Author's Note: This is a report of one city's reaction to an intense debate about Black Theater that absorbed the theater community in June 1997. It ran originally as a cover story in The Philadelphia Forum.
There's a breach between blacks and whites on the subject of theater that's as wide as the gap on the recent OJ verdicts. The public debate between playwright August Wilson and critic Robert Brustein -- and the reaction to their debate -- makes that clear.
Their face-to-face at Manhattan's Town Hall and broadcast nationwide on Terry Gross' Philadelphia-based Fresh Air radio program, was more incendiary than recent heavyweight title fights. Wilson -- who won Pulitzer Prizes for Fences (1987) and The Piano Lesson (1990) -- said that white theater companies, supported by philanthropic foundations, are destroying black theater and harming the black race. Wilson called upon black actors to refuse to appear in plays that are "conceived and designed to entertain white society." Blacks who cross over and play roles that weren't specifically written as black, he says, are "like house slaves entertaining the white master and his guests."
Robert Brustein -- white, Jewish, a director at Yale Drama and a critic for The New Republic -- responds: "Get over it. Slavery ended 130 years ago." Brustein claims that theater has been a leading institution trying to break down boundaries between the races. He asks: "Isn't there a statute of limitations on white guilt?"
Brustein charges that Wilson is proposing a theater of separatism. "What's next?" asks Brustein, "Separate washrooms? Separate drinking fountains?"
Wilson rejects being called a separatist: "We are fighting to be included, and we're tired of just being allowed in the theater with guest passes that expire at the end of Black History month." Of the 66 theaters that belong to the League of Regional Theaters, he says, only one is black.
No company excludes blacks, Brustein protests. Also, it's been white producers who've presented Wilson's plays and white people who buy most of the tickets, and not just during Black History Month either.
The men agree on one thing: they both oppose foundation grants that encourage companies to present works by blacks. Wilson's reasoning is that they do a disservice to blacks by "giving money to white organizations, rather than directly to black theaters." Brustein's logic is that theaters should do plays because they want to, not because they're being paid to. And he says that many foundation grants are -- unfairly -- exclusively reserved for inner-city audience development.
Philadelphia's drama community has been abuzz about Wilson's views, especially since his latest play, Seven Guitars, is about to make its Philadelphia debut May 30. No local officials have been as blunt as Brustein. Philadelphia theater folk have been more defensive, and until now, their talk has been only in private. But the leaders of Philly's major companies all spoke with me on the subject for publication here.
The whites in Philadelphia theaters basically are saying "Gee, we're doing what we can and the blacks don't even seem to be noticing." Most blacks don't appreciate their efforts and, meanwhile, there's virtually no Hispanic or Asian content on stage.
Eugene Nesmith, who was directing Bare-Knuckle in Philadelphia at the time, was in the audience at the Brustein-Wilson debate. He defends what others call Wilson's ingratitude: "He's courageous to say, as an African American, `Sure I've had success within the system, but I hear all my brothers on the outside, knocking on the door.'" Nesmith says there might be a hundred more talents like Wilson's that are being stifled by the system: "Wilson is right. There is a history of racism in American theater."
I protest to Nesmith that theater people are more accepting and more politically liberal than the general population. But Nesmith says the theater community should feel guilty for the stereotypes of minstrel shows and the fact that many theaters barred blacks, or seated them separately.
That's in the past, I say. What about more recent time? He says that the Ford Foundation gave big bucks to regional theaters, and none of it went to blacks. Later, the NEA used requirements that excluded black companies from receiving their grants. He said the NEA had a rule that applicants have a history of being long-established and financially stable. Clearly that worked against companies founded by the newly-emerging black middle class.
"We need to have our people at the table where decisions are being made," Nesmith says. He asks how many non-whites are on the boards of theater companies. The answer, among Philadelphia's major producing theaters, is this:
Arden: 4 out of 23
Philadelphia Festival Theatre: 0 out of 9
Philadelphia Theatre Company: 2 out of 26
Walnut: 4 out of 55
Wilma: 1 out of 26
Total: 11 blacks out of 139 board members
But statistics don't tell the whole story. Consider this: The Philadelphia Festival Theatre for New Plays has been in debt and near extinction. Every member of its board of directors accepted a responsibility to pay back the company's debts. There are no blacks on the board of nine. The company's head, Sally de Sousa, says "it's hard to ask a black to accept our financial obligation. When you find a prominent black with money, you find that he or she is already pressed for time and funds by organizations closer to home."
