‘I’m done with pretenders’: disabled actors on reclaiming Richard III | Theatre

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‘I felt really depressed – and tired,” says Mat Fraser of the news that Michelle Terry, the artistic director of Shakespeare’s Globe, will play Richard III this summer. Recent years have seen increased resistance to “cripping up”: non-disabled actors mimicking impairment on stage. The role of Richard is often now played by disabled actors, including Fraser, who starred in Barrie Rutter’s 2017 production of the play for Northern Broadsides and Hull Truck. “In 1997 I suggested to Equity that ‘crip face’ was like blacking-up, yet it’s been a constant since then – even now, even at the Globe,” says Fraser. “I will be personally boycotting the production if it goes ahead with this casting; I’m done with the pretenders.”

Disappointment at the announcement has been exacerbated by the Globe’s recent work to include more D/deaf and disabled actors. Francesca Mills played Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream in 2023. Deaf actor Nadia Nadarajah, who appeared in As You Like It and Hamlet in 2018, is due to star in a bilingual spoken English and British Sign Language production of Antony and Cleopatra this summer. Robert Softley Gale, artistic director of the disability-led theatre company Birds of Paradise, says that the venue “is doing great stuff in other ways. So this is going to become, you know, ‘the Globe are bad’ – and it’s not that simple. But it’s one step forward, two steps back. Why do that? Why not just do the one step forward?”

Richard III had a severe curvature of the spine thought to have been caused by scoliosis, and is widely recognised as Shakespeare’s only explicitly disabled protagonist. The character has been performed by a range of non-disabled actors, from Richard Burbage to Laurence Olivier to Mark Rylance. In the same year as Fraser, Kate Mulvany – whose spine is curved as a result of childhood chemotherapy – performed as a gender-swapped Richard with Bell Shakespeare in Sydney. Katy Sullivan, who uses prosthetic legs, is scheduled to do the same at Chicago’s Shakespeare theater in February. Tom Mothersdale who, like Richard himself, has scoliosis – “you get that for free,” he joked – played the king at Bristol Old Vic in 2019. And in 2022, Arthur Hughes made rather overdue history by becoming the first disabled actor to play the role for the Royal Shakespeare Company.

Joshua J Parker, an actor with a disability, is starring in experimental theatre company Messy Kind’s hour-long adaptation, The Life and Death of Richard III, at Barons Court theatre in London in February. “It is a play about disability,” Parker emphasises. “There is an air of authenticity within that part that cannot be learned. There’s an element of truth about how we live our lives, especially when it comes to acting. It’s living truthfully, in imaginary circumstances.”

Katy Sullivan will appear in Chicago Shakespeare theater’s Richard III this year. Photograph: Jeff Sciortino

Parker says the Globe has “never been a venue that’s followed trends. It’s always been something of a trendsetter. And it’s the first time, for me, that it feels almost like it’s taken the foot off the gas a little bit”. Tor Lighten, associate director of the fringe production, agrees: “People look to the Globe for how Shakespeare should be portrayed. They are the beacon. And you work so hard to try to put on fringe theatre: we can barely pay our actors, and we’re trying to be brave and put out groundbreaking storytelling. Casting like this takes away from that hard work.”

Richard III has a prominent place in the history of disability representation. As Katherine Schaap Williams explores in her book Unfixable Forms, Shakespeare’s character has typically been read as associating disability with evil, following the early modern belief that disability was a sign of corruption or divine punishment. He describes himself as “rudely stamped”, “Deformed, unfinished […] scarce half made up”, and explicitly connects his disabled identity with his villainy: since “I cannot prove a lover / I am determined to prove a villain.” Other characters abuse him as a “diffused infection of a man” and a “poisonous bunch-backed toad”.

The play poses an unsettling link between disability and immorality. Disabled actor Daniel Monks performed the title role in Teenage Dick, Mike Lew’s version of Shakespeare’s play, at the Donmar Warehouse in 2019. For Monks, the play’s direct depiction of social and internalised ableism means that any production needs to be led by theatre-makers with lived experience of disability to avoid falling into damaging stereotypes: “As a disabled person, I experience ableism daily. It’s a worthy, important topic to explore on our stages – but when it is it done without us, it feels like our oppression is being framed as merely entertainment.”

