Alana Arenas on Purpose, Precision, and the Trust That Makes Great Theater

For nearly two decades, Arenas has been a member of Chicago’s legendary Steppenwolf Theatre, shaping her craft in a space that champions process, ensemble, and the long game of artistry. 

Now, as Broadway’s PURPOSE enters its final weeks, Arenas brings that same rigor to Brandon Jacobs-Jenkins’ sharp and deeply felt play, under the direction of Miss Phylicia Rashad— a production where history, family, and faith tangle in the air.

We talked about the grace to get it wrong and try again, the detective work that makes a character’s offstage life just as rich as their onstage one, and what it means to be guided by directors who invite you deeper into specificity. This is a conversation about craft, yes — but also about trust, collaboration, and the wings that carry us forward.

Photo by Marc J. Franklin

Renee Harrison: You’ve been part of the Steppenwolf ensemble for nearly 18 years. It’s a space known for centering the artist first. What has it meant to be nurtured in an institution that honors process, ensemble, and the long game of craft?

Alana Arenas: I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am the actor and the artist I am today because I’ve had the great privilege of being a part of an ensemble. I truly thank God for His divine orchestration, because being a part of Steppenwolf afforded me an artistic family. It’s a place where I met actors I connected with instantaneously.

I get them, and it feels mutual when we work together. What I’ve been able to experience and witness from being a part of Steppenwolf is how necessary it is for an artist to practice on a regular basis, and how extremely important it is for an artist to have a space to stretch, fail, and have more opportunities.

If an artist doesn’t have a place to repeatedly practice, the stakes are so much higher when there isn’t space to fall on the mat but get back up and try again. I’ve had the opportunity to play characters that maybe nobody else would have hired me to play. I’ve had some really wonderful opportunities, and I attribute that to Steppenwolf investing in repeated relationships, repeated practice, and the idea that you are making something not just with yourself, but with a group of people.

RH: I really appreciate that response. It reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend yesterday about the grace God — and the community He places around us — gives us to get things wrong and try again. That kind of grace allows us to be nurtured in a way that helps us grow into better human beings and, ultimately, better artists. That really resonated with me.

I want to continue chatting about the ensemble and what it means to be shaped by the people you’re in the room with. This play has been a 10-year journey, and I’d love to know about the dynamic between you, Glenn Davis, and John Michael Hill, and how it has stretched and surprised you.

Photo by Marc J. Franklin

AA: Myself, John Michael Hill, and Glenn Davis are all part of the Steppenwolf Ensemble. We’ve worked together before on different projects. This particular play was a commission from Brandon. I’m not even quite sure of all the beginnings of it, but I do know Brandon is a very collaborative writer.

When we first did this show in Chicago, Brandon was working in real time. Very often he would come in with new pages. I don’t think we got the end of our play until maybe opening night. We were in previews still reading pages. I’d be floored that he’d written something the night before. Even the stuff that got tossed, I’d be like, “I’ll eat those scraps.”

I realized that as an actor, I’m always interested in asking, “How can it get better?” And this was the first time I realized Brandon is on that same journey. It’s not, “That’s the play. I gave it to you on the first day of rehearsal. That’s what it is. Say what’s on the page and don’t talk to me about anything else.” He is not like that at all. He’s very much interested in refining with the people in the room.

He’s extremely interested in the actor. I’ve never been in a process so organic, where it’s morphing day by day. This is the first thing John, Glenn, and I have done with Brandon. I have repeated relationships with Glenn and John, but none of us had ever worked with him before. Clearly the man is a genius. It’s been remarkable to witness his practice firsthand and to be bathed in his artistic language.

RH: I’m thinking about an interview you three did with TDF, published in April. You talked about the first few pages you saw of Purpose. At the time, Brandon only had the dinner scene, which I love. In that interview, Glenn said you’re very specific about the work you take on. What was it about the dinner scene that made you say, “Yes”?

AA: I’ve been doing theater for a very long time in Chicago, and I have children now. At some point, I felt like the dream of paying my bills by doing the thing I love had happened. But when I had kids, I started to feel like it was selfish to spend so much time away from them.

Photo by Marc J. Franklin

That’s where that selectiveness comes from. For my own conscience, I need to weigh if it’s worth it. And it can’t just be worth it for me, it has to be worth it for my family. Again, ensemble thinking: it can’t just be about me now. I need to know what this would mean for everybody.

Glenn, who’s now co-artistic director of Steppenwolf and a long time friend, went to college with me. He’ll hit me like, “Do you want to do this? Do you want to do that?” And I’ll be like, “Glenn, I’m in the crib.”

