Carl Lumbly on his superhero roles, acting with a Beatle, and stepping into Scatman Crothers’ shoes

Escape From Alcatraz (1979)—“Inmate”

AVC: Was your first on-camera role a paramedic in an episode of Emergency! or an inmate in Escape From Alcatraz? Both were ’79.

CL: Well, let’s see… I did a number of industrial films before I came to the West Coast, but my first experience was on Escape From Alcatraz. The line–it’s quite memorable, I’m sure it’s on the tip of your tongue, but I will say it for you: “Where you goin’, cracker?” Clint Eastwood was frozen. I’m not sure he’s ever really come back from that. 

AVC: You can still see it in the lines of his face.

CL: He composed himself enough to continue on where he was going….and since my line had finished, I sat back down and returned to obscurity. But! It had happened. And you can’t take that away from me! So, yes, Escape From Alcatraz. That was it.

AVC: I know you started out in journalism, but how did you make that transition into acting?

CL: How do you trip over a curb and fall into the street? It just happens. [Laughs.] I was assigned a story about a cast of people at an improvisation comedy shop in Minneapolis, where I was raised. Dudley Riggs’ Brave New Workshop. They had lost all five of their cast members, who had decided en masse to try their luck in L.A., so they were replacing the entire cast and had open auditions. I showed up to write the story and ended up being offered a role, to which I said, “I’m not an actor!”

That was it: I got cast, and I got bit. And it was fun! I did it for about a year, and then for reasons other than acting, I decided to move to San Francisco. When I got there, my old boss from The AP in Minneapolis said that he had a position that he’d have for me in a couple of weeks. So I was, like, “Wow, cool, but until then, I’ve got to get to work!” So, I was looking in the newspaper ads, and there was a performing arts column. We didn’t have one in Minneapolis, so I was just reading for curiosity. Maybe the third advertisement down was, “Two Black actors needed for South African political play.” I was intrigued.

I went to the library and read the play, Sizwe Bansi Is Dead. It was a two-hander, and of the characters, Styles and Buntu, the character that fascinated me was Styles, a photographer in Johannesburg in charge of taking photos for the passbooks. When people came in to work, they had to be documented. He was a photographer for that, working essentially for the state and having to educate Buntu, who comes from the outland and does not understand the concept of a passbook. “There are places where I can and cannot be, and they’re controlled by this passbook?” A beautiful, difficult play. I went, I auditioned, and the other actor was an actor named Danny Glover, who was a force of nature, and we ended up doing the play. We toured it in California, did a couple of shows in Los Angeles, agents approached us, and…I’m not sure whatever happened with his career.

I ended up in Los Angeles, stayed there for about a year, did not care for it, moved to New York, loved New York. I don’t think there was a workshop that escaped me in New York. I was also getting to do plays, with plays being the thing, the point. And since I was not educated to be an actor, that was my on-the-street, on-the-job education. As it happens, I got cast in a pilot there, and then it got picked up for six episodes. I had to come back to Los Angeles. And after we did the six episodes, it got pulled off the air. So, I went running back to New York with six episodes worth of rent in my hand and workshops to be done! 

And then the producers mounted a campaign of some sort, and a letter-writing campaign ensued, and the show got put back on the air for a few more episodes. I came back to do it, and then it went. It was a show called Cagney & Lacey, and…that was it, kind of, because on that show I met my late wife, and she didn’t care to move to New York, and suddenly I didn’t care to move to New York, either! We stayed in Santa Monica until my son was about three, and then we moved to the Bay Area again for a number of reasons, the least of which was work. But we made it work.

Caveman (1981)—“Bork”

CL: At one point, I thought I was pretty funny. But nobody in Los Angeles saw that. I was kind of like the kid from the neighborhood who was smart and went off and got educated and came back to convince Jojo to get out of the gangs, or the cop—pretty much the straight arrow. This came along, and at the audition, I probably went farther than… Well, than I expected! But they loved it. As you can imagine, because it wasn’t English but a caveman dialect that was invented, I loved that. It was language at its most base, and a lot of the communication had to be done with all of the other things we possess with which we communicate: eyes, body positions, etc. It was like writing an ethnography on my feet. “What was it really like for cavepeople?” 

