Rain Pryor talks to Richelle Carey

Richelle Carey: So you could be described as a director, a producer, a comedian, an activist, an actor and a mom.

Rain Pryor: Of course. It's my favorite job of all. 

Well, that's quite a list. I was going to say, which one do you identify most with?

Mommy.

Tell me about that, being a mom.

Mom is incredible. When you have a kid, everything in your life changes. It's no longer about you. It's about them. They need you so much. Do you know what I mean? They get on your nerves. They drive you crazy, and then you just can't wait to be with them. Like, you just can't wait to see what's going to happen next. And I have to remember she's 6 years old. Lotus is 6 years old, and the world is new to her. The world is six years old to her. And the things she says, I think they're so beautiful. Over the holiday, we're all sitting around. She goes, "Mommy, mommy, everyone is brown at the table. And I was, like, "I'm not that brown, Lotus." And she said, "Because your color's invisible, Mommy."

Let's talk more about your family and your background and your heritage. Your latest project, "That Daughter's Crazy." And in this, you explore the less-famous aspects of your family because everybody knows who your father is. But there a lot of people in your life that are equally if not more important. Let's talk about the women. 

My mom, my Jewish half, is very important in my life. Totally shaped me. I loved the concept. I loved that the director was like, "Look, we've heard about your dad. But let's see what's the other side of you," because she saw my solo show "Fried Chicken and Latkes," which is what "That Daughter's Crazy" is based on. "Now, let's follow who Rain is and the part that made her who she is. It's not just this iconic father, although he's a part of that legacy. He's a part of of the story. But he's not the story." And I loved that she included my grandma Bunny and her perspective on life, just on race. And I think there hasn't yet been a documentary about whether it's the Pryors or anything, that shows two Jewish women who raised a mixed child and what they thought in that era of 1969, '70s and '80s.

I love that my grandmother says, on camera, "Shelly thought we were upset because she was having a black and a white baby." I'm thinking to myself, "Do I have polka dots, you know?" But I'm, like, that was the generation, you know what I mean. And I love seeing that. I love seeing truth. And I think, as a world, we're so crazy right now in the world, whether it's race or religion. I think when you show people in their truth, we're all just human. And you get to see that humanness of who she is, of who my mom is, and what they struggled with.

So how did your mom and grandma raise a child who is black and white?

When I was born. I think what they did was that they raised a child to have confidence in who she was. I didn't have to be part of a group. I didn't have to be black. I didn't have to be white. I had to be Rain. I had to accept that I had big hair. I had to accept that I was different. And that I was to follow what my truth was, whatever that truth would be for me. I was to follow it. And they instilled that in me. My grandparents were very big in terms of letting me explore creatively in the arts. I mean, everyone knew I was going to be a performer. My dad even said, "You came out and you were already funny, and we knew that's what you were going be. Basically, you were singing when you came out of your mother."

I got the rainbow-colored afro wig, and my sister got the education. We knew she was going to end up being a professor at Smith College and I was going to be the one in front of the camera or wherever — street corner, really is where, it turns out. But yes, they kind of just said, "This is your life, and we'd like to help you be 100 percent who you are in the world."

Did they feel equipped to raise a biracial child? 

I don't think my grandparents felt equipped. That's a generation. European Jews that just had come over here, and I say it even in my solo show. We were European Jews. We had just been given a place in Israel. Half of us escaped Nazi Germany. And here we were, European Jews, trying to hold on to everything we are. So I don't think they were equipped for that. So how do I explain an interracial marriage, let alone the child from what my grandmother says, you know.

And I understand that where my mom — she was a child of the '60s. She was peace and love, wore the dashiki, a blond afro wig. She thought she was a black militant. She was going to raise a black child, and a powerful black one. So that was her dynamic. So you have these two — "What do we do about the hair? What do we do when she gets called the N-word? What do we do when this happens?" And my grandmother. That's what I love about the documentary. We kind of go there, and she kind of explains that it hurts. It hurts her, where my mom was like, "I thought Beverly Hills would be the right place to raise my daughter," thinking that everyone was kind of progressive in their thinking, but they weren't.

