Tips for on Allyship for Transgender & Gender Non-Conforming Theatre Artists

I’ve been fielding requests this week from cisgender theatre allies asking how best to support transgender and gender non-conforming theatre artists. Much of this discussion is coming out of the horrific decision to cast cisgender actress Scarlett Johansson in the role of a transgender man named Dante “Tex” Gill.
(Great summary here by Meredith Talusan: https://www.them.us/story/why-scarlett-johansson-or-any-cis-actor-should-never-play-trans-roles.)
Many of the conversations online have gotten heated–some cisgender actors have tried unsuccessfully to use the logic that acting is about putting on the role of another–gender shouldn’t be a pre-requisite. Um. NOPE. No no no no no. Please don’t use this reasoning. In the words of Nico Case:

“Dear fellow cis people:

Please stop explaining to transgender people who are upset about Scarlett Johansson being cast as a trans man what ‘acting’ is, as if they’ve never heard of the concept before. They get it. LGBTQ folks are forced to pretend to be people we are not for years—and even decades—before announcing to the world who we are. Many queer and trans people continue to be forced to put on personas or conceal portions of ourselves to escape violence and discrimination every day—to keep jobs, homes, families, friends, and even sadly our lives.

So please—for the love of Stella Adler—save that speech. The people leading this discussion know more about acting than you ever will.”
Here is a list of actions that I’d recommend for allies in the theatre industry who want to support trans & gnc theatre artists. I will frame this list by saying that I am a white, non-binary and genderqueer actor, director and producer who was assigned female at birth and these suggestions come either from my personal experience. I have a BA in Theatre/Dance, an MFA in Contemporary Performance and will be starting my PhD in Theatre and Performance Studies in the fall. I am also the founder of The Non-Binary Monologues Project.

This list is by no means comprehensive and my overarching piece of advice is to read pieces written by folx in the trans community, include them in discussions where decisions get made and actively listen and make steps towards the changes they recommend.

 

1) Challenge conversations where casting professionals/directors say things like, “I’d love to find a trans actor for this role, but I can’t find one/the ones I do know don’t have enough training.”

Trans & GNC performers are actively looking for work, and often it’s a matter of getting the right connector/networking piece in place so we know that we’re invited to the party. If folx are having a hard time plugging into this network, I invite them to reach out to me at nonbinarymonologues@gmail.com and I’m happy to post to a private resource that reaches nearly 500 trans & GNC actors across the country.

Personally, I think it is unacceptable to cast a cisgender actor in a trans role (most, if not all trans & GNC actors that I’ve spoken to feel this way as well.) Ryan Cassata eloquently breaks down the reasons why in this piece: https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/trans-actors-for-trans-characters_us_59beb399e4b0390a1564deac.

You will not win this argument, please don’t try to engage us in the “well, straight actors can play gay roles, shouldn’t everybody get a chance to try to portray the range of humanity?” Nope. Not in this case. Not even a little bit. No. No. No. No. And, it expends a lot of emotional labor on the part of trans & GNC artists trying to explain it to you, trying to prove to you that we exist and that we should tell our stories. LISTEN TO US, PLEASE.

The more you’re able to invite trans & GNC artists to be in positions of power, the more you will be connected to trans & GNC talent.

If you’re connected to educational/training programs: what are you doing to actively recruit trans & GNC actors? Are you allowing all of your students to audition for roles that align with their gender? (This can piggyback off of your “are there specific roles you’re interested in?” Adding a “Are there specific genders that you are or are not willing to play?”)

Also, allow for the possibility that your team simply isn’t looking hard enough or in the right places. In the interviews I conducted for my MFA thesis, one of the best points raised on this front was from casting professional Ada Karamanyan. Quite simply, she posed the question “Are you going to the places where transgender and gender non-conforming artists perform?” Actively look for these opportunities to see these performers in their element, which may be at fringe festivals, drag shows and nontraditional venues.
2) Challenge the notion that all roles that are not specifically described as trans are by default cisgender roles.

Many trans & GNC actors I know (myself included!) are hungry to be cast in roles that do not center on their gender.

Also, get rid of the rhetoric of “Yes, trans actors should play trans roles, but I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with them playing cis characters.” It’s transphobic. It’s cissexism. Let us show you what we can do and make your decisions off of our audition before shutting the door in our face before we even get in the room.

Real-world example of casting a trans or GNC actor in a cisgender role: I was recently cast in a devised Nirvana/Hamlet mash-up titled Nirvamlet. The casting process was such that we worked in the room devising for 3-4 weeks before casting was finalized. I reached out to the director and told her that while I’m open to playing characters of all genders, I prefer to play male roles. She took that into consideration, and I was cast as Laertes. We’re not making a commentary on the role of Laertes by this casting–I, (a non-binary actor assigned female at birth) will be playing a cisgender male character. And I am so excited!

We have to open our casting decisions as an industry to expand our representations of humanity on the stage. We cannot and should not limit our understanding of the gender of actors to the designation that was made on their birth certificates or what we assume someone’s gender is by looking at their headshot.

 

3) Add your pronouns to your resume and include them when you slate at auditions.
 
If you don’t see a line for pronouns on an audition form, ask folx to consider adding that line in subsequent audition forms. If all folx in the cast are comfortable, it’s great to add them to the contact sheet or call sheet as well.

Bonus points if you add your pronouns to your email signature and to your social media profile. The more cis folx that include their pronouns as often as they include their names helps to make others think of the world in this way.

 

4) When you see audition calls, do they use language like “actors of all genders are encouraged to submit”?

(Also, race, ethnicity and ability!) If not, ask why not.

 

5) Group intros.

I’ll be honest–this is tricky and folx have different opinions. This is my opinion–I love it (especially when pronouns are an option on an audition form) if the director or facilitator of a callback or first rehearsal leads by example and says something along the lines of “I’m X, my pronouns are X, X, and X. Let’s around the circle and say our names and there’s an invitation to share your pronouns as well.”

