His is a cry in the wilderness, the frustrations of an African-American arts advocate in a city whose arts scene doesn’t come close to proportionally representing the fact that about one in sseven residents is black.
“This is a city where zeroes call the shots, and heroes stand and watch,” says Gary DeWitt Marshall as we sit down to have what proves to be one of the more colorful interviews I’ve done. “It’s as simple as that.”
We’re in the back room of The Collaborative, the Arts Council-managed gallery of which Marshall has been coordinator for the past two years. But he’s resigning to pursue other ambitions.
It’s a move that will end an association with the Arts Council that began in 2010, when he was a board member—an oft-frustrated one who felt he “didn’t really have a seat at the table, [wasn’t] a part of the plan, [didn’t] really having my skills and position in the community valued.”
I became acquainted with Marshall and his Dark Blue Mondaze recently when I ventured into the 6th District to the Manazar Gamboa Theatre at the Homeland Cultural Center to review what turned out to be a first-rate production of Ntozake Shange’s for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf. Marshall’s rousing pre-show remarks were such that it was clear this was a man unafraid to (as he puts it) “call a spade a spade,” regardless of the subject matter. Clearly, his was a strong point of view on why the black community is so artistically underserved in Long Beach.
As background, it’s important to understand that Marshall—whose resume includes numerous film and TV appearances, along with originating the role of Michael Dube in the Tony-nominated The Song of Jacob Zulu—founded Dark Blue Mondaze in 2004 “to provide access and opportunity to underserved members of the community from all aspects of the entertainment spectrum,” and to make the experience “culturally relevant.” And he feels that access and opportunity is not coming from the Long Beach establishment.
“We train young actors to be professionals, how to work in this business,” he says. “That’s a key you don’t get at university or in the high schools. […] I know that what I do works. […] I take on the role of a supporter; the academicians and scholars and high-school people take on the role of suppressors. […] There’s some information, some very vital nutrition in an actor’s matriculation into this business that they’re just not getting.”
One actor who feels he’s benefitted from Marshall’s mentorship is Phil Darius Wallace, a member of Tennessee Shakespeare Company who has appeared in several films and recently made his television debut on the series Nashville.
“As an acting coach, I think what makes [Marshall] pretty unique from most is that he actually does it; he actually applies what he teaches to his own career,” says Wallace. “[…] In working with him, it’s pretty electric, because you’re not really getting fluff; you’re getting things that have worked for him as a film and television actor right in Hollywood. So it’s been great to have him as a resource. […] In Long Beach I’m sure he’s a phenomenal resource for people who want to take it a step further and get into the industry. He has tons of hands-on experience, [and] he teaches from that place.”
Marshall is not reticent about how little practical experience there is to be gotten locally for anyone who wants a show-business career. For example, he speaks of being unimpressed with the arts training at Renaissance High School for the Performing Arts, saying it’s not in the same league as Orange County High School for the Performing Arts. “Put[ting] on a bullshit production of Peter Pan doesn’t help them kids none,” he says, invoking a show staged by Renaissance last year.
He also complains of not receiving the sort of institutional support enjoyed by (e.g.) the International City Theatre and the Garage Theatre. That complaint is at least somewhat unfair, however, considering that the Department of Parks, Recreation & Marine has allowed Dark Blue Mondaze free use of the Gamboa since August 2012—which Marshall himself calls “a pretty sweet deal.” And he praises Parks & Rec in general—and Community Services Supervisor Jim Ruggirello in particular—for helping Marshall serve the local community.
“We’re happy to have them [at the Gamboa],” says Ruggirello. “What they have brought is formal staged productions, and so they nicely complement everything else that we do [at the Homeland Cultural Center], such as music, dance, poetry, martial arts.”
Despite the efforts of Parks & Rec, Marshall feels the black community is thoroughly underserved—in the 6th District and throughout the city—not getting its fair share of civic arts investment.
“It’s a systemic disconnect,” he says. “It’s sort of like a freeway network that don’t end up nowhere. Like, you take the 405, but it just ends. You can’t connect through to Santa Monica. You know Santa Monica exists ’cause you heard there’s people there. There’s a bunch of these disconnected freeways […] to arts, culture, whatever, but the main rest stops get all the action, because, for whatever reason, all the traffic is steered that way. […] The people in control of the traffic flow it that way […] because fro the top down no one has the will to stand up and say, ‘Cut this shit out. This is fucked up.’ […] The people that don’t get [supported in the arts] are the constants. […] What I know about this city is [that there is] a systematic, systemic disconnectivity that keeps the people that need it away from the resources. There are resources, and there are recipients, but they are never the people that need it. […] If that’s part of the master plan, who the hell is the master?”
Marshall says one of the problems is that the decision-makers do not include proper representation of minority communities.