‘It’s a play about disability’ … actor Joshua J Parker, star of The Life and Death of Richard III. Photograph: Hugo Papiernik

The Globe released a social-media statement defending the casting, saying that although they “recognise the barriers to access in our industry […] and are working hard to address that”, they also believe that “all artists should have the right to play all parts in [these plays]”. Sam Brewer, a blind actor and co-founder of disability-led theatre company FlawBored, rejects this: “There’s this idea that everyone should be allowed to tell any story. Well, disabled people aren’t allowed to tell any story other than their own – and now you’ve taken this one away from us. So when a disabled character or a disabled story is taken away from us, it’s like, well, great, there’s one other thing that we don’t have – and we’re being further closed off from this industry. So the day when that becomes more equal, and the pendulum swings back to the middle, and everyone’s able to play every role – then, yes, go for your bloody life. But until then, sorry, no, it’s not OK.”

Stephen Bailey, who is neurodivergent and speaking in his role as artistic lead of disability-centric theatre company Vital Xposure, agrees: “If we are debating Richard III, we’re debating the bare minimum: this is the most obviously, textually disabled character. We’re stuck debating whether we can play the most iconic disabled character in the literary canon. That’s really tiring.”

Casting disabled actors opens up new opportunities for dramatically effective performance. Fraser points specifically to the advantage that actual impairment offers in productions of Richard III, in which the king uses his own disability to manipulate the court to his own ends. At one point in the play, Richard dramatically reveals his impaired arm, proclaiming it to be the result of witchcraft enacted against him by his enemies: “Look how I am bewitched. / Behold, mine arm / Is like a blasted sapling, withered up.” Fraser, who has visible limb difference, says: “Let me tell you, when I held up my arm and said that line, it terrified the audience with its visceral reality – irreplaceable by a non-disabled actor.”

Softley Gale supports the idea that casting disabled roles authentically can lead to better theatre: “People go, ‘Well it’s not about being, it’s about acting.’ But this idea that acting is about pretending is not the case, I would argue. Acting, theatre, is about authenticity; it’s about believability. It’s the same for Black and ethnic characters: it’s about an authentic voice.”

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‘Some Like It Hot’ Wins Grammy for Best Musical Theater Album

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“Some Like It Hot,” a new jazz age musical adaptation of the classic 1959 Billy Wilder film, won a Grammy Award on Sunday for best musical theater album.

It was adapted from the classic movie comedy in which Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis play two musicians who dress as women to escape the mob.

The show, a big and lush production, had a hard time on Broadway and closed in December at a loss after a one-year run. But the score was praised, with the New York Times theater critic Jesse Green writing that the first-act songs “are pretty much all knockouts.”

The award was given to the show’s principal vocalists, Christian Borle, J. Harrison Ghee, Adrianna Hicks and NaTasha Yvette Williams; the songwriting team of Scott Wittman and Marc Shaiman; and five album producers. Wittman and Shaiman also won a musical show album Grammy in 2003 for “Hairspray.”

This year’s five Grammy-nominated cast albums were all for musicals that opened on Broadway during the 2022-23 season.

The other nominees were “Kimberly Akimbo,” a poignant comedy about a high school student with a genetic disorder and a criminally dysfunctional family; “Parade,” a revival of a 1998 musical exploring the true story of Leo Frank, a Jewish factory manager who was lynched in early 20th-century Georgia; “Shucked,” a romantic comedy with a country sound and a lot of corn-based puns; and “Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street,” a revival of the 1979 Stephen Sondheim musical about a wronged barber who conspires with an amoral baker on a giddily gruesome vengeance spree.

“Kimberly Akimbo” won last year’s Tony Award for best musical, and “Parade” won the Tony for best musical revival.