I know of friends who are only comfortable sharing pronouns if they know that it’s a supportive room, friends who are afraid of being outed by being forced to share their pronouns and also have friends who prefer not to share their pronouns publicly because they prefer whichever pronouns people choose when they see them.

For me, I prefer to have pronouns shared in introductions, because I am afraid of getting misgendered if I don’t. It also helps to reinforce the notion that you can’t accurately ascertain someone’s gender just by looking at them.

If you do invite folx to offer pronouns during introductions, I’d encourage you to frame it like this:

“Hi, I’m Woodzick, and my pronouns are they, them and theirs. Let’s go around the circle and say our names, and there’s an invitation for pronouns as well–the purpose of sharing pronouns for those who choose to do so is to address each other with respect. Also, let’s add a fun fact related to this show. Put your ‘bits’ in the in the fun fact section. If you do a bit in the pronoun section, it’s disrespectful.”

(Shout out to Allison Page, the Artistic Director of Killing My Lobster for her advice in framing intros.)

If you have a trans or GNC actor in your cast, the best piece of advice I can give is for you to reach out to them privately and ask them how they like introductions to be handled.

And never out a trans person without their explicit permission. Realize that their comfort with being open about their gender and/or pronouns may change depending on the space/group of humans. (For example, personally–I NEED to have other folx in the rehearsal room know my pronouns in order to feel safe and do my best work theatrically. However, if I’m going to a bar with cast mates after a rehearsal, I may not feel safe disclosing my gender or pronouns for fear of someone creating a public altercation.)
6) Educate yourself on the differences between drag and being trans and/or GNC.

Doing drag and being trans are NOT THE SAME THING. Separate these two things very distinctly in your mind. Yes, there are many trans and GNC folx who have found drag a meaningful and important exploration in realizing their gender more fully. As a cis person, you don’t get to decide what counts for drag and what counts as being trans or GNC. Don’t police this in others.
7) Listen. Listen, listen, listen. 

Yes, we want to build environments as creators where everyone can make mistakes and fail beautifully. But we also need to prioritize making marginalized populations feel safe and valued in these creative spaces as well. If someone corrects you on pronouns, take the note gracefully, apologize, and move on. If you aren’t well-versed in trans identities, educate yourself (here’s a good place to start.) Be willing to de-center your discomfort in the moment to make yourself a stronger ally. Be willing to use your privilege to make the lives of those around you safer and better.
PS:

I want to leave you with some hope. There are people out there who get it right. This last weekend, I had the honor of directing a world-premiere reading as Curious Theatre Company as part of the 2018 National Collective Festival.

My piece was titled In Transit, and it was written by a trans playwright (Holden Thomas–remember the name!), and was authentically cast with a trans actor in a trans role. It was a thoughtfully written, poignant piece. By having three trans artists in the room, we were able to achieve shorthand of our collective experiences of moving through the world that allowed us to go deeper and elevate the piece emotionally in a way that I doubt would have happened with a cis director or actor.

Simply put: we deserve to tell our own stories.

 

Here’s our crew:

 

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My Great-Aunt Helen’s Flag

My Great-Aunt Helen was a pistol. That’s the best way to describe her. She was a transport sergeant in the Marines, and when I attended her funeral six years ago, the priest told the congregation that it was the first time he had performed military honors for a woman.

Helen grew up as part of a large Polish Catholic family in northern Wisconsin. She had two husbands, both of whom were named Wally. She met her second husband while singing the national anthem at a snowshoe softball game in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, which also happens to be the home of the Hodag. (A Hodag is what you’d get if you mixed a jackalope with a Game of Thrones dragon, BTW.)

When it became clear that acting and singing weren’t going to just be a hobby for me, the nearest heredity influence my family could identify was Helen. She paid for my braces, and she helped to finance my undergraduate education as well.

I met Helen only a half a dozen times in my life. My favorite memory is visiting her at the nursing home, playing Christmas carols on the piano and singing with her to the other residents.

Let it be known that Helen never really cared for that nursing home, and planned an escape the following Easter. She knew which exit wouldn’t be heavily watched during the festivities and hightailed it out of there with her walker. State troopers picked her up just as she was about to get to the county highway.

My parents help to take care of Helen in her final years. While she was still at her home, a bear walked through her house and ransacked her many bird feeders. My father named him Roberto, and sent her postcards penned by that mischievous bear for several months.

When Helen passed, I asked my parents if they would pay for a plane ticket for me to make the trek from Seattle to northern Wisconsin and back. They seemed surprised, but enthusiastically said yes. I asked if I could sing Amazing Grace at the service. They phoned back a couple days later saying not only could I sing the song, but would I also consider giving the eulogy. I cracked a joke saying “Well, of course—what else is a theatre major good for?”

After the service, we went to the cemetery where Helen’s several siblings were buried. A 21-gun salute honored her service, and my father shared that he and his sister, Jean, would often walk the cemetery as kids and pick up the bullet casings from these salutes. A folded flag was also offered to our family, and when no one else indicated interest, I said that I would like to take it home.

Fast forward to the present day, when Meridith Grundei, who is directing the second year MFA Theatre: Contemporary Performance ensemble in Under Construction, by Charles Mee, asks the cast if anyone has an American flag. I make an offering of Helen’s memorial.

The first day we rehearsed the closing moments of the play with Helen’s flag, I had a hard time holding back tears. I would like to think that Helen is watching me rehearse from the great beyond. It heartens me to know that her flag and her legacy live on.

The MFA Theatre: Contemporary Performance program brings things into focus for its students. I’ve learned so much about the theatre artist I want to become and the work I want to share with the world. Helen is a part of that tapestry.

At home, I have a binder filled with letters that Helen wrote during World War II. My mother wants me to use them to write a play about her. Someday, when I’m ready.

