Playwright Oliver Mayer
A Profile

by Raymond Salcedo

Playwright Oliver Mayer has a lot on his mind. A native of Los
Angeles, the Cornell and Oxford graduate was visiting San
Diego for the sold-out, one-week only showing of his play, The
Road To Los Angeles. He sat down with me to discuss theater,
identity, sex, and his new project, Blade to the Heat, which is
currently in the works in preparation for the big screen.
Madonna (yes, the Madonna), bought the rights to the story
about a 1950’s nobody-turned-championship boxer forced to
confront his own sexuality after a dethroned champion accuses
him of being gay.
 

Raymond Salcedo: You once said that some playwrights 

are afraid of or just don’t write about the beauty and 

danger that is life today. What do you mean by that?
 

Oliver Mayer: Some playwrights, in particular some of the famous and

successful ones, are writing in a very reductive style that they

are famous for and then they have to see the world through that

prison, that style. That is unfair to the world, which is more

interesting than those styles. I do have a style, but that style

based on trying to get as much of a breadth of difference of

population of characters as possible to have a wide-angle,

panoramic view of as many people as I could find, and then take

it through history. I don’t always write in the now. I write often

plays that are set in the (19)40s and 1890s. The only reason to

see a play that is set in say the 1890s is if it is about now, if we

can see something about us that we can recognize, how history

repeats itself, how we are replanting the seeds of whatever

problem we want to talk about slavery, racism, etc.

Do you think that categorizing art is similar to applying a canon

to literature? Do you see any right or wrong in that?

I don’t mind people who do categorize and evaluate art; it

probably has to be done. But I think the artist is better off not

knowing those evaluations its better it takes place in academia.

Artists need to be free of checking over their backs to see if

they’re leading the race, or if they’re behind. Contemporary

artists, and I am guilty of this myself, tend to be rivals in

contention with one another. As an artist, I should be in

contention with myself that’s the real contest. I think that is the

problem with such artists as Mamet and Wilson, who are

canonized, and they believe it, so that now, they figure that ìI’m

so great, I’m going to continue to do the same things I’ve been

doing.î It gets old; they stop; and in a certain way, they’re dead.

I don’t want to die so soon; I’ve got a lot of work to do. I’m sure

it’ll probably happen to me one day, but I want to have gotten at

least another 5 or 10 plays out.
 

What do you try to accomplish with your plays?
 

My first goal is to offer the theater to as possibility for more

people to enjoy it now. The theater belongs to us and is not a

museum. It should be alive and represent live people. I think

Shakespeare is so good because he is so contemporary.

Shakespeare’s London was not unlike this very campus: lots of

violence, lots of sex, lots of death. I believe that is the world we

live in today. We are all worthy subjects, and if I write lovingly

and deeply about life today, then perhaps people in the future

will see my work as a window to what it is like to live life today.
 

You said once that some playwrights are afraid of writing about

the beauty and danger that is life today. What do you mean?
 

Some playwrights, in particular some of the famous and

successful ones, are writing in a very reductive style that they

are famous for and then they have to see the world through that

prison, that style. I do have a style, but that style based on trying

to get as much of a breadth of difference of population of

characters as possible to have a wide-angle, panoramic view of

as many people as I could find. The problem with such artists as

David Mamet, who are canonized, is that they believe it, so that

now, they figure that ìI’m so great, I’m going to continue to do

the same things I’ve been doing.î It gets old; they stop; and in a

certain way, they’re dead. I don’t want to die so soon; I’ve got a

lot of work to do.
 

In the The Road to Los Angeles, Alurista’s lesbianism is met

with no confrontation, but then another character uses the

derogatory word ìfaggot.î Would you say that the climate in the

inner-city, lower-class minority social circles that these

characters represent is not the same for lesbians as it is for gays?
 

