Few actors can command the screen with such sincerity and passion as André Holland. His visage is a home for a host of emotions to make their residency and whether he’s working with seasoned directors like Barry Jenkins and Steven Soderbergh or first-time directors like Titus Kaphar and Rachael Abigail Holder, he gives his all, not so much playing his characters as much as he embodies him holistically.
This consistent ardor also defines his latest leading roles, both vastly different but united by a thematic throughline of the importance of memory as well as Holland’s anchoring presence. In “The Dutchman,” based on the play of the same name by Amiri Baraka and directed by Andre Gaines, Holland plays Clay, a successful businessman. Wrestling with his collapsing marriage and his identity struggles, Clay’s world spirals even further when he encounters a Lula (Kate Mara) on the subway, and strikes up a tryst; it’s a meeting that will lead to professional, personal, and spiritual consequences. In Duke Johnson’s “The Actor,” Holland swaps the bustling New York City for the bucolic terrors of Ohio, starring as actor Paul Cole, who is beaten and left for dead. As Cole struggles to reclaim his memories, he begins to lose his grip on reality.
Holland was in Austin to promote “The Dutchman,” which premiered at SXSW, and RogerEbert.com sat down with him in person to not only discuss that project but also “The Actor,” as well as the string of leading roles he’s had as of late, from this year’s Sundance film “Love, Brooklyn,” to his underrated and overlooked turn in Titus Kaphar’s “Exhibiting Forgiveness.”
“Most movies I’ve been in have been the result of somebody calling me and being like, “Hey I got this idea. … I got ten pages. I don’t know what it’s about … can we meet and talk about it?” Holland shared. We spoke about how being a Masters student at Harvard Divinity School has influenced his creative life, how trust between collaborators leads to greater art, and how theologian, civil rights activist, and author Howard Thurman inspires his acting philosophy.
This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.
Both of these films, “The Dutchman” and “The Actor,” are adapted either from a play or book. How familiar were you with the source material and if you were familiar, how did your relationship with them change as you worked on these film adaptations?
When I first encountered The Dutchman, I was a young actor with all these feelings, and I just wanted somewhere to put them. When I read the speech that Clay gives where he’s able to let out all of his pent-up emotions, I, like most young actors, was like “Oh man I can’t wait to do that. I get to yell, throw things, and course.” Reading the play then was exciting for me because, on an instinctive level, I felt what Clay was experiencing. I grew up in the South and on an experiential level, knew about the double consciousness idea … even if I didn’t have the language to talk about it, I had a sense of what it was. I viewed The Dutchman then as a chance to show what I can do as an actor on a technical level. Coming back to it now for Gaines’ film, I’m able to look at it from a more critical and analytical stance and see that what [Amiri] Baraka was doing was not just writing a play about emotion, but also a pointed critique of capitalism. Baraka was obviously looking at race and art making, but there’s this whole other layer that makes the text so rich.
At Harvard, I’m taking a class with these two amazing professors, Walter Johnson and Vincent Brown called Racial Capitalism and the Black Radical Tradition. It’s making me think about this play in a completely new way and it’s making me wish that we could start the play again and do it all over now.
Your next project should be a new theater run of The Dutchman.
Exactly. In terms of “The Actor,” I had not read Donald E. Westlake’s novel. Duke and I started talking about the film about five years ago. I read the book and thought it was fun and in a similar way to “The Dutchman,” when Duke told me he wanted to give the material a theatrical take and hire a company of actors and have them all play multiple parts, that spoke to me as a theater nerd.
I was reading that what was unique about “The Actor’s” production was that usually actors would shoot their scenes and leave but because everyone had multiple roles, most people stayed on for the duration of the production which made things feel like theater camp in a way. I think also about how you painted together with director Titus Kaphar with “Exhibiting Forgiveness.” You’ve been building a roster of unique filming and production experiences. It’s different from filming on the studio side I imagine when you get to film with that level of intimacy.