Only “Kimberly Akimbo” and “Sweeney Todd” are still running on Broadway, and if you want to see them in New York, now’s the time: “Kimberly Akimbo” has announced plans to close on April 28 and “Sweeney Todd” is expected to end its run on May 5.

“Kimberly Akimbo” is planning a national tour that is scheduled to start in Denver in September. A “Shucked” tour is to begin in Nashville in November, and a “Parade” tour is to begin in January in Schenectady, N.Y., and then Minneapolis. “Some Like It Hot” had announced an intention to tour starting this fall but has not announced any venues.

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AMERICAN THEATRE | Best Damn Book Shop: The Understudy’s New Frontier

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The Understudy's first full production: THE BEST DAMN THING, written by Hanna Kime, composed by Sara Geist, and directed by Grace Dolezal-Ng. (Photo by Juli Del Prete.)

The dusky-toned books, neon lights, and heart-thumping drums of femme teen philosophy shroud 20-somethings in warmth, forming a spot of laughter in the gray landscape of frozen Chicago. Sitting through a rehearsal for Hanna Kime’s The Best Damn Thing, the first full production at the Understudy (running Jan. 27-Feb. 5), has got me thinking a lot about utopia.

A love child of couple Adam Todd Crawford and Danny Fender, this theatre specialty bookstore café (say that five times fast) has been officially operating since March 2023 in the hip Andersonville neighborhood. In the year since they opened their doors, they’ve already built a strong crowd of regulars while gathering new patrons at each event. So far they’ve hosted nearly 60 events and are looking forward to finding more ways to serve the community. Crawford said he considers their space, sustained by a thriving small business model, a sort of alternative to the “American theatre nonprofit crisis.” The Understudy strives to facilitate a meeting ground for endless possibility, lending itself to experimentation and new work.

Maya Hlava and Elisabeth Del Toro in The Best Damn Thing at the Understudy. (Photo by Julie Del Prete.)

In true meta-theatrical fashion, The Best Damn Thing is about scrappy new work, inspired by its playwright’s early days writing. When Kime was just 16, she wrote a novel she described as “silly, and messy, and…the biggest deal in the entire world.” Now years later she’s written a campy and raw musical about a teenage girl yearning to be taken seriously as a human being and artist. In The Best Damn Thing, a young artist pitches “a show she thinks will change musical theatre” to her ex-best-friend, a now-cool student in her high school theatre department who gets to pick next year’s musical. What’s the music, you ask? Inspired by true teen pop angst, the protagonist wrote it in the vein of early 2000s icon Avril Lavigne (Sara Geist’s searing music for The Best Damn Thing certainly does the sound justice).

A former literary manager at First Floor Theatre, Kime was thrilled to join forces with Geist, an established artist “taking off in exciting ways in the city’s indie music scene,” as she put it. They birthed most of the music over the past few months leading up to opening. It’s a collaboration that hasn’t relied on elaborate sets or big budgets, and instead sets out to soar in a down-to-earth, intimate space. 

“Everyone is recognizing that theatre doesn’t make money,” said Crawford. “But what do we do with that information?” The answer: A short run in a bookstore that does make enough money to sustain itself. “We couldn’t make this production in a nonprofit model—we don’t have that structure,” he continued. “We have a bookstore and a coffee shop that sustains itself, in which we can hang out after closing and make this play in a quirky way. It has lowered the level of challenge and hurdle to get it done.” Crawford smiled as a music rehearsal blared in the background.

Crawford elaborated, “It allows us to step away from the scarcity mindset—that fear that if one programs something that’s never been done before, it’s subject to failure. We don’t see this as a risk in any way. We’ve sold out three quarters of our seats already. I think there’s a market for good plays, and there’s always going to be. People still have an appetite.”

And then there’s one of artists’ favorite thing people do in a bookstore-café (besides read and sip coffee): write. “This was one of my dreams,” said Fender. “I told Adam, ‘I can’t wait to see writers in here and share stories of when they wrote in our space.'” Kime went one better: She invited Fender and Crawford to the reading of her play It Girl, commissioned through the Goodman Playwrights Unit, that she had partly written while sitting at the Understudy. Though they couldn’t make it to that reading, they want to find another way to support Kime. They requested a script, and Fender said he immediately tapped into her play’s early 2000s nostalgia, examination of celebrity culture, and dissection of growing up in this century. “We’re reflecting a lot on how the world has grown,” he said.