Fortunately my partner, Kalta, [was played by] a wonderful, historic improvisational actor named Ed Greenberg. The two of us landed—we shot in New Mexico—and began talking. We were the hunters. We realized we both had kind of a language already in place, because we were improvisers. So we did a lot that no one understood. [Laughs.] But we felt really, really good about it. And I take a lot of pride in Bork.

AVC: The obligatory question for that film is to ask what it was like to work with Ringo Starr.

CL: It was great! You know, considering what an icon he was, he was also just…Ringo. He ate breakfast, he made bad jokes, and then at a certain point, he was lovestruck. And inarticulate at times around [Barbara Bach]. His role in the film was of an innocent abroad, so it was a joy. There were obviously the wonderful stories, but also the perspective that you imagine you would get from someone who was recognizable everywhere and part of a group that, well, you know! But it was also educational, because there were people on the film with a lot less cache in the culture who perhaps operated in a more star-like manner than Ringo. He’s a lovely man. And, yeah, he can drum!

South Central (1992)—“Ali”

CL: Boy, that was a grim job. A “but for the grace of God, there go I” kind of job. An awareness that there was machinery that I had escaped but that I could so easily have become a part of, and playing an individual who—in part because of the circumstances of his life and where he lived—fell into a situation where his son fell prey to those influences that can take you astray and ended up losing his life. And then he, as a reaction to that, ended up taking lives and found himself in this prison—having essentially ruined his own life—with an opportunity to help someone from the generation behind him.

These kinds of stories make you grateful for what you have. I had two wonderful parents. The degree to which my father was present made me unaware that there were any young men who were raised without their fathers around. My father was the kind of person who said, “You know, when you leave the house and you go out, you won’t see me. But I’ll be there.” And I believed that. I’m sure I was always looking around. [Laughs.] What that ended up doing was, it made me aware that I was part of something. I was representing myself, of course, but I was also representing my parents, my family. Having to take on a history like that, and being given the opportunity to share the painfully-gained wisdom from that experience with someone who still might have a chance, I felt very privileged to be in that role. As it happens, my mother had taught me to crochet, so I was able to actually crochet. If I were incarcerated for multiple years for murder, I would want to have yarn and a knitting hook.

Doctor Sleep (2019)—“Dick Hallorann”

AVC: For Doctor Sleep, you got to step into the shoes of Scatman Crothers. 

CL: Yes! Although it was not the shoes that concerned me, it was the head. It’s the only time I’ve done it, but I shaved my head for that role. Happily! Because Mike Flanagan is, in my mind, a genius, and we had probably one of the best conversations I’ve had with a director before doing a role. It was a wide-ranging conversation. It was about the character, it was about the piece, but it was about any number of things. After that conversation, I would have shaved my head and perhaps set it on fire for two or three seconds if that was necessary! 

Even though I was playing Dick Hallorann, I was also aware of my desire to carry on from what I thought Scatman had done. So it was a joyful experience. Ewan [McGregor] was wonderful. It was quiet work. And Dick Hallorann… Perhaps because he’s dead, but there was something essential about him. He was kind of clear as a spirit. So it was enjoyable to be striving for that kind of quiet. 

Conspiracy: The Trial Of The Chicago 8 (1987)—“Bobby Seale”

CL: That was an amazing role because that was also part of my history. I was aware of that trial. I was aware of the Black Panthers’ efforts, especially in California, to try and protect the community that was being savaged by its police. They had brought in specialists who were used to imposing a kind of law on Black people that was not the same kind of law provided to white people. It was that clear. At an age when I was probably looking for a pickup basketball game or going to the library to check out some books and read for an afternoon, they were researching California code to see what they could do about bearing witness to what was happening in their community, to these illegal stoppages and the brutality—people being beaten on a whim, people being pulled into prison for reckless eyeballing. That is to say, “If we can’t stop it, then we have to witness it, and we have the right to witness it. And not only do we have the right to witness it, but we also have the right to bear arms in this state!”