Under Construction runs 9/29-10/8 at Naropa’s Nalanda Campus. More info & tickets here.

Stepping Behind the Scenes of The 39 Steps*

Tags

acting, comedy, Hitchcock, The 39 Steps, Theater, Theatre, Whidbey, Whidbey Island, Whidbey Island Center for the Arts

As many of you know, I’ve been working on The 39 Steps. Playing Clown #2 in this production has been one of the most rewarding acting experiences of my life. Seriously. 

The reason I’m able to transition so seamlessly between my nineteen characters is because of crew member Evan Ray. I jokingly refer to him as “my handler.” Honestly, there aren’t adjectives adequate enough to express how wonderful he is, but I’ll try: Evan is one of the sharpest, most intelligent humans I have ever met. His meticulous organizational skills are mind-bending, he is always at the ready with a bottle of water and a fan so that I don’t keel over and he has the magical ability to keep himself and me calm throughout the backstage frenzy. He is as much a part of building my characters as my acting craft. 

Please enjoy this post he’s written about his process behind the scenes.

-Katie

Guest post by Evan Ray:

*Can you find the Alfred Hitchcock references hidden in this essay?

“How far is Winnipeg from Montreal?,” Hannay exclaims from his box in the audience. As Mr. Memory sorts through his extensive intracranial filing cabinet, I head toward the stage right clothing hooks. That was my cue to prepare Katie’s next costume change, the second of over twenty (it’s hard to count!) that will occur throughout the show. There are many instances like this one in the backstage orchestration of The 39 Steps, components of our own behind the scenes blocking that has formed both consciously and unconsciously in rehearsal and run. The play requests a high degree of organization from its stage crew and we make it our goal to bring that to the table (wings and booth?) in return. In a review of paper tech at the start of tech weekend, our stage manager, Kathy Stanley, produced a prompt book that likely contained more lighting, sound, and backstage cues than actual dialogue. My own script is full of graphs and charts reminding me how to position costumes for the most efficient quick-changes and notes about finally remembering not to leave the loops on that one dress over the hanger.

In spite of all our planning, an equivalent amount of creative problem-solving and quick thinking is necessary in a play notorious for rapid-fire action. If an actor is exiting the stage with a torn curtain—or a chair in three pieces, as the case may be—it is the backstage crew’s job to figure out what to do about it in that moment, especially if the prop will be needed later in the performance. For me, this synthesis of careful coordination and quick improvisation is one of the things that makes being backstage for The 39 Steps both an intense and intensely rewarding and enjoyable experience.

The clock reads 6:01 as I enter the mainstage door. I make brief stops at the sign-in sheet and green room and then start on the pre-show checklist. This consists of making sure the right props are onstage for the top of the show and the correct footlight is in place and “where did those biscuits go?” and the battery for the lamp is plugged in and “really, what happened to the shortbread?” and all of the money is in the right pockets and “seriously, who would have taken something from the prop table?!?.” Phew!

Compere jacket #2, British police cape, sideburns on a headband, three stuffed sheep—this is the eclectic inventory of items I pile onto my arm before heading to stage left to do final checks on the coat hooks and prop tables. “Fifteen to places.” We look over the stage one last time. Everyone makes sure the lamp works, independently of one another. No wonder the battery goes so fast. “Ten to places.” Water bottles are filled. “Five to places.” Are the safety lights on? “Actors in places and….

Here we go!” During the performance, it stays as busy backstage as it was before the show. My notes to myself, verbatim, often look something like the following: “Assist change to milkman SR (stage right), then hightail it to SL (stage left) with trench coat and bring compere jacket #1, dropping off clown hat along the way. Make sure sunglasses are in right pocket. Prepare coat with cape, take milkman costume quietly from Tristan, and assist Katie’s change to salesman SL. Then get to dressing room pronto for Bristol’s change to Pamela.” Yes, indeed, there’s certainly plenty to do and the pedometer in my phone doesn’t rest often.

Collaboration is key; this is especially evident in the middle of the show. A play itself is a giant feat of collaboration and the backstage crew is a smaller collaboration within the larger. Sometimes one action will involve many members of the crew, such as the shadow screen plane scene in Act I. Other things fall into a natural sequence; after a while you begin to notice patterns, walking past the same person in the hallway carrying the same things after that one scene.

Once the intermission checklist has been completed (tea is poured, chairs are placed, rope on the banner is properly set, etc.), it’s time for Act II. “Actors in places!”  We sometimes refer to Act I as “the busy act” (it is, after all, the act where I run from “flying” a plane to trigger the fog machine and then immediately open the mid-traveler), but there are still many things to be done in the second half. Sheep must be herded positioned, flannel nightshirts must be wrestled with, and then there is what seems to and may be a matter of seconds to strike and reset the stage for the final scenes.

Curtains close, lights go up—it’s time to pre-set for the next show. This means lots of sweeping (if you’ve come to see The 39 Steps already, you’ll probably know why), tracking down errant opera glasses, or trying to attain some semblance of order in that one chaotic stash of costumes that always accrues on stage left. The post-show checklist is as important as the pre-show one, as this is the time where that one pair of sunglasses can be located before it has had time to disappear into the woodwork, seemingly of its own accord, and make you spend fifteen minutes looking for it the next day. That’s right sunglasses, you know who you are. After double-checking everything for a third time, we head out.

Kazoos, kilts, and knives—where else can you find such diversity of prop and costume? This medley is representative of the play itself, with a storyline that winds through territories from spellbinding thriller to screwball comedy to romance to a puddle on the dark Scottish moors. And now, when you catch one of the last three opportunities to attend this show (available at tickets.wicaonline.com or 360.221.8268!) and see all of the incredible onstage feats of acting, you can imagine the glorious frenzy occurring behind the scenes as well.

Emancipating Gender in Theatre

This was going to be an essay about trains.

