This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

This month you played the role of adult Addie at Dobama Theatre in the regional premiere of Make Believe. What was this experience like? 

The writing was fantastic. It’s really layered. It’s really nuanced. It rolls off the tongue. With contemporary theater, it’s pretty clear when the writing is solid because it’s easy, if that makes sense. I feel like Wohl took some risks with the play. The first half is about the kids, and it’s acted by kids. It’s unique in that we’re not watching something meant for children; we’re watching an adult play with adult themes. As you move into the second half of the play, it’s the children as adults and what happened to them. Usually what you’re doing as an actor is you’re building a character’s history based on the text, but you don’t get to see it. In Make Believe, you get to see it at rehearsal every day — the mannerisms of who you are going to become or the circumstances of what happened to these kids. 

We split the rehearsal process up for various reasons, one of those reasons being the content of the play. The trauma of childhood comes to light in the second half. We were very protective of the kids because they were 10, 11, and 12 years old. The director, Nathan Motta, worked closely with their parents, giving them lots of conversations, time, and resources to be able to decide for themselves what they wanted to share with their kids about the themes of the play. As they left and the adults began, the kids would talk about what they may have discovered that day in rehearsal. We had this hand thing where we’d go whoosh, and it was a metaphorical way to clean the space from all that was there and start anew. It’s a little ritual to cross the threshold and to step out, because the themes were pretty heavy. It was important that we did that kind of safe work. 

 Can you describe your process for preparing roles that require conjuring up strong emotions and a character’s past history? How did you prepare for your role in Make Believe, specifically? 

That’s what I like to teach my students — that there’s a process to this thing. It does vary depending on the role and the character, but I always go back to circumstance and relationships, no matter the role. For the role of Addie, we’re exploring her childhood and everything in between until this moment, so I did a lot of crafting of her history. I think about where her relationships are now with these siblings and how they’ve changed or grown or been stilted. With Addie in particular, she blocked out a lot of stuff, so it was figuring out those things. I also did a lot of personalization. I myself have three older siblings and a younger sibling, so it’s finding those parallels. 

How do you balance teaching theater at Oberlin and being involved in the world of theater and acting yourself? Which takes a priority in your life, if either of them do? 

I’ve been lucky enough to be a professional actor and be able to teach it for many years now. I’m also always trying to maintain an acting career. It’s part of me keeping up with my own artistry, and keeping myself alive in it is important. I feel really supported at Oberlin to continue working as an actor, and I’m so grateful for that. I also have a family, and that’s another huge — if not the biggest — part of my life. There’s still times when I’m like, “Anjanette, you should have said no.” You can’t just say yes to everything, you know? I lived so long as a hungry actor who just wanted to do everything, and I wasn’t as good at balancing. I don’t take on more than three projects a year. It has to do with juggling and balancing and figuring out, what can we handle? What can we not? When one thing starts to overtake something else, I check myself. It’s very important that, for example, being in this production doesn’t affect my teaching. It’s going to affect it a little bit. I’m going to be a little more tired and drink a third cup of coffee in the morning and things like that. But if we get into a danger zone with that, I have to really check myself. 

How do you see your career progressing as you continue to move forward in terms of acting and teaching? 

I’d love to continue to grow as an educator here in particular, because I do feel like this institution is the right fit. In terms of my acting career, I think I’m at an interesting place with it. I’ve been in this area for long enough now that I’ve developed a lot of relationships, and I have the ability to seek out projects and have conversations with people I’d love to work with. That was always a dream of mine as a younger actor. I just wanted to do good work with good people. I spent many years in New York acting in regional theater, but I’ve never felt like I had to be on Broadway or get the lead in a film. More importantly to me is doing good material and well-written work, whether it be film or theater. 

What advice do you have for young actors at Oberlin right now?

Some of it’s thinking every day about what kind of actor I want to be — defining that for yourself all the time. It’s going to start to translate into: who do I want to be? What do I want? You start to manifest that, and you start to set goals — real goals for yourself that you start to achieve. Don’t think that your fantastic ideal of a life has to be like anybody else’s. How do you define success for yourself? That requires digging deep inside yourself and finding out what that is, and even allowing it to change. What I wanted out of my career and my life has shifted and changed, but I’ve always tried to keep tabs on it and ask myself, am I happy? If not, then how do I start to move more toward what I want? Sometimes we get stuck in this idea of fame or what a successful actor is. Go a little deeper. What does that mean? What does that fulfill? What is success to you?

“Faculty from the Practicing Arts in the College — Theater, Dance, Studio Art, Cinema Studies, and Creative Writing —  have been in conversation about a fifth year double-degree program since around 2020,” Christensen wrote in an email to the Review. “In the spring of 2023, the conversation really began to gain momentum. I have been spearheading the initiative, but there is full collaboration and participation from [other] departments.”

 During each semester of the first four years, students would take a practicing arts class while completing a BA in any field they choose. The fifth year would diverge from tradition —- in terms of environment, opportunities, and focus, and allow graduates to earn a dual BA/BFA degree. As the program is currently exploring living on the Park Arts campus in Cleveland, students would access connections unique to the program including mentorships, internships, and an abundance of resources for their craft.

“We are eager to plug our students into that landscape as a practical bridge out of Oberlin into the world, with hands-on experience in the arts,” Christensen wrote.

After exposure to the practicing arts during their four years in Oberlin, students would propose a project that they would complete throughout an intensive arts year in Cleveland. With the possibility of being located in the Park Arts campus in the historic Mendelsohn Synagogue site in Cleveland Heights, students would experience a change of scenery from small town Oberlin. Over the course of their fifth year, students would have the opportunity to be mentored by internationally recognized artists, filmmakers, performers, and writers. By the end of the year, they would have earned enough credits to graduate with both the BA and BFA.