Oh, no doubt. That’s the world as I see it. In the play, people

may make fun of Alurista’s lesbian tendencies; they don’t make

fun of anyone’s gay tendencies it is actually a position of

endangerment in the streets. The evidence is clear people are

still being killed for it as in the recent case in Virginia. It’s

ridiculous, but it is true. My job is to be honest even if it’s ugly.

What sort of feedback do you get from real-life taggers?

Just yesterday, one of the few taggers here on campus was very

moved by the play, so he brought photographs of his art. His

support is important. He knows more about the play than I do. I

made it up; I’m getting older everyday; I have met taggers and

have seen tags, but it is certainly not my life its not something I

do. I found a metaphor in it. I found a brotherhood and solidarity

about trying to express identity and that’s all very literary. But

he’s actually under the 5 freeway putting these things up. The

people I know thus far who have seen this play and know this

world appreciate this play because I try to treat them with

respect. I don’t think I romanticize them, really, because it’s still

a ëdirty’ occupation. You’re often in very rough places, it’s

dangerous. And not everyone is good either. If you tag, you’re

not necessarily a good artist. You could be a lousy tagger.

(laughs).
 

Let’s talk about that identity thing. Your mother is Mexican, and

your father is, as you call him, an American mutt. Did you

struggle with your own identity growing up?
 

I didn’t even realize there was a struggle until I was 11 years

old. In junior high, I had to fill out one of those forms where you

had to check Black/White/Latino /Whatever, and I didn’t know

what to do. I hadn’t checked my box, and we were in Physical

Education, so we were standing in line out on the field. Standing

in front of me was this black guy whom everyone was afraid of

because he was so much bigger and stronger. Well, he checked

the white box because one of his parents was white. Everyone

started laughing, and he wasn’t scary anymore. I don’t even

know why, but I picked Latino I made the choice. I could have

picked ëWhiteî my name is Mayer. But something about the

experience him shamed and confused made me embrace the

ëdarker’ side. People don’t ask me so much about my ethnicity

anymore. When I was younger , in my twenties, some of the

Chicano activists in L.A. were not as warm as others. But I’ve

done my time. It doesn’t even matter if someone calls me a

Latino writer or just a writer but they do have to deal with my

body of work.
 

So how does being bi-cultural effect you today? Does it inform

your work?
 

It influences me all the time. I have some political soap-boxes

that I get on. Here I am making fun of Wilson and Mamet for

having a singular style, and yet I’ve got my own. Like one thing

you can always count on with a play of mine and that is there’s

going to be a lot of people of color in it. That’s something that I

can give to the world. The people that do this play thank me

because many of them would never be on a play on this stage

because they can’t get roles. There aren’t roles for them. That’s

seems to be something I hear over and over again, and it seems

wrong to me. I happen to think they should all play in the Shx

and Ibsen plays, but apparently, they can’t get the roles. But they

can get the roles in a play by me that calls for mixed-blooded

people, black people, Latin people. So, I’ve got to give them

some work because they deserve the opportunity. I’m not saying

they’re better than anybody else, but they are at least as good. So

that’s one of my political themes that I do think of all the time. It

may not even be my strongest thing; maybe I should just write

and forget about it. But I think that it’s something that I can do

that will change the world in a good way, even incrementally. I

think about bicultural phenomenon everyday. That’s one reason

I live in L.A. It’s very, very exciting to live in California,

because more and more it means you have to be bilingual, you

have to eat comida as well as American food.
 

Yesterday, you wore a shirt with one of the words from your

play, Califaztlan. Aztlan is the legendary origin of the ancient

Aztecs. By merging the word with ìCalifornia,î are you saying

that maybe Aztlan is somewhere in California?
 

Yes, I think it is. Symbolically and possibly literally. Perhaps so

many of us who have Latin blood in our veins come here, being

the second largest place for Mexicans, Guatemalans, and

Salvadorans, outside of the capital cities in these places. So

many people toil and put their blood and their spirit into this

world of southern California. Why shouldn’t our resting place,

our paradise, our heaven, our dream world rest here? I think it

ought to. Aztec peoples passed through here a long time ago

also. Maybe there are some very deep ties. Maybe there is a

reason we all come here besides the weather and the jobs, maybe

this is where we should be.
 