When I was ten years old, I saw the Robert Preston and Shirley Jones version of The Music Man for the first time. I was enthralled. I would march around the backyard with a tree branch conducing 76 trombones. I would bellow “W-w-w-w-ell, you got Trouble my friends!”

This was well before my household had a personal computer or the internet, so I couldn’t look up the lyrics of songs. I wanted to memorize all of the different parts to Rock Island, which is spoken word piece that opens The Music Man. Several salesman are sitting on a train and talking about their products and the scourge Harold Hill who is giving all other salesman a bad name by swindling towns out of money. The lyrics, performed percussively, mimic the sounds of a train leaving the station, picking up speed and slowing down at the next stop.

I used the interlibrary loan system to the libretto from another branch. Once it arrived, I set up chairs in my living room, switching seats as I learned all of the different parts. I was a quick study, and learned the entire number by the end of the week.

I shared this story at a rehearsal for The 39 Steps earlier this week. The 39 Steps isn’t a musical—it’s a play based on the Hitchcock film. It’s written for four characters: the handsome leading man, his three love interests (all played by the same woman) and two clowns, who play over 100 roles, ranging from policemen, to spies to underwear salesman on a train. The two clowns are traditionally played by two men.

(I’m going to warn you right now, this essay it not going to be told in linear fashion. We are going to jump back and forward multiple times, and that’s ok. If I were telling you this story in person, there would likely be moments of me saying “Well, wait, we have to go back ten years…but then remember the thing I said five minutes ago? Let’s go back there, now!” I thank you in advance for your patience.)

The reason that this essay was going to be about trains is that while we were blocking the train scene, it reminded me of memorizing Rock Island when I was a kid. One of the other actors looked at me and said, “Now, that’s a blog post.” And I added it to my to-do list without much thought.

It’s New Year’s day as I write this and I’ve spent the last couple of hours thinking that this needs to be more than a piece about trains and salesman. It needs to be about how my relationship to performing gender both onstage and off has changed. So here we go.

As I said before, the roles of the two clowns in The 39 Steps are usually played by two men. I want to unpack why this wasn’t the case for this show, why that’s a good thing and express my sincere hope that modern theatre starts/continues considering/putting into practice gender neutral/gender queer casting on a wider scale.

I’m going to use my personal journey with gender expression and performance as a (mostly) linear through line to demonstrate how many twists and turns I’ve experienced. And by doing that, we’ll eventually get to why I was cast as a man in The 39 Steps. (I promise!)

Back to ten year old me. I displayed the attributes of a tomboy (for lack of a better word), using the definition of tomboy as “a girl who enjoys rough, noisy activities traditionally associated with boys.” My best friend and I played with sticks as swords and chased each other around the backyard. We played Power Rangers, astronauts and aliens and when we learned and sang song from Disney movies, we stayed away from the princess songs and opted for the funny sidekick’s songs or the villain’s songs.

I am reminded here of a line from Sarah Galvin’s fantastic essay, My Whole Life I’ve Been Asked If I’m a Girl or a Boy: “I became Captain Hook as a child because Captain Hook was powerful—he could do things I had no evidence little girls could.”

I remember my mother preparing me for a video audition for a summer repertory theatre and saying I should audition for both Mary in The Secret Garden and Winthrop in The Music Man. The suggestion confused me: I was a girl, but I could pretend to be a boy?

At another audition, I insisted on singing Mister Mistoffelees from Cats. The folks sitting behind the audition table looked perplexed.

I began to look at the musical theatre cannon with a beautiful lens where I could go far any part I wanted to, regardless of gender. I watched Little Shop of Horrors and decided to memorize the Dentist’s song.

And then the big 12 came around. The summer I turned twelve, I went through puberty. I shot up several inches and it changed the way I felt in my body and how directors saw my body and how it fit into their vision of casting. That summer, I wanted to be the villain in the musical of Aladdin, but I got cast as the villain’s sister.

Spring of 1998. Sleeping Beauty. This was when the shit really hit the fan.

For the first time, I was cast as a romantic lead. I played the serving woman of the princess, who in this particular fairy tale version ends up with the prince. It was uncomfortable. I was having a hard time adjusting to my newfound height and breasts and periods…I felt lost. I looked to the older high school girls and their actions to see if I could mimic them for survival.

One of the things I saw the older girls doing was kissing each other on each cheek to greet one another. So, I kissed one of my friends on her cheeks when she came to see the show. Another girl witnessed this and spread a rumor throughout our middle school that I was gay.

I grew up in the Midwest, and I’ll have to admit that at 12 years old, I didn’t have a good grasp of what “gay” meant. What I knew was that I was getting verbally and physically assaulted at school because kids thought I was gay. I don’t remember telling my mom and I don’t remember telling any teachers. I felt that I had done something wrong and now no one liked me. My middle school logic dictated that:

gay = finding girls attractive = getting bullied

SO

not gay = finding boys attractive = being left alone

I didn’t stop to ask myself if I actually did find girls attractive. I just wanted to feel safe at school.

Since my family didn’t have a lot of money, I wasn’t able to make a huge overhaul of my wardrobe. But I found myself making choices to perform my femininity as much as possible, having dramatic infatuations with boys that I made sure I told everyone about except the boy. These crushes never worked out. They weren’t meant to. I just wanted to display/show/perform/prove that I didn’t like girls, so-can-the-bullying-stop-now-please?

In high school, I did show choir and participated in the big annual musical. I played Mrs. Paroo in The Music Man, Ruth in Pirates of Penzance and Fantine in Les Miserables. In the summers, I participated in programing with The Young Shakespeare Players. YSP produced un-cut versions of Shakespeare’s works with ages 8-18. I got to play the Earl of Northumberland in Richard II, Duke Vincentio in Measure for Measure and Iago in Othello. The kids who participated in YSP were not from my high school. They came from more liberal areas of Madison and its suburbs and many were homeschooled. Performing male roles felt safe there. And many other young women were doing it as well.