“There is the focused time to pursue and realize a creative vision, to share work that expands upon and extends into new areas beyond what students have learned during their four years at Oberlin,” Chanda Feldman, associate professor and department chair of Creative Writing, wrote in an email to the Review. “All around it’s an exceptional launching point for creative pursuits and careers.”

Surrounded by a vibrant arts-focused community, students would collaborate with each other in an interdisciplinary cohort, working towards a variety of careers. Choices in professional disciplines range from writers to dancers to muralists to any other practice students may discover and cultivate throughout their time in the five-year program. To fully immerse themselves in their craft, students would live in an Oberlin-specific apartment complex on the Cleveland campus, with access to resources such as an on-site studio. These studios would support and reflect diverse passions — theaters for actors to rehearse and perform in, digital media studios and movie screens for filmmakers to craft and premiere their projects, and studios for artists practicing the fine arts to produce their works from start to finish. 

For students who wish to continue their connection with Oberlin resources and community during their year in Cleveland, a shuttle would provide transportation between Oberlin and the Park campus.

The BA/BFA program places an emphasis on a community-based, public-facing path. This means exploring the wide range of opportunities, internships, and jobs across Cleveland in internationally renowned organizations.

“For Theater students, that might be an internship at one of the many excellent theaters in the region,” Matthew Wright, professor and chair of Theater, wrote in an email to the Review. “Our faculty is well connected to the professional theater in Cleveland, and we’re certain that those close relationships will yield multiple opportunities for students working and living in the BFA community.”

As the one-of-a-kind BA/BFA program is still in the exploratory stage, the faculty of Oberlin involved in this project are on the lookout for student momentum.

“Once we’ve gained enough feedback and validated student interest, we would present the curriculum,” Christensen wrote. “The faculty from across the College practicing arts are super excited about the curricular possibilities here, and we have a pretty good feeling that students will be too.”

Originally from Singapore and Malaysia and currently based in New York, FIG made memories and bonded with students. Her latest single, “Seeking for Connection,” describes a desire to rid oneself of a lingering loneliness. A line in the chorus repeats “are you seeking for connection?” These words seemed to be a personal inquiry by FIG, asking each individual in the audience to disregard their supposed role of a distant crowd member and instead actively partake in the process of performance. 

“Let’s see who can sing the loudest,” FIG said before splitting the audience in half. 

Her 2022 single, “Pair of You,” consisted of two distinct lines in the chorus she assigned to each half of the room. FIG led the right half to repeat after her “I don’t wanna love you like that, no,” while assigning the left half “I don’t wanna love you like you love you.” After a couple practice rounds, it was on. Knowing that she was a small indie singer whose songs were likely unfamiliar to most Obies, FIG had clearly prepared a plan to cultivate as much engagement as a rising artist could. In this singing competition that occurred each chorus, she successfully sought and gained connection with the wide-eyed audience members, laughter arising at each lyric slip-up.

Unconventionally structured, the most shocking addition to FIG’s setlist was perhaps the trivia break. Featuring three rounds of common knowledge questions, the choice of prizes was more unpredictable than the trivia itself. Awaiting FIG’s instruction with both their pride and bragging rights at stake, a hush fell over the crowd.

“Who can name all the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?” FIG announced as the first question, and the crowd’s silence quickly transitioned into eager screams and jumping hands. “What do you call the longest side of a triangle?” she asked as the second. “How many hearts does an octopus have?” 

Following each question was a flurry of panicked remarks, excited cries, and desperate glances at friends to get them to team up and rise to victory. FIG had managed to create an environment of passionate participation. Most artists do this by developing a large fanbase that knows the lyrics to each of their songs by heart; FIG did the same thing by presenting elementary-level trivia to a room full of college students. Imagine the enthusiasm you and your classmates convey when the professor displays a Kahoot on the screen in the midst of a typical lecture. Multiply that by 10. To the victors, FIG handed out the following prizes: a box of raspberries, a bag of carrots, and a graphic t-shirt depicting herself dropping a bagel. Each prize was received with the same level of cheering as is given to a sports team when they secure another win.

As the trivia break came to a close, FIG encouraged the audience to find a place to sit, whether it was on a couch or the floor. This marked the humble transition to a set of four slower acoustic songs. Although there was no physical bonfire, the same effects persisted. I was a child again, warmed by the crackling fire, with sparks reflected in my dilated pupils. The buzz and rush of trivia settled down into a calm feeling of unity. We were no longer standing, stretching out our necks and lifting our heels to catch a glimpse of the stage. Our heads were level, and there was no competition to achieve the highest status in the room. 

This sweep of modesty covered not only the audience but FIG herself.

 “I want to shout out the openers, Madhav. They were so sick.Round of applause!” She redirected the crowd’s attention to the six performers sitting several feet from the stage. Madhav opened the night with a set of four songs finished off by a cover of Bruno Mars’ “Finesse,” featuring solos from each member and the main vocalist’s rich, jazzy tone. 

For one unreleased acoustic song in particular, FIG provided a sentimental backstory, allowing the audience to personally relate our own experiences while swaying to the slow melodies and guitar strums. She took the audience members back to our high school days, recalling old friends that we may have lost contact with.

 “We were friends in that moment and it was really special,” she said. “I can look back at pictures and memories … but it’s okay to move on from those friendships.”

As the evening neared its end, I soaked up the last bits of indie harmonies, orange lighting, and chocolate-chip cookie aromas. I left but at the same time took things with me — the comfort, the warmth, and the unexpected moments of amusement that this small venue was able to hold.