everybody, particularly if you have brown skin.

Ogbuagu adds,

 Compassion and understanding of an experience different from your own. We are talking a lot about immigration with this election and a different understanding of immigrants; that not everybody  who comes to this country and wants to take over. People also have homes that they love. People want to come and they want to have an experience here, but then a lot of people do want to be able to go and come. Yeah, just compassion and understanding of somebody else’s experience.

Uche sums it up by saying,

Compassion is close to the word dimension. There are so many people who we overlook and I think that one of the things this play does is that it shows that if these three immigrants and this Black prostitute can have lives that are so rich and each have so much going on and have their own personal dreams, how many other people are we judging too quickly in our real lives and how many other stories are we not hearing? This is one family’s story and its so rich and so beautiful! There are black holes in our history that we don’t talk about where people were doing important shit! People were living important lives and I hope people leave with thinking, I want to know more about other people that I don’t know about.

Mfoniso Udofia and cast have done a wonderful job with Sojourners. It is a fascinating new way of seeing the immigrant experience and a different look at how we can define the American dream. Sojourners runs thru February 13, 2016, at the Peter Jay Sharp Theater.

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I sat down with Broadway performance artist Grasan Kingsberry to find out just what the key to his success and longevity on Broadway is. 10 Broadway credits to his name including Motown the Musical, Catch Me If You Can, The Color Purple, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and Aida and one of a very small handful (he makes the fifth) of Broadway artists to ever, and I mean ever, reprise a role that they originally created, Grasan Kingsberry has set himself apart with great distinction. I went looking for just what his recipe might be, just what WAS his special ingredient?  I expected the usual litany of hard work, dedication, and focus, but instead I found a man who has attained so much more than commercial success. He has a purpose and truly as the old folks say a calling. Kingsberry’s focus is on so much more than the next show, accolades or fame. He has turned being different into making a difference both in himself and through his art.

Kingsberry has always been different. Growing up as a kid with a dream in Charlotte, North Carolina, he had long been preparing for the stage. As a child, he fell in love with music and found himself picking through tunes by ear. By the time he was in high school, he had made his way into Northwest School of the Arts and also had been a stellar athlete throughout his matriculation through secondary school. Kingsberry spent his time at Northwest studying dance, music theory, musical theater, voice, piano, and acting.

Deciding that performance art was going to be his focus, he moved away from being an athlete, replacing that love of playing with becoming a super fan of the Carolina Panthers. But music and dance were calling him and his next stop would be at Julliard. He graduated from Julliard with a BFA and role in Broadway’s Aida. The tone had been set and Kingsberry was ready.

Today finds Kingsberry still making history. He is currently performing in the revival of The Color Purple. This is noteworthy because it’s such a rare occurrence that an actor reprises an original role. As an African American male his accomplishments are somehow brighter, somehow more inspiring simply because of his ability to stand out in what has always traditionally been “the Great White Way”.  But talent as sumptuous as Kingsberry defies boundaries and heralds a new day where African American performers are more and more frequently receiving their just recognition for their contributions to the arts. Kingsberry has been a two-time recipient of the coveted gypsy robe; he received the first during On A Clear Day You Can See Forever and receiving the second on opening night of the revival of The Color Purple. Amazing enough he received his second robe four years and a day apart. “Timing is everything,” he says with the warmest of chuckles. Whatever Kingsberry puts his talent to just seems meant to be.

These synergistic themes of timing, mindfulness and intentional thinking pepper our conversation. It underscores Kingsberry’s deeply spiritual musings and convictions. Kingsberry is a man who has put a lot of thought into his purpose and his spiritual beliefs. Beliefs that he says became solidified during his very first run of The Color Purple and continue into the revival ten years later.

“This piece is really special to me. It was special to me ten years ago and it rings even more true to me now; in terms of a lot of things that I believe and things that have changed my heart from this show. Being a part of this show again just reconfirms my belief and my faith that you are where you are supposed to be. This show changed my life. The lyric content, the subject matter, the story… it raised questions of faith and self-love and finding joy through pain.”