College gave me the space to think and learn and start becoming more of an individual. I took a class on God and Gender and my world cracked open. I became fascinated with Judith Butler and Gender Performance theory. A central concept of the theory is that gender is constructed through one’s own repetitive performance of gender.

“…if gender is instituted through acts which are internally discontinuous, then the appearance of substance (last 3 words italicized) is precisely that, a constructed identity, a performative accomplishment which he mundane social audience, including the actors themselves, come to believe and to perform in the mode of belief. If the ground of gender identity is the stylized repetition of acts through time, and not a seemingly seamless identity, then the possibilities of gender transformation are to be found in the arbitrary relation between such acts, in the possibility of a different sort of repeating, in the breaking or subversive repetition of that style.” (Performative Acts and Gender Constitution An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory by Judith Butler.)

Learning about this theory didn’t necessarily change anything immediately about the way in which I performed my gender, but I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. There was freedom in discovering there was an aspect of choice when it came to gender.

For my senior project, I directed Christopher Durang’s Beyond Therapy. The title of the project was “Beyond Therapy: Beyond Social Constructions of Gender and Sexuality.” In the end, I was extremely proud of production and the conversations we had about gender theory in the rehearsal room (although I may have not been the most qualified person to lead those discussions.)

I moved to Whidbey Island the summer after I graduated college. I had just turned 22 and packed my life in my Toyota Camry, driving from Minnesota to Whidbey in two days. I became involved with the vibrant theatre community, and that’s where I met Deana Duncan.

Deana is the Programming and Production Director at Whidbey Island Center for the Arts. When I auditioned for Sweeney Todd in 2008, I had my eyes set on the role of Mrs. Lovett. As I came into the callback, she asked me “Would you be willing to audition for Pirelli?”

As actors, we’re trained to say yes whenever possible to directors. So I said yes to her without thinking. And I got the part.

If you’re not familiar with the musical, Pirelli is an Italian barber who Sweeney challenges to a shaving duel. It’s a male role. I cut my hair shorter, bound my chest with Ace Wrap and used makeup to make my features read as more masculine. It’s higher tenor role, so I was able to sing most of the score as written, only transposing the lowest of notes. I had a pair of bright orange pants custom-made by the costumer. The experience was incredibly freeing as a performer. I got to simultaneously disappear and yet feel more like myself than I ever had before onstage.

Before season auditions in August, Deana and I were sitting at our good friend Matthew’s wedding talking about The Addams Family. I really wanted the role of Wednesday, which was written as 18-30 in the script. I felt confident that I could sing and act the role as strongly as anyone who came to audition, but acknowledged that the director might want to go with a more petite Wednesday (more about my experiences being a plus-sized actress here). I also expressed interest in playing Gomez, saying, “I mean, Pirelli…Gomez…they’re kind of the same guy.” We both laughed.

I went on to say that I wanted to list on the audition form that I was interested in/had experience playing male roles, but didn’t know how that would sit with a director who didn’t know me. And Deana’s eyes lit up. “You know, the two clowns in The 39 Steps, they’re traditionally played by men, but they wouldn’t have to be.”

I smiled and nodded politely. When I got a callback for the clowns in The 39 Steps, I was surprised by how much fun I had in the callback, rapidly shifting between different male characters. And by the end of the callback, I really wanted to be one of the clowns. I wanted to be one of the clowns more than I wanted to be Wednesday in The Addams Family. By the time I got home, there was already a voicemail from Deana offering me the role.

Deana recently visited the Off-Broadway run of The 39 Steps and took a backstage tour. When she told the producer that she had cast a woman in one of the clown roles, he raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure you can do that?” He asked.

She replied that she checked with the licensing company that held the rights for the show and they had given her the go-ahead.

“I went with talent,” she explained.

I went with talent. I love those words. What wonderful words.

This is why I applaud this particular casting decision. Yes, it means I get to be a part of an amazing production. But what it also means is that she looked outside of what tradition casting was for this show—she expanded her vision of what the play was and chose actors who best served that vision, instead of locking herself into the way casting had traditionally been done for this show.

I’m delighted to be seeing more decisions like this one. The hit musical Hamilton tells the story of America’s Founding Fathers with a show-stopping group of multiracial actors. Creator and star Lin-Manuel Miranda was quoted recently as being open to having women play the leading roles:

“I’m totally open to women playing founding fathers once this goes into the world. I can’t wait to see kick-ass women Jeffersons and kickass women Hamiltons once this gets to schools.”

Gender blind casting is sometimes a necessity in education settings—they’re simply aren’t enough men or boys to play the male roles, so girls get cast in those roles. How fantastic if what was once a necessity became more of a casting convention.

This past summer, I saw an all-female cast of 1776 on the Seattle Musical Theatre stage. 1776 is one of my favorite musicals, but it’s a show that only has two roles for women. I was deeply moved by this production, because the story didn’t lose anything for making the choice of having an all-female cast. The highly-committed performances of all the actors elevated the musical to new a new artistic level for me.

At most auditions I’ve been to post-college, there have been at least twice as many (if not three times) female actresses auditioning than male actors. In the script itself, the ratio is often reversed: two male speaking roles for every one speaking role for women. In a 2012 study conducted by The Guardian, Charlotte Higgins found that “…there is a stubborn 2:1 male-to-female problem in English theatre, which runs from boards of directors through to actors.”

Groups like The Kilroys are making great strides to increase awareness of female and trans* playwrights and challenge theatres to create gender parity in the plays they choose for their seasons. But what if theatres started to make decisions like “Regardless of the season we pick, we commit to hiring the same amount of male and female actors.”

I want to see more female Hamlets. An all-female cast of The Importance of Being Earnest. If we continue to produce theatre by dead white men, I want to see more and more gender blind casting and what that casting does to the story. Does it uncover other themes? Does it challenge what the original author meant? Does it inspire audiences to see gender in a completely different way?

