Defying ‘Neat’ Definitions

A simple office chair can barely contain the exuberance and vitality emanating from actress Charlayne Woodard as she talks about her latest one-woman show, “Neat,” which opens at the Mark Taper Forum next Sunday, directed by Daniel Sullivan.

Raised in Albany, N.Y., and trained at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago, the petite actress-singer-writer--who doesn’t give her age and indeed seems remarkably ageless--first made her reputation on the New York stage, appearing in the original Broadway company of “Ain’t Misbehavin’ ” and in such off-Broadway productions as “Twelfth Night” and “The Caucasian Chalk Circle” at the New York Shakespeare Festival. Since moving to Los Angeles in 1989, Woodard has not only appeared in film (most recently, as Tituba in “The Crucible”) and on television (including a 1996 stint as a regular on “Chicago Hope”), but also continued her stage career at the La Jolla Playhouse and other venues.

Woodard’s first autobiographical solo, “Pretty Fire,” began at Hollywood’s Fountainhead Theatre in 1992 and went on to earn acclaim at the Manhattan Theatre Club and elsewhere, becoming one of the most successful examples of one of the 1990s’ most popular genres. “Neat,” which premiered at the Manhattan Theatre Club in 1997 and went on to Seattle Rep, also explores Woodard’s family history--this time focusing on the actress’ coming of age against the backdrop of the black pride movement of the ‘60s. In an interview in the Taper’s office, Woodard spoke as she was about to go into rehearsal for the show.

Question: After the grueling success of “Pretty Fire” you swore off writing and performing autobiographical works. You were thinking about trying your hand at a play that other actors could perform. What made you change your mind?

Answer: Daniel Sullivan, my director [and] the [former] artistic director at the Seattle Repertory Theatre staged “Pretty Fire” at Seattle Rep. And while we were in rehearsal, I started telling him about how, when I was a little girl, there was this aunt who I just lived and died to be with. Then, when I became a teenager, she came up to live with us and I couldn’t believe how all the things that made her different when I was a child made her awful when I was a teenager. “Look at her hair” and “look at her this and that” and “how does she walk?” and I was just, “Ahhh, she can’t live in my house!” I told him this story and then we got back to work. Then he stopped the rehearsal and said “Charlayne, that story you just told me about your aunt. Write a play about that and we’ll workshop it here.” That was 1996.

So I said “great” and went away. I started talking about my story. I talk these stories. This is how I write. I keep telling it and telling it. I did [the film] “An Eye for an Eye” and I was telling it to people on the set. Then I got hired for “The Crucible” and I’m up in northern Massachusetts telling people this story and trying to talk it out.

I called Daniel and said, “I have it and I know who I’ll need for this: I know I can get maybe Angela Bassett, Larry Fishburne . . .” He says, “Stop. No. You have to do this alone. This has to be a solo piece.” And I’m thinking, “No, no, please, I’ll never do that again. That’s too hard, too difficult. I don’t even want to ever do that again.”

But when he said that, I just said OK. And then I stopped thinking about other people. I went back to being the storyteller and creating a solo piece.

I never expected to do this again. But I was tricked. Because by the time I talked to Daniel, I was in that world. It was too late. There was no turning back, no stopping.

Q: “Pretty Fire” was your first outing as a writer. How did your creative process change the second time around?

A: Even though I know how challenging and difficult it is--physically, emotionally, psychologically--bottom line, [I had] the knowledge of what’s going to happen and how I could probably do it better. “Pretty Fire” was written over my whole life. Those were stories I’d told and heard told for years. And when it came time to do [write it down], I could choose five and put them up. But this was different. With [“Neat”], I just told Daniel this memory that popped into my head. Also, this is one entire story. It’s not five separate stories that stand on their own [as in “Pretty Fire’].

Also, I’m in more dangerous territory with my family. This is the story that my family doesn’t talk about. These are the things that we just “handle”--and it’s easier to handle them if we don’t give them power verbally. So this is a little tougher on them. As a matter of fact, before I did [the show] in New York, I went home for Christmas and stood in the kitchen with my mom and a couple of aunts and told them the story while they were preparing desserts, so that they could know what they were going to come to the theater and see. In a way, I was asking their permission--not that I could have turned back by then--and they said, “Yeah, you can tell this story.” I just wanted to put my cards on the table for them. But I did change [a few] things to protect people who are [still] around and not expose them totally.

Q: Were you consciously trying to craft a story that would resonate on both personal and social-political levels?

A: Yes, I was very conscious of that. Because as soon as I started exploring my relationship with my aunt and myself, I went straight to a time that was a pretty crazy time in this country: the ‘60s and early ‘70s. Coming of age at that time in the history of America was pretty complicated and pretty exciting and pretty violent and she was very instrumental in my development during that period. I realized right away that I had two stories to tell.

My story was about trying to find my identity. First, I was this Jewish girl. I went to school with all these Jews. I was in [a] special program and everybody was Jewish. And in the seventh grade, everybody’s getting ready for their bat mitzvahs. They all knew so much about who they were and what they were about. Of course, I learned the Hebrew alphabet. I was just trying to be like them. I had to have their hairdo, everything, because it seemed so exciting and interesting and they were so full of being Jewish. So I decided I would be just like them--until one day my aunt asked me a question and I couldn’t answer it. She said she really didn’t want to hear about any Hebrew. She asked me, “Where did we come from? What did we used to speak?” And it occurred to me I didn’t know much about us, what our contributions were, what we did here. So I went off to the library.

She sent me on this journey--really, all because of the simple questions this woman asked me. It became very clear to me that I had been living a lie. And it was a big thing to me when we all decided that what we are is just fine, and that there was some past and history to go with it.

I think that’s missing nowadays. I think a lot of our kids are not aware of who we are and where we’ve really come from. When I was a teenager, there was a hunger for it all, reading every book. Then when I did “Pretty Fire,” I had kids coming up to me and asking, “Who was Jim Crow?” Which makes me wonder what’s wrong here.

Just being in the black community, yes, on one level, there is this resurgence [of cultural identity]. But on another level, there really isn’t enough of it. Look at how many new black plays have been happening in the last six years. Not many at all. It’s quite sad. Back [in the 1960s and early ‘70s], playwrights were coming out of the walls. Everybody wanted to know about everybody. And the more pride you took in who you were and what you were about, the more accepted it seemed you were. That was a very exciting time and I haven’t come across a time like that since.

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“NEAT,” Mark Taper Forum, 135 N. Grand Ave., downtown. Dates: Opens next Sunday. Regular schedule: Tuesdays to Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 7:30 p.m.; Saturdays and Sundays, 2:30 p.m. Ends Feb. 1. Prices: $29-$37. Phone: (213) 628-2772.