Academy Award-winning actress Viola Davis recently opened up about her experiences as a student at the prestigious Juilliard School, revealing the contradictions and challenges she faced as a Black woman in an institution designed primarily for white performers.
During an appearance on the April 27 episode of the “Talk Easy Podcast” with host Sam Fragoso, Davis shared candid reflections on how her conservatory training attempted to mold her into something she wasn’t, only for her to later face typecasting in the industry.
Davis, who has reached the pinnacle of acting achievement with an EGOT (winning an Oscar, Emmy, Grammy, and two Tony Awards), explained how her formal education at one of the world’s top acting schools failed to prepare her for the reality of her career. In the interview, she detailed how the institution’s approach to training emphasized a narrow definition of classical technique that didn’t acknowledge her identity as a Black woman.
Fragoso asked whether Juilliard’s objective was to shape her into a good actress or a perfect white actress, and she responded, “Definitely a perfect white actress.”
Adding, “What it looks like is technical training in order to deal with the classics, in order to deal with the Strindbergs and the O’Neills and the Chekhovs and the Shakespeare. I totally understand that, but what it did is erase the human being behind all of that.”
Davis articulated how this training created a profound disconnect between her education and professional opportunities.
While at Juilliard, she was tasked with proving her range through exclusively white work, yet upon graduation, she found herself primarily considered for Black roles — roles for which she was sometimes deemed “not Black enough.” This contradiction left her in what she described as a “quagmire,” struggling to understand how to authentically use herself as the canvas for her art.
The inequality of expectations placed on Black versus white actors became a central theme of Davis’s critique. She pointed out that white actors are rarely asked to demonstrate versatility by portraying characters outside their racial identity.
“But we don’t put those same parameters on white actors,” she said. “Is she going to be able to pull off Mama in ‘Raisin in the Sun’? Is she going to be able to pull off Berniece?”
Davis’s realization about her inherent worth led her to reframe acting teacher Sanford Meisner’s approach that said the most important question is to ask “why?”
She pushed back and said a more powerful question is to ask “why not?”
“Why can’t I be the way I am now? Why can’t I have muscular arms? Why can’t I have a deep voice? Why can’t I be a love interest? And what I realize is I was always worthy. I don’t have to do anything for that. It’s not the power cord anymore,” she said before adding, “I’m the power cord. I am. Every single day when I wake up and put my feet on the floor, my job is to not betray myself.”
Her journey parallels the broader struggles faced by Black actresses in Hollywood.
Despite achieving a career comparable to contemporaries like Meryl Streep, Julianne Moore, and Sigourney Weaver — all graduates of prestigious institutions, Davis has noted, — it’s not the same as far as money and job opportunities.
When the podcast clip was posted on Instagram, fans and fellow industry professionals responded with overwhelming support.
Filmmaker Ava DuVernay commented, “A whole word! Thank you, @violadavis! Thanks for the space and question, @samfragoso!”
Ordinary listeners found personal meaning in Davis’ words as well.
“I AM THE POWER CORD!!! WHEW!!! Preach that @violadavis My job is not to betray myself and the God I serve who put me here,” one person wrote.
Another joked, “Lawd have MERCY. Make it plain queen!”
The impact of Davis’ honesty extended beyond mere appreciation, as evinced by comments like “The way this woman is so necessary in history,” and “Whew my makeup is ruined but I feel so validated. I really love this woman. Always speaking life into me without even realizing.”
One male listener admitted vulnerability, writing, “Damn. This healed some s—t for me.”
In her concluding remarks with Fragoso, Davis made a powerful declaration about reclaiming her agency and authenticity: “Juilliard was an out-of-body experience because once again I did not think that I could use me. ‘Me’ needed to be left at the front door, even though ‘me’ was what got me in there. You know, I’m worthy. Who knew?”
This journey from feeling that her authentic self-needed to be “left at the front door” of Juilliard to embracing that very self as her source of power offers a profound lesson in resilience, self-acceptance, and the ongoing struggle for representation in the entertainment industry.
