murdered, and Smalls confesses that he witnessed Waters’s murder. Peterson, enraged with Waters, had accused Waters of a racism as vicious as Adolf Hitler’s and Hideki Tojo’s. Drunken and filled with despair, Waters had told Peterson that it “doesn’t make any difference! They still hate you!” At that, Peterson had fired twice, killing Waters.

In the play’s denouement, Davenport discloses the men’s destiny: Peterson is captured and jailed, Waters’s murder is misreported, and the entire company is later killed in a surprise German advance. Davenport laments the split caused by “the madness of race in America.”

In A Soldier’s Play, Charles Fuller achieves the most powerful and coherent expression of the theme he initially developed in two earlier works, Zooman and the Sign (1980), which told the story of a contemporary black community’s cowardly refusal to name a murderer in its midst, and The Brownsville Raid (1976), which dramatized an actual incident of mass racial injustice in World War I. That theme is the destructive nature of racial hatred and injustice as it affects both blacks and whites. In A Soldier’s Play, Fuller’s focus is on the psychological self-destruction of the black man, particularly as embodied in the figure of the murder victim, Technical Sergeant Vernon Waters.

At the play’s beginning, Waters, very drunk, staggers out onto the almost darkened stage, where he is gunned down. Immediately before the fatal shots are fired, Waters can be heard mumbling: “They’ll still hate you! They still hate you . . . They still hate you”; the meaning and implications of these words are actually more important than the identity of Waters’ killer. Later in the play, Captain Richard Davenport, the investigating officer, asks “Who the hell was he?”; the answer to that question lies at the center of the play. Gradually, one realizes that Waters embodied all the tensions, complexities, and contradictions of the black man in the white man’s world, and that his death was the nearly inevitable result of those contradictions.

The job of formally investigating the killing—more than a month after it took place—is given to a black lawyer, Captain Davenport, who faces not only the usual racial barriers and hostilities but also the implacable opposition of the white company commander, as well as his own intense emotions and complex prejudices. Despite these obstacles, Davenport quickly establishes his authority and meticulously investigates the circumstances surrounding Waters’ death, ultimately discovering that the solution of the mystery lies not in any overt hatred for black soldiers in the white South, but in the enigmatic personality of the victim himself and in the tangled, volatile relationships among the black soldiers of the 221st Chemical Smoke Generating Company.

As the investigation progresses, the characters’ revelations trigger dramatic flashbacks that gradually make it possible to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. The notion that the “Klan did it” is never taken seriously by anybody. Two white officers are introduced as prime suspects, and it is determined that they assaulted the drunken sergeant on the night on which he was killed, but it seems increasingly unlikely that they committed the murder. What does emerge from the conflicting testimony is a portrait of a group of black men under enormous race-related pressures that have been made more intense by the war itself. That such pressures eventually explode in violence and that the violence is directed at one of their own seems not merely believable, but even inevitable.

The black soldiers of the 221st Chemical Smoke Generating Company represent a cross-section of character types and attitudes, the most interesting and important of which are revealed in Melvin Peterson, James Wilkie, and C. J. Memphis. Each of these men confronts Waters in a different way and each plays a significant role in his death. Peterson confronts him directly and defiantly, suffering a beating for his efforts. Wilkie, who has been “broken” by Waters from sergeant to private for drunkenness, is completely servile, even betraying a fellow soldier, in hopes of getting his stripes back. Memphis, the billet’s “innocent,” is unable to alter his behavior in order to please Waters and thereby incurs the sergeant’s wrath. This, in turn, begins the sequence of events that leads to Waters’ death.

Fuller has acknowledged that the relationship between Waters and Memphis is at least partially based on that between Claggart and Billy in Herman Melville’s Billy Budd, Foretopman (1924). Like Claggart, Waters goads his Billy Budd, C. J. Memphis, into an act of violence, an act which destroys both of them. With the connivance of Wilkie, Waters frames Memphis for a shooting he did not commit. The accusation drives the boy to strike his sergeant. Memphis is easily cleared of the shooting charge but is sentenced to the brig for assaulting the sergeant. Unable to stand the confinement, he hangs himself. It is his death, not Waters’, that is the play’s real catalyst.

Waters’ hostility toward his victim, however, is not simply an evil man’s hatred of the innocent; it is the product of Waters’ almost pathological obsession with the “image” of the black, an obsession forced upoon him by white society. At first, Waters seems to like and admire Memphis, a handsome black boy with impressive talents both as a baseball player and as a guitar-strumming blues singer, but these very talents are instrumental in turning Waters’ admiration into a deeply felt hostility. The more impressively Memphis exercises his natural abilities and pleases his white audiences, the more, in Waters’ view, he reinforces the image of the black man as a “singin’, clownin’, yassah-bossin’ . . . niggah.” As Waters gloatingly tells Memphis, after having coaxed the boy into the impulsive blow that sends him into the stockade:C. J. the black race can’t afford you no more. . . . Folks liked that—you were good—homey kinda niggah—they needed somebody to mistreat—call a name, they paraded you, reminded them of the old days—cornbread bakin’, greens and ham cookin’—Daddy out pickin’ cotton, Grandmammy sittin’ on the front porch smokin’ a pipe. . . . Not no more. The day of the geechy is gone, boy. . . . We can’t let nobody go on believin’ we all like you! You bring us down—make people think the whole race is unfit! . . . Now I got you—one less fool for the race to be ashamed of!

