What are you looking forward to in your residency here
at Signature?
Seeing how the landscape has changed since I initially
created and had these plays produced. That’s interesting.
I mean it was such a surprise with The Death of the Last
Black Man, seeing how it’s become more rich. I’m looking
forward to seeing how the landscape has changed. It kind of
feels like the culture’s caught up to the work which is really
an amazing feeling. It’s like the work was a tree in the field
and the culture has grown up around it, literally the up and
coming artists that I’m working with on this project – there
are some awesome established actors in our cast in Last Black
Man, there are also some up and coming folks and they have
literally come up around this play. So that’s exciting to see
how the landscape has grown and also to do new things.
How did Founding Artistic Director Jim Houghton
approach you about joining Residency One, and doing
a season of your plays?
He rolled them all out at once. I think that was the way to do
it. The whole idea of having a Residency One at Signature,
to me, was like “No thanks,” because I go forward very well.
I like to work, which to me means go forward and do things
that are slightly beyond what I did last time around.
It’s not by design but it’s kind of where my energy is. So when
Jim came up to me and says, “How would you like a Residency
One?” …that’s not something that I was really interested in
doing. Then what happened? We were just sitting in the
give him more days on the planet or
whatever, but I can give him this. I can
give my work, what he might enjoy.” So
he said Last Black Man and I was like...
[gesture of bewilderment]. And so far
it’s the smartest thing that I’m doing
this year.
The Death of the Last Black Man in the
Whole Entire World is the first play
in your residency. How would you
describe what the play is “about”?
It’s about a man and his wife, and the
man is dying. So it’s about them, but
think of jazz music first of all, think of
like free jazz – it moves like that. It’s not
like a tidy, well-made play that we’re
accustomed to seeing in traditional
theatre. Think of poet’s theatre, slam
poetry, hip-hop, like a poetry slam.
This man is dead and his wife is basically
trying to find his final resting place.
There’s a reoccurring question in the
play: “Where’s he gonna go now that he
done dieded?” And what they find at the
end is that his final resting place is a
play called The Death of the Last Black
Man in the Whole Entire World.
It’s like a funeral mass in a way.
Every actor who came into the room to audition
was down with it... Everybody came in with a
familiarity and ease with it. It was in their body,
it was in their hands, it was in their minds.
They knew how to break it down.
RESIDENCY ONE
of me when I was a young man, and I didn’t have the heart to
let him down.” And that’s what I felt. James Baldwin thought
something of me when I was a young person, and I didn’t
have the heart to let him down, and I still don’t have the heart
to let him down. So, here I am [laughs]!
What was the process of writing
this play like, and then revisiting
it now in 2016?
I started writing this play in 1990.
When I wrote this play I was listening
to a lot of Ornette Coleman, The Shape
of Jazz to Come, which is a brilliant,
brilliant album – and it very much has
some jazz motifs in it. So the play does
as well. It dovetails very much with
current language today. This street
language, urban language, creative
language that we use. But it’s also
dovetailing with some of the current
events, the difficult current events that
are going on in our country today. They
weren’t so apparent and on the surface
back in 1990. It was always there, but
I’m looking forward to seeing how the landscape has changed. It kind of feels
like the culture’s caught up to the work which is really an amazing feeling.
It’s like the work was a tree in the field and the culture has grown up around it...
What led you to writing for the theatre?
I wasn’t a playwright when I started with Mr. Baldwin,
I was a short story writer, novelist, wrote songs. And then
he suggested writing for the theatre, because when I read
my short stories aloud in his class I was very animated.
Like I would do what the stupid theatre people did, like “Laaa
Laaaa Leyy! And Read Alouddd! And tell the characters and
then paint the scene! And do all this stuff!” And these were
short stories. So Mr. Baldwin said, “Ms. Parks, have you ever
thought about writing for the theatre?” And gave me that
look… I started writing for the theatre that day, that very day.
So, he was very encouraging. I’ve had other people encourage
me along the way, but he was the one I always felt like…that
from Mr. Baldwin I got a golden kiss on the forehead.
He wrote me an evaluation that said, “Suzan-Lori Parks is…”
I forget what he wrote, but it’s a quote that still kind of makes
me embarrassed. But it was very positive and very affirming.
He thought I might amount to something as an artist. There’s
a quote that Abraham Lincoln said, “Someone thought well
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Waverly Diner and I could hear very loudly the voice in my
head telling me the 500 really brilliant reasons why I didn’t
need to do this. I’m sort of hearing my own reasons very
clearly and I’m just listening to Jim say, “it might be good for
you, it might be good for people…” You know, all the reasons
why. And suddenly I stopped talking. I wasn’t talking talking, I was talking in my head. I stopped talking and I started
listening. I just looked at him and I could hear very clearly,
“This will be good for you.” Just like when James Baldwin
said, “Have you ever tried writing for the theatre?” One of
those voices. And it cut through – his generous offer, request,
suggestion – cut through all the chatter in my head and I
said, “I suppose we’ll just step forward on faith.” I said, “What
would you like to see?” He smiled and said, “Oh, I might not
be here,” and I, of course, said, “Of course you will.” And he
isn’t and he is. Right? [Editor’s Note: Jim Houghton passed
away on August 2, 2016, three days prior to this interview.]
But I wanted him to choose, and again I wanted to stop talking
and listen to what he wanted. Because I thought, “I can’t
(opposite) S. Epatha Merkerson and Daphne Rubin-Vega in Fucking A at The Public Theater, 2003. (top) Charlayne Woodard in In the Blood at The Public Theater, 1999.
(above) Don Cheadle and Jeffrey Wright in Topdog/Underdog at The Public Theater, 2001.
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