The Power of Audra McDonald

Glamour - Ahead of her groundbreaking performance in Ohio State Murders on Broadway, the Tony-winning actor opens up about the roles she was “devastated” not to get, breaking generational trauma, and finally learning how to deal with pressure. “I’m me,” she says “In all its glorious mess, strengths, faults, weaknesses, joys, talents. I’m just me.”

When Audra McDonald and I speak over Zoom, she’s just coming off of the 10th preview performance for her new Broadway show, Ohio State Murders, in which she is on stage for the entirety of the 75-minute play. The very next day, she will perform to a sold-out Carnegie Hall for a solo concert. And that’s all after she drops her six-year-old daughter off at the school bus. “To be honest, me time is kind of nonexistent right now,” she says from her home just north of New York City. In a world where the über-successful seem to somehow have 10 times more hours in a day than us mere mortals, it’s a refreshingly human response.

But McDonald, a six-time Tony winner who is the most decorated actress in the award’s history, is grateful for the lack of sleep. The opening of Ohio State Murders on December 8 marks many firsts: McDonald’s first time back on stage since 2019, the very first performance in the newly renamed James Earl Jones theater, and the long-overdue Broadway debut of the award-winning 91-year-old playwright Adrienne Kennedy. “It’s a huge moment,” McDonald says. “I recognize the importance of this, and I feel a huge responsibility to Adrienne Kennedy. I want to make sure that we’re telling her story in the way that she wants it to be told, in a way that makes her happy.” nullnull

Ohio State Murders, originally written in 1992, is a tragi-mystery that follows the fictional Suzanne Alexander’s time at a segregated college and the unimaginable loss she undergoes. “Even though the show is very dark and heart-wrenching, and a lot of it is an indictment of systemic racism within our society, the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do is be on stage,” says McDonald, who calls Kennedy every Sunday. “There is joy in getting to be in a theater again and tell these stories. I feel incredible power and honored to be a part of a show that’s centering a Black woman’s story.”  

Seeing McDonald on stage is akin to experiencing a rolling thunder of gravitas. Picture this: McDonald has the capability of bringing an entire room to absolute stillness, to the point where even hearing a seatmate breathe feels like a distraction from her talent. But the 52-year-old claims it’s not confidence that courses through her veins—it’s honesty. 

“I have no filter about who I am,” she says. “I have my strengths and weaknesses, and I’m not apologetic about being me.” That means if she flubs a line or—gasp!—sings off-tune, she’ll apologize to the audience and sing the line right over again. “I used to beat myself up about things like that. But now I just say, ‘Yeah, that’s right, I’m human and I’m still learning too.’” It’s wisdom she models for her daughters, ages 6 and 21, and two stepsons she shares with husband Will Swenson. “I’m me in all its glorious mess, strengths, faults, weaknesses, joys, talents. I’m just me.” 

You have won a record-breaking six Tony Awards, including three awards by the time you were only 28. That’s a lot for anyone to take on. What is your relationship to pressure? Is it something you put on yourself?

Audra McDonald: I put pressure on myself, and my relationship to pressure is changing on a daily basis. Now that I’m 52 and perimenopausal, I’m starting to come to a point in my life where I accept that it’s going to be what it’s going to be. I just dropped my daughter off at the bus, and everybody in my orbit is buzzing around and excited about my concert and the show, but I realized that I don’t have to take any of that on. I’ve done my best to prepare. What’s most important is to be present in the moment and try to have the communion between the audience and the performer. All of the rest of the stuff is noise. I’ve learned that not only do I not have to take on that noise and energy, but it just gets in the way. So that’s my relationship with pressure today. 

Has your relationship to it changed over time?

Oh, yes. I used to pass out on stage during shows.

Really?

Yes. I would pass right out, dead away, mid-song. I ultimately was diagnosed with an overactive parasympathetic system, where my body would overregulate and go all the way back to factory reset. I’ve had to learn how to control that and get to a point where I’ll be damned if that excitement and pressure rob me of what I’m here to do. This sounds morbid, but there have been times where I’ve had to sing at funerals or memorials, and you get really nervous. You think, Oh, God, I don’t want to mess up. But it’s like, this isn’t about you. You’re there to honor that person. Passing out in this situation makes it about you. That’s just noise. Do what you’re meant to do, and take that noise away. Then I acknowledge that I may not be 100% or even 50% successful, but the goal is just to be present. 

After the pandemic, so much was put into perspective.

Absolutely. There’s been a whole reset. There’s a crazy thing that I’ve been saying lately, and it’s not meant to be as morbid as it sounds, but I’ve just been like, “You know what? We’re all going to die.” It sounds so crazy, but there’s something that to me says, “Just do what you need to do. It’s not going to change the outcome in the end.” It sounds morbid, but it’s not meant to. Obviously, I don’t say that to my six-year-old!

Then howdoyou impart these lessons to your kids?