So to say, "Rain grew up in Beverly Hills, and life was great and wonderful and fabulous, and she's in this bubble" — it wasn't like that?

It was not a bubble. We've always lived below the tracks. My grandfather was Danny Kaye's manager for 35 years, so they were upper middle class, you know, fancy Jews. And you know, here we were, my mom and I living below the tracks in Beverly Hills, and we had crosses burned on our front lawn. We had the N-word painted on the side of our home. We're talking about mid-'70s. This happening in Beverly Hills. I used to get invited to parties just so kids could drop ice cubes on my afro because they thought it would bounce off. And it was emotionally devastating as a kid. You're thinking, "I'm going to a sleepover." And you realize you're the act. And that was devastating to me. And I spent a lot of time in my own solitude and in my own space until much later on. And then you go to high school, and you have the fight with the girl who's like, "Well, you can't go out with him because he's Jewish and he's white. And you're so not. But we don't know what you are."

But you were trying to fit in. That's what we all do.

I was. I went through the preppy phase. I went through the punk rocker phase, where my dad threw my out of the house because he was like, "There will be no punk rockers in this house." And I'm like, "Dad, there are hookers in this house." I went through all the different phases in my life.

Let's talk about your dad. This is what you've written about your dad, "So my dad was a genius. In many ways, he was the traditional dad, but on many other occasions, he was not the traditional dad. But I can honestly say that the artist I am today was and still is inspired by my dad who told me that I had it and that I had to listen to my own voice and own up to it." And you said that your father knew right away you were going to be a performer. Have you done what you felt like your father challenged you to do, to own your voice and to step into it?

Yes. Interestingly, I have a comedy CD that's being released called "Black and White" on April 7. And it's my first ever stand-up comedy CD. I never wanted to do stand-up. Dad always wanted me to be a stand-up. And I was, like, "You're Richard Pryor. Are you crazy?" And he replied, "Do you. Do what you do." So here I am. I'm literally coming out of the closet as Rain Pryor doing her version of what she thinks is stand-up. I'm terrified … [because] I'm not a setup, punch. I'm not telling you setup, punch, setup, punch jokes. I'm telling you stories. I'm talking about my life. 

It sounds to me that you are describing your father as well because there is nobody else like your father.

There isn't, and there's no one else like my mother. My mom is her own individual. I've never met a mother like my mom. I've never met another Richard Pryor. I think that's what makes you iconic, when no one else can be you. We have a generation now that says — we'll look at someone like Jay-Z and Beyoncé, and we'll call them iconic. But there will be another Jay-Z and another Beyoncé that come after. There's never going to be another Madonna, whether we like her or not. There'll never be another Michael Jackson. It just is not possible. That's an icon. There will never be another Tina Turner.

Or Richard Pryor.

Or Richard Pryor. Ain't gonna happen. To say to somebody, especially in the comedy world or in life, to try to sum up who my father is — I don't know how, because he was so much bigger than life in his art, in his everything, his essence, in his person.

Did you feel that way growing up, or did it take you a while to really understand all that he was in his impact? When did it hit you?

I don't think I knew his impact. I knew who he was. I always had a soul connection with Dad, so it was deep. I knew who he was. I knew who Richard Pryor — I knew when he was sad, I knew when he was happy, I knew when he was frustrated, I knew when he was angry, I knew what made him tick, I knew who his friends were and who weren't his friends, the people he let close that maybe he shouldn't have, I knew his quirks. Do you know what I mean? I knew the man.

His iconic value or his iconic persona I don't think I really grasped until the day he died. Walking through the airport and people literally stopping me. The TSA agents are like, "Can I hug you? I'm so sorry." 

It's overwhelming because, one, I didn't know what to do with it. Two, it's my dad, but you're crying. Do you know what I mean? You find yourself too, in those moments, when you have a person that, that's big, you're crying, but they're crying. So you're taking care of them.

Tell me a little bit more about the traditional side of him as a father as opposed to the nontraditional side.