The Best Damn Thing similarly looks back to the early 2000s, and to what Kime recalled as “these all-consuming friendships that teenage girls can develop with each other, and how heartbreaking and devastating it is when those friendships rupture.”

In talking to Kime about her new musical, Fender said, they saw an opportunity to do more than a reading. Because the show is set in a basement, he reasoned they could transform the Understudy into a cozy space, easily interpreted as a basement. He and Crawford had planned their space to embrace a variety of performances and events, with what they call a smart “ad hoc lighting grid” and sound equipment. These haven’t just been the usual bookstore author events; one, a recent “Cafe Queens: A Drag Show / Latte Art Throwdown,” featured both drag performance and a latte art competition. 

“We learned what’s physically possible in here,” Crawford said of their 2023 events, “and I think Hanna showed up at a moment when we were itching to try something new.” Considering the live band and electricity bouncing off the walls, he said, “It’s like a concert. You never lose the visual frame of being in a performance space, but you do become fully immersed. You get the experience of being in a bookstore with 50 people and being fully immersed in the world of these two girls.”

No stranger to the Chicago storefront or regional theatre world, director Grace Dolezal-Ng curated an intentionally collaborative room, welcoming input from each creative present, from Understudy staff to playwright to team to actual understudies. Her grounded nature and directorial MO enter into conversation with the material and story of the Understudy.

“It’s exciting to get a group of 20-something-year-olds and see our voices and ideas represented in a big way,” Fender said. “And there’s something about this play that, beyond initial references, speaks to many generations. Grant writer Larry Bundschu came in with a notebook, and I wondered what the notes would be [considering a generational gap], but it was five pages of compliments on the play and how he personally connected with it.” 

They’re hitting a warm spot that resonates with Chicago storefront history. I can’t help but be reminded of origin stories of Steppenwolf or Lookingglass as I hear them talk about bringing a 21st-century sensibility to theatrical entrepreneurship.

The world craves such moments of community connection. And if it can be served with coffee, so much the better.

Gabriela Furtado Coutinho (she/her) is the associate Chicago editor for American Theatre. gcoutinho@tcg.org

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Obie Awards, Sans Ceremony, Honor ‘Dark Disabled Stories’

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The Obie Awards, a scrappy but venerable annual competition honoring the best theater staged Off and Off Off Broadway, has chosen “Dark Disabled Stories,” Ryan J. Haddad’s autobiographical work inspired by his experiences navigating the city with cerebral palsy, as the best new American play.

The prize was announced on Saturday night, both by news release and on Spectrum News NY1, as the American Theater Wing, which presents the Obies, decided to forgo a costly ceremony — in most nonpandemic years, the Obies have been handed out at a boozy and often boisterous party — and instead to give grants of $1,000 to $5,000 directly to the winning artists and arts institutions.

“These are unprecedented times, and it’s extremely challenging for theater right now, so we absolutely want to celebrate the achievements of Off and Off Off Broadway, but in doing so we want to have the most impact by putting money directly in the pockets of the artists and the companies making the work,” said Heather A. Hitchens, the Wing’s president and chief executive. “Everybody likes a party, and maybe some day it will make sense to do that again, but we’re not made of money — we’re a nonprofit, so how can we use our resources to be the greatest force for good right now?”

The Obies, created by The Village Voice in the mid 1950s, have been in flux for years as The Voice foundered and the pandemic battered the theater industry. The Wing, with a board led by artists, has kept the Obies afloat with a combination of in-person and streaming ceremonies.

The Obies proudly have no defined categories or set number of winners — a panel of judges, this year led by the director David Mendizábal and the critic Melissa Rose Bernardo, determines how to structure the honors each season. The awards announced this weekend were for shows that opened Off or Off Off Broadway between Sept. 1, 2022, and Aug. 31, 2023.