Is that your word? Did you coin Califaztlan.
 

I’ve heard it once before, but never again. It’s a good idea to

stick California and Aztlan together. I’ve found another one for

all the people from Huahaca who come to work in

California they call it Huahacalifornia.
 

What prompted you to write a play about a young Latino

struggling with his own sexual identity?
 

The thought came to me and scared me. I was at an age, in my

twenties, when it was scarier than it is now. I thought about the

identity of a male boxer. I wondered if in my experience and my

knowledge if I’ve ever seen a gay boxer before. I thought ìNo,

there couldn’t be. Then I thought, Of course, there must be. I

didn’t know who. I wasn’t out to out anybody. But I was

thinking about what kind of life a man must have not very

unlike that of a marine. I was scared for the person, whomever

that might be. Talk about danger. Then I thought if that guy’s a

really good fighter, then that’s one thing they can’t take away

from him. I love boxing. There’s a famous line I don’t even

know who said it. Somebody said that a fighter was a fag. Then

somebody else responds,Well, he may be a fag, but he’s got a

helluva left hook. I sort of thought about that, and if he’s good,

then he is a champion. Gay or straight, that’s something they

can’t take away from him. In the end, what do we know about

anybody? Unless we go to bed with them, how do we know? We

don’t know. Then again, we happen to know people that identify

as straight who are, in fact, gay. I personally believe that it’s our

choice to do what we feel like doing. It’s about warmth and flesh

and blood. Today, we have the freedom to be with whom we

want. In this play, I realized it would be hot and scary if this

person didn’t have those kind of freedoms. So I thought it had to

be pre-Stonewall. That was really important. If it was post-

Stonewall, he might have had the sense that he was freer

because of he’d know that there were other people like him. I

wanted him to be alone. I wanted to jack it up to make it as scary

as I felt when I first thought of it. Then I had to write at that

pitch it’s a very intense play. There’s lot of sex and violence,

but not just gay sex. I think with most straight men, they’re

constantly thinking about gay people. It’s a contest thing.

Comparing and contrasting. This guy who loses to the gay guy,

his macho identity is shaken to its very roots. He can’t even get

it up with his girlfriend. Everyone laughs at him. So now he has

to kill this guy beat him to a pulp. I think that’s real. You have

to watch a Latin guy if he feels like his machismo has been

interfered with. It’s extremely dangerous. You’re talking about

life and death at this point. After the blood has been cleaned, he

realizes how stupid he was. Playwrights just have to watch what

people do, and the stupid, crazy things they do are really worth

putting on stage sometimes.
 

What is main characters’ name?
 

Pedro Quinn.
 

Again, there’s that mixed blood thing going on.

If you had the choice, which actor would you chose to play

Pedro?
 

Oh, good question. At this point, I’d like Freddie Prinze, Jr. to

play it he’s a heartthrob, very young. I’d like to see him make

the brave choice to do it, like Wil Smith did with Six Degrees of

Separation, because in Hollywood, you have to be very brave to

play anything other than your typical hunk. Whoever it will be,

he should be in his early twenties. The point about him is that he

hasn’t had experience in life. His experience is in the rink. He’s

put his entire life into winning that title. He hasn’t had a

girlfriend, hasn’t had a boyfriend. He hasn’t lived he’s a virgin

to all this, he’s innocent. Then, he’s disavowed of innocence in

the course of the play, being beaten up for it. Really, the ring is

the safest place he could be.
 

Where can audiences see your plays this fall?
 

In November, my play, Joe Louis Blues, will be showing at the

Thick Description Playhouse in San Francisco. Then the Mark

Taper Forum in Los Angeles just commissioned my play,

Conjunto, which should be showing soon.

For more on Oliver Mayer, consult HYPERBOLE BOOKS,
which includes Blade to the Heat, and other early works.