As a parent, of course you have to do what’s best for your children. But what I’m learning more and more is if I’m not doing what’s best for me, I can’t do what’s best for my kids. I have a 21-year-old daughter, and I try to model behavior that shows self-care, self-love, and the ability to tune out the noise. My daughter has talked to me about some behaviors that I had when she was younger and I was a younger mom that were not necessarily the best to model for her. She’s talked to me about them, especially because she watches me raise her little sister, and she’ll say, “Mom, don’t do that because this is how that made me feel.”

Like what?

One of the things I used to do was talk badly about my body. When my daughter was 18 or 19, she said, “You know what, Mom, you can’t do that in front of Sally. You did that in front of me and it taught me to hate my body, and I don’t want my little sister to go through that.” It was a truly heartbreaking moment for me, but it was a tipping point where I realized I have to be very conscious and intentional. Kids hear what you say, but they see what you do, and I’m learning from that. Of course I feel the guilt of having put her through that, but I hope that there’s been healing because she was able to say that to me. And I was able to say, “You are absolutely right.” We both learn and stop the generational trauma. 

I imagine that thinking might have been helpful when you had fully nude scenes on stage alongside Michael Shannon when you were last on Broadway in 2019, inFrankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune.

At first it was terrifying, but we had an intimacy director who was with me and Michael every step of the way who created a safe space. Our director, intimacy director, and lighting director were all women and worked with us in a way that said, “We are taking care of you.” It’s a pretty graphic love scene that happens right at the top of the show, but I don’t think it’s gratuitous because it’s a part of the journey that the characters take. The whole point is to show the difference between what you think is the most intimate act versus the intimacy they experience at the end of the show, when they’re sitting in their bathrobes brushing their teeth. That’s actually the most intimate moment they have. As scary as it was at the beginning, it became necessary and part of how we tell this story. 

Night after night, you’re performing inOhio State Murders, one of the most heart-wrenching performances I’ve ever seen on stage. After my friend and I saw the play, we had to go get ice cream just because we needed some comfort. How do you separate that character and experience from your everyday life?

I think it helps that I had to live with being Billie Holiday every night for a while lady day at emerson’s bar and grill in 2014>lady day at emerson’s bar and grill in 2014>. From that experience, I learned to get to the theater very early to give myself the time and space to put on the character—and I don’t just mean physically. Once I walk into the theater, I listen to Adrienne Kennedy’s interviews or read passages from other plays she’s written. I listen to her voice. I’ll read an article on some of the issues that are discussed in the play and get myself into a position where I’m open to the character and can get on stage and do it. 

And then once it’s time to leave the theater, I say thank you to the character and tell them that I love them and will see them tomorrow night. But the character stays in the theater. I cannot take them home with me because I couldn’t live. That’s what I’ve learned over all these years. When I’m at the theater, the character owns me. As soon as I leave the theater, there it stays. It’s something I’ve had to learn for the sake of my relationship, motherhood, and my sanity.

How do you make time for yourself?

We have a six-year-old daughter, and it’s not fair to her to say, “Sorry, I need my me time right now,” but I’m trying to create space and set boundaries wherever I can. My husband is in the exact same position. He’s getting ready to open a show as well, so communication is important. 

I find that mental quiet is important, and I will take that wherever I can. It doesn’t sound very glamorous, but I take the train to work every day. It goes along the Hudson River, and I’m able to just be quiet and stare at the water. That’s all the time I have right now, and it’s a way for me to meditate and calm myself. Also, when I get home from work late at night, I will go in and watch my little one sleep for a bit, or I’ll lay in the bed with her. She’s fast asleep and has no idea I’m there, but that sort of thing settles me. If you ask me in a month, hopefully there will be more manicures and maybe even a spa day at some point. Right now I look for the calm wherever I can and grab it. 

You have been in upwards of 30 stage productions, and if Audra McDonald is on the playbill, audiences line up without a second thought. These days, what is it about a role or performance that makes you say yes?

If it’s something that’s going to challenge me or scare me, that’s usually it. I wish there was more science to it. There’s a feeling where my gut starts talking and I’ll know immediately. It’s almost if there’s a fight or flight response in my parasympathetic system, heart and soul, then that’s my body saying that’s the one to do. You’re going to learn the most from that. You’re going to grow.

Forbes’s“30 Under 30” feature just came out, which highlights some of the country’s biggest innovators under 30 years of age. Meanwhile, here is Adrienne Kennedy, who at 91 is making her Broadway debut. Not to diminish any of those incredible young people, but this is a woman who proves you can continue to make an impact on society at any age. How does that experience make you feel about aging and the limitations we put on ourselves?

If anything, this has reaffirmed the fact that there are no limitations for women, except for the ones that society puts on us. But certainly when I look at Adrienne, she has been writing for decades. The plays that she was writing in the 1960s were of a groundbreaking style, with imagery and boldness taking on topics of racism and misogyny. She did not shy away from her organic voice, even though commercially it wasn’t anything that anybody was buying. She was a single mother to two boys and wrote all of these plays at night. They just came out of her and were all reactionary to the world in which she lives. 

