Monthly Archives: August 2022

When I worked in publishing in the early Noughties, nobody is going to buy a book with a black girl on the cover was a thing that people still said, out loud, in professional settings. The received wisdom was that books by and about marginalised people wouldnt sell. At another meeting (a friend in marketing reported), a male sales rep scoffed that hed never be able to sell a book because the cover model, a young woman with a Kardashian-esque physique, was too fat to be relatable.

That the industry had a diversity problem was impossible to argue with: an analysis of the gender makeup of the New York Times list shows how heavily it once skewed male and how, in the last decade, a massive push to diversify publishing has enjoyed no small amount of success.

But God help any writer bold enough to say so.

When James Patterson noted in an interview last month that older white men werent getting writing jobs as easily as they used to, outrage ensued. After being savaged for a week online and in the media, Patterson apologised (not that this mollified his critics). This week, Joyce Carol Oates kicked the same hornets nest, writing on Twitter that a friend who is a literary agent told me that he cannot even get editors to read first novels by young white male writers, no matter how good; they are just not interested. This state of affairs, she added, was heartbreaking for writers, particularly those with the self-awareness to be duly aware of their own privilege. But the response from within the literary community was not sadness, but fury.

The outpouring of replies were split between people who argued that Oatess assertion was false and people who argued that it was true but not heartbreaking, and in fact a real and unmitigated good. And then there were the people who argued both of these things simultaneously, sometimes even within the same breath. For whatever reason, this type of self-refuting argument is particularly ubiquitous on Twitter; the fallacy, which some have termed The Law of Salutary Contradiction, is best summed up as: this isnt happening, and also its good that its happening. One representative reply read: I am a literary agent. This is not so. And why ever would we invest our hopes in the continued success of white men in an industry which persists in shutting out queer and BIPOC authors?!

Is it happening? With more than one extremely high-profile person flat-out accusing Oates of lying, its worth surveying the statistics. This is only an informal snapshot of the data, but one that still tells a story: of the 100 most recent debut book deals listed on Publishers Marketplace, 83 went to women. Of the remaining 17, 12 went to white men ten of whom appear to be under the age of 40, and thus young by literary standards. Its not a total shutout, of course, but its also not parity. And the same trend can be observed in terms of not just whos published, but whos celebrated; for instance, of the 13 books on the Booker longlist, released this week, three are by white men, none of whom are under 45 (one is the oldest ever recipient of a Booker nomination).

Of course, there are additional layers of data here that could surface additional meaning: how big the deal, what genre the book, whether the author had previously published as a poet or essayist or journalist. And of course, those who get book deals have always represented only the tiniest fraction of aspiring novelists: if the uphill battle for young white men is marginally steeper now, it was plenty steep before.

But when Oatess agent friend reported that, he cannot even get editors to read first novels by young white male writers, its hardly far-fetched to think he was telling the truth if not literally, then directionally, in the sense that an exasperated parent might report that they cannot get their toddler to put his shoes on. I cant get editors to look at these books is a cultural observation, not a statistical one. Its about the vibes, the gossip, the buzz, the discourse, the things that agents hear from editors and authors hear from agents. Its about an industry veterans general sense of which way the wind is blowing. And on that front, when it comes to debut authors getting book deals, it is certainly blowing more favourably in the direction of non-white non-straight non-men.

Frankly, it would be weird if it were otherwise. From the moment that diversity became an industry cause, it enjoyed widespread, vocal support. In 2014, sparked by the revelation that white authors and characters absolutely dominated the YA marketplace, the We Need Diverse Books movement was born and since then it has only gathered steam. Pitching contests were established for marginalised writers. Literary media pivoted to focus heavily on those writers. Submission guidelines were updated to explicitly ask for work from queer, gender-nonconforming writers of colour. Publishers announced that they were committed to diversifying their lists. Editors announced their intention to buy more books by marginalised writers. Agents publicly bemoaned how sick they were of reading submissions by white guys.