When I met Bobby, he was brilliant. At first we spoke mostly about barbecue. [Laughs.] By that point in his life, he was writing cookbooks. He was still an activist, still very involved, but he also had moved the fight to a different location in himself. His account of what that trial was like, his account of what that time was like, was invaluable to me. 

One of the more difficult things I’ve ever experienced was the moment in the courtroom when he’s brought back in bound and gagged. When I asked Bobby about it—he’s pretty matter-of-fact. And he was still quite angry about that. But also, it was like, “What is the worst part of being steamrolled by a truck? Is it the moment of initial impact? Or is it the grinding under the wheels? Is it when you get tossed up into the chassis? Or is it when you get run over by the rear wheels?” None of it good. All of it is memorable, and it’s hard to say which is the worst.

EZ Streets (1996-1997)—“Mayor Christian Davidson”

AVC: More people asked me to ask you about this than any other role.

CL: Are you kidding? 

AVC: There is still a devout online fanbase for this series.

CL: I loved the series. There was a speech that the mayor had to give that was so beautifully written. That was Paul Haggis. I think I auditioned with that speech. Sometimes you get offered things, and sometimes you get what I think of as the opportunity to make a case for what you would do with the character. The first opportunity you get to make that case is the language. And I loved the language. I loved applying myself to it. That was one where I went in and did what I wanted to do, and Paul was very kind and complimentary and said, “Yes, you may do this.” [Laughs.] Which doesn’t always happen!

Sometimes there are moments where you leave the audition and you think “Well, well, well! Looks like somebody’s about to hear from their agent!” And then for some reason, “This phone must be broken!” Then there are other times when you think, “Yeah, that was okay, that was good, but lots of people do good work.” So, it’s not necessarily coming your way. This was one where, when I left the room, I had been given a very strong impression that the role was mine, and that meant that I would get to do it the way that I had auditioned, that I had successfully made a case for the character being like this. 

The other aspect of that series that I remember is that you can’t always know at the beginning all the twists and turns your character has to be prepared for. What you may love about your character in the first episode may be turned on its head by episode five. You have to treat that seriously, and you have to love that character so much that you’re willing to go exactly where it’s called for, even if it’s completely counter to what you thought the character was about. 

But I’m stunned! I loved that show so much. It’s one of those that, when it didn’t get picked up, I thought, “Well, that’s the way it goes. That’s Hollywood, as they say.” And I thought that kind of put it in a dust pile. But Lord bless streaming!

The Fall Of The House Of Usher (2023)—“C. Auguste Dupin”

CL: It’s an emotional thing for me, because Dupin is attached to Mike Flanagan, and every once in awhile there are people who I have met who I have felt recognized me in some way, or they validate my own sense of what it is that I’m trying to do, those things that are important to me about the work.

But it also came at a period in my career and in my work where—I guess I kind of had the idea of a timeline for myself. Like, maybe by 40 I’ll have done this, and by 60 I’ll feel like, “Well, I’m ready to not do that anymore,” and by 62 I’ll be doing my farewell tour, and by 65 I’ll be on my veranda in Jamaica! It has not exactly worked out like that. And that role, that project, for me was kind of sea-changing. It sort of made me feel like, y’know, I’m an old captain, but I know these waters, so I’m gonna keep sailing, by gosh!

It was a wonderful opportunity, and it was a joy to be doing it with the people I was doing it with, and I would have to say especially Mr. Bruce Greenwood. Without going into vast detail, he came into a situation that needed light and a steady hand, and he gave much more than it needed, and personally gave me one of the best experiences I’ve had working on film. 

The Adventures Of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension (1984)—“John Parker”

CL: Had they given an award for Best Costume—not for the costumer, but for the character—John Parker would’ve won, hands down [for] that silver 8th-dimension dinner jacket. What I remember was the improvisation. Not only were we as actors kind of winging it, but our writer-director, he was just open. 

At the end, one of my favorite lines: “What is a truck?” [Laughs.] And John Lithgow’s performance in it—you know, just to be able to witness someone just take it there, at that point in my career, was something that gave me permission to explore as far as you want to explore. Because you never know what you can use. You never know what you’ll come up with. And it’s not for you to decide. Present it to an audience and let them be the judge. There are directors who set up situations where you can do that. When you mentioned what people asked about most, I thought it might be Buckaroo, because that is one I get a lot. 