The judges gave two awards for playwriting. One went to Hansol Jung for “Wolf Play,” about a twice-abandoned adopted boy who reacts to his trauma by behaving like a wolf and is depicted by a puppet; the play was staged first at Soho Rep and then at MCC Theater, in collaboration with Ma-Yi Theater Company. The other playwriting award went to Bruce Norris for “Downstate,” about a group home for men who are registered sex offenders; that play was staged at Playwrights Horizons in a production developed by Steppenwolf Theater Company in Chicago and the National Theater in London.

“Dark Disabled Stories” was presented by the Public Theater and produced by the Bushwick Starr. (In the wake of the pandemic, collaboration has become the norm in nonprofit theater, so many of the winning shows are credited to more than one organization.)

The Obies honored four performers: William Jackson Harper for “Primary Trust,” Marla Mindelle for “Titanique,” Zuleyma Guevara for “Sancocho,” and Maryann Plunkett for “Deep Blue Sound,” as well as the directors Dustin Wills, Shayok Misha Chowdhury and Faye Driscoll, the costume designer Enver Chakartash and the lighting designer Barbara Samuels.

Among the other Obie honorees: Lifetime achievement awards were given to Carole Rothman, the outgoing artistic director of Second Stage and to Peggy Shaw and Lois Weaver, who made theater together as Split Britches. Sustained achievement awards were given to the performers Shannon Tyo, John Douglas Thompson and K. Todd Freeman, to the directors Eric Ting and Pam MacKinnon and to dots, a set design collective, and Mikaal Sulaiman, a sound designer.

There were a number of other awards, citations and grants; for a complete list see obieawards.com.

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How Frankie Grande Spends His Sundays

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Frankie Grande likes to stay busy — even on Sundays.

“From the moment I wake up, it’s go, go, go,” said Mr. Grande, a 41-year-old actor, singer and reality TV personality. This month, he returned to playing Victor Garber in “Titanique,” an Off Broadway parody musical of the movie “Titanic.” He first played the character in a fully staged production in 2022, and is now back for a limited run through Feb. 18.

Mr. Grande, who is the half brother of the pop superstar Ariana Grande, was born in New York, grew up in Englewood, N.J., and Boca Raton, Fla., and graduated from Muhlenberg College in Pennsylvania. Now he splits his time between a two-bedroom penthouse apartment in Hell’s Kitchen and a home in Beverly Hills, Calif. He lives with his husband of almost two years, the actor and model Hale Grande, 31, and their red toy poodle puppy, Appa.

While Mr. Grande was a relative unknown when he moved back to New York City in 2005 — he said he often wandered through Times Square wearing a pair of earbuds, soaking in the scene — he’s now a YouTube, Instagram and TikTok personality with more than 3.5 million followers across all three accounts.

“I definitely can’t wander now without being recognized every four feet,” he said. “But I love talking with fans.”

HERE COMES THE SUN I don’t usually get up before 10 a.m. — my husband is in Los Angeles for work, and we’d been up all night playing the new Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora game — but I surprise myself and wake up at 8:45 a.m. I have a Philips alarm clock that mimics a natural 30-minute sunrise, and at the end it has birds chirping. It wakes me up like I’m on a farm with animal noises. It’s a really peaceful way to start the day.

FUELING UP I make a run to the Starbucks in the bottom of my building — my order is a venti iced oat milk latte with three pumps of toffee nut — or I put my headphones on and make breakfast here. I have to have my coffee with Chobani vegan creamer (it’s the best thing that ever happened to the world) and a container of Siggi’s vegan yogurt.

MORNING GLORY While I’m prepping breakfast, I go down to the dining room and look out on the world. The apartment has high windows that face three corners of the city — south, west and east. There’s light and sun all day long. I can see all the way down to the Statue of Liberty if I look down Eighth Avenue, as well as my dad’s house over in New Jersey, which is adorable.

