As a playwright who focuses on giving space and voice to marginalized communities, one of the most challenging, though intriguing, parts of my job is to also write for characters whom I fundamentally, as a human being, disagree with.
If everything is in transition, then isn’t nothing really in transition?
We all know it has been a challenge coming back after the pandemic—not because the artists aren’t eager and just as creative—if not more so—but because there have been seismic shifts around all of us.
At no point in my early theater life did I dream of being a producer, but once I finally accepted in my 20s that that would be my professional identity (after MUCH grieving at the knowledge that this would mean my writing/acting/directing self would be put to sleep indefinitely), I set my sights at climbing the theatrical artistic leadership ladder. Like many, many others: I wanted to become an artistic director.
She wears a short black dress; one black high-heel is on (dangling from her foot) and the other lies on the floor just a few feet away from the audience. Are we meant to consume her? Is this some kind of funeral viewing? She stirs. Is she coming back from the dead or just waking from a bad dream? I feel excited and a little scared.
In Fat Ham, playwright James Ijames and his characters dream bigger than Shakespeare, bigger than the new play’s contemporary backyard barbecue setting and consequent societal expectations in order to introduce to us a new way of thinking and being for the future of theater.
Inside [Julia] Izumi’s magic act, her tricks become the place of cultural invention. Through farce, Izumi teaches audiences new ways to grieve, new ways to resist categorization, and the oversimplification of a personal origin story.
The following reflections are from three women close to the playwright, all of whom met Stout in different stages of life (elementary childhood, college, etc.). Here, they offer reflections on the work in context with the woman who wrote it.
I used to love introducing myself to people. I loved it because they inevitably asked what I did, and I gleefully got to tell them that I worked in theater.
In May 2020, I got a cold email from an Off-Broadway theater. It was an offer to assistant direct a new play that I was really excited about. The play was scheduled to go up in October 2020 — which, at the time, was when the optimists among us expected things in the theater industry to get better. I jumped on board, participating in a flurry of conceptual discussions and design meetings. As hard as the summer of 2020 was, at least I had something to look forward to.