The other thing I remember, because he was a Black Lectroid from another dimension, there was something about his hands. I think the truth of it was that I was wearing these big prostheses for the Lectroid part, and I couldn’t not see them, so I thought rather than have them just hanging out where they’d be in the way, to try and use them to be communicating in the way that a Lectroid communicates. You know, it’s like a buffet. You’re not gonna like everything. [Laughs.] Some roles, there are things that you have to do, but inside that there are sweet treats and tasty bits that you can get to make a part of it as well. I’m always trying to do what I can to fulfill the text and the needs of the character, but…I want a li’l somethin’ in there for me, too! 

To Sleep With Anger (1990)—“Junior”

Nightjohn (1996)—“John”

The Wedding (1998)—“Lute McNeil”

Nat Turner: A Troublesome Property (2003)—“Nat Turner”

Namibia: The Struggle For Liberation (2007)—“Sam Nujoma”

AVC: To Sleep With Anger was your first time working with Charles Burnett, but far from the last. 

CL: It was the first time, and it was a breath of fresh air. And it was very emotional. Charles is understated, perhaps even introverted like myself, and I just wanted to do everything for him. We all did. And his genius and the degree to which he wanted us to sink inside ourselves and let ourselves go inside these characters, because they represented types of people and a type of community that he knew and was familiar with and wanted to share that with a wider audience and to put that in the mix for consideration for the way people look at what they think they know. You know, we look at certain communities and we say, “Well, that’s it,” and it’s discarded or it’s boxed so finely. “Oh, we know exactly what goes on inside it, and we know exactly why it’s operating the way it is.” No, not true if you don’t take a full look at it, if you don’t have an understanding and an appreciation and a love for your subjects.

So often I think in my career, the understanding of why we were seeing Black people was to buttress or fill in a spot as understood by the wider population. So if there’s a criminal element, it’s “Oh, we gotta get some Black people in there! That’s our thing, crime!” Prison? “Yeah, we gotta get ’em in there!” But our neighborhoods were always kind of talked about as if they were these places to get out of, not places where people were developed, and certainly not places where love was practiced on the best level it could be practiced. Without means and without opportunities, but aspirations were there. 

So much of what went into being in that community was being there for one another, lifting one another up, presenting one another. And like all communities, there are elements even within the community that don’t believe in it. In fact, the cohesiveness of the community is kind of an affront and a challenge. You know, “Let’s go ahead and break that, it can’t be real.” Charles was talking about—and it was a parable about—community, the strength of love in the face of what could be termed “from mischief to evil.” There’s a triumph that love and connection wins every time. Maybe not immediately! People get battered and tattered. But at least in that film, that community won. Brother against brother, that community won.

I also loved Danny [Glover’s] work in that film, because it’s so subtle. There’s things that give me goosebumps about what he did. There were two individuals that I want to see really rewarded by the Hollywood community, and that was Danny and… [pauses] You know, one of the joys of having done this as long as I have is that I have seen progress. But not enough. I’m thinking of a director of Charles’ stature, and all of the ideas and the perceptions, the insights, the wisdom, and just the pure knowledge that he had about filmmaking and light and his ability to get people to truly talk to one another. He is, still in my mind, unsung. That’s why when he did receive the honorary Oscar, I was of two minds. I chafed a little bit. “He should’ve gotten it for Sleep!” But for what he was given it for, that was righteous. 

AVC: And you worked with him five other times? I’ve got Nightjohn, The Wedding, Nat Turner: A Troublesome Property, Namibia: The Struggle For Liberation, and then you also narrated an episode of The Blues. 

CL: That project in Namibia, playing Nujoma, that was a wild one. It was not the largest budget. It was not an easy piece of history, because the character was heroic in the struggle and much more challenged in the governance. That’s part of what happened in many places in Africa, where those people who had led the revolutionary movement were sometimes rewarded for having gained the freedom but fell prey to having the power. I still have certain ambivalences about the character, but… I don’t know, Charles is a good man. Charles operates from the heart. That particular project opened my heart in many ways, including, unfortunately, being in Namibia when my mother passed. 

