#aitaf

More than any year prior (at least the four years I’ve attended), this 2022 show highlighted how bold and daring this mission truly is. Putting actors and military personnel in the same room to have a chat and feel some feels together was always something of a radical idea, but this year’s event took the concept so much further. While this was not the first time the Broadway event featured an all-black cast (see my recap of the 2019 performance of A Raisin In The Sun), Fat Ham raised the bar with a veritable celebration of queerness, blackness, and all manner of ‘other’-ness. One of the play’s emotional peaks takes place between Juicy (the Hamlet equivalent) and Larry (the Laertes equivalent, portrayed here as a military recruit home on leave). After several interactions showing Larry to harbor feelings for Juicy, Larry finally makes an utterly beautiful yet tormented confession of love, voicing his profound admiration and envy for all the ways Juicy is “soft” in not letting the world harden him or the dictates of others change him. It’s no exaggeration to say this was one of the single most stirring, gorgeous monologues I can remember hearing in a long time.

The play proceeds to confrontation, then eventual acceptance among the older family members of the younger generation’s difference – difference in not only their sexuality but their evolving expectations and dreams for their futures. Juicy’s uncle (the Claudius equivalent) dies when he chokes on a bite of meat and refuses help from his gay stepson – releasing Juicy from his dilemma of whether or not to revenge his father’s murder and passing judgment on the man’s violent tendencies and homophobic predisposition. In the final scene, the remaining characters briefly contemplate the absurd proposal of killing each other in order to stay true to their tragic source material. Instead, they embrace love and a new tomorrow beyond cycles of violence and revenge. The last thing we see is Larry leading a joyous and utterly fierce dance of liberation, disco music and all.

Fat Ham is the sort of brilliantly irreverent, gloriously life-affirming show you have to see to believe. But just based on what I’ve shared above, you can probably understand why this was such a bold, unexpected choice of work to present to a military audience. Broadly speaking, this is the demographic people might expect to vote red and react with discomfort to such intimate examinations of black, queer, and transgender consciousness. But by the end of the night, it became clear that, actually, there is no audience better suited for such a story.

As the talkback began, an immediate connection was apparent between material and audience. A question was posed about the former ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy, and the audience member expressed how rare it is to see portrayals of LGBTQ people in uniform. The one bordering-awkward moment came when an older woman in the audience asked the cast (and Director, also present on stage) whether they believed this depiction of a multi-generational family to be realistic - wherein the younger generation all identify with an LGBTQ orientation. The actor who’d played Larry (Calvin Leon Smith – who I also saw in the Bridge Award reading in September and who’s truly the real deal; this man will make you feel the whole spectrum of emotion) bridged the moment with grace and sincerity, explaining how he himself grew up as a queer-identifying boy in a southern family, making this show personally resonant and all too realistic. The Director followed up to say that if it seems the LGBTQ community appeared from nowhere or expanded at a precipitous rate, that’s only because we have now, for the first time, reached a period of acceptance when people who were long hidden and silent can finally be themselves and live liberated, honest lives. The answering applause was immediate and enthusiastic, followed by the voice of an audience member from the balcony shouting, “And everyone go vote tomorrow!”

(Cue critical self-examination of my previous assumption regarding service members/veterans’ political ideologies.)

From here, the questions became more personal, delving into the actors’ emotional journeys to portray characters experiencing turmoil, conflict, and loss. An audience member who was himself active in the arts asked MVP Calvin Leon Smith/Larry about his approach to channeling the emotion required of the love confession scene described earlier. Mr. Smith started his response with a shoutout to his acting teacher, who was in the audience. “Sorry, I just love him,” he said, becoming visibly emotional. He again referenced his upbringing and said that the tools he learned through acting for understanding and confronting the layers of his own emotions and identity had made a vast difference in his life, but how some elements of his on-stage performance remain unpredictable. “It doesn’t always happen,” he said, in reference to the tears he’d shed on-stage during the scene. I have to note here that this guy in particular really went the extra mile in terms of his honesty and willingness to become vulnerable with the audience. It was clear that this evening’s rendition of the scene in question had been particularly intense for him, but he leaned further into the self-exposure and was willing to openly examine and discuss the experience. His participation in the talkback truly epitomized the profound strength and utility in confronting and sharing moments of emotional rupture, even if difficult or unglamorous. I felt everything he said extraordinarily deeply.

OKAY I haven’t talked at all about our main man yet, but he features heavily in the last and most emotional question of the night! I already recapped this moment on twitter, but it really deserves more extensive description. The last guy to ask a question (it was more of a comment, really, but every heart in the theater was with this guy) was also a member of AITAF’s marathon team. Here’s the most complete recap I can recall what he said:

While deployed with his EOD unit some years ago, he suffered the loss of his best friend. In attempt to come to terms with his grief, he tried traditional therapy for years but it just wasn’t helping. Then he saw Adam’s TedTalk and it “changed his life.” (He paused here as he started becoming audibly emotional and apologized, then soldiered on.) He started becoming involved in acting, and the tools he learned and techniques he was exposed to finally helped him begin to understand and cope with his trauma. (“I finally felt like I wasn’t just angry all the time.”) He said how rewarding acting has been for him, and that he recently landed his first TV role and will be filming in LA soon. (Cue audience and cast on stage cheering and applauding.)

