August Wilson/Robert Brustein Debate

August Wilson/Robert Brustein Debate Moderated by Anna Deavere-Smith Town Hall February 5, 1997

Brustein:

If I understand August Wilson's position correctly, he regards theatre partly as an avenue to political and cultural power, a medium through which a large disadvantaged class can dramatize its past injustices and perhaps find redress through changes in the social and poltical system. Starting with Plato, who banished the artist from his ideal republic, utopianists -- even the best of them -- have usually argued for curbing free artistic expression. All revolutions, as Eugene Ionesco once wrote, burn the libraries of Alexandria. Today in America, we see a similar leaning in what we call Political Correctness, which in its overzealous crusade to purge our language of offensive terms, sometimes seems to be arguing for what one critic has called "freedom from speech." Out of a conviction that freedom of speech is essential to creative invention and critical thought, a number of modern artists, both black and white, whatever their beliefs as citizens of the state (and I must again emphasize that I am talking about them as artists, not as political beings) have rejected the concept of art as an ideological instrument. Ideological art is dedicated either to reinforcing the existing power structure, as in totalitarian regimes, or reforming and changing it, as in most activist, revolutionary expression. The alternative to ideological art was eloquently summed up by the Czech novelist Milan Kundera when he said that the artistic function was to "speak truth to power." Isn't that why we revere the major dramatists, from Aristophanes to Athol Fugard? And isn't that one of the major reasons we cherish Shakespeare, despite his occasional need to flatter the reigning English monarchs? The greatest playwrights had the courage to speak truth to power. Such truthtellers help to expose the corruptions of pomp and power by revealing the reality behind human action and human motive -- in short, the workings of the human soul, which has no color. The eloquent black writer James Baldwin, also believed in speaking truth to power, at least in his early career. In an essay entitled "Everybody's Protest Novel," he wrote: "let us say that truth is meant to imply a devotion to the human being. It is not to be confused with a devotion to a cause, and causes as we know are notoriously bloodthirsty." Note that neither Kundera nor Baldwin seems much interested here in using the artistic process to achieve power. Indeed, behind their words is the implication that the true artist must shun power, because power systems are not only not instruments of truth, they may very well be the enemies of truth. Those who believe in art as a political weapon, as a method of empowering the disadvantaged, no doubt serve a vital social function. But sometimes at a cost. A passionate political purpose occasionally obliges these artists, in my opinion, to sacrifice individual truth for the collective good. Of course, it is possible to justify such means if the right ends are achieved. But look at the downside: while the arts, at best, are inclusive, ideological art is exclusive. The spectator is pressured to reach conclusions, coerced into choosing sides. Political art is usually a persuasive form of melodrama: the opposition of right and wrong, when the truth is usually grey. I agree with August Wilson's appeal for more black theatres, and with his plea that foundations be more supportive of such theatres. This is certainly a better cause for foundations than pouring their funds into efforts to diversify the audiences of mainstream theatres. In fact, I believe strongly in general operating grants from public and private sources for all theatres of proven quality. But this support cannot be a form of entitlement. Black theatres should earn their foundation and corporate funding by the same criteria of value and community support as any other. If Mr. Wilson knows of a worthy black theatre that isn't being properly