The traditional side is Dad was strict. There was no playing around. I would try to sneak out of the house. Dad would show up at the end of the hallway, be like, "Where do you think you're going?" 

What do you tell your daughter about her grandfather?

I tell her that he was a very funny man and people loved him. And when you're older, you can listen, because she can't even listen to my stuff. 

Lotus was a bit of a miracle baby. Tell me more about her.

I was 38 years old when I got pregnant with her, and before that, I just kept having miscarriages. And I thought, "I'm never going to have a baby." And I was in London. I was playing Billie Holiday in London in a play. And so here I am, in London, performing. I find out I'm pregnant. I'm excited. Miscarriage. So that was now the third one that I've had. And I'm thinking, "I'll never have kids. I have to go to the hospital, because there's complications with my body. Things aren't happening the way they're supposed to when you have a miscarriage." And the doctor says, "You have fibroids, and you have endometriosis." And I got operated on that day in London. And he said, "Trust me. In the next year, you're going to get pregnant." And boom. 

Did you believe him?

No. He said, "Just keep trying." When I saw that heartbeat on the monitor, I literally sobbed because I'm like, "She's there." I didn't even know if it was a girl, but I just assumed it was. I said, "She's there. She wants to stick around."

That's quite a moment.

Yes, and it's beautiful. 

Were you ever angry that your father wasn't there sooner and more consistently?

Yes, when I was 13 years old, I was angry. I have it in my book. I wrote a book, and in it, I wrote him a letter, and I have it in there. My favorite part of that letter is I said, "You think you're so famous. Rob Lowe is famous, you're no Rob Lowe."

It's perfectly age-appropriate though.

I had no problem telling him, "Dude, you're screwing this up, you know, as a dad."

That's pretty mature, though, for your age, to call him on his crap.

But that's how our family was. We're so open, you know. We just say whatever's on our mind. We have no filter. 

Let's talk about this "Fried Chicken and Latkes." That is, first of all, a remarkable name. That is a wonderful name. I think people can maybe get from the title. It's about race and your heritage. What role does comedy play in addressing race in this country?

For me, it's huge. I don't know why my comedy is racial, because that's how I grew up, I guess. But what I am is, I'm going to talk about universal topics and feelings. And growing up black and Jewish in this era where there's so much hatred and anger towards groups of people — whether you're Muslim, Jewish, whatever it is — I just think it's so ridiculous how we hold on to our fundamental beliefs, for what?

If I live next door to you, why can't I know your name? Why can't I know what foods you eat? Why can't I be a human unto you? Why can't I say, "Oh, it's Ramadan. Do I bring you something? Do I not? Can I be your neighbor?" I think it's so ridiculous. And maybe it's because I grew up with so much not diversity but conflict within the diversity that I see things, "Oh, it doesn't have to be this way." Am I altruistic in my views? Yes, because my daughter has to grow up in a world that's going to support her. She really does.

Would you describe your father's comedy as very honest? He was kind of blunt. 

Yes, it was kind of right there. Really raw. Put you to it, you know.

And you don't think we have enough of that anymore in comedy?

I don't. I think the closest we come, you have your Louis C.K. You have your Chris Rock. You have even Eddie Griffin, who I adore and love because he's like a big brother to me. So I think you have comics who are willing to go to that edge and bring you back and that don't care, but had they started off that way, you wouldn't listen to them. You'd shut them out, and it's because they're already names that you'll listen to them.

So is there anything else out there that you want to conquer that you haven't done yet?

I would love to do films. I would love the opportunity to do things that I see other actresses doing. And I hope "That Daughter's Crazy" kind of opens that door for that. People go, "Oh, my God. I didn't know she could do this, this, this and this and this," you know.

Did it turn out the way you hoped when you envisioned it?

I didn't envision it, so I just went with it. So I had no idea what it would be. One thing I did express to Elzbieta [Szoka, the director] and Sam [Adelman] and Daryl [Sledge, the producers] was I didn't want it to be a mea culpa, a "poor me" documentary. I didn't want it to be that. I wanted it to be authentic and enjoyable and entertaining, and I think I've accomplished that.