REMEMBRANCE
Remembering Michael K. Williams
“The Wire” star played dynamic, relatable gay characters
BY NICOLE AKOUKOU THOMPSON
During the penultimate
episode of HBO’s nowdefunct,
“Lovecraft
Country,” a dark time-
and space-bending, monster-slaying
sci-fi romp set in 1950s Jim
Crow America, the series’ main
characters are transported back in
time to Tulsa, Oklahoma, in 1921.
Suddenly, it’s the evening of the
devastatingly infamous Tulsa Race
Massacre, where Black Tulsans are
hurtled into violence at the hands
of their white neighbors. Among
the episode’s subplots: unfurling
the origin story of the closeted and
privately alcoholic Montrose Freeman,
played by the late Michael
Kenneth Williams.
In the powerful episode, titled
“Rewind 1921,” Montrose woefully
watches his younger self get struck
down by his father for donning his
brother’s prom jacket while wearing
a fl ower in his hair. Then, Montrose
watches on from a distance
as internalized homophobia pushes
his younger self to reject the object
of his affection, a boy named
Thomas. Quickly, the situation
becomes dire when a gun-wielding
mob of white aggressors surrounds
the teens. A teary-eyed older Montrose
is desperate to rush over to
change this part of his past. However,
he’s stopped and reminded
that this change could have innumerable
implications for the future.
Montrose idles, and Thomas
is shot dead right before his eyes,
again.
Emmy-nominated character actor,
former dancer and producer
Michael K. Williams passed away at the age of 54.
Michael K. Williams, 54, whose onscreen
performances were seminal
events in the entertainment world,
was found dead in his penthouse
apartment in Brooklyn by his
nephew on September 6. Authorities
are investigating his death as
an apparent drug overdose. The
“Boardwalk Empire” actor, who’s
best known for his distinctive scar
and his breakout portrayal of shotgun
toting, stereotype-rustling
stick-up man Omar Little in “The
Wire,” leaves behind one son, artist
and illustrator Elijah Anderson.
Before becoming a signifi cant
force on screens big and small, Williams
was a 22-year-old dancer and
choreographer. He appeared as a
background dancer for artists such
as Missy Elliott, George Michael,
Madonna, and Kym Sims, and he
choreographed Crystal Waters’
hit 1994 single “100 Percent Pure
REUTERS/CAITLIN OCHS
Love.” Once gaining his signature
scar at the age of 25 (the result of
a barroom rumble), he received an
infl ux of opportunities, including
being cast as High Top in the 1996
feature fi lm crime drama, “Bullet,”
after being discovered by the late
rapper Tupac Shakur. This defi ning
role would set him on his path to be
seen as a gangster by many, even if
he was anything but.
Like so many of Williams’ characters,
he was storied and complicated.
Williams was born in Brooklyn
to a Bahamian mother and an
American father from Greeleyville,
South Carolina, who raised him
in East Flatbush’s Vanderveer Estates.
In past interviews, Williams
has spoken candidly about the
violence of that neighborhood, poverty,
bullying, a lifelong battle with
depression, the use of “party favors,”
as well as the drug relapses
he experienced while fi lming “The
Wire.” He’s also spoken about how
his father, his nephews, neighbors
and other important fi gures in his
life who were resources in helping
to breathe life into his characters.
A New York Times story from
2017 noted that Williams was
sexually molested as a child and
that experience left him confused
about his sexuality. He was bullied
by kids who hurled anti-gay slurs
at him.
Williams broke barriers playing
dynamic, relatable characters who
were gay. Still, more than that, he
was able to dig deeper, circumventing
the stigma of playing Black
queer roles to help tell stories about
queer fantasy, love, sorrow, and escapism.
Williams became Omar
Little in “The Wire,” Leonard Pine
in “Hap and Leonard,” Ken Jones
in “When We Rise,” and Montrose
Freeman in “Lovecraft Country,”
portraying complicated characters
who were ambitious, intimate and
passionate. He brought long-awaited
depth and humanity to diffi cult
characters not frequently captured
through the queer or Black lens.
“My reasoning for wanting to
take this particular role is way
more personal than me being
afraid of not eating,” Michael K.
Williams said in a 2019 interview
with Plus Magazine on playing
queer characters. “I would have
done this for free. It was an honor
to tell these stories.”
Even when Williams wasn’t serving
viewers iconic queer roles, he
pushed the predetermined limits of
Black masculinity in an extremely
nuanced way. “The characters that
mean the most to me are the ones
that damn near kill me,” he told
the New York Times in 2017. “It’s a
sacrifi ce I’ve chosen to make.” Evidence
of that vulnerability can be
seen in characters such as the underworld
fi gurehead Chalky White
in “Boardwalk Empire,” Robert in
“12 Years a Slave,” Bobby McCray
in “When They See Us,” and Neville
Baraka in “The Gambler.” With
each role, particularly in the latter
part of his career, he consistently
revived what it meant to be a black
man on the screen — try as they
might, no scar or singular role
could defi ne him.
“I don’t believe in typecasting,”
Williams told Esquire in 2014.
“Just because all my characters
may come from the other side of
the tracks doesn’t mean they are
all the same. You don’t stereotype
people and generalize people;
these guys are all different. Omar
is different from Chalky; Chalky is
different from Neville. Neville is different
from Carmelo in The Purge.
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