Patricia Ione Lloyd explores first loves and last breaths in Eve’s Song.
By Brandon Voss
Patricia Ione Lloyd is saying their names and speaking her truth.
The queer black playwright searches for light in the darkest of places with Eve’s Song, her genre-blending dramedy about a modern American black family literally haunted by a herstory of violent misogyny. Directed by Jo Bonney, the LGBTQ-inclusive play is currently making its world premiere off-Broadway at the Public Theater.
Tempering horror with humor, Lloyd explains why it’s a joy to tell an authentic queer love story and honor black women who might be just like Beyoncé.
NewNowNext: While tackling serious issues, Eve’s Song is disarmingly funny. Why explore violence against black women with a dark comedy?
Patricia Ione Lloyd: That’s actually just how I live my life. We all have struggles, and if you don’t find some happiness, how could you get up in the morning? How could you put one foot in front of the other?
Sometimes easier said than done these days.
I learned it from my mom. I’d see her and her friends, smoking cigarettes and drinking soda in a basement with no windows, doing ceramics, telling very sad stories but also laughing together. That’s something that keeps me going no matter what — just finding some joy in this world. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to sit through a show about the killing of black women, the killing of queer people, without some humor, so there are ups and downs in the show, just as there are in life. I’m trying to tell an authentic story that’s meaningful while also taking care of the people who experience it — and myself.
Was it ever difficult to find that joy?
When I was writing this show, I had just started dating my partner. Sometimes I’d be literally weeping as I was typing. Then I’d get myself together, get cute, and go see her. One day she was like, “Are you okay? What were you just doing?” I told her about the play and she was like, “I think you’re depressed.” I was like, “Oh, that’s what that is!” Like a lot of artists, I had to learn to separate myself from the stories I tell, and one way I did that was with humor.
With the Black Lives Matter movement we tend to think of young black men at risk, but your play focuses on black women. Do black female victims of violence deserve more attention?
Black women and black queer women in America don’t get enough attention in general, and we’re definitely not grieved in the same way — not to take away from other demographics, but it’s a fact. We see so many examples of black girls and black women not receiving the same care and support from society, and sometimes we need the truth clearly articulated to us.
As a white gay man, I tend to revere black women as pillars of strength and resilience. We live in a time where we celebrate the fierceness of Oprah Winfrey, Maxine Waters, Viola Davis, Michelle Obama, Beyoncé. Is it fair to say that’s another reason people may overlook the reality of black women in peril?
I love all those women you mentioned, by the way, but I think we’ve always lived in that time. We’ve always had strong black female icons. We’re always seen as divas, we’re always seen as fabulous, always taking care of others, and yeah, I do think that dehumanizes black women. Remember when Beyoncé opened up about issues she’d had with her pregnancies, and people were like, “Oh, she’s a real person!” If we think about it, what does it do to a woman when she always has to be strong and taking care of others?
You began workshopping Eve’s Song in 2016. Did the #MeToo and #TimesUp movements reshape the play this past year?
Those movements have always been in my consciousness and the consciousness of this play, and I like to speak Tarana Burke’s name so we remember she started the #MeToo movement a decade ago. But I’m so thankful for those movements, because they’ve given people a touchstone to understand what’s happening in the world.
The family home in Eve’s Song is haunted by Spirit Women based on real victims, including Kerrice Lewis, a lesbian shot and burned to death last year in the trunk of a car. Why did you introduce the element of horror to tell their stories?
When I think about what I’m scared of, what I find horrific, it’s not ghosts or monsters. It’s easy to say that’s not real, that can’t hurt me, but it’s a way in for people to start talking about what they’re really afraid of. Our deepest fears are each other, and we’re haunted by what one person can do to another. That’s the world we live in right now.
One of the Spirit Women, played by Tamara M. Williams, is based on Amia Tyrae Berryman, a trans woman who was shot and killed in March. Why was it important to include a trans voice?
Thank you for asking that question, because I read some criticism asking if I was jumping on a trans bandwagon. What I’m doing in this play is talking about the lives of black women, and trans women are women. It didn’t even occur to me to not be inclusive to my trans sisters. It’s in the script that the role must be played by someone who identifies as trans, per me, because we need to be authentic and inclusive in our storytelling.
There’s increasing pressure to cast queer actors in queer roles. Does an actor’s sexual orientation matter?
When it comes to sexuality, I’m most interested in mine and my partner’s. [Laughs] But I like three-dimensional queer characters, so when actors come in for auditions, I’ve got my queer eye on them. I don’t care who they’re doing what with or where, I just want to believe them in a role. There’s nothing worse than seeing a love story or love scene and just not buying it.
Eve’s Song is also a coming-of-age story about Lauren (Kadijah Raquel), a masculine-leaning lesbian, and her sexual awakening with an activist named Upendo (Ashley D. Kelley). How much did your own first romantic experiences inspire that?
Even though I’m not masculine of center, I am very much like Lauren. My game is that I have no game, and I lean into that. There’s nothing like first love. In my experience, first love is not meant to last — it’s meant to crash and burn in orgasms and tears. So it was a joy to write a first-love story with a queer character and that rollercoaster of emotions, because it’s also about her realizing who she’s going to be in the world.
Lauren’s mother worries for her daughter’s safety but also feels “betrayed” by her coming out. Did that stem from your own experience?
That came from someone in my life and how their mother feels, which was really shocking to me. I was interested in this homophobic mother character who did feel betrayed, who feels lost, but is still trying to love her daughter. My mom was very excited and wanted graphic details about how queer women have sex. I was like, “You need to get a book, because I really can’t help you with that, but thanks for your support!” I’ve been very lucky. Since I’ve been on my own as a teenager, I’ve been able to curate people in my life who love me for who I am.
We don’t see many love stories about women of color on mainstream stages. Do you feel a responsibility to tell queer black stories?
I don’t feel a responsibility, but I feel like it’s something I need to do responsibly. It’s a joy to tell queer black stories. Someone once asked me, “Why do you talk about being queer all the time?” I was surprised, because this is a person I had liked! I didn’t understand where that was coming from, so I investigated it. Really, it was just that the day-to-day stories in their life were straight. The day-to-day stories in my life, in my circle, are queer, straight, other, gender-nonconforming, and generally more diverse than this person’s, but it’s just my life. So I’m just telling love stories, family stories, good stories that happen to include queer people of color.
Lauren has some great internal monologues of self-affirmation. Like her, do you ever look in the mirror and tell yourself you’re the “lesbian superhero version of Drake”?
Yes. [Laughs] We all do what we need to get through the day.
NewNowNext, November 2018.
Photo: Eve's Song/Joan Marcus