funded, he could give it instant recognition by rewarding it with one of his world premieres. Although I see the value of theatres that confine themselves to plays by black writers, I admit some difficulty in approving Mr. Wilson's appeal for the self-segregation of black artists in racial enclaves. If these artists excluded themselves from what Mr. Wilson called "the cultural imperialists and their so-called classical values of European theatre," we would have been denied the Othello and Judge Brack of James Earl Jones, the Shakespearean shrew of Jane White, the Phaedra of Gloria Foster, the Shakespearean monarchs enacted by Denzel Washington and André Braugher, the brilliant classical performances of Morgan Freeman, Laurence Fishburne, and Samuel L. Jackson, and indeed all the manifold achievements of non- traditional casting and true interculturalism. In fact, we would have been denied August Wilson's plays, all of which have been produced by the very mainstream, non-profit theatres he rejects as cultural imperialists. From certain of his recent letters and remarks, I suspect August would like to modify his position. I hope so. Because then there is no debate between us. But since he has also denied saying that he would never work with a white director, I must remind him of his 1990 Op-Ed piece in the New York Times called "I Want a Black Director." While refusing there to allow Fences to be filmed by a whire director, he added this caveat: "Let's make a rule: blacks don't direct Italian films, Italians don't direct Jewish films, Jews don't direct black- American films." Actually, one of the best films I ever saw about the black experience was directed by an Israeli named Boaz Yaquim. It was called "Fresh." I suspect that Mr. Wilson would call this, as he once called George Gershwin's Porgy and Bess, "a bastardizing of our people and our culture." The truth is not subject to racial generalizations, however they serve the aims of power. Indeed, even in seeking to combat stereotypes, racial generalizations may create another form of error, what the noted black thinker Albert Murray called "the "Ethnographic Fallacy," where one man believes he is speaking for an entire race. If no one person can speak for black Americans, no one person can speak for white people either. There is no such thing as a monolithic, Eurocentric culture. The greatest modern European artists have, like August Wilson, almost invariably been rebels against the existing culture, not its proselytes and flunkies. It is a principle of theatrical art that it defies generalizations, being subject, like life itself, to surprises, reversals, and contradictions. General truths, Ibsen told us, have a shelf life of about twenty years, after which they become just as tired and worn out as any other convention. We speak a lot today of cultural diversity, but true diversity lies in acknowledging that every human being is an individual, and not simply a member of a racial, ethnic, or sexual group. A variety of these individual differences is what bonds us all to the human family. Ultimately, of course, the quarrel between Mr. Wilson and myself is not just over the function of art, or the function of race in the theatre, it is over larger issues of inclusion versus exclusion, of integration versus separatism, which is to say over the way of Martin Luther King and his followers versus the way of the early Malcolm X, Louis Farrakhan and the Nation of Islam. A great gulf still divides the races in this country, despite the significant strides of the last thirty years. It is the obligation of all men and women of good will to try to bridge that gulf, and complete the still unfinished racial business of our nation. But I believe America will only begin to fulfill its promise when we acknowledge that we are individuals first, Americans second, and tribalists third. When we realize that we are all the same species under the skin. When we recognize that all human beings are responsible one for the other, every mother's child. Thank you for listening so carefully.

