‘This Is a Work That Tells a Scary Amount of Truth’: Leslie Odom Jr. and Kara Young on Their Roaring New Revival of Purlie Victorious

Odom had spent years trying to get a revival of Purlie Victorious off the ground—his first show as both actor and producer—with an opportunity almost materializing last year through Roundabout Theater Company. But, gesturing towards Young, who was not available at the time, he tells us that he has no qualms about the way things finally came together.

Vogue: You’re best known onstage for your Tony-winning role in Hamilton. Did you ever consider reviving Purlie, the musical, instead?

Leslie Odom Jr.: Of course I did. But it was very important for Ossie and Ruby’s three children, who make up their estate—Nora, Hasna, and Guy—that the return of this great work happen the way it did originally: the play was first, their father’s words were first. Guy, though, has written the original music for this production, which is so special.

The piece was written during such a specific moment in American playwriting, where the things artists wanted to say were addressed directly. You two have to go through that, but also find your way into the satire—how are you tapping into that hybrid energy?

Kara Young: The absurdity of it is very clear. I always think of the part where [plantation owner] Ol’ Cap’n tells one of his workers, “Get out of here! And save me some buttermilk…” We need each other so much, as humans, and I think that’s the deep message of the play. There’s something about the way Ossie writes, that’s where the magic of his satire comes in, through the absurdity.

He and Ruby were so politically involved, they were absorbings their current circumstances and it feels as if they wanted this play to be a force of change. Doing it now, after the last eight years of our political history, and with books being burned and history silenced—what better time to look at our history for what it was, what it is, and what our future can be?

Odom: It’s almost, like, come see Purlie Victorious while you can, because this is a work that tells a scary amount of truth. Davis tells it with such generosity and joy, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see it on some banned book list.

Do you think there’s a certain directness in Purlie Victorious that’s missing in newer works?

Odom: I can’t criticize new works, but I believe that, because of what we’ve lived through, there is quite possibly a liberation we’re experiencing. We all had a near-death experience with COVID, even if in our own minds. To be back in a theater, after having witnessed a lynching on our phones—you know, Mr. Floyd, all these things—we’re never going to be the same. There is an immediacy and urgency that we are taking to the stage every night, and y’all are bringing to your seats. I believe we’re creating something together that didn’t exist, even in ‘61. Something that’s for us.

Young: Our existence is political, and even more so as theater artists, because there are people deciding daily if they want you to stay. This is two hours of true communal vibration, of listening together, and whatever you absorb is what you can take.

Odom: I’m so excited for current writers to hear Mr. Davis speak again onstage and see how that’s going to bump up against their work. There will be a conversation that continues from his words.

What discoveries have you made during rehearsal and previews?

Odom: There’s been more than one occasion where we discovered something we weren’t ready to deal with yet. I had this wonky show last week—

Young: He didn’t have no wonky show.

Odom: Kenny has done such a fabulous job directing that he has, in many ways, made our production actor-proof, so that if one of us has a wonky show, it doesn’t affect the audience much. But I ain’t been working on this for all these years to not have the experience that I want to have. There’s something that I’m coming to receive, and I didn’t receive it that day. It troubled me as I thought about it that night, and I realized there was another scary door I’d yet to open.

The next day I came to my fellow ensemble member Jay O. Sanders [who plays Ol’ Cap’n] and said, “I’m not hating you like I should.” As the guy on the poster, as one of the producers—someone who wants to make sure we were a family—I had guardrails up, so as to not make Jay feel uncomfortable, so I wasn’t doing my job fully yet. Hate is a scary thing, it’s a horrible thing to feel. I don’t want to hate Jay, Purlie doesn’t want to hate Ol’ Cap’n—that’s what Davis is talking about. This fucking thing, this structure disfigures us. It makes me somebody that I don’t want to be. I don’t want to carry this hatred with me every day; I gotta put that shit on every morning and remind myself I hate. I don’t get to be unburdened.

Young: It’s a lot of fun, but there are levels. The brilliance of Ossie’s writing is the fact he makes you laugh at the truth and feel things about the realities of this world. We cannot escape our history, we can’t burn it away, or bury, or dilute it. It is what it is; it’s what happened. As a nation, we have to come together to understand exactly what went down. The only way we can heal is if we examine our trauma.

Odom: What he does is this tremendous act of generosity through comedy. We’re going to laugh our way right into healing. From week to week, Kara pointed us towards Cap’n’s whip [which he wields with a mix of intimidation and desperation]. Weeks into the rehearsal process, with the whole show already blocked, we had to talk about the whip. We weren’t ready, as a company, to deal with the pain of that torture tool. The first day, we did a little bit and it was, like, Okay that’s enough of that. In this romp, this comedy!

There’s a very funny line in the play that says, “Some of the best pretending in the world is done in front of white folks.”

Young: [Chuckles] That’s true.

Are you having fun playing that? Is there a sense of freedom you feel from doing this play?

Young: I feel like you can see, throughout the course of the play, when we put on our masks and face the world. To watch the brilliance of Billy Eugene Jones [whose character feigns pride in being an “old-fashioned, solid, hard-earned Uncle Tom”] and also be with his family, and be one of the smartest, brightest Black men on that stage, you feel that this is a mode of survival. That line points to the survival of our history. But the act of pretending, what does that mean to pretend for survival?

Odom: I’m doing a whole lot less pretending these days, and it feels good. I’m grateful for the lessons and process of the last few years that have created this opportunity. When I look at people that came out of the pandemic more angry, somehow, with a desire and commitment to be more divisive and draw the lines deeper in the sand, after what we went through? Really? That’s what you got from that? One of the things I took from that is that this thing is moving, and none of us know how long we’re going to be here. It’s always a sacrifice, but is it worth it? This one is.

This conversation has been edited and condensed. Below, a glimpse behind the scenes of Purlie Victorious’s opening night.