By Abby Broad
Carl Clemons-Hopkins does not speak in headlines. They speak in layers: thoughtful, incisive, and with the kind of emotional clarity that makes even the most complicated subjects feel sharply human. In conversation, the actor moves seamlessly between art and activism, theater and identity, joy and disillusionment, never sounding performative, never reaching for effect. What emerges instead is a portrait of an artist deeply committed to the truth of storytelling, the truth of representation, and the truth of what it means to create meaningful work in a world that too often prefers labels over humanity.
“People put too many labels on things, and it just segregates that much more.”
There is nothing abstract about the way Clemons-Hopkins thinks. Even in discussing identity politics, they are grounded in material realities—healthcare, rights, war, inequality, survival. That breadth of awareness gives their words weight. They are not interested in hollow milestones. They are interested in what actually changes people’s lives. That same seriousness carries into the way they speak about performance. Acting, for Clemons-Hopkins, is not simply a profession; it is a lifelong calling shaped by discipline, instinct, and early certainty. Raised in a religious and ministry-centered environment, they joke that church itself contains many of the same elements as theater—lighting, sound, stagecraft, audience—but behind the humor is a deeper truth: performance has always been part of how they understood the world.
From childhood, theater was the gravitational pull. They describe themselves as a child of theater, a child actor not marked by fame but by commitment. Encouraged by parents who nurtured passion wherever they saw it, Clemons-Hopkins was allowed the freedom to follow fascination rather than convention. Music, church choir, dance, drama clubs. Each became part of an early creative language. Yet it was theater, above all, that endured as first love. That devotion was sharpened further in young adulthood, when legendary voice artist Marnie Nixon urged them to pursue acting in earnest. It was not permission they needed, exactly, but focus, and once that focus arrived, so did the conviction that storytelling could be both personal purpose and public service.
“I enjoy the storytelling of it, I enjoy the transformation of it, and I enjoy what theater and just good work can do for society.”
Now, with their first Broadway show, that devotion has found a new stage. Clemons-Hopkins speaks with real excitement about The Balusters, a new comedy at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre by Pulitzer Prize and Tony Award winner David Lindsay-Abaire and directed by Tony Award winner Kenny Leon. Describing it as a sharp, funny, biting social comedy set around an HOA board, the play offers something deeper: a mirror held up to modern America. Beneath its humor lies a revealing portrait of a society still struggling to live with itself, still tripping over its own contradictions. What excites them most is not just that audiences are laughing, but that they are being made uncomfortable in productive ways. They are seeing themselves, questioning themselves, and leaving with more than entertainment. For Clemons-Hopkins, that is the best outcome art can offer. “At its best, it can be very revelatory.”
That sense of artistic responsibility extends beyond the stage. Clemons-Hopkins is equally energized by work behind the camera, where they are beginning to shape projects of their own. Producing, they say, became a serious interest around 2020, beginning in the most stripped-back way possible: a phone, some footage, basic editing, curiosity, repetition. From there came a growing understanding of how projects are built and who gets to shape them. Their recent short, Burned Out Bohemia, an absurd queer film about the theater of finding a job, represents more than a credit—it represents proof. Proof that with enough labor, imagination, and collective belief, independent work can get made. And more importantly, that it can matter.
“With a lot of effort and a lot of elbow grease, we can actually make good things happen.”
Again and again, Clemons-Hopkins returns to the idea that artists must help build the work they want to see. If the industry does not naturally create space for necessary stories, then those stories must be fostered anyway. There is steel in that outlook, but also hope. Even in naming oppression, they point toward possibility. Even in recognizing broken systems, they insist on making something better. It is why their critique of artificial intelligence lands with such force. Their opposition is not casual or trendy; it is moral, environmental, and deeply rooted in questions of exploitation, power, and who bears the cost of technological ambition. For Clemons-Hopkins, innovation without ethics is not innovation at all.
In addition to The Balusters, you can catch Carl in the upcoming fifth season of the critically-acclaimed, award-winning Hacks, reprising their role as Marcus. Carl earned an Emmy nomination in 2021 for the role, becoming the first nonbinary actor nominated in the Emmy’s 73-year history. Their theater work includes Hamilton (Chicago and 1st National), Steppenwolf Theatre, and the Vineyard Theatre, and they were recently honored at the Critics’ Choice Association’s LGBTQ+ Film and Television Celebration as well as by The Human Rights Campaign with the Visibility Award.
“It’s not worth the water.” That line lingers because it captures so much of what defines Clemons-Hopkins: precision, conscience, and a refusal to be dazzled by surface. Whether discussing gender, Broadway, producing, politics, or technology, they return to the same essential demand—that we look deeper, ask harder questions, and resist easy narratives. In an era obsessed with speed, branding, and simplification, Carl Clemons-Hopkins offers something rarer: substance. Not just an actor with talent, but an artist with a point of view, and the courage to voice it.
CREDITS:
[Opening spread] Photo by The Riker Bothers
Photos by Chollette