August Wilson

When I was invited to give the keynote address at the TCG conference in June of 1996, I at first declined, because I was busy writing my new play, and as always the requirements of art can be demanding. As I thought about it, and what I might possibly have said, I thought about the lack of black theatres with significant resources to produce a play with high production values. And as my thoughts became fore focused, I realized that 65 out of the 66 LORT theatres were white. And I regretted that I had declined the invitation, because I thought it was something that my colleagues in the theatre needed to address. I was, of course, then pleased when I was urged to reconsider the invitation. I am glad that I did. That 65 out of 66 LORT theatres were white meant that black theatre artists were being excluded from the opportunities to develop their various talents in the same level of venues as their white counterparts. And for all the presence of myself, George Wolfe, Anna Deavere Smith, Suzan-Lori Parks, to name some of the most visible, most blacks were locked out of the house. Sixty-five out of 66 theatres said that something was dreadfully wrong. And once accepting the challenge of speaking to the lack of black theatres, I had to go the whole way and speak to the historical conditions that occasioned our art to be placed int he hands of someone else as custodians, and to affirm the cultural battle that has been taking place since the early 17th century, when we were brought to this country in chains and were perceived as being without language, art, culture, and other trappings of civilization. We all know the errors of such thought now, due partly to the fierce resistance to such conditions of servitude, and our equally fierce affirmation of the value and worth of our being. We have enjoyed the privilege and company of many whites in American society who have stood by us when making those affirmations in the spirit of friendship and brotherhood. Without them, the journey we have made from the hull of a ship to a self-sufficient and culturally robust people could not have been possible. That is not to say that we blacks and whites do not continue to have a difficult relationship. In American society, it seems that we would sometimes rather create an illusion that face the harsh and uncompromising truth about ourselves. We, as a society, suffer from a failure of imagination. From the beginning of black American's contact with the Western world, and despite over 300 years of white cultural dominance, we are still a culturally vibrant and robust people. Our music, our verbal gymnastics, our sense of style, our unique way of seeing the world are all part of an African sensibility that informs our presence here in North America. Inside all blacks is at least one heartbeat that is fueled with the blood of Africa. Jazz is widely-acknowledged and celebrated as a uniquely American art form. But if the instruments with which jazz was created -- that is, European marching band instruments -- had not become widely available after the civil war, jazz as we know it would not exist. It was African sensibility coming into contact with European technology that made it possible. Imagine, then, the possibilities of black theatre empowered with the tools necessary to create its own unique art, the resources to nurture and provide homes for talented artists and a place where your visiting pass doesn't expire (usually on March 1st after Black History Month). It is important to note that we are not advocates of separatism, as Mr. Brustein claims, but rather we are seeking to be included. In November of 1994, Time magazine ran a cover story proclaiming a renaissance in black art. There was a photo of a dance of Bill T. Jones on the cover, the the caption proclaiming black artists were "free at last." The theme of the story was that black artists were no longer being confined by their blackness, but were creating art that was not limited to black themes. That they had learned to transcend thei blackness to pursue more universal expressions by embracing the values and norms of European culture. This universality, of course, is conferred on white artists automatically, and never, never is it suggested that white playwrights like David Mamet or Terrence McNally are limiting themselves to whiteness, and that they are being confined in their art by pursuing white themes. The idea that we are trying to escape from the ghetto of black culture is insulting. It is insulting for us, our parents, and their forbearers who have fought to defend and preserve their manners, and ways of life. To assimilate into the society is harmful to the cultural self as it abandons the age-old investigation and accomplishments of our ancestors on the African continent, and the continuance of those explorations here on the continent of North America. That our cultural contributions to what is known as American culture are many and inextricably woven into the fabric of contemporary life does not mitigate the loss, as the hegemonic concerns of the culture are not our own, and we did not participate in the privilege or the power that they produce. In other words, since the dominant culture is not our culture, we have no power, no matter what contributions we have made to its spiritual growth or to its material comfort. This can be a little more than disconcerting if you are standing on this side of the equation. If we choose not to assimilate, it does not mean we oppose the values of the dominant culture. But rather, we wish to champion our own causes, and our own celebrations, and our own cherished values. So that the two cultures exist concurrent with one another, two entities contributiing to the perils and pillars of society in a struggle to triumph over the vagaries of life and human conduct. I look forward to fuurther hearing Mr. Brustein's views and espousing further my own. You have demonstrated a willingness to explore the nature of your own lives by coming here tonight and I salute you and I ask that we find a common cause that can enlist us all. For in the end it comes down to people sitting on a stage talking about life as a battlefield of the spirit, and how art and life illuminate and embolden and celebrates that battle, finding in it a meaning for the weight and substance, the content and context of our lives. Thank you.

Question and Answer

Smith: I would like to first have you respond to each other. What do you think, Bob, would you like to respond to August while he's just finished, and then so he can -- or is that OK?

Brustein: I have nothing but the utmost respect for what you just said. And I think you have probably the best mind of the 17th century. What you are describing is a 17th century condition, August, you're not describing a 20th century condition. You speak of most blacks being locked out of the house: that continues to be true, but it is not as true as it was in the 17th century. You speak of people being brought to this country in chains: that is true, and it is the original sin of this country, which like all original sin will never be expiated. But this country is trying to expiate it, and the fact is that, to declare that you have African blood in your veins 300 years after you left Africa . . . Let me tell a little story...