In my recent interview with theatre artist Ada Karamanyan, we discussed what it means for casting directors to have gender neutral or gender queer actors come into the audition room.

Ada responded: “To me, that’s just like putty in your hand from a casting perspective, if you have somebody come in and there’s a…not to put it in a box, but let’s say androgyny to it or a lack of a construct of ‘this is a very feminine person’ or ‘this a is a very masculine person’ but you have a blend..you could really do anything with it.”

I am heartened by local companies like Copious Love Productions who have added the following language to audition notices: “Copious Love STRONGLY encourages all ethnicities, actors of color, ages and gender identities to audition for any role that interests you!”

As a bisexual, genderqueer performer, I see audition notices like this and it makes my heart sing. I’m thirty years old, and I feel more like myself than I ever before. I am more comfortable in my own skin.

I saw my first Drag King show last weekend. It was fantastic and I can’t wait to get up on that same stage and perform. I want to start working my way through my new musical theatre bucket list as a performer. It includes Sweeney Todd, the Street Singer from ThreePenny Opera, Harold Hill, Pippin, Judas from Jesus Christ Superstar, the Dentist from Little Shop, and The American in Chess to name a few.

I woke up this morning to see that one of my favorite writers, Ijeoma Oluo, had posted this on Facebook: “Let’s emancipate gender this year.”

Reading her words lit the fire under my ass to write this essay. So let’s do it. Let’s emancipate gender in theatre.

A Rude Man

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Lights up.

Coffeeshop.

MIRA sits typing at her laptop.

STU enters. Scopes the place out, sees MIRA, walks over.

STU: Mind if I set here? (he starts to put his things down)

MIRA: Yes.

STU: Pardon?

MIRA: Yes, I do mind. There are plenty of other seats available and I like my space.

Miffed, STU sits at the table next to MIRA’s.

STU: (under his breath) Bitch.

MIRA: Say that again.

STU: Say what again?

MIRA: Say what you just said.

STU: Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

MIRA: You asked a question before, you asked “Mind if I sit here?” and I answered honestly. How does that make me a bitch?

STU: Calm down!

MIRA: You’re insulting me! I don’t have to be calm! I’m going to stand up for myself.

STU: Listen, honey–

MIRA: Try again. I’m not your honey. I’m no one’s honey.

STU: Wonder why…

MIRA: I suggest you go order your coffee and then sit and drink it on the other side of this coffeeshop.

STU: It’s a free country.

MIRA: That it is, sir. That it is.

She writes a sign and places it at his table. It reads “A RUDE MAN” and points to him.

He reads the sign and then crumples it up.

She makes a new one.

He rips it into pieces.

She makes a third sign.

He takes out a lighter and burns it, dropping it into the pitcher of water on the table.

She starts to make a fourth sign.

STU: Look, why don’t you just leave?

MIRA: I was here first.

STU: I’m just going to wreck whatever sign you make.

MIRA: You don’t get to take up as much space as you want wherever you want just because you’re a man. It’s not your right. You’re not entitled to anything. You need to be a decent person, just like everyone else. Girls are conditioned to be docile and I am fucking sick of it. And you have pushed me way too far today, buddy. So I will keep making these signs and putting them on your table until you walk the fuck away. Got it?

STU: Jesus. What the hell is your problem?!

He takes his stuff and goes.

MIRA takes a deep breath, returns to her laptop and types with determination.

End of play.

Booty

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Lights up.

GERTRUDE, a lady pirate, sits on a beach.

Many cases of liquor abound.

GERTRUDE: I’ve got my bottles–now I’m ready.

POLLY, a parrot, enters, obviously intoxicated.

POLLY: Why don’t pirates go to strip clubs?

GERTRUDE: Why?

POLLY: They already have all the booty!

She shakes her tail feathers and falls to the ground, laughing.

GERTRUDE: Polly, methinks you may have had too many libations.

POLLY: (Rolling on the ground while she speaks.) Polly wants a motherfucking cracker.

GERTRUDE: Get ahold of yourself, bird!

GERTRUDE slaps POLLY across the beak.

POLLY: Damnit, Gertrude, was that really necessary?

GERTRUDE: You need to sober up so we can make a plan.

POLLY: You’re still drinking.

GERTRUDE: I can hold my liquor in a more masterful manner than ye, can’t I?

POLLY: I really need some food. Wasn’t kidding about that cracker. How can it be that only liquor washed ashore in the wreck and no food? We’re going to drink ourselves to death. At least will be drunk and happy.

GERTRUDE: By my calculations, we’re somewheres in the Bahamas. When we’ve rested, we need to walk around the edge of the island, marking out our steps.

POLLY: None of that is going to do us any good without any FOOD.

GERTRUDE: Quiet, bird!

POLLY: I can’t believe I chose to fly to your raft. I should have flown to the Captain.

GERTRUDE: Oh, the Captain who steered us straight into the ear of that storm, eh?

POLLY: Nobody’s perfect.

GERTRUDE: Polly, I didn’t want to bring this up before, but I do have some food on me, and I’m willing to share until we find more on this island.

POLLY: Why didn’t you say so?! Give it to me!

GERTRUDE: Before you–I need to let you know that it’s bird.

POLLY: (in a sing-songy tone) Dirty bird, dirty bird, dirty bird! (beat) Damnit, sorry about that. It’s like a reflex or something. (beat) What kind of bird is it?

GERTRUDE: Turkey. So, a much bigger bird–I’m no ornithologist, but I think distantly related enough that it’s not too weird.

POLLY: Oh, come on! If I was offering you a bit of human, would it help if I said “This guy definitely was raised in a different part of the world, so no worries, this won’t be weird at all?!!?”

GERTRUDE: That’s different–

POLLY: Not to me!

