If you wanna know
Where I’m going
Where I’m going, soon
If anybody asks you
Where I’m going,
Where I’m going, soon
I’m going up yonder
I’m going up yonder
I’m going up yonder
To be with my Lord.
The choir swelled that castle with the spirit. It was a whole Pentecostal moment, and the quiet Fellowship congregation didn’t know what hit them. It was the power of God’s presence in anointed voices. You could feel all the spirits being lifted. I could feel my father’s spirit being set free.
Ultimately my father trusted reason to help him exist in an absurd world. Alfred Roy Carey tried hard to love and understand, in a time and place that had little love and understanding for him. And I know he loved me and he was proud of me. And that is what I will take with me. I treasure the few possessions he left me: his bronzed baby shoes, family photos, letters, an ashtray, two African sculptures, and the United States flag issued by the US government in honor of his service. For a man who did not worship things, there was one thing he adored, and it is that which I treasure most: his Porsche Speedster. This precious car saw countless hours of his hands fiddling about in its insides, countless hours of our drives and silly songs. Bumper to bumper, his touch, his concentration, his desire for order and elegance are embedded in every inch of that car.
As a tribute to him, I had it restored to its original glory. This required painstaking attention to detail and significant patience and investment. Parts were flown in from Germany, and it was finally returned to its sparkling candy apple red color, with an immaculate finish. It took years, but it is finally in mint condition, as my father always dreamed it would be one day. I mostly keep it in the garage, but every once in a while I’ll bring it out. In one of my favorite photos of Rocky, he is sitting in the driver’s seat of my father’s Porsche. In the two-seater sports car, my son looks like a mini driver, wearing big aviator sunglasses, soft curls, and confidence. He doesn’t know the rough roads I, or the grandfather he never met, had to travel to get him into the soft, comfortable leather of that luxurious driver’s seat—and he shouldn’t. Not yet. He’s still a little boy. But I have better tools with which to guide and protect him than were available to me. When I look at that picture today, I can’t help but think that though he never knew his grandfather, the look on Rocky’s face captures the enduring spirit of Alfred Roy Carey.
PRECIOUS
Push pulled me in immediately. It’s one of the few books that, upon finishing it, I turned right back to the first page and read it again. I was on a beach during a girls’ trip with my friend Rhonda, who insisted I read it. The voice created by genius author Sapphire completely took me away. She gave such singular and significant expression to a girl and a world that are often invisible. It was challenging and intensely beautiful material.
I first worked with Lee Daniels on Tennessee, a film I did in 2008. He was the producer, but he basically ended up directing me, and he totally got me. I was thrilled when I learned he had acquired the rights to Push, though not at all thinking I would be involved.
A trusted friend, actress and director Karen G, was working as an acting coach with some of the cast, especially the young women, and she let me know that something really incredible was happening on the set. One day, out of nowhere, with one day’s notice, Lee asked me to play the social worker character, Ms. Weiss (a role originally intended for the phenomenal Helen Mirren). I was over the moon, but a little freaked out too. I had a little more than one day to prepare. I learned my lines and did some deep, quick-and-dirty improvisation and backstory building with Karen. I loosely based Ms. Weiss on the upstate New York “Sweetie, it’s not normal” therapist Tommy and I used to see.
The entire process of filming was renegade and brilliant. Lee believed in me, and I believed in him. I believed in the remarkable cast, and of course I believed in the brilliance that was on the page. Lee’s major concern was that I didn’t “look like Mariah Carey.” He insisted on no makeup and even had a prosthetic nose made for me. We didn’t end up using it, but the application aggravated the rosacea around my nose, which, ironically, really worked for the character (now, ain’t that some peculiar mixed ish, to have both keloids and rosacea).
I remember once, on set, Lee caught me applying a little blush and screamed, “NO MAKEUP, Mariah!” Another physical note he gave me was to “walk flat-footed!” (oh, these tippy toes). I was confident in my grasp of the Ms. Weiss character; the most challenging work was not to be emotionally moved by Mo’Nique’s amazing and powerful performance. Ms. Weiss had to be detached, but the human being in me struggled with that. There was a moment when Mo’Nique’s sublime acting got into my heart, and an involuntary tear welled up in my eye. I discreetly wiped it away, hoping it wasn’t caught on camera.
What she and Gabby Sidibe brought to their characters was simply stunning, stellar work. I loved working on the film. My management at the time discouraged me from doing it, because it was last minute and low budget, but I knew it was a rare and exquisitely human story. It was also a creative stretch, which was artistically enriching for me. I was so proud to be involved. After Precious was screened at Sundance in 2009 and won