Smith: I was just going to ask the audience to bear with us. OK? It's my understanding there was a night in August Wilson's play Fences when James Earl Jones just turned around and stopped the show. And so, I appreciate, as I have stated in the beginning, that we are all here together and I want your responses, but could you please allow each participant to speak. Indeed, the silence is disturbing as much as the noise. So let's please be respectful of one another. Wilson: In all fairness to the audience, I think these are some of the most outrageous things I've ever heard.

Brustein: Let me explain. I'm saying that in the same way that Lorraine Hansberry said it in Raisin in the Sun.

Wilson: But you are aware that in the 17th century we were slaves, African Americans were slaves. You are aware of that?

Brustein: Of course I'm aware of that.

Wilson: OK. I find that amazing...

Brustein: But in 1997 you are no longer slaves, and it seems to me to talk about yourself as if you are standing on the ground of the slave quarters is to reprepresent yourself as a 300 year old man. The fact is things have changed over the course of the last 300 years, especially in the last 30 years. There have been some changes. And I'm just asking that we acknowledge those changes. To Wole Soyinka, for instance, you would not be considered an African. He would reject that characterization. Wilson: I think all blacks in America, irrespective of --- obviously, if you look at me, obviously the slavemaster visited the slave quarters, OK, so it's very obvious. We're taking that blacks in America are an African people. They came from Africa, whatever . . .

Brustein: Of course you did, and my parents came from Poland. But I don't consider myself Polish.

Wilson: Well, that's you. You see. That is you. But we are Africans. You have assimilated into society, you have given that up. Don't blame us for our unwillingness to do so.

Smith: There was a question in here that I don't know that I actually have that was actually connected to this. It was a question about your own background, and to what extent you recognize that part of you which is white.

Wilson: I recognize all of myself, first of all. My father was German. Uh. Yeah, what about it? I don't know. I don't know what else you. -- The cultural environment of my life is black. I make this self-definition of myself as a black man. And that's all anyone needs to know.

Brustein: I also would ask what about people of mixed blood? People who consider themselves multiracial. They do not feel represented by what you said tonight. And once again I have to emphasize no one person can speak for an entire race and when you speak of "we," you know, it worries me. I also would like to question your notion that there is a single white culture. That David Mamet, for example, writes plays about the white culture. Is sexual harassment a white theme in Oleanna? Is loyalty among friends a white theme, as in American Buffalo? In Shakespeare, for example, is the inability to act, is that a white theme? Or is jealousy a black theme in Othello? I think these are universal themes that can be understood by all of us, regardless of our color.

Wilson: Sure. And likewise when you find it exhibited in black plays -- love, honor, duty, betrayal, jealousy, all these things, you see -- these are the universals. But somehow the implication is that the universal only exists within whites. Why is it that blacks have to be free from themselves, from the "ghetto" of being black, embrace white culture, and then suddenly they're free and they're not limiting themselves. Black is not limiting. So when you have this situation of white playwrights, as an example, exploring their culture, which is white culture, no one says to them that they are limiting themselves in that. I would suggest that they're not no more than I am limiting myself by exploring black culture. Making an investigation of myself. Which is what art does. I think Chekhov did that: he investigated Russian culture. No one says to him "you are limiting yourself to Russian. You should write about the more universal." This is part of that.

Brustein: The reason why we can do Chekhov is that he didn't limit himself to Russian culture. He wrote about the human heart. Insofar as you write about the human heart, anyone can do your plays.

Smith: But August, would you agree that everyone can do Chekhov? Have we misunderstood the part of your speech that had to do with non- traditional casting?

Wilson: I don't think any part of my speech here had to do with non-traditional casting. I chose not to bring that up. But if you want to talk about that, we can talk about that.