EAR CANDY On Spotify, there’s a playlist called “The Daily Drive” that I listen to every morning. It starts with NPR, and then I get some Vox podcasts, then some music, all my most-played songs — “Running Up That Hill” by Kim Petras, “Got Me Started” by Troye Sivan, “Geronimo” by Sheppard, “Run Away With Me” by Carly Rae Jepsen.

SWEAT IT OUT I take the subway to a 10:45 a.m. or 11 a.m. SoulCycle class near Bryant Park. I would rather be on a train going three miles per hour than in a cab going zero; that drives me nuts! I have some SoulCycle teachers that I absolutely love — shout out to Dakota, Cameron and Parker — mostly the gays. I’m a big supporter of the gays because they play my music, which motivates me to get through the class. I’ve been going for more than 10 years and have probably done about 500 rides.

BRUNCH PLANS I normally meet my family for brunch around noon or 1 p.m. at 44 & X in Hell’s Kitchen — my father lives in New Jersey with my stepmother and my little brother, James — but they were snowed in. So I grab lunch with my best friends Dominic Crossey and Lauren Strigari instead. I love this place. The dining room is so open and airy with lots of light. I always order the French toast; it’s my comfort food.

FIT CHECK I have my first performance back in “Titanique” next week [Mr. Grande returned on Jan. 13], so I head to the Daryl Roth Theater for a costume fitting at 2 p.m. They’re making me a brand-new costume, which I’m very excited about — I wore the previous one for eight months, so it was sad by the time I was done. The show won a Lortel Award for best costume design — and my costume was pretty fantastic! — so I’m looking forward to whatever Victor Garber 2.0 is.

SHIP OF DREAMS Dominic, Lauren and I end up staying for the “Titanique” matinee. It’s one of the funniest and most joyful shows I’ve ever been a part of. No one who comes to the show leaves without the biggest smile. I was so fatigued when I left the show a year ago — we had been running for eight months; it’s very grueling to start a show from scratch — but I knew I wasn’t done with it.

MOVIE NIGHT We head back to Times Square, where we catch “The Color Purple” at the 42nd Street AMC. It’s so beautiful, and the performances are incredible. Danielle Brooks as Sofia and Taraji P. Henson as Shug Avery were my favorites. It made me cry.

AWARDS SEASON Back at my apartment, we order nachos, buffalo cauliflower tacos and queso from Jajaja Mexicana — the greatest vegan restaurant ever — and watch the Golden Globes. I try to watch all the nominated films each year. I’m surprised “The Color Purple” doesn’t win anything, but I’m thrilled that Christopher Nolan finally won his Globe for “Oppenheimer.” I was blown away by that film.

EARLY NIGHT Normally, I would end my night with a drag show at 10 p.m., which means 11 in the drag world. I’d been planning to see my friend Pixie Aventura at Barracuda Lounge in Chelsea, but she’s out of town this week, so there’s no show. So, we put on “Trolls Band Together”; Lauren and I love watching animated movies together. Seeing my friend Lance Bass portray the glittery yellow troll with the rainbow hair made me so happy.

A FULL NINE HOURS In an ideal world, I’m in bed by midnight and asleep by 1 a.m. It takes me about an hour from the time I decide I want to go to bed to fall asleep. I have a whole ritual I go through: I’ll listen to an audiobook — right now it’s “Iron Flame” by Rebecca Yarros, the sequel to “Fourth Wing” — and then cuddle in bed with my husband. I put on my blue light blocker glasses if I’m going to be watching something on my phone. Then I take my melatonin and then — hopefully — zip off to sleep. My ideal is around nine hours; that’s what my brain requires for maximum function. Anything less than seven, and I’m useless to the world.



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Theatre audience members who talk, eat, canoodle or scroll are rude, entitled and selfish. Why do they bother?

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What’s wrong with people? Perhaps it’s about the cost. Theatre tickets are, in the main, pricey as hell. Perhaps there’s a feeling that, having spent upwards of, say, 180 quid on a pair of tickets for something, not to mention the station parking, the train, dinner, the babysitter and so on, they’re entitled to a five star, anything goes experience from the moment of arrival to the second they lay down their head back on the pillow. 

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