THE RENDITION MEETS SUZANNE PACKER
Shvorne Marks and Suzanne Packer in rehearsals for The Women of Llanrumney. Credit Chuko Cribb.
From her early days in theatre to becoming a beloved presence in British television, Suzanne has built a career rooted in authenticity, passion, and a deep commitment to telling meaningful stories.
In her latest role as Annie in The Women of Llanrumney, Suzanne steps into the world of an 18th-century Jamaican plantation, bringing to life a character whose resilience and complexity mirror the untold stories of so many enslaved women.
In this interview, Suzanne opens up about her journey into acting, the impact of her heritage, and what it means to take on a role that unearths Wales' overlooked ties to slavery. She also reflects on the power of representation, the weight of generational trauma, and the immense intelligence and strength of Black women—both past and present.
“The people who survived that system were extraordinary human beings, because otherwise you couldn’t have survived it.”
Can you tell us a bit about your journey into acting? What first inspired you to step into this world?
Yeah, well, it's partly because I'm Welsh, in an odd sort of way. On the first of March, we celebrate St David's Day, and in schools, we only come in for the morning, where there's always some kind of assembly or festival full of music and song in celebration of the patron saint of Wales. I remember taking part in a singing competition, and I won. From then on, all the way through school—except during big exam periods—I was always in musicals, always playing the lead role. My ego got lovely and massaged! But I never really considered acting as a career until I got to university because I just loved it. It was the singing that got me in, not the acting, really.
Then at university, I kept performing in the drama society. It wasn’t until my third year that a friend of mine asked, "What are you going to do?" And I said, "Oh God, I’m not sure." He replied, "I thought you'd try to get into drama school." And honestly, it hadn’t occurred to me before then that you could literally be an actor. So, I took a risk—I applied to drama schools and told myself, "If I get in, I'll go. If I don’t, I’ll do something else." At that point, I was also playing around with journalism. But then I got into drama school, and that was it. Pretty much never stopped!
Has your Jamaican and Panamanian heritage influenced the kinds of stories you connect with as a performer? If so, in what ways?
You know, that’s a really good question because I’d never really thought about it at the beginning. When you're just starting out, you have no autonomy. You just take whatever job you can get, as long as it’s decent, you’re being paid, and you’re not being disrespected. So I never really thought about what kind of material I wanted to do—it was more about improving my craft, working with good people, and being in quality productions. For the first four years, I only did theatre.
But as I got older—really older, like in my 30s—I started actively seeking work that had a strong Afrocentric theme or allowed me to work with people who looked like me and had similar backgrounds. I yearned for it by then. I was always a minority in every theatre company, and as human beings, we crave familiarity and authenticity. That desire only grew over time, and I became more conscious of the need to work with more Black creatives—performers and crew alike. And that need? It has only grown stronger over the years.
Tell me about the Bibi Crew…
Oh, wow. 1991, 1992—it’s almost full circle, because I’m sitting in a dressing room at Stratford East right now, which is where it all started. Philip Headley, the artistic director at the time, gave us an extraordinary amount of freedom. He didn’t know if we’d be any good, but he let seven Black women use the theatre’s facilities for free to create a show.
That was the first time I’d been in a cast with only Black women. It was extraordinary. We were all of Caribbean descent, and even though I grew up in Wales, our shared stories felt so familiar. We loved each other from the very beginning, and there was no sense of competition—just a desire to share our stories with women like us. And that resonated with audiences. We had people coming two, three times, shouting out lines before we even got to them because they’d memorised them! There was such a hunger for representation, and we hadn’t even realised it at the time.
I remember Naila, a woman who now works at the theatre’s bar, telling me that when she was nine, BiBi Crew was her Spice Girls. That meant so much because she saw herself in us, and that visibility made a difference.spaces.
The BiBi Crew was founded to uplift African Caribbean voices in British theatre. Do you feel like the industry has changed enough, or are there still barriers for Black actresses today?
It’s a weird one.
In the ‘70s, ‘80s, and early ‘90s, there were always Black sitcoms—Desmond’s, The Real McCoy, Porkpie. But now, it feels like we’ve regressed. It’s worrying because there’s so much talent that isn’t being given platforms to thrive. The world borrows so much from Black culture—our music, our style—but when it comes to giving us real opportunities? Those are few and far between.
I talk about this with my BiBi Crew sisters all the time. There is so much brilliant young Black talent, but where are the platforms for them? It’s shocking.