GERTRUDE: Do you want it?

POLLY: No, I don’t want it, but I will eat it, because there’s nothing else to eat. I just need a little more alcohol to get through this moment.

She digs another bottle out of a case and opens it with her beak.

GERTRUDE: I’m sorry I don’t have any other food to offer ye.

POLLY: I understand. There’s no avoiding it. It just really bums me out.

GERTRUDE: Would it help to say grace first?

POLLY: No, I don’t think so. Just let me make a dent in this bottle and I’ll be ready.

Sound of wind rushing through the trees.

A coconut falls from a tree and hits GERTRUDE on the head. She falls over.

POLLY: Holy shit!

She regards the coconut. Cracks it open with an empty bottle. She hungrily eats the inside of the coconut.

POLLY: At least I don’t have to eat that bird! Gertrude, isn’t that great!?

GERTRUDE doesn’t answer.

POLLY hops over, listens for a heartbeat.

Unsuccessfully attempts CPR.

She shrugs.

POLLY: Well, I’d hate for all this meat to go to waste.

She collects wood in a pile and starts a fire.

Starts hunting for something sharp enough to cut flesh.

POLLY: (Sing-songy) Polly needs a knife! Polly needs a knife! (beat) I know I saw one earlier, where was it?

End of play.

 

Small Talk

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Lights up.

Sidewalk cafe.

Accordion music plays.

A and B sit across from each other at a table.

They are both dressed all in black.

A: I am a woman, you will love me in the end, like everyone else.

B: It’s not you, it’s me.

A: When you grind your teeth in your sleep at night, it keeps me awake. But I never say anything. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.

B: I can never be myself around you.

A: I lied about liking Frasier. I think it’s a boring show.

B: I hate your mother.

A: I’m seeking someone else.

B: I’m sleeping with your brother.

A: Sometimes, I think about throwing all of your clothes off of the top of a skyscraper. One by one.

B: I know the password and check your email daily.

A: The more emotionally unavailable you are, the more I love you.

B: You can never decide what to order on a menu.

A: Steak frites.

B: Wine?

A: Obviously. Cabernet Sauvignon. One with a pretty label.

B Nods. Their food and beverages fly down to them on wires. They eat and drink throughout.

A: I hate the way you cook steak. You always overcook it. You’re afraid of leaving any trace of pink.

B: Sometimes I smell perfume that isn’t yours on your shirt collar.

A: I dream of all the ways to break up with you, but find none of them satisfying.

B: You have two gym memberships and never exercise.

A: Once I thought of putting arsenic in your morning coffee.

B: Wear the peach satin nightgown. It’s my favorite.

A: Where should we go on vacation this year?

B: I keep wondering if I should propose.

A: My friends say you don’t deserve me.

B: Which movie should we go see?

A: You cannot make me watch Game of Thrones!

B: I rearrange your medicine bottles to keep you on edge.

A: I am a woman, you will love me in the end, like everyone else. (beat, looking directly at B, grabbing their hand) We’re going to be late for the movie. We should go. (She signals for the check. It flies down. She puts cash on the table.)

B: Thanks for dinner. I’ll get the movie.

They get up.

They hold hands and exit.

End of play.

Warrior vs Wizard

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Lights up.

A female WARRIOR enters in full body armor. The ends of her hair are scorched. Her shield has burn marks on it.

She takes her helmet off, and tries to examine her hair.

A female WIZARD enters.

WARRIOR: You should have let me cut my hair off. What was I saying, just yesterday, “The next time I fight a dragon, my hair is going to get burnt–”

WIZARD: If we win this war, you’re going to be queen of this country. You’ll want the long hair, no matter how much it is damaged.

WARRIOR: I don’t want to be queen anymore. I was thinking about it, and if we win on account of me slaying all these dragons, I really should be king and not queen, because I’m the only one strong and crafty enough to kill these motherfuckers and I would really like to keep being in charge of stuff and kill things instead of pretending to like needlepoint and learn which spoon to use with which dessert.

WIZARD: That would be unprecedented. Kings have always been men. We’ll find you a suitable husband–

WARRIOR: That’s the thing, though–you are not going to find anyone that’s suitable. I’m the biggest bad-ass around. I do not want to settle down and start pooping out babies, no thank you. My mother DIED in childbirth and I am not going down that road.

WIZARD: But your bloodline–it needs to be passed down–

WARRIOR: I’ve been thinking about that too, and instead of me having my babies, I figure we use your magic to put my fertilized baby eggs into a young, healthy wench. Have her be the incubator or whatnot.

WIZARD: My liege, that would be unnatural.

WARRIOR: Wizard, I have just sliced my way out of a dragon’s stomach, slayed the beast for our mutual protection. I slay dragons for a living, but transporting my eggs to someone else’s stomach is unnatural? You are a piece of work, you know that?

WIZARD: Your highness, you must understand, there is a certain way things have to be done, a natural order, or we’ll displease the spiritual forces at work. You must find a husband, make heirs–

WARRIOR: I think I’m an atheist. I don’t think there’s a God. So, I don’t have to follow the natural order to please some invisible man in the sky. I have reckoned with dragons and am not afraid of the spiritual forces you believe to be at work. If you force me to marry, I will kill my husband in our marital bed and will continue to follow this pattern until all the men in the kingdom are afraid to marry me. That should fix that. So, yeah. I’m planning on being king.

WIZARD: Well, you leave me no choice, but to–

She raises her wand. The WARRIOR produces her sword and there are some cool sound effects as they have a quasi-lightsabre battle during the following.

WIZARD: What foul magic is this?

WARRIOR: I was worried that this might happen. So I’ve been brushing up on the dark arts in case you tried to turn on me.

WIZARD: How did you learn so quickly, your control, it’s incredible.

WARRIOR: Can it.

The WARRIOR eventually gets the upper hand and flings the WIZARD offstage.

