Back in 2014, I was still a relatively new theatre-goer, and barely a playwright, but seeing Black Faggot at The Herald Theatre (in its return season), was an eye-opening experience for me. It remains one of my earliest memories of New Zealand playwriting reflecting a recognisable lived experience for me, particularly as a queer person of colour.
Inspired by seeing young people marching in a Destiny Church rally against same sex marriage, the play is a series of monologue or duolouge scenes of (mostly) queer characters in Auckland’s Pasifika community.
Now, more than 10 years on, it’s being given a timely revival, particularly amidst Destiny Church making headlines once again. Ahead of the Q Theatre season, and after opening at the Court Theatre, I had a Zoom conversation with the playwright Victor Rodger to discuss the play’s continued relevance, as well as what it means to be staging it all these years later.
NJ: It’s oddly quite topical because of the Destiny Church stuff. It’s not even about pure queer relevancy, which is always in flux, right? But the hyper relevance of the institution of Destiny Church and the institution of organised religion, if you want to call it that. It feels ever pertinent.
VR: You know, I was raised as a born-again Christian in Christchurch, Nathan. So, you know I’m not unfamiliar with some of those arguments. But that bold homophobia was not part of my upbringing in church. It’s a very ugly perversion of the word, in terms of the Christian upbringing that I had.
NJ: With this restaging, have you tweaked anything?
VR: Nah, it’s really of its 2013 birth. It still works. People are really enjoying it. Standing ovations every night. Which is great to see. I am looking forward to seeing it. I don’t know if I ever told you, but that first season of it, I was unravelling as when we were making it. On the opening night of Black Faggot in Auckland, I thought: “This is the worst thing I’ve literally ever written. This will be the end.” And that was just adding to my state, which was pretty dark back then. I’m just really looking forward to being able to rock up to this, knowing that it’s a work that does good, and is funny and is moving, and is challenging for some people.
I forbid my mum from going. And she went. I underestimated her. I know she hates anything that has swearing of mine. She’s scared people will think that’s how she raised me. She’s not great with sex, described or shown. She couldn’t get over the actors going in and out of the roles. She said, “They’re amazing.”
NJ: It’s such a tender play, ultimately as well. It’s raunchy, but it’s tender.
VR: I have to hand that to Roy Ward, the original director. It was originally more a vomit of monologues. Roy Ward really encouraged me to make a little throughline and make some of the characters the same and give them connections. And it made it a much more satisfying and heartfelt work. Alison Walls, of the Court [Theatre], actually accused me of having written a rom-com. I’m not sure I agree with that, but that’s her take on it, underneath it all.
NJ: There is a bit of that. If you want to latch onto those things. If you want to latch onto the young kid, if you want to latch onto the couple, there’s all these constituent parts.
Because I saw the Herald [Theatre] remount versus the Basement original [season]. And that was really formative to me because at that point I hadn’t seen that much queer theatre, let alone queer New Zealand theatre. And that was quite a startling thing, to see actors in Aotearoa be given permission to behave quite raunchily, behave and evoke queer sex. I still remember the cum going on the curtain as a visceral moment, and me and my partner at the time cracking up because we just didn’t expect that.
VR: Well, you know, Nathan, write what you know.
NJ: Write what you know!
VR: And it is largely.
I also have to tip my hat to Toa Fraser cuz his play, especially Bare, really has its imprint on this. Back in the day, I remember saying to Toa, “Why don’t you do a gay version of this?” And he was like, “Why don’t you do it yourself?” And he was completely right.
NJ: Was Bare the inception? It gave you a form or a format to place these characters in?
VR: I guess, eventually. It’s so long ago now, but I do remember Bare being in my head. I remember, at the time, not vibing with the suggestion to do it myself. If I think back, and I don’t think I’m misremembering it, I was very reticent about being known as a gay playwright. I liked ‘playwright who was gay’.
NJ: So Toa was like, you should write your own version. Was that for [Auckland] Fringe or Pride?
VR: It was definitely for Fringe, because it won a whole lot of awards that none of us turned up for. I don’t think we even ever got them.
NJ: What was the catalyst for writing it at the time?
VR: It was Destiny Church in 2004. And then in 2006-ish I would have written a bit. I wrote a handful of the monologues, some of which made it into the actual show. I got Madeleine Sami and I got Taungaroa Emile to come over to my place in Eden Terrace and read. Just to see if there was anything in there. And they were both really supportive of it.
But then I didn’t do anything for ages until the next Destiny Church march against the Marriage Equality Bill [in 2012]. That’s the thing that spurred me to finally do it. So I booked the slot [at Basement], got money from Auckland Council, and then had to finish the play.
And I always have to acknowledge Roy Ward because I was literally falling over mentally while doing it. And if he hasn’t streered a straight course because I wanted to pull it because I was so convinced it was shit. Didn’t want to stand behind it. Now I go, “Oh my god, this is fantastic. I wrote this!” But that was more about where I was at mentally.
NJ: Do you see it as a turning point at all for your writing or your label as a queer writer or as a gay writer?
VR: I mean the label, yeah. I mean, I probably did have a bit of reticence coming out publicly like that, but with a work like that, you can’t not. I don’t know if I’ve always been known to be gay in print, in media. But with that one, I couldn’t get away from it.
NJ: I guess there’s known to be gay in the streets, and then there’s… the F slur in big print. That’s quite a gap. But obviously, in choosing that title, you’re wanting to entice that provocation. You’re wanting to lean in.