I had to fly back and bury her and then go back and finish the film. In addition to the fact that Charles and everyone on the production was so wonderful to me in allowing me to take that time, it was not an easy production. There had been many different things that affected the schedule, and here I had to be gone for four days. I was the lead! What meant so much to me about doing it, coming back and finishing it, was that was the example that I had received from my parents: it doesn’t have to be easy, it doesn’t have to be perfect, but it has to be right, it has to be true, and it has to be consistent with who you are as a person. So I received the best guidance I could in my developmental years, and I felt that it was a privilege to be able to carry that on in both my parents’ name. My father passed in ’84, and this was 2005. And it was also important to remember that surviving counts. If we’re still here, it counts. Mistakes, bad intentions, moments of triumph, it all counts. It all accrues. So be present.

Justice League (2001-2004) / Justice League Unlimited (2004-2006) / Justice League: Doom (2012)—“J’onn J’onnz”

CL: That was my first series-regular animated role. Andrea [Romano], who encouraged me to get involved in voice work, called me for it and said, “He’s this Martian, and he came to Earth, he can discorporate, he can read minds, and he’s a part of the Justice League now.” Because I wasn’t allowed to read comic books growing up, I just thought, “What a poignant story. And he’s green, and I know the challenges that color can bring in this world!” [Laughs.] I thought about the role, and I came up with a voice that, in my mind, was the voice of someone who doesn’t get to speak to other people. He’d been alone on Mars for hundreds and hundreds of years! I know what it’s like when I have a couple of weeks when I don’t speak. There’s something really joyful about it, but also an echo starts to form around you even though you haven’t said anything. That was an element I wanted to include. I wanted him to speak to himself out loud.

J’onn was very principled. Because if you can read minds, you’ve gotta have some governance. [Laughs.] You have to have some rules about, “Okay, what I’m going to jump in and read… I can’t read for leisure! There has to be a purpose.” If you can discorporate, or if you can shapeshift, that’s incredibly powerful stuff. But that has to be controlled by a conscience that says, “I’m here for good, and I’ve been given this opportunity to be a part of justice and doing right. And if I come from a world where it’s gone because injustice ruled, then my pathway is clear: I may only have six or seven hundred more years, but let me make it count.”

I remember doing the audition, and…there was a little bit of silence when I finished. I think my eyes were closed, but sometimes when you finish, you’re kind of waiting for the “all right, well, thank you for coming in,” or you’re waiting for “yeah, nice job,” or…anything! But I remember finishing and there was just…silence. And apparently I thought it was for an inappropriate length of time. [Laughs.] I was looking around and…it felt like, even when I finished speaking, the character was still kind of in the room. Because I was used to doing live-action, I thought, “Well, I guess this is the way they do it. They’re still hearing him, maybe.” But the happy news was, whatever that pause was, at the end of it came, “All right, you’ve got a job!” Then it was feeling like a neophyte in this world, where I was put in this cast with some real heavy-hitters, including our dear, departed friend Kevin Conroy.

It’s that thing that happens where you don’t go in knowing that you’re working with greats, you just know that they’re good people. When I first met Jennifer Garner, it was, like, “Okay, this young woman is going to be very, very big.” She had all of the elements, plus this massive sense of decency. It’s a simple trick, but one of the things I’ve been guided by is whether people can look you in the eye…and she was steady. That’s the way she looked at everyone. That’s the way she looks at the world. And in that cast of people, during the play and the work, they were good people. It was a tremendous academy. That’s what I was part of: the Justice League Academy. I learned a great deal, and to this day I have nothing but admiration and love for each and every one of those wonderful cast members.

Supergirl (2017-2019)—“M’yrnn J’onzz”

AVC: After voicing J’onn, you got to play a live-action version of his father.