WARRIOR: Good riddance!

She takes off the rest of her armor, revealing bruises and scars.

She rifles through drawers until she finds a pair of scissors. She cuts her hair off, slowly at first and then with more confidence and abandon.

She wets her hands at a sink and slicks her hair back.

She looks at herself in the reflection of her sword.

WARRIOR: It’s good to be the king.

 

FML

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Lights up.

GEORGIE sits in a white bean bag chair on a white shag carpet.

She finds the chair uncomfortable and it takes her a while to settle into it.

She is wearing a flattering cocktail dress.

There is a white fluffy box next to her, filled with airline-sized mini alcohol bottles with white labels, filled with vodka.

She opens one and takes the shot. Throws the empty bottle over her shoulder.

She opens a second bottle and takes the shot. Throws the empty bottle over her shoulder.

GEORGIE: The thing they don’t tell you about depression is that it sneaks up on you. In the moments that you’re really happy and almost convinced that everything is going to work out, depression waits for those moments and as soon as you start to come down from the happiness, it knocks you on your ass and whispers shit like “You are never going to be good enough. You will die alone. All of your friends actually hate you–they just tolerate you in real life.” And it goes on and on and on.

You want to stay in bed forever. You wrap your comforter around you like a cocoon and hope that no one will notice that you start cancelling all your plans. That no one will notice you withdrawing. That no one will ask “How are you, really?” You hoard snacks under the covers so you don’t have to get up to go to the kitchen.

You spend most of the day sleeping and you never feel rested. Darkness and numbness start to feel like the same sensation. You cease to be human and become a vibration.

She opens another bottle, sips this one more slowly and during the following.

I remember being four years old and realizing I was going to die someday. My mother and I were stringing Kix and Cheerios on floss to use as garland to wrap around our Christmas tree. We were living in a motel. I pricked my finger and started to bleed. And I wondered what would happen if I just kept bleeding, if the blood started to cascade out of me until there was no more blood left inside my body. And I started crying. My mother picked me up and I asked her “Mama, am I going to die?” And she said, “Yes, sweetheart, but hopefully not for a very long time.”

She throws the bottle.  

Hopefully. Hopefully. She shouldn’t have said hopefully. That’s what made it odd, “hopefully.” Most parents would said “You’re going to die, but not for a very long time.” She added the hopefully so she wasn’t lying to me.

I can’t remember how I did it. How I killed myself. It’s the strangest thing. I remember being depressed, and wanting to end it all and hoping that I did it right the first time because I would be mortified if I didn’t and I woke up in a hospital and someone called it “a cry for help.”

But I can’t remember how I did it.

I remember dying. It was like being sucked through a cosmic vacuum. It wasn’t unpleasant. Like going up a water slide backwards.

I didn’t want it to be messy.

What did I end up picking?

She looks around.

I guess this is heaven. Or limbo? Purgatory?

I didn’t think there was going to be anything after…

I thought I was going to cease to exist.

At least there’s booze.

She opens another bottle.

VERONICA enters, retrieves the discarded bottles and replaces them with new ones.

She adjusts GEORGIE’s posture in the bean bag chair.

She exits.

GEORGIE: Excuse me?

Never ending vodka and a serving woman who cares about your posture. At least it isn’t Hell. Right?

She looks around again.

A dull rumbling gets louder until it’s almost deafening.

GEORGIE grabs her head in pain.

GEORGIE: I remember how I did it! But, that means–oh, shit! I’m not quite dead yet, am I?

She peels back the shag rug to reveal a screen where she can see herself in a hospital bed.

GEORGIE: Fuck my life.

 

Lights out.

Sunglasses and Sweater Vests

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Lights up.

Megan 1 and Megan 2 are sitting at a table.

They are wearing sweater vests with matching bow-ties, sunglasses and upside down colanders on their heads.

A mysterious metal device sits between them on the table.

MEGAN 1: Why isn’t it working?

MEGAN 2: What happened to the directions?

MEGAN 1: You ate them.

MEGAN 2: Oh, right. I was hungry.

MEGAN 1: Are all the wires in the right places?

MEGAN 2: Looks like it.

MEGAN 1: What’s missing?

MEGAN 2: Did you remember to turn the oven off before we left?

MEGAN 1: What?

MEGAN 2: I was baking croissants this morning, and the recipe called for so much butter and the butter made the pan sizzle and there was black smoke, but you were still asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. So I wanted to make sure the oven was turned off before we left. (beat) Oh, wait. (beat) Yes, now I remember. I turned it off myself.

MEGAN 1: Glad that’s settled. (beat) How were the croissants?

MEGAN 2: Badly burned, but still somewhat edible. I’m not one for baking. I can follow a recipe, but have no inclination to improvise in the kitchen.

MEGAN 1: We need to improvise now.

MEGAN 2: Indeed.

MEGAN 1: But if you ate the burn croissants, why did you also eat the directions?

MEGAN 2: I have a high metabolism, I guess.

MEGAN 1: Apparently.

MEGAN 2: If we make this adjustment and then switch the flow of the current–

She fiddles.

MEGAN 1 takes the device away from her.

MEGAN 2 takes the device back.

They both work on the device at the same time.

MEGAN 1: This is going to take a while.

MEGAN 2: We could start over.

MEGAN 1: But we’ve come so far.

MEGAN 2: Sometimes you have to re-invent the wheel.

MEGAN 1: Back to the drawing board?

MEGAN 2 nods.

They both take out tiny hammers and start smashing the device.

Once it’s a pulverized mound, they use their fingers to take pinches of the mount and transfer them to their pants pockets.

MEGAN 1: That’s all we can do for now.

MEGAN 2: Productive day, I’d say.

MEGAN 1: I agree.

MEGAN 2: Where should we go for dinner?

MEGAN 1: Are you hungry again?

MEGAN 2: I’m always hungry.

(End of play.)