All of these sentiments were expressed vehemently, repeatedly, and in public, and all of them seemed to convey a consensus truth: an individual white man might still do okay in publishing, but categorically? White men were over, the rules had changed, and the anecdotal evidence seemed to support this. Did you hear about the guy whose book was yanked back on the eve of submission when his agent realised that his racial identity didnt match the race of his protagonist? Or the white poet who couldnt get published until he adopted a female Chinese pseudonym and won accolades at least until he was found out?

The truth is, even if the data didnt bear out the substance of Oatess tweet, publishing culture matters when it comes to aspiring authors hoping to get a shot. Back when the problem was a lack of diverse books, it was known that the dearth of minority authors was at least in part a problem of preemptive discouragement: many promising writers, expecting the door to be slammed in their face, simply didnt bother trying to get through at all. And yet, among those who advocated hardest for diverse books, its all but verboten to suggest that the movement has gained any meaningful ground, cultural or otherwise.

Why, after all this progress, do publishings gatekeepers resist any suggestion that diversification has been a success? Its a paradox of the moment that a person is supposed to want this sort of change, demand it even, but also fly into a frothing rage at the notion that the desired change might in fact be happening. Maybe its that the survival of any progressive movement requires that you continually shift the goalposts, lest your organisation problem-solve its way into obsolescence. Maybe its a sense that however much has been accomplished, theres work yet to be done. Or maybe its just the cognitive dissonance that always accompanies initiatives like this: everyone wants to say theyre hiring for diversity, but nobody wants to be seen as a diversity hire.

Or maybe the problem is that even a diverse publishing world will still never be fair because this game has never been just about identity, or talent, but about timing, and resources, and pure dumb luck. If young white men arent the hottest commodity right now, its not just because publishers have convinced themselves its a moral imperative not to hire them; its because the industry follows the zeitgeist, and the zeitgeist of the moment is deeply invested in identity. The debut novels bought in 2022 thus far are not just overwhelmingly written by women, but overwhelmingly focused on race, gender, sexuality, or class.

Is this annoying? Maybe. But is it more annoying than the state of play ten years ago, when publishers were falling all over themselves to find the next sexually-charged teen dystopian-fantasy series about a merman and a werewolf fighting over a girl who doesnt know shes beautiful? Well, thats a matter of taste. And like all literary trends, this one wont last forever. Eventually, some new, attention-arresting thing will come on the scene, and the identitarian reckoning of 2020 will be yesterdays news. Whenever that happens, and whatever it is, a handful of lucky writers will get swept up by the cresting wave of the zeitgeist and carried to glorious high ground, while everyone else looks on and makes grumbling noises.

Originally posted here:

Publishing will never be fair - UnHerd

Its not often that we hear the word chode spoken aloud in the cinema, and so we tend to take note when we do. In Lena Dunhams new film Sharp Stick, the term gets a mention during a gab sesh between the naive Sara Jo (Kristine Froseth), her half-sister Treina (Taylour Paige) and their mother Marilyn (Jennifer Jason Leigh). In the course of sharing a surprisingly candid sexual anecdote, Mom describes a past lovers phallus as wider than it was long, which is called a? to which her daughters respond a chode! in unison, like a chorus of baby birds. While her mother speaks from direct experience, the sheltered, developmentally arrested Sara Jo recites this word as something shes been taught, a remote and abstract idea in her mind. She knows what sex is, but doesnt know, you know? You know. And she wants to know-know.

Though Froseths mannered performance pushes the 26-year-old Sara Jo to some more outr places than the jumbled-up young women identifiable as her predecessors, shes still a typical Dunham protagonist in the tension between her eagerness to explore an imagined grown-up world and her blindness to its realities. This peculiar comedy mostly tracks Sara Jos headfirst leap into the carnal deep end, as she resolves to try everything under the sun (or at least the PornHub tags bank) in the wake of a disastrous, virginity-claiming fling with her married boss that shakes loose a latent appetite. Of course her odyssey through the awkward sexuality thats Dunhams stock-in-trade doesnt go off hitchless, each encounter as calamitous as the last she stumbled into, until she comes out the other side with some semblance of insight and perspective. The writer-directors wheelhouse is situated here, at the nexus of late adolescence and young adulthood, as a hungry, experimental, solipsistic spirit gives way to awareness and responsibility. But Dunhams impulse toward transgression also fights her tendency for traditionalism, an uneasy kind of coexistence that echoes the uncomfortable state of personal flux her characters occupy.