Nesmith says de Sousa should change the rules. "If I were to go on her board, why should I be responsible for her financial debt? I had nothing to do with incurring it." But he ignores that De Sousa herself was not there when the debt was incurred; she accepted it as a legacy. Nesmith says that blacks should be invited onto boards to bring to the table things other than money that could be even more beneficial.
Sally de Sousa is English-born and grew up in India. Her ex-husband is a Portugese who had an African great grandfather, so she points out that her kids, if they lived in South Africa, would be categorized as coloured. She's produced plays in England, Ireland, India and Australia. To her, theater transcends nationality and race. She tells me how bizarre it was to hear separatist comments coming from Wilson, who is a product of an interracial marriage. She has an ear for dialects and told me it also was strange to hear "Wilson's Pittsburgh German accent."
She drove up to the debate with two of her colleagues from the Festival Theater -- the company's literary manager Nathaniel Nesmith, Eugene's brother, who is black, and playwright Art Becker, who is white. On the ride back they talked about "how upset we were for August; we admire him and didn't like to hear him say some of the things he said; it was too divisive."
Sara Garonzik came back from the debate angry with Brustein. The artistic director of the Philadelphia Theater Company, white, says he was "unbearably supercilious, elitist, very offensive." His demand that blacks "get over" the slavery issue is like telling Jews they should "get over" the Holocaust. Garonzik says it's not going to happen and it's stupid to demand it.
"We specialize in contemporary American theater, and that's going to include plays about minorities. We did McNally's Love! Valour! Compassion because it's universal and because his writing brings diverse audiences together. Wilson writes brilliantly, and his plays fall right into our mission. The only reason we never did him until now is that the Drama Guild had tied up the rights for his Philadelphia productions."
Now Garonzik's company is about to stage the Philadelphia premiere of Wilson's Seven Guitars. In accord with Wilson's demands, she hired a black director, Seret Scott. Garonzik says she normally looks for black directors for black plays anyway. "There's not enough work for them, and they're most likely to understand the subject. A white person could direct a black play, of course, but why make that choice? The same thing goes for other subjects. For Love Valour Compassion, about gay experiences, I absolutely wanted a gay director."
Therefore Garonzik had no problem with Wilson's stipulation that only blacks may direct his plays and that he have veto power over designers and major casting choices: "Wilson's not the first person to demand that sort of control. Others are very territorial. Albee, for instance, is notoriously picky."
Wilson's proscription against cross racial casting has been attacked by almost everyone. Frank Ferrante, who was in Philadelphia to play a Jewish TV comedian in Neil Simon's Laughter on the 23d Floor and then Groucho Marx in a one-man show, was incredulous: "It's stupid. Am I supposed to play only Italian-American parts?"
Walnut casting director Karen Hinton said: "What are we going to tell [bi-racial actor] Robert Christophe? How many half-black parts are there?"
One of the problems with casting is that theater is a presentational medium, showing us truth through our eyes and ears. Most theater professionals agree that realistic plays should use actors that look the part. De Sousa's theory is that theater is essentially a magic show. You have to pretend. Theater is portraying truth through artificial devices. She says that The Method is wrong: you don't have to be in pain to show pain. You just have to play it. Similarly, an actor need not be the size, shape or color of his character.
Susan Schiffrin is a layperson who agrees with de Sousa: "Audiences should see beyond skin color and see the real character inside." Schiffrin goes beyond de Sousa and would color-blind cast even in a modern, realistic family play, pointing out that many white families contain interracial adopted children.
But the majority of theatregoers are not nearly as accepting. After a performance of the urban drama, Third and Indiana at the Arden, an audience member complained that the actor playing a characters named Eddie Passarelli didn't look Italian enough. A guest at a reception told me that blacks shouldn't play Shakespeare because there were no blacks in Shakespeare's England. Nor in Rome, or Scotland, or wherever the play is set. Why doesn't she take that argument to its conclusion and allow only white Romans to appear in Julius Caesar and only white Scots to appear in Macbeth?
To some theatergoers, black subject matter is unwelcome even during Black History month. Subscribers skip black plays, leaving empty seats. I've heard the even-more explicit comment: "I'm tired of plays on that subject." So when Wilson or Nesmith say there's not enough black theater, many people would respond that there's already too much.
