Quick Q&A: Colman Domingo

I talked with Colman Domingo, whose heartfelt and evocative autobiographical solo show A Boy And His Soul is now in previews at the Vineyard.

Did you have any fear about writing and portraying members of your family?

I didn’t. That’s always been my writing style – to write honestly and not to judge, and let the characters speak for themselves. Any stories that were close to my family – like about cousin Siferdean – I asked everyone if it was okay. They gave me liberty to express how I perceived them. We all trust and love each other very much; they knew I was writing out of love and wanting to honor them and the conflicts in the house as we moved through different stages in our lives. The play is 95% true and maybe 5% dramatic license. They trusted me to do the right thing.

Do you feel there are any recording artists today who are holding up the legacy of the great ’70’s R&B you celebrate in the play?

I think there are. I listen to a lot of British artists who’ve picked up the reigns with our R&B music. Amy Winehouse has her issues but her music is phenomenal and I see her as a descendant. Jill Scott, Corinne Bailey Rae. Jazzanova have an album out now that I listen to. You can actually hear instruments, it’s not all samples and beats and shit like that. They’re few and far between but there are people carrying on the tradition.

When and how did you first fall in love with theatre?

I would say when I was about 13. I grew up in an all-black neighborhood in Philadelphia. There was a summer program with actor training where I met this woman named Pat who had he most beautiful way of speaking – this is comng from someone who used to have a lisp. I learned the power of words and the effectiveness of speech from her. We had theatre games and then we had a performance, 1001 Arabian Nights. I felt an electricity. I loved being in a dark space and using our imaginations to become these fantastic things. It took me outside of the microcosm of Philadelphia and let me see the world in more expansive tones.

photo: Carol Rosegg

Does acting bring you away from, or closer to, yourself?

Oh, always much closer! When I teach and a student says “I just want to be someone somewhere else” I think that’s a very different perspective. I feel in this art form that you have to use everything you know; you have to go deeply into yourself to express someone else’s humanity.

Is it more, or less, difficult to play yourself on stage?

It’s not all of myself, it’s aspects. The reason I call myself by my nickname in the play, JJ, is to make it a character. It was my own little trick for myself. I guess subconsciously it is how I am able to do it as a piece of theatre and not have it be something life-shattering for me every performance.

I had some colleagues wonder why I’m going through this catharsis every night. I am in many ways but it’s not ultimately about my therapy or anything like that. It’s hopefully more abut you. To expose myself and my family and our trials and tribulations is hopefully something I am giving as a gift and it’s maybe a way for you to look at your life. It does touch my heart and open me up and keep me searching, but it’s a long conversation for an hour and a half between me and the audience. That conversation ends, and I go back to my life.

Since you also work as a director, why did you decide not to direct this show?

I’m a true collaborator – I want other perspectives. It’s been imperative to have Tony Kelly (the director) in the room. Actors need directors. In this situation, doing a solo show of my own story, there are times when people defer to me on decisions. It’s helped me to sometimes say “right now I’m just the actor in the room”.

Watching your show I was reminded how few stories there are about gay black males. While writing, were you aware of that also?

I was very aware and that’s one of the reasons I wanted to make sure that storyline was there. When I did an earlier version of the show in San Francisco there was a critic, a woman from a small paper in Northern California, who doubted the authenticity of my story. She said that because of what she knew from documentaries that it was hard for gay black men to come out to their families. Ok, that’s valid, but it’s also valid that there are other stories. Just because O’Neill wrote a few things doesn’t mean that his plays are how all Caucasian families in New England behave. Of course I emailed her a rebuttal – I can’t keep quiet about things like that, especially if I think someone is off-track and they have a voice in the community. She didn’t respond.

How do you feel about the fact that people still want to talk about Passing Strange?

I don’t mind that! It’s not like it’s my Jennifer Holliday Dreamgirls thing – I’m sure she is tired of talking about that! I’m so proud to have been a part of Passing Strange in every incarnation and I love what it represents in the world. Period. It keeps reaching with its hand forever open but we all felt that even back at Berkeley Rep; “how far is this gonna go?”. It’s beautiful that people still want to talk about it – I get stopped on the street at least once or twice a day by people who just want to express.

Let’s talk about you in Sunday’s New York Times!

That was nice, right? It kinda surprised me: I thought it was going to be a little profile but Celia, who wrote the article, sat in on rehearsal for three hours and talked to me for an hour after, a photographer took pictures, I went to the Times to do audio-visual stuff. I’m thinking “hmmm, they’re spending a lot of time” but I’m really innocent about things like that so it doesn’t dawn on me…until I’m sitting in Better Burger with a friend and there it is! Two different pages, three pictures. Honestly, I shed a tear. Sometimes this craft does give back when you’re not even looking for giveback.