CL: What a tangled web, eh? That was one of the few pieces of true stunt casting that I’ve been a part of, where they called and said, “We’re doing this live-action, and there’s this character…” I thought, “Yeah, it’ll be kind of kicky. Yeah, sure, why not?” And then I went, and Melissa [Benoist] reminded me in many ways of Jennifer. Multi-talented! And so decent. And then David Harewood, who I don’t think I ever thought anything but, “That’s my boy! That’s my son!” It was kicky, the whole thing of having played the character in animation and now playing his father.

Cagney & Lacey (1981-1987) / Cagney & Lacey: The Return (1994)—“Marcus Petrie”

AVC: You mentioned how you found your way onto Cagney & Lacey, but we should circle back and focus on the experience. How did you feel about the evolution of your character?

CL: I think I had three wives, because at that time, Petrie was not central, so when a wife was cast, it might be several episodes to a couple of years later before the next wife would be needed, and that wife was gainfully employed elsewhere, so a second wife was employed. But the third wife [Vonetta McGee] was the wife I actually married. I don’t know if I did that just to maintain consistency in the role [Laughs.] or if—as I actually felt—I had been smitten and was head over heels in love with this woman and felt that it was appropriate. The casting wasn’t always excellent, but in this case, it was perfect.

How I felt about the evolution of the character is how I felt about my personal evolution in this business. I chafed quite a bit at what I felt was—yes, I was part of the ensemble, but in the way that cayenne is part of the spice shelf. If you’re going to be used, it’s going to be sparingly, because you’re not exactly the main dish, and you’re kind of strong. [Laughs.] So I had to work with that. I remember at certain points asking—or suggesting—in scenes, “I’m not certain why Petrie isn’t here for this, because this was a point brought up in this earlier episode that Petrie had made.” And people were very frank with you at that time. They would say things like, “Well, we can’t do that, because that would put you in a scene with so-and-so, and a lot of our sponsors are in the South, so we can’t.” And that was definitely a part of what I had to deal with as it went along. “We have to be pragmatic. The reason the show is on is to get viewership, and if there’s a bulk of the viewership that is uncomfortable with your presence, then we can’t do that. Certainly you understand.” 

I did not understand that at all. I said, “I understand what you’re saying.” I had two escape valves: “I understand what you’re saying” and “I hear you.” They both operated very well, because it meant that I could leave the room, and I wasn’t lying. [Laughs.] I understood the words. But it was an affront.

I’m not sure that the character necessarily evolved. Petrie got as good as I was at processing the indignity, the unfairness, and the degree to which it was important that he was there. That was more important than me being satisfied in my work environment. The fact that, when I would go out and I would be recognized by any number of people, but especially by Black people, who would say things like, “It’s so good to see you on television. I turn it on every week, and sometimes I don’t see very much of you, but every time I do, I feel good.” That became as important to me as satisfying my ego gratification. I’ll call it that. You don’t do all the work that I do, the roles that I do, without feeling like you want that contribution to count. Petrie came to understand the contribution that he was making simply by continuing to survive. That was a lesson that I had been taught by all sorts of people, including my parents, other immigrants that I had known, and people in the community and other Black people who moved around in the world, and politicians. All of those people who were not getting their due but staying in the fight.

AVC: A friend of mine had a very specific question, so I want to read it word for word: “I’d love to hear his thoughts about his departure from Cagney & Lacey right after an ill-conceived race episode. The episode correctly puts Cagney in the wrong, but I still didn’t like the use of the N-word in doing so.”

CL: I understand what he feels about the fact that it was ill-advised. I personally was not raised using the N-word. There’s a way in which an argument can be made that the N-word was taken away from the people who used it in a way to hurt. There were people who took the power away from it and gave it to themselves, and I understand that that was important, but it was not a word that was part of my development, my background. I definitely hear my father on that one. [Laughs.] I couldn’t do it.

I would say to him that it was not solely the reason that I didn’t stay for the last season. But I did have a strong sense that, in that position, as a member of the cast, I was a part of everything that came out of the show, whether I was on that episode or not, whether I was in that scene or not. And I was not a fan of the use of that word. But in fairness, I was also just ready to see what else there was. In my mind, Petrie decided to drop police work and become a lawyer. So, that was my thinking about things having come to an end for both of us. And that end marked a beginning for both of us. So whatever was going to happen next, I was looking forward to it. And it wasn’t as much a matter of “let me get out of here.” 