Smith: Maybe we should. A lot of people do have questions about that, and they come in different forms. I mean, for example, let's just take it from what Bob said about Chekhov. Could a black actor, a Latino actor, a Native American actor in this audience -- as far as you're concerned -- do well by doing The Cherry Orchard?

Wilson: I wouldn't embrace them doing that. I would much rather that they do art that is of their own specific ethnic or racial background. [Catcalls] An example: recently there was a production of my play Fences in China. I gave permission to have that production. So someone said to me, "Well, in the stand that you've taken on color-blind casting, how do you feel about that? Why is it that you're letting these Chinese people play blacks?" And my answer to that was that there wasn't 140 million Africans running around in China trying to participate in theatre. If you have a situation -- if you could imagine a situation where you have 240, 264 Chinese theatres, you have 160 million Africans in China who want to do theatre and there are four theatres for them in which they can do their plays, and the Chinese say, "Well, you can come over here and act in our plays. You can come over here and act in our Chinese classics. You can come over here and pretend that you are Chinese, because you as an African clearly have nothing of value worth exploring in theatres. So you come over here and give up your humanity as an African and pretend that you're a Chinese." This is the situation that you have here. The initiative for colorblind casting was originally supposed to provide opportunites for minorities who otherwise were not included in those roles. And instead we've got Jonathan Price playing in Miss Saigon. That's the ends to which colorblind casting has been put to use. I am opposed to it because it denies the individual . . . standing on a stage, representing another race of people, denies him his own culture. Particularly if that person is standing on a stage and they are not capable and do not have the tools with which to represent themselves.

Brustein: Can I just reply to that?

Smith: Yeah.

Brustein: See, I think you misunderstand the purpose of colorblind casting. The purpose of colorblind casting is to get the best possible actor into the role, regardless of his race. [Applause.]

Wilson: I don't think that the Actor's Equity initiative. I don't think that's the position that Actor's Equity took when they broached this subject. It was to provide roles for minorities in non-traditional roles in which they might not otherwise have been cast. That is the spirit in which it was launched. Now it becomes about something else.

Smith: I have two that I'm going to put one right on top of the other and I'll let both of you deal with them. One is -- no! it's because its great. These are the kinds of questions that mix this all up. "I am an actor of mixed cultural heritage. My mother is Jewish of Austrian-Polish decent, my father is black mixed with a bit of Scots, Irish, and Native American Indian. Both of them were highly involved in CORE in the 1960s and my father is currently President of a chapter of the NAACP. I was raised in a predominantly Chicano neighborhood in Los Angeles. Where does someone of my background fit into the American theatre?"

Wilson: I have just sat here and said in no uncertain terms that I make my own definitions. However that person wants to define themself, fine. If they define themselves as black, then I think, personally, that it is wrong for them to participate in the theatre acting as someone other than as a black person.

Smith: OK, then that makes a bigger question, which is somewhere in my pile... August, you disagree with black actors playing white roles. How do you feel about gay-lesbian actors: should they be relegated to playing only queer roles?

Wilson: I think everyone agrees that sexual preference is different than race. Race is a much larger category than sexual preference. I would, however, be opposed to women playing men and men playing women. In other words, a woman playing a role that was originally written for a man, or a man playing a role originally written for a woman.

Brustein: Can I ask if you would object to women writing about men?

Wilson: No, I don't object to that.

Brustein: Or men writing about women?

Wilson: No, I don't object to that.

Brustein: White people writing about black people?

Wilson: I object to that.

Brustein: You're not consistent, August.

Wilson: No I am consistent, very consistent. I know what I believe, and I am consistent in my beliefs, yes.

Smith: What about, you know, in your opening remarks you talked about a divide that began with Plato. And you put Plato and Aristotle at opposite ends of the pole. One of the things I was thinking about was, is there another position? Does it have to be either/or? And has anything happened in all these years to make another position? Has anything happened in America to make another position?