Dunhams origin story is well-known, if only for how many times its been weaponized against her: born into the creative fast track by virtue of being child to two artists with some good money to their names, she achieved wunderkind status after wowing South by Southwest with her debut feature Tiny Furniture at the ripe age of 24. That wry cornerstone of the American indie-film movement regrettably termed mumblecore made a conscious effort to get out in front of its own privileged position, with Dunham playing an unflattering yet plausible parody of herself as a brat whining her way through a quarter-life crisis. Freshly graduated and adrift in her hometown, she putzes around and gets high and strikes up a casual thing with a local guy standard millennial stuff. Shes got some serious growing up to do, a process set in motion with her revelation of her own mothers humanity in the final scene. This is improvement, pretty unambiguously.

The success of Tiny Furniture landed Dunham a fateful general meeting with HBO that would bring her Girls and shape the following decade of interminable public discoursing over white women. While the series trod a lot of familiar ground dating, friendships, figuring out your twenties its premium-cable placement in the zeitgeist turned the modest production into a long-running phenomenon, which brought its own challenges. Its not easy to keep a character in a holding pattern of immaturity demanded by steadfast ratings for years on end. Dunham adapted by sending her avatar Hannah Horvath from one persona to the next, trying on different versions of herself like outfits with each new job or boyfriend. As a would-be writer and constant fuckup, she sought to cultivate an artists lust for life, pursuing highs and lows that could then be translated into the work. At first, that meant rocking a mesh tank top and trying coke, but as her early twenties gave way to her late ones, she shifted focus to an objective stated early on: I just want someone who wants to hang out all the time, and thinks Im the best person in the world, and wants to have sex with only me.

Hannah ends the series on a domestic note, having become a mother and relocated to a sleepy college town in upstate New York for a calmer, steadier teaching job. It took a shared genetic code, but shes finally found someone other than herself to care for. The concluding shot of her infant latching onto her breast suggests contentment and completion. And yet in the same respect that the later seasons were duller than the earlier ones, her life has shrunken and quieted down, her ambition replaced by acceptance. In spite of all shes gained, its hard not to think about all shes given up. Perhaps this speaks to the influence of producer Judd Apatow, who spent much of the 00s applying this narrative to male equivalents, honing Dudes of the slacker, stoner, loner, horndog and weirdo varieties into Men. Theres a borderline social conservative streak to this schematic of story, oriented around getting your shit together and being a dutiful partner by acquiescing to convention. Theres an element of surrender to Seth Rogens retiring of his bong in Knocked Up, for instance, but the into-the-sunset happy ending clarifies that its for the best. The other option is an eternity on the couch with his burnout buddies, framed as agreeable yet unfulfilling.

In Sharp Stick, the classical Dunham character of Sara Jo is far more stunted than the postcollegiate Peter Pans who came before her, a hysterectomy at age 17 having supposedly halted her libidos progress. She appears to be alright with an asexuality not so far from that of Steve Carell in The Forty-Year-Old Virgin, spending her days volunteering with a mentally disabled youngster she can relate to more than she can most other people. Only when she makes a fumbling yet effective move on the kids DILFy father (Jon Bernthal, perfectly cast as a grown man hiding his own boyishness, a stock type in Girls Brooklyn) do we realize just how frozen she is in her own childhood, tackling the milestones of sexual coming-of-age the way a tween might cross off items on a Best Summer Ever bucket list. Sara Jo makes an alphabetical poster on her wall with construction paper laying out the full buffet in front of her; F is for Fisting, we see, amended with a status update of (half-way ouch!) These omnivorous trials fill out the middle of the film, their fish-out-of-water dynamic a simple, workable engine for comedy.