Brandon had 45 pages — I read them and immediately thought, “I want to do this.” Clifford Brown is an amazing jazz musician, and I was a little kid the first time I heard him play. I’m no jazz aficionado, but I remember hearing him and saying, “Who is that?” When I read those pages, it felt like that — you don’t see that all the time. In the stage directions it said, “She comes downstairs in shades and a new wig.” I said, “I need to be a part of this.” 

RH: Please know, because I went with one of my really good friends, when we saw you arrive, we said, “Oh, the shades!” So, so, so good.

Let’s talk a little bit more about Morgan Jasper. From my viewing experience, Morgan isn’t just reacting; she’s actively holding ground, even when it’s unwelcome, which we adore. We love a woman who stands in her purpose in the room. For you, as the actor, and on a more technical basis, how did you build that tension in your body, voice, and silences? And what kind of restraint or freedom was necessary to get there?

AA: I know that Morgan’s life has to be very much alive long before the audience meets her. I have to actively engage with the things we talk about in acting, your “moment before.” I felt it was necessary to map out what happens when Claudine goes upstairs and says, “Let me go get her.”

RH: Can you give us a little insight into what’s happening for you in that moment?

AA: I just go on an imaginative quest. There’s a really incredible actress in Chicago named Cheryl Lynn Bruce, who’s also a director. I also attribute this to Tina Landau, another director I’ve worked with. They’re both keen sticklers for specificity. Tina pushed me toward it, and with Chery Lynn, her practice is to comb the script like a detective. There might not be glaring clues, but when I add them up, I notice things.

At the dinner table, Morgan says, “I told you not to bring me here.” That means she has reservations about being there. Then, when Junior comes downstairs, he says to his mother, “Morgan’s not feeling well. She wants to know if she can have a plate brought up to her.”

If I do my detective work, that tells me Morgan and Claudine, the daughter-in-law and mother-in-law, already have beef. There’s no way she’s asking her mother-in-law for a plate. She’d ask her husband: “Bring me something to eat.” But because he wants her there, he’s going to do what he needs to get her downstairs. So he says to his mother, “Morgan wants to know…” and as a Black mother does, she says, “Hell to the no. She’s not sitting in a room eating in my house.”

Basically, I try to make sure my backstory is full, so I have a rich offstage life that’s present with me when I’m on stage.

RH: This is a brief pivot, but I’m also studying for the LSAT, something I’ve always wanted to do. I’m not giving up acting, but hearing you talk about specificity and detective work makes me feel the two fields are more connected than I realized. That attention to detail nourishes both world-building and a role.

You’ve been threading this conversation together so beautifully, which makes it the perfect moment to talk about your work with Miss Phylicia Rashad. Her direction has defined both the Chicago and Broadway productions. Can you share a moment in tech, previews, or rehearsal where her vision uniquely shaped your performance or shifted the ensemble’s rhythm?

AA: I feel very at home with Miss Phylicia as an artist. Much like when I first started at Steppenwolf, I felt, “These are my people. They get me.” I feel the same way about her. I trust her vision. I trust her instincts.

Ironically, when we were finishing rehearsals and it was time to move to the theater, she stood up and said, “I want to thank all of you.” She did this in Chicago as well: “I want to thank all of you for giving me the honor of allowing me to direct you.” I consider her a model, a standard, an ultimate artist. She’s always interested in the layers and the specificity.

It’s never general. Just like if someone were to play you or me, we wouldn’t want them to capture just one aspect; we’d want the layers. I’ve seen her do that in her own work, and she constantly calls us to do the same. And yet, with all this masterful insight, she leaves room to ask, “What can I learn from you?”

She’s a collaborator. She doesn’t assume her way is the only way. She’s interested in your impulses, and she’s open to it. Now, I’ll tell you, her impulses are exactly what they need to be, and I’m awestruck by the beauty of her curiosity and her invitation for your artistry to come through.

RH: After a debut this profound and rich, what’s the next story you’re longing to tell?

AA: Whatever God has for me. I’ve never been able to imagine the opportunities I’ve been afforded. I just ask that God will continue to… well, I know the young people say, “Let Him cook.”

RH: Unfortunately, I’m not that young, but my sister is. I’m in my late twenties, maybe that’s mid-twenties range.

AA: Whatever the saying is, I want God to cook. Let Him cook.

RH: I’m so glad we got to have this conversation. I hope you have a wonderful evening performance. Knock it out of the park. I know we usually say “break legs,” but I don’t agree with that language.

AA: Can I share something with you? The great, incomparable Harry J. Lennox, who plays Solomon Jasper in Purpose, carries forward a beautiful African American theater tradition he learned in Chicago. Every time I work with Harry, he reminds us of it. In Black theater, we don’t say “break legs.” We say “take wings.” So I leave you with that. Miss Renee, continue to take wings.

RH: Take wings tonight, Alana.