Wicked's Lencia Kebede and Jenna Bainbridge Are Through Accepting Limits

There’s something brewing in Wicked’s Land of Oz, and no, it isn’t the Wizard’s green elixir. It’s real, attentive change.

Since the musical opened on Broadway 21 years ago, one of the central beating hearts of the piece has been the relationship between the Thropp Sisters: Elphaba, the show's central green girl, and her younger sister Nessarose, who is a wheelchair user due to a birth defect.

Historically, the role of Elphaba has almost always been occupied by non-Black actors, despite her being a literal character of color. Meanwhile, the role of Nessarose has always been occupied by abled actors. The 2024 film, which featured Cynthia Erivo and Marissa Bode as Elphaba and Nessarose, respectively, turned the tide.

Now, for the first time in the musical's Broadway run, the role of Elphaba is occupied, full time, by a Black actor: Lencia Kebede. It is also the first time that the role of Nessarose has been played by a disabled actor who uses a wheelchair in their real life: Jenna Bainbridge. Though they are experienced performers (Kebede in Hamilton and Bainbridge in Suffs), neither are taking this overdue change for granted.

“One of the first conversations we had was pretty blunt,�� Bainbridge recalls, smiling at Kebede with tangible fondness. “It's a beautiful thing to bring that lived experience to these characters, and to have someone else to do it with, side by side.��

“I knew the moment I saw you, that we could tackle this together,�� Kebede leans into Bainbridge’s shoulder, matching her smile. “This is a really cool, important moment, but it is also a lot of pressure. The support we get from having somebody else in the room who is dealing with the same thing…it is a very unique, special relationship.��

Lencia Kebede and Jenna Bainbridge Joan Marcus

For years, it was taken for granted that Nessarose had to be played by an abled actor in order to achieve the show's Act II blocking (which requires the character to walk). Bainbridge has proven those claims patently false. “I think that there is a misconception about disability, especially wheelchair use, in that the world at large tends to view it as binary,�� Bainbridge explains. “People believe you are either completely able to walk, or you are completely unable to walk, and that is why you use a wheelchair. The truth of the matter is that there's a lot of gray space in between, and in fact, most wheelchair users are able to walk or stand in some capacity. There is nothing that needs to be changed in this show on stage for me to do this track, eight shows a week, for a year. It is very sustainable for me.��

One of the most frustrating things that can be leveled at a disabled person is the tendency to assume what they need, instead of simply asking, says Bainbridge. “The only way you're going to learn is by asking those questions. I brought it up in my audition, that first day. I came in in my wheelchair, and I stood up out of my wheelchair to sing the song, and I said in that moment, ‘I'm super open about my disability, I love to answer questions. Please, feel free and feel comfortable asking me what you need to know, because I want to make sure that this is a safe environment for me as much as it is for you, and for the show.�� Those conversations were really important, and they started day one, and it made for a very safe space.��

The importance of true communication is also mirrored in the relationship between the Thropp Sisters on stage. From the moment they enter the story as two visibly-othered outsiders to the structure of Shiz University, they are immediately weighed down by external expectations. “People expect something very specific from this type of sister relationship: the caretaker persona is put onto Elphaba, and there's a perception that Nessa needs that,�� Bainbridge shares, sighing. “The audience immediately assumes that, just like the other students at Shiz—and that assumption is wrong. Like, so wrong. Nessa is capable of so much independence, but she is never awarded it.��

Kedebe hums loudly in agreement as Bainbridge continues on. “I don't know how much Elphaba sees that. Elphaba says throughout that whole first scene, ‘I have to take care of my sister. I have to take care of my sister.�� That's what everyone has told both of us for so long, that Nessa is dependent on her. And as the show moves along, as their open dialogue breaks down about what they actually need and want and expect from one another, they break apart. Both of us would have been happier if we had just had a conversation, years earlier, about what Nessa actually needs, and what Elphaba wants in life. Elphaba never allowed Nessa in, to support her emotionally like she was supporting Nessa physically, and that resentment just grew and grew and grew.��

Jenna Bainbridge and Lencia Kebede Heather Gershonowitz

For Kebede, the experience of building her Elphaba from the ground up has been similarly filled with honest conversations. “There are many very obvious reasons why I relate to Elphaba, and others that are more covert. Namely, the biggest one is that I, too, can't change my skin color. I've always been very aware that I look different than many of my peers. My parents are immigrants, they were both born in Ethiopia, and I'm first generation. Like Elphaba, I had to learn how to trust myself in a world that doesn't trust me on sight.��

Kedebe and Elphaba’s similarities are much more than skin deep, however. “I grew up studying politics, and in college, I studied diplomacy and world affairs. I've always just had this deep interest in public service and fighting for the rights of all beings, because I know what it feels like to feel different. And that's Elphaba. That empathetic core in her is also in me, and it has been such a joy to bring it out of myself every night.��

Both Kebede and Bainbridge are viscerally aware of what their casting means to Wicked fans young and old. A frenzy has kicked off on both social media and at the theatre, as the duo have been wholly embraced by Ozians who have yearned for women who look like them to step into the roles they so admire.

That frenzy is no more clearer than at the stage door, with an often hectic throng of fans waiting outside of the Gershwin Theatre for the chance to personally express what the performance means to them. For Kebede and Bainbridge, the tradition is a difficult one to uphold.

“I personally have only done it once,�� Kebede expresses, tilting her head to the side as she sighs. “I've had a lot of people coming to see me in the show, and on the nights where people aren't with me backstage, I really have to rest.��

For Bainbridge, the stage door unfortunately opens up a multitude of problems. “The stage door is actually really hard for me physically. The way that stage doors are set up in New York is not especially accessible, on either side of the barrier. From my chair, I have to crane my neck to see over the barrier, which is really hard for my voice and my neck after being on a rake all night. Having to deal with maneuvering my wheelchair and holding pens in that small space is also a lot for me, physically.��

Bainbridge is painfully aware of how limiting the stagedoor can also be for any wheelchair users on the other side of the barrier. “New York is not set up to facilitate this type of crowd gathering on a sidewalk. I can't count the number of times that I've been rolling through Midtown, and been diverted into the street because audience members were blocking the entire sidewalk in order to stagedoor, with no safe route for me to get around. There was a day where I got trapped in one of those crowds, and could not get out, and everyone was yelling, and I had a full panic attack because I could not move. I don't have the luxury of being able to hop down the curb into the street easily. So yes, the stage door can be a beautiful thing for fans, to connect with artists, but it's a really hard, inaccessible place. I want to be able to connect with our audience, and especially disabled audience members, but it is so draining on both sides of that barrier."

She continues, "I wish New York could facilitate it in a safer way, so pedestrians didn’t get caught in the crowd, but it’s just a balance we can’t seem to strike. I still try to come out when I see it is a small group, because connecting with the fans is important to me, but I don’t want to ever add to the inaccessibility of the sidewalk, so I stay inside when there is a bigger crowd.��

The two actors are instead connecting with fans in a more controlled setting: the mail system, where fans can send letters to the Gershwin Theatre. Kebede leans forward, energized: “I love getting letters and art, and I love being able to send things back. My amazing dresser, Jessica Larson, has this postal stamp return address for Elphaba, with the theatre’s address. If you write me a letter, you get one back from Elphaba herself, and it is so, so cute. I want to be able to connect with everyone, and sometimes that’s just not possible in person, whether it be the crowds or my own level of fatigue and needing to rest. So I absolutely love the idea of exchanging letters. I'm super, super open to fans in that way.��

Bainbridge agrees, nodding. “I think that fan art and letters are some of the most incredible things out there, because the art that we're creating on stage is inspiring more art. I think that that is beautiful, and I keep everything.��

As the duo traverse the highs and lows of the Thropp sisters' relationship eight times a week, they’ve forged a remarkably close bond. “She’s like my safe little home,�� Kebede laughs as Bainbridge covers her face with her hands. “On our debut day, when we were holding each other's hands after our first entrance into Shiz University, it just brought me so much peace. To look into your eyes and feel the safety of doing this with you…you’re who I can return to when everything else gets nerve-wracking.��

Bainbridge giggles, nudging Kebede lightly. “Well, that’s what sisters are for!��