There were things about Cagney & Lacey that I was very proud of. I was very proud of the concept of the show. There’s an inaccurate story that’s being told to this day about the power of women, so that’s a point of pride on my IMDb that I was a part of that. 

Alias (2001-2006)—“Marcus Dixon”

CL: I really liked this guy. He arrived when I’d had a son, my paternal instincts had kicked in, and I thought about the fact that, “Yeah, I’ve been doing this for awhile, I can claim some wisdom. I’ve had experiences and had to think my way through situations. Yeah, I’m a value for what I know!” And here was this young woman, Sydney, who had all of these skills and was brilliant but did not yet have wisdom, because she didn’t have experience. 

The fun of that show was, “Rambaldi? The clock does what? Those aren’t shoes? What are you talking about?” And that was, again, improvisation always riding in, because you had to make sense of some of these things. Well, you had to make sense of all of them! That was one of those instances where I felt like I was part of a company, not just a cast. And then the joy of watching Jennifer take everything on and bring positivity and enthusiasm to everything.

I keep using that word “joy” because I think it’s key. I want to believe that if I was a UPS driver, I would be a pretty happy one, despite the fact that I don’t really love shorts all that much. [Laughs.] In light of the fact that the world every week was under massive threat, and that very often it was up to us to stop things from happening before they happened, and to be—in a sense—selfless, to be so attached to wanting it for everyone…all of that falls in line with things I like to think about humanity when we’re operating at the top of our hearts and intelligence. 

Also, I don’t think I ever blew up as much stuff. Action and family. That was one of the things, and I still feel this way about J.J. Abrams and his brilliance: with all of that madness, mayhem, and everything, it was solely about this family and what takes place in families. The secrets and the betrayals, and the moments of sacrifice and selflessness. Because it’s more than just about you. It’s about us. 

The West Wing (2000)—“Jeff Breckenridge”

CL: That was a beautifully written, beautifully wrought show. And that episode, I remember feeling like, “This is tender. This is delicate for some people. What they’re playing with, this whole idea of reparations, what is owed, is a conversation that has to start with what was taken, or what was perpetrated.” So, that is assumed by this character. 

Someone has written a book that lays out the case for reparations, which has actually been done, I believe, probably time and time again. I’ll start with Native Americans. Isn’t there something owed to the people who you trod into the ground to lay the foundation for the mansion you built? Isn’t there something owed to the people who carved the stone and mixed the mortar to build that mansion? So now, as you sit on your veranda or your portico, can’t you think about it and realize you’ve got what you wanted but it wasn’t exactly the way you should’ve gotten it, and there are a lot of people living underneath the weight of this mansion that you built?

Without being specific, I’m going to share a moment that occurred. We had gone through the scene, we’re on set, and the crew was having a discussion about what was happening that day. An individual said, “Well, I don’t get it. I never had any slaves, and I’m not gonna be paying any reparations!” Then there was one of those silences. Then there was a buzz of chatter and activity. “Uh, by the way, we need to get that moved over there…” Suddenly there was a wash of sound and conversation to cover that moment. I remember thinking, “What do I do? Because this is a drama that is actually not scripted, it’s not part of what I’m here for, and how do I feel about it?” 

My ultimate decision was that I did not say anything, because what had been expressed was a personal opinion, even though it was expressed in the public space. It was something that they had to get out. And it helped my character! Because I realized that was the thinking of a lot of people, and in coming to the White House to be considered for the position, he had to know that this could be a stumbling block and that he wasn’t going to get that position. At whatever level you want, that’s heroism for me. That moment that I just mentioned, it fastened me to a greater sense of what this character was about. That’s one thing The West Wing did constantly: reminded us that this is the country in which we live, we are citizens of this republic, and we come from all manner of backgrounds. We’re involved in a pretty glorious experiment, and as with most experiments, you know what you’re looking for, but you don’t know what you’re going to get. And it’s noble to be trying.

