When Theater Becomes A Relay Race: Jurnee Smollett And The Legacy Of Voice
There’s something deliciously meta about Jurnee Smollett stepping into The Whoopi Monologues. On paper, it’s a simple casting update: replace Kerry Washington with another powerhouse actor. But peel back the layers, and this feels like witnessing a cultural handoff, a theatrical baton pass between generations of Black women who’ve mastered the art of making audiences lean in and listen. Whoopi Goldberg’s original one-woman show was revolutionary in 1984 because it dared to center messy, unapologetic female voices. Now, decades later, we’re watching that torch get polished and relit through an ensemble lens. Is this nostalgia? Evolution? Or something more subversive?
The Art Of Reinvention Isn’t Just About Nostalgia
Let’s address the elephant in the room: Why revive a solo show as an ensemble piece? The Whoopi Monologues isn’t just recycling material; it’s dissecting it. By distributing Goldberg’s original characters across multiple actors (including Smollett), the production implicitly argues that no single voice can contain the full spectrum of Black womanhood. This isn’t laziness or lack of imagination—it’s a deliberate commentary on how identity fractures and multiplies across time. Personally, I think we’re seeing theater respond to the #MeToo and Black Lives Matter eras, where collective storytelling often resonates louder than individual narratives.
Smollett’s casting here fascinates me not just because of her star power (though Lovecraft Country certainly earned her that), but because of her chameleon-like ability to disappear into roles. From the gut-punch rawness of The Trip to Bountiful to the genre-blending weirdness of Lovecraft Country, she’s built a career on refusing typecasting. Taking over a role originated by Washington—another actor who thrives in morally complex terrain—is less about imitation and more about continuation. It’s like watching a jazz musician reinterpret a classic: same melody, but the improvisation makes it new.
Why This Role Matters For Smollett’s Career Trajectory
Here’s what many miss: Smollett’s move to theater isn’t a lateral shift. Screen acting often prioritizes subtlety; stage demands muscular vocal control and physicality. By committing to Off Broadway’s intimate Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater, she’s playing a long game. Actors who master both mediums don’t just expand their range—they gain a kind of artistic immunity in an industry obsessed with reinvention. I’d argue this is Smollett’s quiet rebellion against the “What have you done lately?” fatigue plaguing Hollywood. She’s building a legacy, not just a résumé.
And let’s not overlook the psychological weight of replacing Washington. Both actors have played roles that grapple with systemic oppression (Washington in Scandal, Smollett in Watchmen), yet here they’re tackling characters that predate those cultural moments. It’s a reminder that Black women’s stories aren’t linear—they’re layered, cyclical, and insistently present.
The Bigger Picture In Theater Trends
What this really suggests is a seismic shift in how we consume personal narratives. The original Whoopi Monologues asked audiences to sit with discomfort through a single perspective. The revival’s ensemble approach seems to say: “No, let’s crowdsource this discomfort.” By fracturing the storytelling, director Whitney White might be acknowledging something crucial—our collective trauma and joy can’t be contained in one body anymore. We’re too fractured, too interconnected in the digital age.
This raises a deeper question: Is solo theater becoming obsolete? Or is it evolving to mirror our multitasking, multi-platform lives? The presence of Apple TV+’s Smoke in Smollett’s recent filmography hints at this tension. The same actor navigating streaming’s global reach is now committing to the hyper-local, ephemeral magic of live theater. It’s a duality that mirrors our entertainment consumption habits—simultaneously everywhere and nowhere.
Final Curtain Thoughts
As Smollett prepares for her first performance on August 4th, I keep circling back to the audacity of this production. It’s not just about honoring Whoopi Goldberg’s legacy; it’s about interrogating it. By placing Smollett—a Gen-X actor with millennial cultural fluency—in this role, the revival implicitly asks: Who gets to define a generation’s struggles? The woman screaming alone on stage in 1984? Or the ensemble echoing her words while reshaping their meaning?
Here’s my bet: The real story here isn’t Smollett’s casting announcement. It’s the quiet revolution happening nightly at the Lincoln Center. Every time these actors step into Goldberg’s words and make them sweat, they’re not just performing history. They’re rewriting who gets to hold the mic—and who gets to decide when the mic should be passed.