Brustein: Well, there's Brecht's position. Brecht actually tried to unify -- well, he hated Aristotle, though he was essentially Aristotelian himself. Brecht was one of the most activist of playwrights, don't you think? But if you look at all of Brecht's plays, they all end in a question mark, like all of Ibsen's plays, in an unresolved way. All of the greatest plays of our time end in an unresolved way. Good Woman of Setzuan ends with the word "Help!" She's being torn in many directions, and all she can say is "Help!" She hasn't resolved the problem. Society hasn't resolved the problem. You may go away thinking you know how to resolve it, but Brecht isn't telling you the way. And that's the artist in Brecht. Brecht recognizes that art really doesn't change anything. It may change consciousness, but it's not going to change society. Smith: Do you think that art changes something?

Wilson: Yes. I think art changes the individual, and the individual changes society. I think that all art is political in the sense that it serves the politics of someone. Here in America, very often the politics in art is disguised. For instance, there is this rash of movies -- The Rage to Kill being one, The Ghosts of Mississippi being another -- in which these acts are made to seem as acts of individual racism that relieve a society of its complicity in those events. So the politics in art is camouflaged -- it's hidden. Another example is in the movie Crossroads, where you have a little white kid who is going to battle for the black man's soul in lieu of the black man. The politics of that says that your life, your everything, your soul is best left in the hands of someone who is white, no matter if he is a kid or not. And this old man, all his years of living did not temper his soul to the point where he can go and battle with the devil for his own soul. And further, as he battles the devil who is playing rock music -- which is a watered-down version of the blues -- he can't defeat him with the blues, and has to resort to classical music in order to defeat him. All of this is politics. [Applause.]

Brustein: I think that statement was politics, and I think that drama, theatre, theatrical art has to have two truths, it can't only have one truth. You've been giving us one truth over and over again: what you say is true. But you've got to oppose it with another truth or else we don't have drama, we’ve got a monologue. And as I say, those two truths are often not resolvable. Just like our debate tonight: we don't seem to be getting anywhere with each other, which means -- although we love each other, I think, I hope -- [laughter] But we're not reconciling our differences, and that's drama, too. What I consider one of the difficult things about our time is the way that we have begun to politicize our culture. That's because we don't have a politics. We don't have an ideology, we don't have an idea of how to change the society properly, so we go to culture and say maybe culture can do it for us. It can't. All you're going to do is debase the culture. Smith: Is the funding question not how much -- as I mentioned, you both are dissatisfied with the funding strategy -- Is the funding question not how much, or from whom, but to what purpose? Is it problematic, in other words, for funding institutions to provide seed money for mainstream institutions to develop cultural diversity, rather than directly to specifically culturally diverse organizations?

Wilson: Without question.

Smith: Can you say more?

Wilson: Well, I thought I did. This is partly, at least, also my problem with colorblind casting. In that, you're taking black talent and you're utilizing black talent and you're empowering black talent, if you will, at the expense of black people, at the expense of black theatre. So that we have a situation where, for instance -- and some critics are writing saying, "Since there are so many theatres which are doing black plays, is it necessary to have black theatres?" You see, because we're now involved in the production of black art, so you guys don't need that. You see? And what that does, it puts the custodianship of the art into someone else. And then what are blacks going to do five years from now they're no longer doing black plays and they're doing Asian plays or whatever. Whites still maintain control over those institutions, irrespective of you work in them or not. So the initiative of the Lila- Wallace Readers Digest initiative did a tremendous disservice to blacks, because, one, it said that we were children and we needed someone to be responsible for us, it said we were going to give this money to the white institutions for multicultural purposes as opposed to giving it to you to develop your own art. I think it did a disservice to the way black art is viewed, and black theatre is viewed and black people are viewed.