But in what may be her very first flash of self-awareness, Sara Jo comes to realize that these dares shes posed to herself arent proving the mettle she thought theyd prove. In a catastrophic check-in with Daddy Bernthal, she throws all the evidence of her newfound prowess in his face, only then realizing that trying so desperately to act like a woman makes her seem more girlish than ever. Getting with a bunch of guys no good for her and for whom she has no feelings isnt the revolutionary act she thought it was, undertaken by countless high schoolers since time immemorial. The film sends her back into the arms of the one genuine date she actually made a connection with, Sara Jo imagining herself caressed by multiple pairs of hands during the sendoff fuck of the last scene. Her fantasies havent been extinguished, just channeled into a more commonplace type of relationship. For Dunham and Apatow, holding on to some semblance of the person you were as you become the person youre meant to be is the most that any of us can hope for.

But that hope to blaze ones own path, sexually or artistically or otherwise, always leads these characters somewhere so average as to verge on normativity. Inevitably, these unruly women settle down and find someone nice with whom they can reproduce the family unit, either in monogamy or parenthood. 30 Rocks Liz Lemon, a defiant second-wave feminist who Had It All by ending her series balancing her job with a supportive house-husband and two adopted tots, suggests that our intellectual drives for independence will always be superseded by our emotional needs for love and company. (Its okay to be a human woman, Liz! her husband says as she spite-refuses the dream wedding shes always wanted. No, its the worst, because of society! she retorts.) Sara Jo comes to terms with her own wants in much the same way, succumbing to a desire for stability that Dunhams work would have us believe is inbred. No matter where you go or who you rim there you are, helpless to become yourself, a self not nearly as unique as you once thought.

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See the original post here:

Lena Dunham's "Sharp Stick" Is Sneakily Traditionalist Just Like the Rest of Her Work - InsideHook

Back in the early 90s, two scruffy London punks with a drum machine named Jim Bob and Fruitbat became the most unlikely pop stars in the United Kingdom. They sat atop the UK album chart and were booked to headline Glastonbury, the world's biggest music festival - but they also attacked children's television presenters and were banned by the BBC. Unsurprisingly, by the time they got to Glasto itself, things didn't quite go to plan.

Formed in 1987 when Les Fruitbat Carter and James Jim Bob Morrison were the only members of their band, Jamie Wednesday, to turn up to a gig at Londons Astoria and were forced to perform as a duo, Carter USMs rise to indie prominence was swift. The band's second single, the slum-landlord baiting Sheriff Fatman, reached number 23 on the UK chart, and marked the band out as a unique proposition. The punk energy of the pair's guitars and Jim Bobs sneering delivery of sarcastic, hard-left-leaning and distinctly British lyrics were offset by the HI-NRG electronic drum and bass throb of their drum machine loops.

It was a potent mix, and with dance music and indie culture beginning to coalesce in the late 80s, so Carter felt like an intriguing bridge between two worlds. Their appeal grew enough for debut album 1001 Damnations to crack the UK top 30 in 1989, before the band signed to Rough Trade Records and headlined Londons prestigious Brixton Academy.

Carter were now looked at as major players in the British music scene. Before grunge and Britpop, and with the like of The Smiths and The Stone Roses either split or inactive, a new style of danceable guitar music, christened 'grebo' in the music press, felt like a genuine, homegrown alternative movement.

There were successful bands there`; The Wonderstuff, Pop Will Eat Itself, Neds Atomic Dustbin, Jim Bob told Louder Than War in 2016. Bands that were in the charts; some were big in America but they dont get mentioned, which is a bit weird.

1991 was a landmark year for the band; the release of their career-best second album 30 Something reached number 8 on the UK album chart, with the album's second single, Bloodsport For All, an attack on the racist and bullying culture prevalent in the military, banned by the BBC after the start of the Gulf War conflict. Carter then appeared second from the top of the main stage at Reading Festival that August, before a notorious television appearance at the 1991 Smash Hits Poll Winners Party on the 26th of October turned them into a national concern.