“The adjudicators of arts and cultures [in Long Beach] is a committee of 60-year-old white men, ” he says. “I was in a meeting—this was right before November, right before the election—and one of the gentlemen proclaimed that we are in a post-racial society, that as artists we are post-racial. And I looked at this guy that is a decision-maker about fucking arts and culture in Long Beach […] That [he could] sit there and say that with a straight fucking face insults me. […] This is bad for my blood pressure, man, sitting up here and these are the people, these are the buffoons, making arts and culture decisions. And I have no power to effect it.”
Marshall reserves some criticism for himself, saying “a flaw in my approach” has been attempting to obtain overly broad support for his brand of “unique boutique theatre.”
“[I’ve tried] to interpret my message to people that really don’t give a damn,” he says. “Part of what I learned as a businessman is: ‘You got a niche market. You know what? Treat these folks.’ […] It’s a $10 ticket. I assume everyone can pay it. But you know what? I was reaching out to people who are used to paying $70 a ticket. And you know what? Sometimes they bought a ticket but just didn’t show up. That’s so…so not the point. […] I would rather have 65 felons—third-strikers—in my audience than people who are just there for a tax write-off or whatever. I’m not doing Oklahoma! and shit; I’m doing real plays that are impactful and meaningful to the people that receive them. […] This gives them a chance to reflect and project a life that they may not even think is possible.”
Marshall has particularly harsh words for Long Beach’s political leaders. And he says that although he’s been approached about running for office—particularly, for the 6th District council seat—he has no interest in doing so.
“They’re kind of fake politicians out here,” he says. “[…] None of these cats could have gotten elected in the hamlet that I’m from. They’re jokes! I don’t know how else to say it. […] In this incestuous pork town, they’re all kissing cousins. […] Again, zeroes run things, and heroes get to watch. And that’s frustrating. [… U]p there on the 14th floor—no disrespect to anyone at City Hall—that’s a demotion for me, in [terms of] what I’m effectively able to do independently [without being] beholden to whatever crazy plan (or non-plan) that the City has. […] I’m an outsider; I ain’t never tried to be no insider. I don’t even like it inside. I’m an outsider, and I’m effective that way, and I keep my independence.”
The need for someone like Marshall agitating for better minority representation in the arts community is deeply felt by many. Stevi Meredith, for example, who directed the Dark Blue Mondaze production of for colored girls… and who has worked with both the Long Beach Playhouse and International City Theatre, bemoans the dearth of minority opportunities.
“Opportunities in Long Beach for aspiring artists [in the black community?” she says. “There are none, except Dark Blue Mondaze. […] At the audience talkback [after each performance of for colored girls…], they all spoke to how necessary African-American-based theatre is to the African-American community. Many of these people are professional actors and they are crying out for work. Even free work. The black community in Long Beach has no viable theater entity that is regularly producing for them. […] Back in the late ’80s and early ’90s the Long Beach Playhouse did at least one show with an all black cast in every season of the Studio Theater. I directed many of those shows. […] I just served on a Community Partnership Committee for ICT. The black movers and shakers of Long Beach raised almost $40K for [2012’s] Ain’t Misbehavin’. This year they have no black show in their season. Neither does Long Beach Playhouse. So, where do I go when I want to see good black theater? Los Angeles. Or now, DBM. So, we need this—and by we, I mean Long Beach. Theatre is such a powerful tool.[…] What Gary is doing is a giant work in the life of the community surrounding the Gamboa, the larger black community, and for the artistic community. His passion has taken him to a sustainable place. However, moving from surviving to striving is going to take a lot more cooperation and participation.”
Marshall is a dichotomous figure. He castigates City Hall, then says he means no disrespect. He speaks about his resume, then says his resume doesn’t matter. He laments the lack of support he’s received from the City, even though he’s been given some rather substantial support. But it all seems to emanate from a combination of frustration, bluntness, and a willingness to admit that he doesn’t have all the answers. And he hopes that his willing to articulate the City’s shortcomings will help contribute to their being addressed.
“I’m not coming at you with some un-humble bluster,” he says. “This is frustration. […] I don’t just want to be another bickerer. And I definitely don’t want to be somebody pointing the finger at somebody that may really be trying to do something. I understand the limitations. But it just can’t continue like this. […] I’m calling a spade a spade. There’s something wrong; there’s something not right; there’s something incorrect about the way that this business continues to be done. So if I gotta stir the pot, I’ll stir it, because I ain’t beholden to nobody.”
For now, Dark Blue Mondaze is on a hiatus, with programming slated to start up again in August, which will kick off nearly a full year’s-worth. In the meantime, Marshall will be splitting his time between Long Beach and other parts of the country, where he feels he has found more institutional support.
“I’ve got to leave here [temporarily] to go get work,” he says. “I’m taking what I built here into another community—into Memphis; into Buffalo, New York; into Rahway, New Jersey. They called me, you know? I know it works. Somebody’s getting it.”
Gary DeWitt Marshall’s rhetoric is often inflammatory. But is there any better kind to fire up the conversation? And because he’s not only talking about expanding arts opportunities for the underrepresented in Long Beach but is also doing something about it, love him or hate him, no one can say his is mere idle chatter.