Spoken directly to Adam: “I really just wanted to say thank you and that what you’re doing really does make a difference.”

(Not lying, I just started crying a little just remembering this moment and typing this all out. The sincerity in everything he said was so palpable, the theater was entirely silent in solidarity, and I saw at least two of the actors on stage shed a tear as he spoke.)

Sitting there and listening to him, I remember being so struck by the raw emotion in his voice that in a weird way (and this is something I never thought I’d say), I couldn’t bear to look over at Adam right away? Almost like the moment was too intense or personal? But once the guy looked over and started speaking directly to Adam, of course I looked too. (God, I’m getting emotional again thinking about this!) Adam was leaning entirely forward in his seat, his attention undivided as if this guy were speaking to him face-to-face from two feet away. There were several pauses in his speech when the audience clapped in support, and I remember Adam holding his hands all the way out before him and clapping in sort of self-effacing recognition. It was clear it wasn’t like he was applauding the content of what was being said (about himself), but rather that he was recognizing and offering respect for this guy’s bravery to stand up and share something so personal, and for his successful journey of healing.

As soon as the question was over and the moment past, Adam leaned over to say something to a nearby security person. It was very clearly something along the lines of “I want to meet that man afterwards” and sure enough, homeboy got his meeting and picture later that night! Now THAT is a tearful happy ending right there if I’ve ever heard one. <3

Okay so with all that substance out of the way, let’s indulge in some classic fangirling, shall we? : ) Knowing that Adam wouldn’t be participating in the reading himself, I expected him to just make brief comments at the beginning of the show about AITAF’s mission, thanking the staff/volunteers, and all the usual. I was pleasantly surprised when he also read a short monologue himself – an excerpt from Take Me Out by Richard Greenberg. (You can hear him do the same monologue in the final minutes of the Vice AITAF documentary.) He tied the reading into the purpose of the evening’s event – an exercise in pausing to celebrate and honor ourselves, especially all the service men and women in the audience. Once he concluded, he left the stage and the cast came on to start the Fat Ham reading.

An unexpected highlight to the whole evening was having a clear line of sight to where Adam and Joanne were watching the play from a box off to the side of the audience. I loved having the chance to see Adam’s reactions to everything happening on stage, and I took almost equal enjoyment from both. It will surprise no one to hear that he’s an extremely attentive viewer. He watched most of the more serious, somber scenes with his head sort of cocked to the side in concentration, arms crossed in his lap. His mirth and delight from the play’s many uproarious moments was on clear display – it was like I could almost hear that weird, honky laugh of his. <3 I can clearly remember moments when I’d look over and just see him full on grinning, clearly enjoying and letting himself get lost in the performance. I mentioned on twitter how much he got into the Radiohead Creep scene, and he really did. It WAS quite a moment. Juicy starts singing the song with only partial commitment, but when the first chorus kicks in the whole cast suddenly lurch into the song in unison, moving to the rhythm as Juicy starts belting out the words. Adam was clapping with both arms over his head, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he let out a whoop in compliment.

When the play started getting more tense in its second half, I noticed Adam sort of resting his hand against his mouth. I couldn’t tell if he was actually biting his nails, but he definitely had his fingers against his lips in a sort of absent-minded way, while his attention was fixed elsewhere. He was clearly engrossed, and I loved this brief opportunity to watch him as a captivated viewer – a rare role reversal considering I’m usually the one watching him with that sort of reverence. And yes, it really made the funny moments all the more memorable and touching whenever I would look over and see Adam laughing right along with me, or just grinning the most boyish, adorable grin in the entire universe. (!!!)

As charmingly earnest as he was in his introductory speech (and just a tiny bit awkward with his initial ‘Hello!... Goodbye!’ to the audience when he stepped forward to see us past the stage lights), and as much as I loved getting to watch him as an audience member – reacting and feeling the same emotions as the rest of us, my biggest takeaway from the night is likely still that final exchange between Adam and the marathon team member. Adam didn’t have a microphone or the chance to respond right away, but he didn’t need to. This was an expression of profound and heartfelt gratitude in response to a conversation Adam had already started years and years before, and which Adam still devotes so much time, care, and energy to sustain. I left the event with a reminder of just how unique, how mighty and transformative Adam’s enduring commitment to realize, grow, and maintain AITAF truly is. A reminder that he has dedicated his passionate, theatre-loving heart to sharing the empowerment and resilience he himself discovered through the arts. And, finally, I left knowing that he has changed lives for the better – some in even more profound, consequential ways than how he has already touched mine.