That’s so true. I haven’t thought about that, but you’re right. That’s been one of the best parts about these projects and the roles I’ve taken on. With “The Actor” we were shooting in Budapest in the dead of winter … it was freezing but I did feel like we built a company of actors. Even thinking back to “Moonlight,” we had a similar kind of thing going on. I showed in Miami and got the rundown of “We don’t have any money. We don’t have any time. Let’s figure it out.” I love working in that way and being in a community with people.
When you’re working with people in that way, it creates this trust as well that shows up in the work in ways that are so surprising. I’m thinking about “Exhibiting Forgiveness” in that scene where Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor and I are sitting on the bench together. It’s a tense sequence but because we had this trust, we ended up improvising some of those lines within that scene. That safety opened up the story in these amazing ways. There’s something about trust that’s essential to making art.
It’s from that place of refuge that you can feel freedom to create. Thinking about “The Actor” and “The Dutchman” in conversation again I noticed that there’s a throughline about the role of public transportation in those films. You also shot on an actual NY subway car for “The Dutchman” right?
I’ve lived in New York for 20 years or more, but there’s this one section of the Subway where all the movies that shoot on the New York subway on New York subway shoot on this exact train, and it goes back and forth between Delancey and Bleecker. So when we were down there shooting, the people who worked there were telling us about all the movies that got shot in that area. There’s a whole dedicated section that you’re allowed to shoot.
It’s an interesting point you bring up and I want to think more about it but when I think about those films, what comes up for me is not just the idea of public transit but mobility, specifically as it relates to Black folks. Looking at “The Dutchman,” you can argue that what Baraka is trying to do with that train is draw a metaphor for slavery. Clay gets onto the train, but it’s when he wants to get off of it that the problems arise. It’s like when he tries to express agency differently than how Lula thinks he’s meant to or allowed to, that leads him to get killed–at least in the original play’s ending. The movie is trying to do a different thing. With “The Actor,” Paul spends a lot of time in motion in flight as he tries to figure out who he is and find his way home. There’s something with both of these characters that touches me because they’re both constantly in motion yet trying to find their way home.
Speaking of homecoming, “The Actor” was making me think about how remembering can get in the way of starting over. There’s a great line between you and Nicole Beharie’s characters in “Love, Brooklyn” where you’re discussing a painting of Sodom and Gomorrah and your character says “When you can’t hold the things you love the most, you just take the things you can remember.” I’m wondering if you’ve thought about how all of these projects have explored the ways clinging to memory can be helpful and hurtful.
I think with Paul in “The Actor,” there’s a certain freedom he experiences from not remembering but there’s a profound sense of loneliness and confusion that arises with him not having any point of reference, which is also interesting to think about.
It’s like a form of rebirth in a way for him.
Right! I think that’s connected with what was said earlier about Clay in the sense that Paul is this dude who doesn’t have any sense of his past and therefore is confused about what he’s going to do next and which way he’s going to go. With the character of Clay in “The Dutchman,” I think one of the warnings and points Baraka was trying to make to Black folks was that not knowing your history, not knowing how you got here, and not knowing how you came to be so-called “Black” may be part of what creates the double consciousness thing that W.E.B. DuBois was talking about. With “Love, Brooklyn” it connects because there are these people who are trying to move forward but are stuck on how to do that. When you move forward, what do you hold onto? What do you let go? Can you remake yourself? Are we allowed to remake ourselves?
In all these projects, we see the consequences of what happens when your characters step out of line. Your films are almost asking: is there room in this world to hold the totality of our emotions? Is there space for Tarrell’s [from “Exhibiting Forgiveness”] pain Clay’s rage or Paul’s confusion?
I think part of what something like “The Dutchman” is trying to say is that you can grieve but you can’t do it by yourself. Everything that happens to Clay is because he’s alone and not in the community and that’s why he’s able to be picked off. A big part of projects like “The Actor” and “The Dutchman” is about community building. Creating a revolution by yourself is not sustainable. You need the support of a community around you.
On a more technical level, I was mesmerized by the rhythm of “The Actor” and how scenes didn’t so much transition as much as bleed into each other. What was it like to have to film those moments where there wasn’t a clear camera cut?