As he circles around to breathe life into the revival, I ask him how the two shows are different. Kingsberry shares that the current revival is sharply pared down compared to the original. There are 17 actors on stage and 3 swings and this time, no choreographer. In fact, there is only one set piece and chairs that are used as props. Kingsberry doesn’t discount the previous lavish set replete with 30 actors. He says,

“I think we needed that production to know what this production was going to be, we needed the original to come to this, to what we have now. We approach it like a play. Things really move at the pace a traditional Broadway play would. And that’s how I approach it as an actor, too.”

I asked Kingsberry what else was different in his approach to his character.

“So to do it ten years later with ten years of life experience, ten years of career experience, I get to apply those things that I have learned and give new life to this character and new life to this show. I have the unique position of having been in both shows so I can apply the things I have learned that I didn’t apply to this one. I had to approach it in a new way.”

For the audience, particularly those who have seen both productions the intent is to focus on Celie. The play has an intimate feel and there is no doubt there is an element of God in the show. The relationships between the characters, the emotional content are all focal points in the revival of a show that has a storyline that spans forty years. The emphasis in this production is a desire to trust the audience to imagine what they needed to and to get rid of the superfluous to hone in on what is truly an awe-inspiring story. According to Kingsberry, this approach is effective. He adds,

“Theater is a world of imagination and we don’t need to be too literal because we have to trust the audience will understand what’s going on. We as actors have to make sure we do our job and understanding the intention behind the story.”

Kingsberry says that in the revival, audiences have been able to get closer to the characters and the storyline. Being able to absorb more of the emotional elements sans a fancy set allows them to really hear the story and it hits them harder. It’s a spiritual experience that Kingsberry shares.

“What opened my spiritual door, so to speak, was me asking questions. Once I got the show ten years ago, with Oprah coming on board, with just all the goodness surrounding the show, I just kept asking the question, why me? God, why me? What have I done to receive all of these amazing blessings and beautiful things? The more I asked that and the more I sat still with that, answers began to reveal themselves to me. So, it deepened my spiritual practice and thusly I had an awakening. Because of the show.”

And we are back to this idea of having a sense of worship and understanding of the true nature of God. Kingsberry cites listening to the lyrics Shug sings to Celie about God being inside of each of us. This was a poignantly different picture of the God of Kingsberry’s childhood who was often portrayed as an overbearing, distant deity somewhere off in the sky. The simple message of God and love has had a profound effect on the way Kingsberry views God. He now says that we are the essence of God and that our work is to glorify the creations of God, the beauty of God and the love of God.

“It was truly this show that broadened my spiritual awakening… You do this eight times a week and you really start to believe what you are saying, to really take in what you are saying and naturally it manifested into me having a really deepened spiritual practice now. What I do on stage is all of God’s work.”

Speaking with Kingsberry is much like sitting by a small relaxing brook with an old friend, far away from the bright lights and buzz of the big city. His intelligence, humility, and deep spirituality stand in stark contrast to the hustle and bustle that defines the life of a Broadway entertainer.  Kingsberry has managed to forego the ego and bravado and his humanity shines through powerfully in every word.

Thematically, a pattern seems to present itself in his recent work. One of artistic activism that gently points to what he truly believes is the intersection of all of the societal ills. Prior to joining the cast (again) of The Color Purple, Kingsberry played Sam Cooke in a play called One Night in Miami. The story was about Sam Cooke, Malcolm X, Cassius Clay and Jim Brown electing to forego a celebration after Clay wins the heavyweight championship. The four friends skip the pompous festivities and instead spend the evening together in a hotel in the heart of the Black neighborhood that Clay trained in for the bout. The play is an imagining of what happened during that night in 1964. I asked Kingsberry who would he spend his ‘One Night in Miami’ with and his answer was powerful, thoughtful and sentimental. Alice Walker whom he says he could talk with for hours, his reverend Dr. Michael Bernard Beckwith who is the Founder and Spiritual Director of the Agape International Spiritual Center and his own father. I can hear the strong emotion in his voice when he talks about what such a night might entail. When speaking about why he chose to include his father he gets a bit teary eyed.

