A while back, I conducted a “fearless and searching moral inventory” of the gender parity (or lack thereof) in my own work. If you’d like to know the reasons why, I suggest you read that post, but it boils down to one thing: I want to be part of the solution, not part of the problem, and if I don’t take a good hard look at myself and the work I make, who will? I have to hold myself accountable.
It’s on that note that I’ve decided to do a similar assessment of the racial parity in my work. I have to admit up front that the results here are dismal on some fronts. I used the same three questions inspired in the original post by my friend Liz Maestri. The answers to those questions are clear. I have work to do.
A quick reminder: I assessed the most recent (and forthcoming) twelve plays I’ve written, including two that have yet to be produced.
From whose perspective is the story told?
Of the twelve plays in question, six are written from a clearly white perspective; white people constitute most of the main characters and are the predominant (if not only) voices in the story. Another five are ensemble pieces written from multiple points of view, including not only white and African America perspectives, but also Arab American voices. I have only one play written from what I consider to be an African American perspective.
Naturally, the first question that will come up is whether, as a white person, I’m even qualified to write from anything but a white perspective. It’s an important question, and one that I don’t want to dismiss, but I’m not interested in asking it here: I’ve asked it for myself, quite a bit, and my own answer (for me) is yes.
In any event, this the one question of the three I’ve asked where I’m satisfied with my answer.
Who directed the first production?
The answer here is abysmal: zero. I’ve never once worked with a director who wasn’t white, not in any of the nine first productions I’ve had. The closest I’ve come: the first reading of one of the three plays I haven’t had produced was directed by an African American woman. I’ve only even worked with one non-white dramaturg. Ugh. I’m mortified by this, and I plan to address it, by hook or by crook.
Finally, what is the racial breakdown of the characters I’ve written?
Here are the numbers: 49 white characters, 7 African American characters, and 3 Arab American characters. (Several of the characters I’ve listed as “white” could very well be portrayed by actors of color… but I wanted to be honest and indicate what races I held in my head as I was writing. Still, if a director wanted to cast some of those roles differently, I’d be very much open to the possibilities.)
I suppose I’ve “done okay” here… but I’m also concerned that if I don’t push myself, if I don’t take responsibility for creating opportunity for others, I won’t be doing as much as I can.
Okay: that’s all for this year, but I plan to check back in on this subject annually, to see whether I’ve made any progress. I hope like hell I have.
Again, Gwydion leads the charge in honest self-assessment. I gotta go do some math. Might also look at rural/urban and LGBT. Â
Those are two EXCELLENT lenses, and I might actually do them, too. Thanks for the positive feedback, and for the inspiration!
Gwydion, as an actress of color, I want to thank you for taking the brave look and considering this topic at all. With that, I question listing characters as white when they could potentially be played by actors of color. When I see such casting notices, I often don’t bother to apply. However, if I see a character that says “Any” race, I typically think the creative team is open to casting actors of a specific type vs. limiting their view to certain races. It has always bothered me a bit when plays specify a character as a certain race if the play doesn’t directly deal with race or racial stereotypes, because otherwise what purpose does it serve? Surely even those archetypal character traits we associate with certain types can be found across races, no? I do think it is something playwrights will need to address, with or without their directors help. Asking questions like: Could this character be played by a talented actor of any race, specific to the type I have in mind? Is my writing trying to get at something specific to the race of my characters? Is race spoken or unspoken in my play, and why or why not?
Again, thank you for this courageous self-examination. I hope to God other playwrights will follow you.
You know, you’ve made an excellent point here. (And thank you both for the positive feedback and for weighing in!)
In listing the characters that could potentially be played by actors of color as white in the blog post above, I am trying to be honest about what was in my imagination as I wrote, not how I think the roles MUST be cast. And in the scripts themselves, I make NO indication that a character must be a member of a certain race unless that character really need to be a member of a certain race for the story to work. (In a few cases, I even leave gender open for discussion, too.) So I think that honors your suggestion… but if not, I’d like to know more.
The rest of your questions are so very difficult and important to ask, and I thank you for asking them.
This is only a start. I will, I hope, continue to reflect and grow.
Good on ya, hubs.
I continue to write roles without specifying the race or ethnicity of the characters (the one exception being A MAN OF HIS WORD because a physical description of each (white) character is spoken aloud, which I plan on changing whenever I next return to that script). Then I either insert a note saying, essentially, “Please cast some actors who aren’t white,” or tell this in person to the director. I prefer to work this way because I love staying as open as possible when casting, while still being able to employ some fabulously talented actors of color.
Of the 3 New York incarnations of Genderf*ck (a reading and 2 productions), the # of actors of color in the cast have been 4, 3, and 5, respectively (out of 9 roles). In the 2 Ampersand workshops, we had 2 actors of color the first time and 3 the second time (out of 10-11 roles).
My short plays have a worse track record: mostly all-white casts. Out of 5 plays and 17 actors, only one of those actors wasn’t white. Short plays are also, incidentally, where I have had less control over casting–often because those casts are put together without an audition process.
I’ve only worked with one non-white director. Gotta get on that.
Thanks, as always, for the conversation. 🙂
xo
M
Thanks, wifey! (What do people who don’t follow us on Twitter think when we call each other that? What would they think if they knew we call four other people by the same pet names? Maybt it would entice them to join Twitter…)
In any event, you’re welcome for the conversation. And it seems like you’ve been very forward-thinking on this front, which does not surprise me one whit.
Should we form a group of playwrights looking for non-white directors to work with? Only half-kidding.
xo
G
I don’t think that group would be such a terrible idea, either.
I also think our twigamous arrangement is probably good PR for twitter. Why are they not paying us?
Why indeed!