Being Black in Theater

Shakespeare once wrote, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely actors. They have their exits and entrances, and in his lifetime a man will play parts, his life separated into seven acts.” 

There are times where my mind comes back to this quote. Being a performer myself, I look at this phrase both figuratively and literally. 

Now more than ever, I have read, seen, and heard black actors and performers speak up about their experiences in film and theater and how the industry needs to change. I know that I’m not the only one who has heard about the racism and the colorism that goes on in these industries. 

Let’s think about it for a second, how many black actors do you see getting the lead role in the play, a musical, a TV, and in a movie that doesn’t have anything to do with race? Instead of getting the lead role, most black actors, male or female, are either reduced to the best friend in shows and film. And on Broadway, I’ve noticed that if a show doesn’t have anything to do with race/culture, there would only be a few BIPOC in the cast to make it “diverse” enough. 

A few days ago I was listening to Charnette Batey, a Broadway actress, explain her experience being a part of a touring company for a Broadway show. She talks about colorism, racism, and tokenism. 

While listening to her story, I started to think about my undergraduate experience in the theater department at the University of New Haven. Now while I enjoyed my time at the University of New Haven, there was a lot of wrongness that went on in the theater department. During my time at New Haven, my eyes were truly opened about racism in theater as a whole, and how many black actors would never cast as the lead. Mainly because professors and directors have never seen a black actor in leading roles, so they cast to what they see in previous versions of the show. I’m not going to talk about everything, because that can probably be an essay. But I want to talk about two memories that stand out the most. 

The first memory was during the second semester of my junior year, and though this particular incident didn’t happen to me, I was greatly impacted by it. A small group of my friends and I were auditioning for Elm Shakespeare, and out of the five of us, three were black females. One of the beautiful black actors, who later became a good friend of mine, went up to do her audition. During her monologue, she broke down. And when the director asked her why she was crying, she said that she didn’t feel worthy. That she didn’t feel as though she was a strong actor. And my heart broke. Not just because a young performer felt as though her craft wasn’t good enough for the program. But because for the first time in three years, someone said what I was feeling out loud. I felt like I wasn’t alone in feeling unworthy or drained emotionally. Internally I cried hard because I remembered what I went through in that program as a black female actor. And I will never forget that moment. It still breaks my heart to this day that I never said anything to her, knowing that I was feeling the same way she was. That I never spoke up when I noticed unjust situations that happened afterward. 

The second memory was auditioning for Cabaret senior year, the first semester. I got overlooked, not just for the leading and supporting roles, but as a Kit Kat Girl (one of the female dancers for those who never saw the musical before). Not to toot my own horn, but I was one of the best dancers in the program, and I know for a fact that my dance audition was better than those who were cast that couldn’t even dance and sing at the same time. Trying to make sense of why I wasn’t cast, I started to talk to the people who were in the audition room. 

The choreographer said that she loved the audition and she didn’t know why I wasn’t cast. When I talked to the director, he said that I did everything fine, but he didn’t like my monologue. Not the way I did my monologue, but the monologue itself. But that still didn’t make sense why I didn’t get cast. It wasn’t until I talked to the AD (assistant director), who cleared up everything for me. She said that when it came down for casting, my name was never mentioned. One of the best dancers in the department and my name wasn’t even mentioned for casting. Or maybe they filled their diversity card with two new black actors (female and male).

After that experience, I lost confidence in myself and my craft because I thought that I wasn’t good enough in performing. I made people make me feel like crap like I wasn’t worthy enough to be anything except for a background actor. I couldn’t see any worth in my craft because someone took that away from me. But that is so far from the truth. 

But you know what I did? I noticed that with New Haven, I was never going to be the starring role. So I looked at other places, other opportunities to see if the problem was me. And guess what? It wasn’t me. I have the talent, the skills, the means, and the drive. Through theater festivals that I would attend, such as KCACTF, I gained acting opportunities, fellowship opportunities, and dancing opportunities. I got to do workshops with professionals who wanted to work with me. But more importantly, I found a program where I grew as an actor, honed my craft, gained the confidence that I lost while I was New Haven, and I was praised for my work. 

Any advice? My advice for young black girls who are going into theater. First and foremost, know that you have the talent and you have worth. No one should ever make you feel like you are not worthy of getting a role. No one should ever make you feel like your craft is bad. If you see that you are being treated unfairly or you’re getting looked over, then go to auditions outside of your program and find the people that are going to take a chance on you.