Tell me about the play…
The play, written by Azuka Oforka, is set in 1765 on a Jamaican plantation. I play Annie, an enslaved woman who has worked in the big house and always believed that one day she’d be freed. But when the plantation is about to be sold, she faces the terrifying reality that she might be re-enslaved.
The play explores power, survival, and the harsh realities of colonial history. It challenges the misconception that enslaved people were passive. There were always rebellions, especially in Jamaica. Azuka has woven real historical facts seamlessly into the script, and while it’s an incredible piece of theatre, it’s also deeply educational. Everything in it, outside of the characters, is factually correct. It’s entertaining, but it will also shock people.
Kev McCurdy (Fight Director), Suzanne Packer, Shvorne Marks, and Patricia Logue (Director). Credit Chuko Cribb.
“There are real people on that stage, real emotions, real storytelling. And that’s what makes it so powerful—it educates and moves people at the same time.”
What was your first reaction when you read the script? Did any particular scene or moment strike you the most?
The first line of the play—my line—contains the N-word. That hit me hard. But I thought, Azuka, you’re being bold here, and it made me keep reading.
What I love most is that the women are central. Out of four actors, three are women, and the one male actor plays all the male roles. That symbolism speaks volumes. This play needs to be seen widely.
Every audience reacts differently, too—some nights they’re loud, some nights they’re completely silent. That energy shift makes every performance feel fresh and alive.
As someone from Cardiff, how does it feel to be part of a play highlighting Wales’ overlooked role in slavery, and has it changed how you see Welsh history?
Well, not really, and I’ll tell you why—because I’ve always been a bit of a history student. I actually considered studying history at university, and I’ve always had a deep love for it. I’m a huge fan of David Olusoga, and I’ve watched all his documentaries. So I was already aware that there were Welsh plantation and slave owners—it would have been impossible for there not to be. That part wasn’t a surprise to me.
What has been surprising, though, is how many people don’t know this history. I’ll give you an example—a highly educated white Welsh man I know, very nationalistic, came to see the play, and he was absolutely convinced that only the English owned plantations. He had no idea about Wales' involvement. And this is someone with a tertiary education, someone well-read and knowledgeable. That really struck me.
So while this history isn’t new to me, what’s been powerful is seeing Welsh people—especially white Welsh people—learning about it through the play because this is their history. They might not like it, but history isn’t about what’s comfortable—it’s about truth.
On a personal level, another side of this has been teaching my own mother. My dad sadly passed away, but my mum, who was educated in Jamaica under the British system, was never taught this history either. So here I am, in my 50s, teaching my mother—who is in her 80s—about her own history. She should have known it. But, as they say, history is written by the victors.
And let me be clear—it’s not just a dry history lesson. If it were, we could have just handed people a pamphlet. But this is a play. There are real people on that stage, real emotions, real storytelling. And that’s what makes it so powerful—it educates and moves people at the same time.
Your character exists in a world where race, gender, and power collide. What has playing this role taught you about the experiences of enslaved and free Black women in that time?
This taps into a whole other part of my brain, because now I’m in the performance side, and it’s so much more subjective. Annie is an amazing character, and I feel very, very fortunate to play her—she’s complex. A lot of people won’t like her. But what she’s taught me about women of that time is just how incredibly clever and resilient they had to be to survive. They lived by their instincts because, at any moment, they could be attacked, harassed, beaten—anything. And still, many of them were also mothers, having to protect their children in a world of relentless brutality.
What I take away from this role is a deep admiration for their intelligence—not a schooled intelligence, but a human, instinctual intelligence. These women adapted, endured, and survived against unimaginable odds. The people who made it through that system were extraordinary human beings. And that resilience, that strength—it’s in us. It’s in our DNA.
I talk about this with my brother all the time. We’re only four generations removed from this history—my mother was three generations away, her mother was two. Of course, there’s generational trauma. How could there not be? That understanding makes playing Annie incredibly emotional for me. I have to be so careful to keep myself—Suzanne—from stepping in and breaking down, because Annie didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. She couldn’t afford to
If you could say one thing to your character—something she might never have been able to hear in her own time—what would it be?
Oh, wow. I think I would tell her that she is worthy—worthy of care, of love, of respect, because I don’t think anybody would have told her that.
As our conversation comes to a close, it's clear that Suzanne takes joy in inhabiting stories that need to be told.
Through her words, we are reminded of the power of theatre to educate, to challenge, and to heal. In the end, Suzanne leaves us with a message not just for Annie, but for all the women like her who never got to hear it: you are worthy of care, of love, of respect.
The Women of Llanrumney is showing from the 19th March - 12th April 2025 at Stratford East Theatre