Brustein: I agree with that. I'm glad to be able to find a point of agreement with August tonight. I do agree with that. I think that this was an unfortunate foundation choice. This has been going on now for, what, ten or fifteen years. And to give money to essentially mainstream -- I won’t call them white institutions -- mixed institutions just to do black plays or culturally diverse plays, I think you're quite right, that money should go to black theatres to do black plays. And mainstream theatres should do those plays because they want to, not because they have grants for it. [Applause.]

Smith: This is for Mr. Brustein: Do you really believe that standards are universal? Hasn't racism imposed itself on mainstream culture's understanding of what is beautiful, what is important, what is profound, what is meaningful?

Brustein: No.

Smith: No?

Brustein: No.

Smith. No.

Brustein: I mean, if you believe that you are, as an ethnic or a racial group, entirely separate from the rest of the country, then you can probably make that argument. But the fact is I think we're all Americans together. We share a common culture, we share many cultures as well -- Wilson: We share some commonalities. We are separate. In one of the critiques of my speech you asked "What's next? Separate toilets? Separate washrooms?" And I want to tell you, I don't know the last time you've been to Harlem, but above 125th Street all of the toilets are black. And if you go on Park Avenue, all of the toilets are white. If you go down in Chinatown, they're Chinese. Part of this 13th-floor illusion we have is that we're all one people. It's true we share some commonalities in culture, but there is tremendous separation in this society that you and I both live in. And I think that our failure to recognize that leads to the cause of which we will not be able to come up with a remedy for that.

Brustein: Well, August, it's because I'm somewhat older than you that I remember a time when it was our driven desire, all of us, to break down the separation between the races. And that was our commitment. To feel that we have to go back to separate-but-equal, when so much time, effort, and passion was poured into trying to get rid of that so-called concept, which was never separate or equal -- it was separate, but it was never equal -- really appals me. And I think you should rethink that.

Wilson: No, we're not trying to go back again, we're trying to be included in American society. Since whites have all the power in our society, they have all the washroom keys. And they're simply not allowing us to participate in a society as Africans. As who we are.

Brustein: I share a washroom with any number of people. I don't have any problems... [Laughter]

Smith: We're going to have to conclude, and I have this one last question for both of you. OK, this is the last question for both gentlemen. "In his opening remarks, Mr. Brustein expressed the hope that he and Mr. Wilson might learn something from each other this evening. Would Mr. Brustein tell us what he has learned from Mr. Wilson, and would Mr. Wilson tell us what he has learned from Mr. Brustein?"

[Ap[plause]

Brustein: I learned that behind Mr Wilson's anger he is a teddy bear.

Smith: Is that right?

Brustein: That remark doesn't have any racial connotations that I know of...

Wilson: I consider myself a personable person, but I assure you I'm a lion.

Brustein: I learned about the qualities of his temperament, and that was good for me. I had met him only once, and then I read the speech, and I was not prepared to find a man of such quality. I'm talking about the temperament, I'm not talking about the artistic quality. And I like him.

Smith: How about you, August?

Wilson: Oddly enough, I think Mr. Brustein comes across somewhat differently in person.

Smith: Yeah, I think so too.

Wilson: And I have somewhat the same feeling regarding Mr. Brustein. I anticipated and expected someone else other than the person who showed up here, because I knew him very briefly. Unfortunately, I was not able to learn much else about the positions which he espouses, other than he as already articulated in his books and his response to my speech. And I would have liked to, but I didn't learn much else other than what was already there. I think it is fair to say we haven't moved any further from where we...

Smith: Well, just because you haven't moved from your positions doesn't mean that you haven't learned something more about what is there. Do you think?

Brustein: I am confirmed in my notion that drama is the opposition of two ideas, and I think we've probably provided drama tonight, if not enlightenment.

Smith: You want to say anything else?

Wilson: Yeah, I'd just like to say that hope is not always endearing. That sometimes it is bitter with the overripe promise, and we need more theatres to develop our artists. Smith: Thank you all so much for being among us. (1997)