Billy Porter Unveils ‘This Bitter Earth’: Inside the Rehearsal Room Magic

Billy Porter commands attention when he speaks. His recent role as the Emcee in London’s production of Cabaret, soon to be reprised on Broadway, has only amplified his deliberate and majestic speaking style. Every word he utters is carefully chosen and delivered with a regal air, often pausing so long between phrases that one might think he’s finished, only for him to continue. In a south London studio, amidst rehearsals for This Bitter Earth—a play marking his directorial debut in the UK—playwright Harrison David Rivers and actors Omari Douglas (known for It’s a Sin) and Alexander Lincoln (from Emmerdale) hang on his every word, maintaining a respectful silence until he fully concludes his thoughts.

Exploring Love and Persistence

“The … beautiful … aspect of this play,” Porter begins, as he casually removes his luxurious cream-and-ebony moon boots and sets them aside, “is that it allows us to witness two individuals, deeply in love, who persistently try … and try … and try again … without ever abandoning hope … or each other … or love. It’s about hope. We don’t need to be divided. Complex conversations are what lead to healing … without casting blame … without feeling shame.”

This Bitter Earth offers a complex, non-linear exploration of a tumultuous relationship between two queer men in their late twenties and early thirties. The storyline jumps across various moments from 2012, during Barack Obama’s presidency, to 2015, around the time Donald Trump announced his presidential run, who is notably not mentioned in the play.

In the play, Neil, portrayed by Lincoln, is a white Black Lives Matter activist described as well-meaning yet overly enthusiastic, while Jesse, played by Douglas, is a Black playwright critiqued by Neil for not being politically active enough. Jesse’s retort underscores a broader theme: “I’m living my fucking life! What more do you want from me?”

After a scene where Neil expresses his disappointment over Jesse’s cursory interaction with his activist friends, Porter challenges his actors, asking, “Great. So what is this about? What’s bothering you and what are you trying to provoke?” As they discuss the underlying motivations of their characters, Rivers observes, appreciating the opportunity to reconnect with his work, premiered in 2017, after years of societal changes—or the lack thereof.

“It’s disheartening that it doesn’t feel different now. You write a play hoping it resolves something. You dream that people will look back and say, ‘Remember when we disrespected each other and there was violence because we couldn’t communicate?’ The play is relevant today because stepping outside this room, we enter a world not much changed. That’s sad. But we need to address it anew and attempt change once more,” Rivers reflects.

“We must keep trying!” Porter declares emphatically, his voice resonant with determination.

Returning to the discussion, Lincoln, dressed in a grey tank top that displays his tattoos, shows a deep understanding of what Neil fails to see: that simply leaving your house in the morning can be an act of protest.

Empathy and Perspective

Porter identifies deeply with the argument. “Living is a protest,” he asserts. “Or walking down the street … wearing … a hat. When David Bowie does it, he’s hailed a genius. When Kiss does it, they’re rock stars. Because they’re white.” He looks over his glasses with a look of disdain. “But it’s just a hat. It’s … just … a hat. Now shut the fuck up!” In a fleeting moment, Porter shifts between the roles of director, memoirist, and actor, his final words seemingly directed at the fictional Neil rather than anyone present. His directing approach could be described as multifaceted.

Rivers praises Porter for his presence and immediacy, noting, “I think Billy’s sense of urgency is being infused into the play.”

When asked if they recognize the type of condescending remarks Neil makes to Jesse, Douglas rolls his eyes: “Oh God, yes. If I started talking about them, we’d be here all day.” I admit to feeling uncomfortable, recognizing myself in Neil’s patronizing tone. “Why ‘wince’?” Porter challenges from across the table. “I encourage you—and I’m not interviewing you here—to embrace openness. ‘When you know better, do better,’ Maya Angelou said. Now, when you know better and you don’t do better—that’s when I’m coming for you!”