Two years after breaking audiences’ hearts with her steely yet devastating turn as mother turned activist Mamie Till-Mobley in Till (2022), Danielle Deadwyler is in the awards conversation again, thanks to her work in the film adaptation of August Wilson’s Pulitzer Prize–winning play, The Piano Lesson. The film was directed by Malcolm Washington and produced by his father, Denzel Washington. Deadwyler has drawn particular praise for her grounding performance as Berniece, a single mother at war with her brother over a precious family heirloom.
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Deadwyler has been moving from prestige project to prestige project ever since she transitioned from her native Atlanta theater scene to TV and film. In 2022, she won an NAACP Award for outstanding supporting actress for her role as Cuffee in the Netflix western The Harder They Fall, starring Regina King. Deadwyler quickly followed that up with a major role in the critically acclaimed HBO miniseries Station Eleven, and then Till. Along with The Piano Lesson, she appeared in the indie film I Saw The TV Glow. Soon, she’ll step into the shoes of Zelma Redding, wife of legendary soul singer Otis Redding, for Otis and Zelma, opposite John Boyega.
Although she picked up a Gotham award and received nominations for a BAFTA, Critics Choice, and SAG award for her work in Till, she missed out on the elusive Academy Award nomination and expressed her disappointment, citing both racism and misogynoir for her exclusion. This go round, Deadwyler is trying to focus less on the end result than the ride itself—wherever that may take her. “Things come in waves,” she says “We don’t control none of this.” We’re thrilled to have Deadwyler as part of our 2025 Hollywood Issue. Here are excerpts from a conversation.
Vanity Fair: You’ve been down the awards season road before with Till. How do you feel now that you’re gearing back up for that season with The Piano Lesson?
Danielle Deadwyler: Just excitement to share the film on the greater stage. The things that we explore in the film are critical—that’s always been the most significant to me. How does this impact people? How does this change people? How does this—I love this word—rupture? How does this rupture who you are in the world? If it’s not doing that, then what are we doing?
The conversation about awards is the opportunity to have a greater conversation with the audience. We want as many people as possible to share in the delight of what we have created. But also to share in the questioning that it has for our humanity, our family dynamics, our engagement with ancestors, the nation, our questioning of history and legacy. What does it take for certain families—Black families, oppressed families, and legacies that they hold—to have upward mobility? What does upward mobility really even look like? What does that even fucking mean when you’re talking about people who are still oppressed in particular ways, in certain systems and countries? That’s what I’m here for.
How are you grappling with the world at this juncture and your place in it?
I’m taking cues from Piano. Taking cues on—what does it mean to parent children? They are the ones who are so vulnerable and deeply impacted by what’s happening.
When you think about Maretha in the film, all of this is being done because something impacted children. It impacted Berniece. It impacted Boy Willie. All of this is being done in the midst of this quiet but very present-looking, listening child in Maretha. I am very much considering: What does it mean to model being a present, loving human being? I’m deeply sensitive to the needs and the love and the energy of children. We all were one at one point.
Has your son seen The Piano Lesson?
He has not yet. He ain’t checking for me [laughs]. There’s so much stuff going on at school. He’s like, “When you bringing them chicken wings home, honey?” “Spot me a couple of twenties.” [laughs].
You really have such an amazing way with words. You’re a writer. You have a master’s degree in creative writing.
[Shouting] I love it! I love it! I love writers. My sister’s a writer. I’m a reader. I think everybody comes to whatever they come to in their own way, but it is a really big deal. This is like, man, let’s respect what it means to come to all of these things, every juncture, every level of the process. I’m a process ho.
I think our humanity is asking us to break it up—to introduce something new to ourselves so that we can begin to engage it with a different clarity of mind. Hence, my practice of interdisciplinary, multidisciplinary, transdisciplinary work. Writing and reading inform a more enriched performative practice. Being a lover of all kinds of other folks’ works of art informs your process. Learning about history informs the process. Constant curiosity just makes for a fuller experience.
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As a fellow lover of craft and process, it feels like we’re losing that in Hollywood. Are you worried about that at all?
No, I’m never worried. I always know that there is somebody doing it. The question is are they pedestal-ized as much as the more commercial thing? There’s value to all of the things. There is never not someone doing something different or something that is being asked for—or that moves in a more queer, strange, non-respectability way. It’s always present. The question is, are you rummaging through the archives? Are you asking the right people? Is it coming in another form that you haven’t sought yet? You have to be asking for it and you have to be seeking it.
Are you still in touch with the rest of the cast and director Malcolm Washington?
Yeah, I love them men. They’re some beautiful brothers. It’s exciting to be talking with them and watching the film—and watching them watch the film.
What is it that you’d maybe want to do next or that you haven’t done before?
[Shouts] Everything is possible! You remember when Kevin Garnett won the NBA championship and he said, “Anything is possible!”? Everything is possible.
I’m constantly pivoting, returning, pivoting, returning. Experimentalism is always a key factor. History is always a key factor. I’m trying to ride the decades, man, in a time where people don’t want you to be aware of history. I’m not binding myself to any particular thing, but I am opening myself to every, well-crafted thing.
I keep coming back to the climax of The Piano Lesson with Berniece at the piano. Do you ever come back to that moment?
The joy of experiencing that with an audience at TIFF—it’s really beautiful. Like, Oh my God, they were so engaged from the root to the tootle [laughs]. I’m constantly thinking about different interviews with August and how that man said he bought his first typewriter for $20. That’s a lot of money then. The first thing he did was type his name because he wanted to see it. You want to see yourself. [She tears up.] I think all ancestors are interested in is seeing you see yourself. And by seeing yourself, you see them.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity. For fashion and beauty details, go to VF.com/credits.
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