“I would want him to experience it and I would also want to learn more from him and his upbringing. It would be a cool way for us to bond.”

Grasan Kingsberry is a history maker. There is no denying his success on Broadway but in truth, his real heroism comes from how he views the world and the importance of everyone in it. His loving approach to the work he does and his commitment to select thoughtful pieces communicate important  and complex ideas at a time where truthfully, he could focus on doing anything he wants. Grasan Kingsberry has a calling and we are definitely better for listening to what he has to say through his artistic expressions.

You can catch Kingsberry in the ensemble and as Adam/Buster on Broadway in The Color Purple. Meanwhile, we will be on the lookout for upcoming music projects and other performances showcasing his musical talent.

The post Grasan Kingsberry: A Man Called to Dream, Create, & Love appeared first on Broadway Black.

With more than 40 film and television projects under her belt, and having shared the screen with the likes of Forest Whitaker, Bernie Mac, Don Cheadle, Robert Duvall, Salma Hayek, and Jenna Elfman, this Texas native and Yale School of Drama grad admits that theatre is her first love – embracing and reveling in the energy that’s shared with a live audience.

“It’s a sacred triangle between you, your fellow colleagues onstage, and the audience. There’s a synergy there that doesn’t exist with a camera,” Scott says.

Nottage’s Sweat is a timely and relevant piece that delves into the impact of corporate buyouts, outsourcing, and the disappearance of manufacturing jobs on human capital. Nottage set the play in a small town to “explore America’s industrial decline at the turn of the millennium by examining the inhabitants of one Pennsylvania town who still struggle to reclaim what’s lost, find redemption and redefine themselves in a new century.” Sweat premiered at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in August and is now headed to the Arena Stage’s Kreeger Theater in Washington, DC, where it opens on January 15 and runs through February 21.

Scott is cast in the role of “Cynthia” one of two friends for life who work at a local factory in Reading, Pa. Tracey (Johanna Day) is white; and Cynthia is black. Their friendship is tested when Cynthia is promoted to management, causing a painful rift with Tracey, who had also applied. Tracey attributes Cynthia’s selection to tokenism.

In an exclusive, wide-ranging interview with Broadway Black, Scott discussed her latest role, her thoughts on comparisons of Nottage and Wilson, and other topics.

What is it about the role of Cynthia that drew you to it?

I know Lynn’s work and she’s a beast, she’s amazing, and opens windows into people’s souls, her character’s souls that are just astonishing and lovely. I had not even read the play when I said “yes.” I knew it was going to be beautiful. I knew it was Lynn, and I went, “I’m in. Can I read it?” They said, “We only have the first act. We only have the first act.” I said, “Let me read it.” I was like, “Okay, if you think…” they’re like, “Yeah, we think.” Then, about a month before we started, I got to read the whole play, and it blew my mind.

Reviewers have sometimes compared Nottage to August Wilson, particularly as it relates to dialogue. Do you see any similarities between the two, having worked with both of them?

I think that the joy in the language is absolutely there. That joy, that familiarity, that humanity, is absolutely comparable and the same, and glorious. It’s glorious, the way she makes these people that are completely familiar. You know who they are. You know these people, you know their situation, and you know their feeling. She does not write things that are easy. They’re beautiful mountains, they are beautiful mountains that you have to climb. You can’t see it, when they call places you can’t see the top. Somehow, you have to take it one scene at a time, one moment at a time. I feel that way about Sweat. You take it one moment at a time, you take it one scene at a time, you keep breathing, and you keep going forward in the experience of these characters in the play.