VR: Black Faggot is something I was called a lot by a couple of my mates. As a term of ‘endearment’.
NJ: Black Faggot came after My Name is Gary Cooper, right?
VR: Yeah Gary Cooper was in 2007 and Black Faggot was 2013.
NJ: Gary Cooper inches towards queerness but Black Faggot—
VR: From my second play, which was Cunning Stunts, I’ve always had a queer mixed-race Samoan character in some way. But Black Faggot is the most overtly queer work that I’ve written.
NJ: There’s writing around queerness and writing about queerness.
VR: And specifically, for me, about Samoan queerness. Previously I’ve been largely frustrated by how queer Samonas have been represented, outside of that Oscar Kightley and David Fane play, A Frigate Bird Sings. Just faʻafafines as objects of mirth. How boring is that? Let’s have a butch confident gay man, let’s have a Yuki Kihara, let’s have a spectrum.
NJ: Do you feel queer writing has changed drastically since the days of Black Faggot?
VR: It’s literally not something I’ve thought about. I guess that’s because I’m so self-absorbed [laughs].
NJ: I remember when Shane [Bosher] interviewed playwrights for Playmarket around formative queer plays. Both Sam [Brooks] and I mentioned Black Faggot.
The opportunity to revisit it, for other playwrights, for both the Court Theatre and Q Theatre staging, feels important. Because, in many ways, I think the explicitness of queerness is still not as prominent as you’d imagine. And obviously, that’s just because independent theatre is not exactly having a great time. And if independent theatre is not having a great time, queer theatre is not having a great time.
VR: I don’t think any theatre is.
NJ: Do you feel the publication of Black Faggot legitimised the play in any way?
VR: It’s not really something I thought about. The thing I always say in interviews is, the thing that really struck me was in Palmerston North, meeting a young mixed-race kid who worked at Wendy’s. And [him] going “This is my story. This is the second time I’ve seen it. Thanks for telling it.”
I don’t often get moved, full stop. But that, I found moving. Someone flipping burgers actively goes to a play like that, and sees a version of their story represented.
Because, at the time, I was so falling over when it came out, and I couldn’t celebrate it. But something like that helped me celebrate the work for what it was.
NJ: I think what works about the play is that it’s not pretentious at all. The form of just two actors playing all the characters. There’s two people without much costume, baring souls, baring their holes, doing all that.
VR: Well, thank Toa Fraser. [Pauses] I don’t think I ever thanked him!
NJ: It’s the quintessential two-hander form that populated New Zealand playwriting. I wish I’d see more of it. Bring it back!
VR: It’s a good one.
NJ: Was there a moment during the Basement season where you felt it was a good play?
VR: No. Maybe in the second season. When it went to Edinburgh, I could enjoy it.
NJ: The Court Theatre production isn’t even the Christchurch premiere. It was part of the [Christchurch] Arts Festival, right? How did it go down?
VR: I never saw it, but I know there were walkouts. Which pleased me no end. And I’m hoping there are walkouts with this one, but there doesn’t seem to have been yet.
NJ: Well, it’s funny you’re saying that every night has had standing ovations so far. The climate and the want for it maybe has changed. The appetite of the Christchurch audience is that they want to embrace stories of difference, one hopes.
VR: Well, not that long after Black Faggot, and I dramaturged Inky Pinky Ponky. And they did a reading at Auckland Theatre Company for a high school. Watching these high school students be actively into this story and wanting a happy ending for the trans character was mind-blowing for me. When I was that age, that absolutely would have never happened. It showed me what shifted in that longer generation, for sure. I loved it. I loved seeing that.
And you know it gets done in high schools? Inky Pinky Ponky.
NJ: I feel like that’s quite a powerful consequence to a play being staged, is that high schools do it. That’s where it counts the most.
VR: You know one thing that’s a shame is that Black Faggot isn’t on the curriculum..
NJ: [laughs]
VR: If I had something like this at high school instead of me going to the Christchurch public library with a pounding heart and checking out every gay book that I could get my little hands on, I think that would have been comforting.
NJ: Kids these days are so ready for it. They’ve seen it all. It’s almost a shame there’s a squeamishness if you are to do a high school booking, but actually, outside a spicy little title, it’s so tame compared to what kids actually engage in.
VR: It’s not a Samuel Te Kani short story that’s for sure.
NJ: That’s for sure.
VR: Very vanilla compared to…
NJ: As most are.
Speaking of, what’s your relationship to provocation these days?
VR: What do you mean?
NJ: Is that something you actively seek out as a consumer, as a writer? Is it something that’s just a natural part of you?
VR: I want that jolt and that squirm. There’s room for that spectrum. There’s room for that easy-to-digest stuff. That Bravo TV shit you don’t wanna think about. But I do actively want stuff that is maybe uncomfortable for me to watch, but necessary.
One thing I’ve been thinking about lately—particularly in the climate we’re in—is our roles as writers. Not necessarily in an on-the-nose way. But with what is happening. What are we giving the world? What are we writing? What is necessary and has impact?
Having said that, the play I’m working on at the moment probably doesn’t fall into that. But it’s something I’m thinking about a lot.
I do like to see audiences squirm, and I like to squirm.
Black Faggot runs this week in Tāmaki Makaurau from Wednesday 25 until Sunday 29 June at Q Theatre and tickets can be purchased from the theatre website.