It was weird enough that Carter were asked to perform at the event, the clear sore thumbs alongside shiny pop stars like Jason Donovan, Danni Minogue, Vanilla Ice and Roxette. Keen to leave a lasting impression, though, at the end of their performance of After The Watershed, Fruitbat threw his guitar down and kicked over both sets of the band's Marshall stacks, to which awards presenter Phillip Schofield mockingly declared: Blimey, that was original... pushing back the frontiers of music, otherwise known as Carter!

Not a great idea, Phil.

On the day, he was very annoying, Fruitbat shrugged years later. So annoyed was the guitarist that he rushed back onto the stage and rugby-tackled the future This Morning host and national treasure to the ground live on TV, leading to a television ban for the band.

We were very drunk, Jim Bob would later tell webzine Shiiine On. Wed been waiting around all day. We felt like we were betraying our roots. Fruitbat got carried away.

It may have roughed up a clearly rattled Schofield, but it seemed to do wonders for Carters profile, as ticket sales for their tour soared. The proof of how far the band had come came in May 1992 when their third record, 1992 The Love Album, entered the UK album chart at number one. From being forced to play as half a band in 1987 to the very top of the charts and confirmed pop star status only five years later, it was a phenomenal achievement.

It would lead to an offer from Glastonbury founder Michael Eavis for the band to close the Pyramid Stage on the Friday of the 1992 festival. It was a strong bill, including the likes of folk-rock favourites The Levellers, New York art-punk legends Television and the Pixies-associated The Breeders. It should have been the crowning moment of glory for Carter, but instead it proved to be a disaster.

By the time it came to our set we were [cut] 20 minutes short, Fruitbat told Kent Online in 2020. `When you headline a festival you plan it down to the nth second, so we lost a load of songs and were really disappointed.

If that wasnt bad enough, the short set meant that the band's planned promotional stunt was also lost.

I cant remember whose idea it was to fire 5000 foam tennis balls with the name of our new single, Do Re Me So Far So Good into the audience, Jim Bob said to The Arts Desk after their set. But it must have seemed like a good one at the time. We had these huge cannons loaded with foam balls either side of the stage; when we played Do Re Me... as an encore the cannons would do their thing. Unfortunately, we were asked to cut our set short...you can still buy them on eBay!

The situation was not something that Carter took very well. With the set cut short, it was decided that Fruitbat would go on after and explain what had happened, apologise for the short set and thank everyone for coming to see them.

Instead, Jim Bob said, Fruitbat slagged off pretty much everything about Glastonbury and dropped the mic. More backstage arguments followed, including a visit to the dressing room from a livid Michael Eavis, and we were asked to leave the site.

I just had a blazing row with Mr Eavis, Fruitbat told Kent Online. Shouted at him, swore at him, I think I probably grabbed him by the collar. And then he just said Right, that's it. Youre banned from Glastonbury forever. we even got it in writing later on.

Fruitbat insisted, however, there was more to his reaction than just Carters performance being shut down.

It was the year that Glastonbury stopped letting the travellers in for free, he says. And being a semi-hippie myself I was really upset about it, because they were a very important part of the festival. With the two things combined, I just got very cross.

Carter would never get the chance to make up for their Glastonbury debacle - not at Glasto or any other major festival. When grunge began dominating column inches in the music press, they were somewhat marginalised, and by the time Britpop became an obsession in the mid-90s, they were long forgotten.

We were kind of finished by Britpop, Jim Bob shrugged to Louder Than War. Iin the words of Noel Gallagher, wed Never been so over... or something. He was probably right. By that point we were already sort of self-destructing.

By 1998 the band had gone from having a number one album to sixth and final release I Blame the Government only just making it into the top 100 on the UK album chart. They split soon after.

