CULTURE CURRENT-Andre De Shields on ‘Cats’ and a life onstage

By Kathryn Lurie

March 28 - From originating the title role in Broadway’s “The Wiz” in 1975 to becoming one of American theater’s most enduring and distinctive presences, André De Shields has spent more than six decades evolving his work. Now, at 80, he is in the midst of a late-career renaissance.

After a landmark turn as Hermes in “Hadestown” — which earned him his first Tony Award at age 73 in 2019 following three nominations — De Shields has performed the title role in an off-Broadway production of “Tartuffe” last fall and now holds court eight times a week as Old Deuteronomy in “Cats: The Jellicle Ball,” a reimagining of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical through the lens of ballroom culture, a Black and Latino LGBTQ+ underground subculture long pushed to the margins, now reframed as the center of the story. The result is less revival than transformation.

De Shields spoke with Reuters in his dressing room at the Broadhurst Theatre in New York City about what drew him to the production, how it brings a culture rooted in resilience — and joy — to a broader audience, and what it means, six decades into his career, to still command a Broadway stage.

This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

How did this version of “Cats” come your way?

I became involved because I heard the one sentence that is absolutely seductive and delicious to an actor’s ears: “We need you.” Boom. I’ll be there. It wasn’t a text, it wasn’t a voicemail — it was a letter. That says to me: You know me, you know my work, you know what I can do, you know what I can bring to the collaboration. “We need you.” No audition. That was all it took.

What appealed to you about this version of the show?

What excites me is that this production expands the world of “Cats.” For the first time on the Broadway stage, it includes the ballroom cultures that traditionally have been marginalized, pushed to the edges of society, forced underground because they were seen as counterculture. But ballroom culture has been around for a long time.

Now it is being brought into the light — onto Broadway, that temple where people come to find out what the latest trend is, what the latest word is, what the latest fashion is. So to bring this culture there, in full view, is important.

What about ballroom culture resonates with you as a performer?

The resilience of it. On a daily basis, many people in these communities climb mountains of hate, mountains of disregard, mountains of intolerance. But within the community itself, what we’re dealing with is mountains of love. And now we have this opportunity to display that love as the entree of a hugely delicious meal on Broadway.

People come to Broadway looking for entertainment, yes, but also for release. They want us to solve a problem, resolve a crisis, lift a burden, remove the albatross from around their neck so they can scream and yell and let it all out. We do that. And it isn't dangerous. And yet that has long been the reputation — that the LGBTQ+ community, the ballroom community, the BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, people of color) community are somehow dangerous.

You seem to embody Old Deuteronomy in a very specific way that extends beyond the stage here at the Broadhurst. How do you relate to the character?

First, I have to acknowledge Ken Page, who created the role on Broadway in 1982. What I am doing is, in part, an homage to Ken, who is no longer with us.

But as an actor, I work in a way that may sound like sacrilege. Instead of looking at the character and allowing it to saturate me, I flip the script: I look at the character I’m going to create, and I saturate it. So Old Deuteronomy becomes infused with me — with my history, my authority, my experience. That is what the audience is receiving.

What is the most challenging part of doing the show eight times a week at 80?

The three-and-a-half-inch heels. Not because I can’t find my balance, but because other people in the show are on six-inch stilts, and I have to feel like I’m part of the family. It’s wobbly, but I make the wobble part of Old Deuteronomy.

How do you sustain that kind of performance schedule?

Three things. The universe loves trinity.

I exercise vigorously. I eat judiciously. I pray constantly.

And by prayer, I don’t mean I’m always on my knees. Prayer is keeping the mind, the heart and the spirit in the right relationship with the universe — which is generosity and gratitude.

Wake up and say thank you. Before your coffee, before anything else — say thank you.

Over the years, Broadway has changed — audiences, casting, the kinds of stories being told. What shifts have been most meaningful to you personally?

In 1975, I had the opportunity to create the role of the Wiz in “The Wiz.” At that time, Broadway was still an inhospitable terrain — not only for Black performers, but for Black audiences.

“The Wiz” changed that. Not magically — it was hard. We got chilly reviews. People asked, why does Broadway need a Black version of “The Wizard of Oz”? But the show brought a new audience to Broadway because people saw themselves being reflected. And once that happens, everything shifts. People realize: I’m not alone. I belong here.

You’ve had a career spanning more than six decades. What do you hope your work represents?

I hope that when people evaluate my career, they say that Mr. De Shields returned literacy to the world of entertainment.

Not only literacy in terms of mastering language, but literacy in understanding that performance must engage more than just the intellect.

There is the mind we call the brain. There is the mind we call the heart. And there is the mind in the viscera.

They all work together. If you are engaging all three, then you are doing the work.

At this stage of your life, how are you thinking about where you are — and what comes next?

When I turned 80, I thought about a passage that says we are given three score and ten years — 70 years. And if you are fortunate enough to have more, you must live them with grace.

There comes a time when you must retreat and ask yourself: Where have I been? Is it where I wanted to have been? Is it taking me where I want to go?

So far, my answer is yes.

If I look over my shoulder, the places I have been are the places I needed to have been, because of the information I have now.

And whether that information takes me where I want to go — we’ll see.

The perspectives expressed in Culture Current are the subject’s own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Reuters News.