That’s all down to Duke, man. He’s so brilliant. I remember the first time we shot one of those and I was very confused but he had built this whole hallway space. We shot on constructed stages in Budapest but he also built this cool hallway where he told me I’d walk from one room into another and that the room I’m stepping into would transform. I didn’t get it at first, but it took me a minute. But then once a day I was like, man, that’s clever. That’s one of the things that the people who have seen the film have pointed to because they dug those transitions.
Back to the note on community, I’ve noticed and loved that so much of your filmography and the projects you’ve chosen to be in have come about from your personal connections with the creatives. You knew Andre Gaines from NYU and a mutual friend connected you and Titus. A lot of these films touch on the importance of having those clouds of witnesses and it’s neat to think that your involvement in these projects stems from that same idea.
Thank you for saying that. I appreciate you pointing those things out. I think that’s true, man. I was thinking about that this morning. People say to me sometimes, “André, you choose great projects and I’m glad that you haven’t gone and done these big Marvel movies.” On one hand that’s really cool, but the truth is those kinds of opportunities haven’t come along for me. That just hasn’t been my path but I’m so grateful that I have the community that I have because we’ve been able to make things that are meaningful and we’ve been able to support each other’s dreams. So most of the things that I’ve done, most movies I’ve been in are the result of somebody calling me and being like, “Hey I got this idea. … I got ten pages. I don’t know what it’s about … can we meet and talk about it?” Then we get together, we build on it, and then five, six years later, the project emerges.
It’s always these little connections and now with everything happening politically with these rollbacks … this community is more important than ever. I want to expand it and I think there’s so much we can do together despite all the bullshit.
It’s a testament to the ways you’re stewarding your platform. It says something that you’re in these directorial debuts for so many people. Duke and Andre have both cited how you bring such a grounding force to these stories.
Even if we disagree! There were times with Rachael in “Love, Brooklyn” or Andre on “The Dutchman” there was some friction, but we always found our way through it. I love being in the room when inspiration hits and you see someone hit their stride and say “I’m a director. I know what I’m doing.” I like helping people and being of service. I’m a bit of a people pleaser in that way and so it’s hard for me to say no when somebody has an idea that they’re passionate about and I can tell they’ve thought about it. I want to help–and maybe this is for therapy–but I also want somebody to help me. I think that’s why I always try to show up for other people because I understand that need.
Shifting away from the people element for a second, I’m thinking about what Stephen McKinley Henderson’s character in “The Dutchman” says about how we “find pieces of ourselves in literature that help us heal.” What is the literature or any other art that has helped you find pieces of yourself?
Film, art, and literature mean so much to me. Another one of the classes I’m taking right now is called African-American Literary Tradition. We started with slave narratives and we’re bringing ourselves up to the current day. It’s been amazing because there’s so much out there I wasn’t aware of and I’ve found so much peace and solace in some of the texts I’ve written. Last week we read James Weldon Johnson’s “The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man” which is largely about identity and moving through the world, trying to find a way to move through the world that also allows one to feel whole. The questions that these movies are wrestling with are not new. It brings me so much joy and excitement to look back at these texts and ask “What did DuBois think about this?” It’s comforting to think that we, as makers of art now, are part of that lineage. That’s one of my North Stars … I want the things I do to feel like they belong to a lineage of Black thinkers who’ve been considering and wrestling with these things. So years from now, I hope people might look back at something that I made and go, “Well, that helps me deal with what I’m dealing with.”
What you’re articulating is making me think of what Howard Thurman says about “the voice of the genuine.” I haven’t thought about engaging or making art, as you’re describing it, as a way to get at that voice.
That’s crazy … I’m taking a Howard Thurman class right now! We’re reading “The Search for Common Ground” and I was listening to some of his old lectures. He said,–and I’m paraphrasing– “I’ve eaten a lot of fruit from trees that I didn’t plant.” I feel the responsibility too, to plant some trees for people who are yet to come off of.
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