What I’ve learned is that there should not be any limitations that we as women put on ourselves. Adrienne has stayed true to herself for all these years, and it’s wonderful that she’s getting this debut, but it’s decades too late. As a society, we need to acknowledge that we missed the mark here. I wonder if there’s a part of her that feels like, “Thank you, I’m very excited that this is happening. But I don’t need it to tell me that my work is worthy.” I’ll ask her when I talk to her on Sunday. 

What are your pre- or post-performance rituals?

I drink tea—Throat Coat, or there’s a kind I like with these ginger crystals. I also do these old-fashioned Grether’s Pastilles to keep my mouth moist. Otherwise, my ritual involves quiet. I don’t like a lot of people coming in to say this or that. If someone has a note for me, they have to come into my dressing room before the half hour to showtime. If I could wear one of those dog cones where it’s like “No, I can’t see,” and then take it off at the edge of the stage, I would do it. 

When my husband and I were first dating, he would sometimes hang out backstage in my dressing room and would always think I was mad at him. Now he understands that the quiet is just part of my process. I’m about to do a big output, so I need to make sure that I’m settled in my spirit so that I have something to give. 

I remember seeing you inShuffle Alongin 2016. You were pregnant and tap dancing wildly all over the stage. Did you always know that you would continue performing until you physically couldn’t?

When I signed that contract, I had no idea that I would be pregnant. I was 46 when I gave birth. Pregnancy was not something that was on my radar. In fact, I had been told that without major medical intervention, I was not going to be able to get pregnant. I had tried years before to have a baby with my husband, and we had very devastating failures without medical intervention, so we gave up about two years before I started Shuffle Along. This was all a big life plot-twist. I was kind of just flying by the seat of my pants and my belly, which got bigger and bigger. God bless our costume designer Ann Roth, who kept adding panels and bands to hold my belly in place. I did the show as long as I could, and then they ended up closing it. The soul that was in my belly and is now probably currently at recess in school is quite the firecracker. I think all of the tap dancing I did while she was in my belly gave her no choice.

I have to know—does Audra McDonald sing in the shower?

Well, Audra McDonald warms up in the shower. Because Ohio State Murders is such a poetic, lengthy monologue, I run the play in the shower every day just to make sure I have all of it in my brain. It’s funny being in a two-actor household because I’ll hear the shower running and my husband will be in there warming up a storm, and then I’m like, “I’m next in there!” 

Do you play a lot of music in your house?

We do! We listen to everything but Broadway. We’ve been listening to a lot of Roberta Flack, Martin Sexton, and Ray LaMontagne. There’s always Lizzo in my house, and my daughter has been singing “Old Town Road” by Lil Nas X. She learned it at school. And then—and this sounds crazy—our 13-year-old dog has a lot of separation anxiety, so we always put on Dolly Parton for him when we leave the house. We’re like, “Alexa, play Dolly Parton!” Because who else would you want to hear when you want some nurturing? 

You have spoken out in interviews about refusing to say no to yourself, before anyone else says no to you, whether that’s a producer or director. What did it take for you to get there?

It took me a while to get there. And again, it probably came into effect around when I was passing out all the time. For me, empowerment meant standing straight up at the end of whatever I just did, as opposed to being unconscious with a bunch of people standing over me saying, “Give her some water!” So that mantra came from an actual need to be able to do what it is that I love. You have to say yes to yourself and understand that there are going to be a million people who say no, but that’s a part of it. If you say no to you, no one else can ever say yes. It has to start with you. 

Was there ever a role for the stage or screen that you really wanted but you didn’t get?

I remember there were talks years and years ago of a My Fair Lady revival. When my name was brought up, a famous producer was like, “Well, she’s Black.” And that was just the end of that conversation. I was pretty devastated. That was a long time ago. I remember when Cabaret came out and they had all of those different brilliant people playing the role, but I don’t think we saw a Sally Bowles of color. That’s a role I would have loved to have played. I’m not shrugging it off because I think we’re in a different place right now, and I’m grateful for the career I’ve had. But hopefully there will be more opportunities like that for other generations coming up to be able to just play the role that’s right for them. 

You and your husband have a blended family. What advice would you give your younger self when it comes to relationships?

Realize your worth. A friend of mine said this a long time ago, and it’s a good reminder: When you enter a relationship, it’s never, “Please, can I go with you?” It’s, “Yeah, let’s go together.” Your worth is never less than the person you are in a relationship with. I’m a whole person coming into this relationship, and I don’t need you to make me whole. Whereas before, I always felt that I had to diminish myself or that I was less-than. That’s something that I couldn’t do anymore. I don’t think I could ever diminish my light so that someone else can shine brighter. 

You’ve won Tonys, Grammys, and Emmys. President Obama awarded you with the National Medal of the Arts, and you’ve been inducted into the American Theater Hall of Fame. The list goes on and on. Is there anything you’re still striving for?

Balance. I’m now at a point in my life where I feel like I don’t have to have my foot on the gas pedal, with the pedal down to the floor 100% of the time. I’m trying to get to a point in my life where I can have more balance and feel okay about focusing on the input rather than the output. I know that’s not the typical answer you’d expect, but that’s where I’m at right now. I should have said Lady Macbeth!