M.A.N.T.I.S. (1994-1995)—“Dr. Miles Hawkins”

CL: The pilot was bliss. Sam Hamm, Sam Raimi, Eric [Laneuville], Gina Torres, Wendy [Raquel Robinson], and a bold storyline. By that point, what I understood about a comic-book sense of things was that it was an ideal storyline, like Batman or something, that grew out of someone who perhaps had a reason to carry a bit of animus towards the system and towards the world in which he lived but decided to do something about it without taking life. And then after the tragedy that happens, he’s confined to a wheelchair, and he creates something which we have today: an exoskeleton. 

I loved so much about it, from the fact that his name was Miles to the idea that, on every level, it was about empowerment. It was also about reaching back to Africa for wisdom and expertise, reawakening the reality of Timbuktu and the skete of knowledge which the entire world at one point envied and bringing it into a context that was so apropos. The cities and gang culture and people feeling unsafe, and here is a figure who appears and stops crime without stopping lives; the preservation of life was as important as stopping crime. And then all of the intrigue of, “Who actually put him in the wheelchair?” I thought the pilot was winding up for something really special, as did the viewership on Fox. 

Here’s where the trickiness began. Normally when something does that well in the ratings as a pilot—and I experienced this with Cagney & Lacey—they’re looking to transfer those things almost whole cloth to the series. I wasn’t told prior, I just heard that there were going to be some cast shifts. I certainly don’t know who would’ve been able to phrase it in a way that would not have sounded like, “We’re gonna take all the Black people out except you. Just temporarily! We may add one or two, so don’t panic. And we’re gonna remove this idea that you’re working with these African scientists, and what we’ll do is put in place something that we know that’s tried and true, which is that—even though you’re a neurophysicist and an inventor and you have your own company—you have a development director who is really the force behind your brilliance. So, yeah, we’ll move forward that way!” As the series went on, it seemed that with those elements gone, there was more room for humor, to have more fun with the superhero. At a certain point, there was a desire to have M.A.N.T.I.S. kill somebody! Not unintentionally, just pushing them over a balcony and perhaps not realizing that if you fall 19 stories, you won’t survive that.

I was underwhelmed by the direction the series took after the brilliance of the pilot. To me, the pilot was just a set of wonderful openings that could’ve been explored, and all of those stories were slammed and we were put in a tract home. I didn’t get it. I don’t think I will ever get it, beyond the fact that there was a lack of courage in the group that came after the pilot. But I’m still very proud to have done that. I don’t know that I attach as much to it being—as I believe it was—the first Black superhero on television. I think the entirety of it was heroic. The element that remained was that he was still living in a wheelchair, that was key for me. At a certain point, the degree to which I held onto that as being important, that might have made it more difficult for me to continue on and for us to have ongoing seasons.

The Life Of Chuck (2024)—“Sam Yarbrough”

CL: Before we shot this, Mike [Flanagan] talked about the short story that this comes from, and he spoke about loving this short story when he read it. He spoke about it being something he had to do. Yes, he had done Doctor Sleep, but this is Stephen King. A lot of people want to do his work, and I’m sure Mr. King has his own ideas about what he thinks are the juicy bits that can be made into a film, and I don’t know if he saw the possibility that Mike saw. But I do know that Mike was able, in speaking with him and presenting him with this possibility, to bring Mr. King on board. 

It’s a story for our time. What people have gotten used to from Mike is horror. He’s definitely a master. But what The Fall Of The House of Usher showed is that he is also a master of language, and of visual language to marry with these incredible texts that he’s capable of writing. The work that he’s done on The Life Of Chuck transcends a lot of what I have seen. Stephen King took a chance, in a way, writing it, but it came from something he needed to articulate about the beauty that lives on the other side of the horror. 

It’s beautiful. It’s unexpected. It’s bold. And it’s delicate. It has an evanescence. It’s there, but it’s almost not there. For me, when I read the script and the short story, I felt like it was reaching for something inside us that we need to hear and we need to understand about who we are as beings. Not regional, not color, not gender. Human. And I hope in saying that, that I haven’t violated anything that I signed saying I wouldn’t!