That was the way it was with August. Very, very keen ear for his own work. That’s the thing they have in common, the keen ear and also the joy. She has a great joy in the room. August would lean back and laugh and enjoy it. She enjoys hearing your experience of what she’s written. She enjoys you turning on the lights in this rooms that she’s furnished. It’s beautiful; it’s really quite beautiful.

“Cynthia” faces some very real issues when she gets the promotion – allegations of tokenism. Some of us have felt that at some point in life. As an actress who’s played very diverse roles, have you ever encountered anything like that and what was your response? Did your response affect how you handled that in the role?

Doing the play, telling this story is so familiar for so many of us. It’s so familiar. I had so many women walk up to me and say, “Girl, girl let me tell you. Girl.” It’s having that experience of suffering and questioning the value of your own ambition.

It’s hard because ambition is hard enough; self-esteem is hard enough. Then, to become a tool, to have it all, to be used in the way that she gets used, is hard. It’s hard to tell the story because it’s familiar. I really think that if you have any ambition at all, if you have any sense of self-esteem or achievement as an African-American woman in America, you can understand what Cynthia goes through. It’s tough to lean into what it is that she goes through with her friends. It’s not simple, it’s class, it’s race; it’s all of that. Friendship on top of that, and camaraderie, and 20 years of experience, 30 years of experience, it’s tough. It doesn’t matter who you are, it’s close.

The play opens at Arena Stage DC on January 15. You’ve played there before in Joe Turner’s Come and Gone, what will it be like to go back?

Every audience is different, but to do this play in Washington DC, so close to the area that this is talking about, so close. There will be exponentially more people who not only have had an experience like it, but will know exactly what we’re talking about. On top of that, possibly people in the audience who will have a possible way to affect the situation, policy wise, that’s very gratifying. I look forward to, possibly, the congressmen and senators, and people from the various departments of the U.S. Government who could come and see this play and understand, maybe, on a more fundamental level, what’s happening. I think that Lynn has written a play that is as illuminating to the deindustrialization of America and this moment in history that we’re at, as Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman was to that moment in American history – for the American working man.

For someone with such an impressive and enviable body of work, how have you been able to maintain longevity in a profession where people often get discouraged and give up, or they just can’t get the roles?

There came a moment when my dad died. It got real, as they say. I realized, life is finite, and daylight is burning. I was living in Los Angeles and when you live in Los Angeles, you do television and film, you tend to turn down a lot of theater to wait around for film work and television work. When my dad died I had just done a play and I realized how much I missed doing theater. I was doing theater over the years, but not as much as I could have been doing. I wasn’t doing everything that I was offered. I had this moment where I realized, “Wow, I need to follow my bliss. I need to do that. I need to trust that everything’s going to come out okay. I need to go ahead and do what’s offered to me because it’s coming to me for a reason.” I just decided, I’m not going to turn down nothing but my hat.

I’m Buddhist. My practice is so much about really attracting things and not chasing after my fortune. I’m not trying to chase after my fortune anymore. I’m really trusting that my fortune is coming to me. Ever since I’ve really tried to stand in that truth, it’s been great

What is it that inspires you?

My colleagues inspire me endlessly, their courage, their bravery. We have three new cast members and just the opportunity to rediscover the play with new people, that’s inspiring, as well as the experience of discovering it the first time with the people who originated their roles. I have a profound belief that the first cast leaves DNA in the play, there’s no getting around that.

When you do world premieres, you’re crafting an experience. You’re crafting a play. You’re crafting this thing, telling this story. You have these actors telling this story, this way. You’ve got a director working on it and on the way we tell that story, but no matter who the director is, and the playwright, and the words that the playwright has brought to the table, and we tell that story, there’s no getting around the fact that the first cast puts a stamp on it.

For tickets to see Scott in Sweat at the Arena Stage’s Kreeger Theater in Washington, DC, visit here.

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