De Sousa hates to see the issue become black and white. Earlier this season she presented Gate of Heaven, a play written by a Japanese American about his relationship with a Jew he rescued from a concentration camp. Before this play, writer-actor Lane Nishikawa had to work mostly with all-Asian groups because he found so few opportunities in mainstream theater.
This is Asian Pacific Heritage Month but there are no Asian plays appearing in town. For that matter there aren't any Hispanic plays on the boards, despite the growing size of that community. A Pan-Asian play, Shanghai Lil's, postponed a date at the ArtsBank because of lack of support. De Sousa sought out Asian-American groups and invited them to be her guests at Gate of Heaven. For Bare-Knuckle she asked ex-champ Joe Frazier to be guest of honor at a performance. The deal was that he would bring along a bunch of teenagers from his gym. Object: To bring new audiences into the theater.
De Sousa doesn't want to be barred from doing black dramas. "August," she cries out, "don't take your plays away from us! It's time to work together, not to fragment."
Bare-Knuckle is about Jack Johnson thrown in a Texas jail cell with a white man in 1901 because they broke the law prohibiting interracial boxing. De Sousa tells me how hard it was to cast the part of Johnson, because few black actors have had the extensive training that's essential. Few of them can afford graduate theater schools. Clearly, more training opportunities are needed, but funding is the problem. "We're all being pushed financially as it is."
Sara Garonzik says there's an ongoing effort to diversify her board, so far without much success, but at least "our stage work is diverse, and that comes first. Your programming is who you are." Garonzik looks for people with disparate professional backgrounds such as real estate or marketing, as well as different nationalities. She's been turned down by some blacks whom she's asked. But first of all, she looks for people who care about her company's work: "It's insulting to ask a person to serve just because of his color when he's shown no interest in what we're doing. It's a two-way street."
What more can a theater company be expected to do than present plays like Steve Lopez's Third and Indiana and host a series of workshops on the issues? Third and Indiana speaks to blacks, Latinos and whites. Its teenaged black hero and his mom are the most sympathetic characters in the play. But -- at the performance I attended - the nine blacks and Latinos in the cast outnumbered the people of color in the audience.
Terrence Nolen, producing artistic director of the Arden, sees it as a beginning. The company is bringing lots of city schoolkids to see the show, mainly at open rehearsals. Donald Welsh, a black playwright and producer, says most blacks don't know anything about the Arden's play. He says they've got to advertise it heavily on black radio and in the black press.
The Wilma's Blanka Zizka says she has a hard time thinking of her idiosyncratic theater as part of the Establishment, even though it has moved from funky Sansom Street to the main drag, Broad Street. When she and her then-husband Jiri came here from Czechoslovakia 18 years ago they were outsiders. They founded the Wilma in a tiny space as a vehicle for their own personal visions. "The Wilma has no racial criteria," she told me. "We just do our own personal choices of good material."
Without trying to make a racial statement her first season in 1979 included black actors in some normally white roles. One of her recent plays was a musical about racial tension between blacks and Italians in Brooklyn in the 1960's, Avenue X.
But it's hard to find black plays, Zizka says. There aren't many of them being submitted. Next year, Susan-Lori Parks will be dramaturg and playwright-in-residence at the Wilma. She's one of the best black playwrights of today, says Zizka. "I also offered a job to Doug Wright who is white and gay, so I'm not trying to connect just with blacks."
Parks deplores labels like "black plays": "You get so that people reading the program will say `Oh, that's a black play, that's for me and I'll be there with my kind, and I'll feel like the play has something to say to me.' Which of course means other plays aren't going to have anything to say to me. And that's the kind of communities we're building now -- communities of people who think they should only be around other people like them. I think that's killing off civilization."
An employee of the Wilma told me that some Wilma staffers look out their windows across the street with envy when bus loads of blacks arrive for ethnic shows at the Merriam. The Merriam Theater has a unique place in the Philadelphia scene. Owned by the University of the Arts, it has a black manager and books the largest number of black plays. Surprisingly, the relation between its manager and its booking is coincidental. The policy was initiated by its president, Sam L'Hommedieu, and its former manager, Mary Bensel -- both of whom are white. DeVida Jenkins worked as assistant to Bensel for seven years and moved into the top post in 1996. She won't take personal credit for bringing black shows to black audiences and doesn't even go to see them: "My tastes, what I want to see personally, are more mainstream."
