An Octoroon

“Then my therapist was like, ‘Don’t you think you ought not to shit where you eat?’ and I was like, ‘Well, what happens if I shit where I starve?’”

BJJ’s imaginary therapist has suggested that he adapt The Octoroon as a way to reconnect with the theater and playwriting as things that make him feel happy and fulfilled. But when he starts to talk about challenging racism, he imagines that she backtracks. As a Black man and a playwright, BJJ expresses his complicated feelings about theater, where he is underpaid and often pigeonholed. The Octoroon and any similar plays are places where he starves as an artist. There is nothing there to make him feel fed.

“Time is like…so fecked up. You know?”

The Playwright, who is unnamed but represents Dion Boucicault, was celebrated when he was alive. His plays were performed internationally, and he was a household name. But when he appears in the 21st century, his name is all but erased. His plays have grown dusty and unperformed for reasons that he couldn’t have foreseen. This is a warning to BJJ as well—there’s no way to make sure that his work stays relevant, so it’s pointless to focus energy on enduring.

“I’m just going to say this right now so we can get it over with: I don’t know what a real slave sounded like. And neither do you.”

This stage direction is a preface before Minnie and Dido enter for Act I. Branden Jacobs-Jenkins converses with readers, actors, directors, designers, and essentially everyone who isn’t the