So unlikely a story was it all that it sounds like a tall tale these days, and unlike so many of their 90s peers and contemporaries, there doesnt appear to be much in the way of a cultural re-evaluation by a new generation for Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine. It's a shame, because going back to Sheriff Fatman, The Only Living Boy in New Cross, Second to Last Will and Testament or any of their other big hitters reveal a band talking about themes and issues within society that are still relevant and pertinent today, and doing so with an idiosyncratic British style and humour. By never really being part of the zeitgeist, Carter USM manage to avoid sounding dated.

It seems theres a certain bit of musical history that doesnt exist, mused Jim Bob to Louder Than War when asked about Carters legacy. On BBC4 you get documentaries on Joy Division, The Smiths, then its Acid House and then Nirvana and then Oasis vs. Blur... and theres a jump. Maybe it doesnt fit the narrative?

Whatever the narrative, lets set the record straight: Carter USM remain Glastonbury's great forgotten headliner - and they deserve your attention.

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Attacking TV presenters, ruining Glastonbury and being banned by the BBC: how Carter USM became Britain's unlikeliest chart-toppers - Louder

G

ugu Mbatha-Raw is, she says, having the time of my life. In the past few years, the acclaimed actor has starred in Marvel show Loki, glossy thrillers on BBC One and Apple TV+ and is filming a heist movie for Netflix with Kevin Hart. It feels like a great place to be, she says. Keeping all the plates spinning.

When we talk over Zoom, it is about Surface, the Apple TV+ drama released in the UK today. In it she plays Sophie, who, at the start, has suffered a traumatic head injury that has left her with memory loss. As she tries to piece her life back together, she is forced to question who she actually was and the real motives of those closest to her.

Surface feels like a project that is so layered. I love the tone of it, the noir element of it, Mbatha-Raw says. I read the pilot and thought the quality of the writing was amazing, Veronica Wests script was so good, so mysterious it totally drew me in, the idea of Sophie and going straight into her brain.

The show filmed in Vancouver and San Francisco at the height of Covids Delta variant, with a strong British contingent in the cast and crew. These included her onscreen husband Oliver Jackson-Cohen, Millie Brady from The Last Kingdom and Marianne Jean-Baptiste as well as director Sam Miller, who co-directed I May Destroy You. This was our whole social existence. It was a very special time for bonding.

Gugu Mbatha-Raw attends the 65th Evening Standard Theatre Awards in association with Michael Kors at the London Coliseum

The actor has a reputation for being bright and breezy, and as an interviewee she doesnt disappoint, frequently breaking into laughter during the conversation. So why is she drawn to such complex characters in dark dramas who face themes of manipulation and coercive control such as Surfaces Sophie and Jane in The Girl Before, the BBC drama screened at the turn of the year? I dont know, its just human nature as an actor, she says. I love meaty roles, complex characters, I love psychology and human relationships.

Such work doesnt tend to affect her off set Im very aware its an art form and its pretend and she enjoys grappling with the darker side of humanity as I find that satisfying as my natural energy is much lighter and brighter. So there is a balance to be found in getting to go to the deeper, darker places for work.

Surface reunites her with Reece Witherspoon for the third time after the film A Wrinkle in Time and The Morning Show on AppleTV+, though this time the Hollywood star is solely producing rather than performing as well.

And Mbatha-Raw says a large part of Surfaces draw was working with Witherspoons company Hello Sunshine I loved the fact they make such female-centred stories and are all about empowering women for the project she he came on board as an executive producer for the first time as well to be part of the team pitching the show to Apple.

She adds, Reece has been such as champion of this show, and obviously Ive been so inspired by what shes done with her career and company. It was always great to have her support and inspiration.

Mbatha-Raws performance in the first season of The Morning Show made many sit up, with her character Hannah going through a devastating journey, facing predatory behaviour and coercion at work, then a subsequent cover-up and eventual tragedy.

There was something about the nature of the story, around MeToo and specifically abuse of power in the workplace and predatory behaviour that was very much in the zeitgeist at the time, so it was really satisfying to work on, she says. The nature of the role, however, did take its toll. She says she is deliberate about letting go of projects, but after the show aired there was a huge response from viewers who saw themselves in Hannah.