Growing up in Germantown in the late 1960s, Jenkins' parents introduced her to plays at the Locust, Schubert and Forrest and to music at the Academy. She's a particular fan of Frank Langella, but she's almost afraid to have me write this because Langella lives with Whoopi Goldberg, and Jenkins doesn't want to make any generalizations about black women's tastes.
Unlike the Arden, Wilma and PTC, the Merriam doesn't cast or produce its own plays. The Theater League of Philadelphia, the University's management arm, becomes the co-presenter of many touring shows -- assuming financial risk and sharing the profits. With other plays, the Theater League declines to do that and, instead, simply rents out the house. Thus the Merriam has no creative input into the ethnic shows that do such great business there.
Black author Henry Louis Gates, Jr., said he felt like he was slumming when he went to one of these populist black plays, My Grandmother Prayed for Me. On Terry Gross's WHYY program, Gates said the play was crude and contained offensive racial stereotypes that would cause him to picket if it had been produced by white people. But, he says, it creates the type of "audience communion that most playwrights can only dream of." Jenkins points out that a similar show, Thank God the Beat Goes On, did terrific business at the Merriam in October and at a return engagement in January.
When Donald Welsh wrote Take It to the Lord or Else in 1988, it was one of the first gospel-oriented black plays. He's a 37-year-old black actor turned writer-director-producer. Welsh tells me the difference between his plays and the other type that Gates criticized: "Mine are responsible. You can bring your children to them. Some of the others are senseless, mindless minstrel shows. They hire old R&B singers who need the work and they promote them with loud radio commercials."
Welsh says he could have sold out for commercial profit: "A black promoter offered me $50,000 to change one of my plays and make it more black, whatever that is, but I turned him down." His plays include a Dorothy Dandridge biography and A Change is Gonna Come, about a white man who marries into a black family. As an actor, Welsh benefitted from colorblind casting. He once was the only black in the cornpatch in L'il Abner."99 percent of the audience was white and the other 1 percent was my family. It felt strange, but it was good to be working."
The Walnut Street Theater enjoys the nations's second-largest subscriber base, and Bernard Havard, its artistic director, describes himself as being "an unabashed populist." He says: "I won't produce anything nihilistic unless it has redemptive value. [Also] I'm careful to choose plays where the language is accessible." That eliminates Shakespeare from his current repertoire and also precludes scripts that use black English.
Karen Hinton, the Walnut's casting director, ticks off a list of the Walnut's efforts towards racial equality: "We have a racially-mixed staff, and we've done black plays like Twist and Bubblin' Brown Sugar. We have a culturally-diverse outreach program, using a troupe of four acting apprentices and two of the four are black. We perform In White America in schools and lead discussions in the classroom. We're helping Philadelphia school kids at Fels Junior High (mainly black) produce its first musical. I hate separatism. We want to get people into the seats, period."
Studio Three and Studio Five, named after the floors they occupy above the Walnut's main theater, are a special concept. They are made available for rental, and non-mainstream material is encouraged. No black theater company has leased space from the Walnut. Theater Ariel, devoted to Jewish subjects, did so for two years. Deborah Baer Mozes, Ariel's founder, claims Jewish experiences actually receive less mainstage exposure than black experiences: "Everyone wants to attract Jewish audiences, so they do plays that are sort of, but not essentially, Jewish. They'll put on something tame, like Neil Simon or Wendy Wasserstein. But plays that talk about what it's really like to be Jewish don't get presented."
The traveling ethnic musicals mentioned above are not the serious black theater that August Wilson has in mind when he asks for more funding for Black Theater. There are two serious black-run companies in Philly: Freedom Theater on North Broad Street and Bushfire Theater in West Philadelphia. Freedom, the larger of the two, operates its own school, like the Wilma and Arden. The company hires New York-based Equity actors and is successful raising money within the black community. Its Artistic Director is Walter Dallas, who directed Wilson plays at the old Drama Guild and in Chicago but so far hasn't obtained the rights to put on a Wilson play at Freedom.
All of this shows us that, within black theater, there's no single formula. Donald Welsh recently rented the tiny Shubin Theater at Fourth and Bainbridge to premiere the serious Illusions, about black women and AIDS. It's the kind of play, Welsh says, that anyone can relate to.
"You could use an all-Asian or all-Caucasian cast and the plays would be just as relevant," he says. "We have to cross over. How else am I going to learn about your culture, or you about mine?"
[END]
