To say that Alexandra Billings’ survival is a miracle is an understatement. The actress, activist, and teacher — diagnosed with HIV in the early 90s and the survivor of addiction — laid the foundation for the next generation of trans and nonbinary artists through her early years in Chicago’s theater scene to breakout roles on Transparent and more recent appearances in The Peripheral and Never Have I Ever. But the stage remains close to her heart.
Billings made her Broadway debut at 59 years old in the long-running hit Wicked and now returns to the spotlight, co-starring in the Los Angeles premiere of POTUS: Or, Behind Every Great Dumbass Are Seven Women Trying to Keep Him Alive at Geffen Playhouse. Billings plays the frustrated first lady in the all-female farce that tackles political and personal indiscretions at a breakneck pace, described by the Los Angeles Times as “a thrilling sight to see a stage full of women unleash their power for the benefit of womankind rather than a single, over-promoted man.”
Related: Vote for your favorite live theater in this year’s Queerties
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Extended through February 25, Billings’ plate overfloweth with a tenured teaching gig at USC School of Dramatic Arts and an active social media presence that keeps her in the news, both for her takedowns of haters like Caitlyn Jenner and messages of empowerment. And somehow, the multi-hyphenate also found time to write a 446-page memoir!
Queerty caught up with Billings just after opening night to chat about onstage mishaps, memorable performances, and how to remain optimistic in a volatile election year.
Critics have described Margaret as the “ridiculously over-qualified first lady.” What are you ridiculously over-qualified for?
Falling down.
I fall down a lot. In fact, my wife, who has directed me in many, many plays in Chicago, used to say, “Alex needs an incredible amount of rehearsal if you’re going to put anything in her hands or have her catch anything because she’ll either, drop it or break it or break herself.” When we were doing all this physical comedy, I had to go home and rehearse it in my living room over and over and over. My cat thought I was nuts.
How would the real Alexandra Billings decorate the White House if you stepped into those shoes?
It would most likely be a combination of old 1940s MGM musical posters and gobs of Zen Buddhist decor. I’m not a Buddhist per se, but I am very spiritual. I’m also not an MGM musical star, but I am queer.
POTUS’s subtitle, “Or, Behind Every Great Dumbass Are Seven Women Trying to Keep Him Alive,” rings pretty true these days. What’s your hot take on the election year ahead, and how are you keeping your sanity?
I have great faith in humanity; I always have. I am 62 years old and Trans, and I lived through the AIDS plague. I have watched almost every single one of my queer friends die, and I have watched every Cis Heteronormative human stand around with their arms folded, reminding me that [HIV] was “killing all the right people.”
And yet, there were angels. There was divine intervention, and there were those who knew that the fabric of human existence was delicate and required care, no matter who you loved or who you voted for. I was diagnosed in the 90s when AZT was almost brand new, and when I went into the hospital to die, as the doctors assumed I would, it would not have mattered to me whether I perished next to a Democrat or a Republican.
I realize we’re in trouble right now, but I do not for one second believe we do not all want the same thing. We may not go about it the same way, but we all want peace, and we all want to continue our story. I pay attention. I am active in my protection of my Trans community, especially the youth, and I am present in the dangerous time we live in, but I do not hold on to hate and rage. It solves nothing. I say this all the time.
I try to be a kind and compassionate human who will fight for your right to free speech, and yet, if part of your speech involves curtailing my community’s rights as American citizens, I reserve the right to tell you to f*ck right off.
Last year, you made history as USC’s first tenured transgender faculty member as part of the USC School for Dramatic Arts. Your career and personal experience offer plenty of learning opportunities, but what have your students taught you?
How to be a student. Plain and simple they teach me how to learn and that it is a gift to be curious. I am in constant awe of their courage, their kindness, and their fierce willingness to try absolutely anything. I don’t consider myself particularly brave, but I know my instincts are good, and my students ignite that part of me that keeps me guessing, keeps me interested in the newness, and keeps me trusting the thing I was born with: An Inner Guide Towards What’s Possible
They also give me great pointers on how to work my space machine. IYKYK
My biggest onstage mishap happened when ______________.
Weirdly, most of my mishaps have happened around me. I usually make text mistakes. What I mean is, saying “White Horse” instead of “White House” or calling someone “Mr. Pumpernickel” instead of whatever their actual character name is.
However, I have helped a few mishaps along the way in my career by being in the wrong place and tripping an actor so that the tray of red wine spills down the cleavage of the star as she getting ready to sing the title song to Oklahoma! or that time I set a small fire backstage by accidentally kicking over a can of unopened grease and having it trail towards the smoking area conveniently located next to the costumes.
But the greatest was when I was on stage with Honey West when we were in Chicago doing a musical called Diva Diaries. We were a trio of divas working in a drag club, our third wheel played by the delicious Berwick Haynes, and we had a musical number as we tried to rally ourselves to face a cold and unsuspecting world.
It was one of those 11 o’clock numbers with choreography and tambourines, and as we were shaking and kicking, I moved a little to the left, and before you could say Mr. Pumpernickel, I turned a saw nothing but Honey West’s tambourine, slowly twirling on the stage. Alone and forgotten. The stage was elevated about five feet from the audience, so the lip of it was huge, and somehow, she and I got our kicks and shuffles confused, and there she lay, eyes closed, and sprawled out in the first row.
The audience, roaring with laughter, assumed it was part of the number, clapped and swayed as Berwick and I reached down, with the orchestra still playing, and tried to give our pal a hand up. Suddenly, Honey opens her baby blues, shakes her head like a Looney Tunes cartoon, hopped up on both feet (in heels yet), and we finish the number, tambourines and knees intact. I’ve never received a bigger hand. She thanks me for tripping her to this day.
(More recently, Billings had this happen during a recent performance of POTUS!)
The show that changed my life the most was…
Gertrude Stein and a Companion
A little-known show, and directed by my wife, Chrisanne Blankenship. It was a two-person show about the life and times of Gertrude and the love of her life, Alice Toklas. The show was a critical success and gave me a chance to do something that didn’t require feathers and four pairs of lashes. Up until then, most critics and Chicago audiences thought of me as a novelty. You have to remember I was doing theater as a Trans Woman in the mid-80s. This was unheard of, and Chrisanne was really the first director who thought I could do something besides comedy and farce… which, by the way, I love and still do. When our refrigerator door opens, I still do a ten-minute set.
But that play also gave me the strength to start to study harder as an actor. To remind myself that stories are the center, not fame.
Related:
The queer theater maker everyone should be paying attention to right now…
Sean began in Chicago years ago and is one of the premier queer writers, actors, authors and producers. He and I have worked together many times over the years, and now he is adding teacher to his resume by opening up a retreat for other young queer artists called “Desert Playwrights.” It is a unique and thrilling adventure into creating a space for workshopping and creating queer work, writers, performers and all kinds of other LGBT humans gather together in a safe space to work and share their work in hopes of going out in the world, and having it produced and seen.
This, for me, is the quintessential idea for marginalized art: A space where we are not only welcomed but encouraged and rewarded. After all, what is art if not the sharing of one’s journey with those who would otherwise never know your path?
Revive __________ so I can star in it!
Mame.
I understand her need to survive. And she is a wonderful teacher and, simultaneously, a student of the human condition. Everything excites her, and everything bewilders her. Those songs fill my soul, and having never been a parent and yet, parented thousands of humans as a teacher, Mame has been my guide for decades. Light the damn candles, please.
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dbmcvey
Saw POTUS a week or so ago. Billings is really good and has some of the best moments but the play is kind of a mess, especially the second act.