Its important to put it out there and have the conversation around the work, and its gratifying that people were really moved by that storyline and felt impacted by it almost as a healing process, to see a story like that outside of yourself and in the safe space of a TV show.

Less dark was filming a show that followed, the comic fantasy Loki, another project in America with a lot of Brits we get everywhere. These included Tom Hiddleston, a classmate at her drama school RADA, Sophia Di Martino, Wunmi Mosaku another RADA graduate as well as director Kate Herron, whose CV includes Sex Education.

In Loki

We filmed the first season in 2020. It was hard to separate the experience from the onset of the pandemic and how weird the world was at the time, she says. It was a surreal time to be doing anything, but it was comforting to be working with Brits and former RADA buddies, when we were all so far away from home in the apocalypse essentially, she laughs.

Mbatha-Raw grew up in Oxfordshire, and wanted to be an actor ever since playing Dorothy in a school production of The Wizard of Oz aged 11. After graduating from drama school, she was cast in a series of stage and screen roles including in episodes of Doctor Who, and then as Ophelia opposite Jude Laws Hamlet, which went from the West End to Broadway. At the time, its director Michael Grandage called her one of the most remarkable actresses around.

But it was the film Belle that brought her to wider prominence. The true story of Dido Elizabeth Belle, the illegitimate daughter of a British aristocrat and an enslaved African woman, raised by her uncle William Murray, 1st Earl of Mansfield, in Kenwood House in the 18th century, won Mbatha-Raw acclaim and a string of awards.

Its very close to my heart, she says now, almost a decade on. I feel very grateful for that experience, it was my first lead in a film, it gave me so many opportunities, and just a really special story I had wanted to tell for a long time.

Back on stage two years after Belle, she played Nell Gwynn in Jessica Swales riotous production of the same name at Shakespeares Globe. Every show felt like a rock concert, she says. People were on their feet and theyre so vocal, and you can feel the wind and the rain. Its a very empowering space for an actor. You can see the audience. Its not like a typical theatre when the house lights go down.

She continues, I would love to go back on the stage well see if something comes along that is exciting to do and the right timing. A lot of that is to do with schedules especially with TV shows that can take up to six months of the year, before adding, I love theatre, its my first love and Id love to do more.

Her dream is to play Cleopatra on stage or screen. Ive been dying to play her since I was 17, I just needed to glean the life experience to make it believable. The Shakespeare version or a different interpretation, that would be really interesting. Who knows Im putting it out there. Next up, however is Lift, which involved four months of filming in Belfast ever the nomad, Mbatha-Raw says a movie about a gold bullion heist on a plane.

Despite her affable demeanour, Mbatha-Raw has not been afraid to speak out when necessary. In 2020, during the Black Lives Matter movement, she was one of the signatories on an open letter addressing the lack of diversity in UK film and TV and demanding the industry tackle systemic racism.

With Stephan James in Surface

So has anything changed? Its always very hard to speak for the industry at large, she says after considering the question. I can only speak for myself. For me personally being associate producer on The Girl Before and executive producer on Surface has definitely opened up doors for me to be behind the scenes, having a seat at the table at those producer conversations and being able to shape projects from the inside. Thats a definite personal development, and has been really positive.

The plight of refugees is another issue she feels strongly about and has supported the UN Refugee Agency since 2018, becoming a Goodwill Ambassador for the organisation last year. Through this, she had visited refugees and livelihood projects in Rwanda and Uganda.

Like the UNHCR, she disagrees with the UK governments policy of sending refugees to Rwanda. I it feels to me quite heartless, she says. I feel, like UNHCR, that asylum is a human right and people should be able to seek asylum wherever they end up. I was very disappointed by that measure. I hope it ends.

Surface is on AppleTV+ from today

Originally posted here:

Gugu Mbatha-Raw on Apple TV+ show Surface, her dream role and why she likes to dig into the darkness at work - Evening Standard