Waters is a man obsessed with succeeding in the white world, and the only avenue he can find is the Army. World War II, he believes, will provide the opportunity for his race to achieve a breakthrough, a belief that is shared in varying degrees by the other blacks, who wait expectantly for the “privilege” of fighting Hitler (the audience learns from Davenport’s bitterly ironic final report that they are all eventually killed while exercising this privilege). Waters’ dream is to send his children to “some big white college—let ’em rub elbows with the whites, learn the white man’s language—how he does things.” To pursue this dream, Waters tries with excessive rigidity to force his idealized image of the “respectable” black man onto his soldiers. More important, he systematically attempts to destroy those who will not or cannot conform to it, a group he refers to contemptuously as “geechies.” With C. J. Memphis, the attempt succeeds all too well.

Yet Memphis’ suicide also destroys Waters. Waters’ drunken run-in with the white officers, which preceded his murder, shows that his private vision had collapsed. Deliberately provoking white officers is an act of self-destruction. Even had he not been killed that evening, it is likely that his career would have been irreparably damaged.

It is in this context that those enigmatic last words—“They still hate you!”—become meaningful. Who is “they” and who is “you”? “They” clearly refers to the white Establishment and “you” to Waters in particular and the black man in general. No matter how much a black man, in or out of the Army, tries to act “white,” he will still be hated and despised, as much for his “success” in playing the role as for his failure. Yet “they” can also refer to the other blacks, those whom Waters tried to guide and lead by example and coercion, who ignored or rejected or failed to understand his vision. In the end, Waters puts himself at odds with both worlds, creating a limbo for himself in which, finally, he cannot survive. There are elements of the tragic in the fall of this black Army sergeant.

As Davenport investigates the facts surrounding Waters’ death, he is vigorously opposed by Captain Charles Taylor, the white company commander, and the conflict between these two develops into a potent dramatic counterpoint. Davenport is a tough, smart black lawyer with no illusions about the job he has been given. He knows that the investigation was authorized in response to political pressures and to avoid bad publicity. He is not expected to learn anything—if they thought he would, they would not have sent him. Nevertheless, he takes the job quite seriously and pursues it skillfully and vigorously, cajoling and intimidating his way to the truth. One of the delicious ironies in the play is the way in which Davenport manipulates the Army brass by threatening their professional vulnerabilities and their precarious self-images—by exploiting, in short, the same kinds of attitudes and fears in the white officers that had, in a more malignant form, destroyed Sergeant Waters. Davenport’s real test, however, comes when he understands the situation that provoked the murder and is faced with a hard choice between accepting the obvious and desired answer—the whites did it—or letting his doubts force him to continue the hunt for the truth, wherever it leads.

The white commanding officer, Captain Taylor, is an even more interesting character. The basis for his opposition to Davenport is more practical than racial. He believes that a black investigator will only play into the hands of those who would squelch the investigation altogether. At the same time, he does have racial prejudices, which he admits are the product of little contact with any race but his own. In their first meeting, he admits to Davenport that “you’re the first colored officer I’ve ever met,” and a few moments later he adds: “I don’t want to offend you, but I just cannot get used to it—the bars, the uniform—being in charge just doesn’t look right on Negroes!”

Taylor’s candor does not ingratiate him with Davenport, but it does reveal him to be an honest, direct man, capable of admitting personal weaknesses, but tenacious in doing what he thinks must be done. He is the one white officer whom Davenport cannot intimidate, because he has never been willing to play the “good officer” game. His motives for wanting to find Waters’ killer are emotional and practical. As the white commanding officer of a black unit, he is nervous about going into combat with men he does not understand. He believes that a conviction—of white officers—would give the men confidence in the white man’s justice and, more important, in him. Taylor also believes that his superior officers, who clearly want the incident forgotten, are mocking him by sending a black to conduct an investigation doomed to failure. He is certain that Byrd and Wilcox are guilty and feels an impotent rage that he can do nothing about it. When Davenport is able to force incriminating statements from the two men, Taylor jumps to the conclusion that they are guilty not merely of assault but also of murder. Almost gleefully, he demands immediate punishment.

At this point, the conflict between the two men reaches its ironical climax. Taylor, the white man, insists that the white officers should be charged with murder and dealt with severely. Davenport, the black man, who also wants to implicate the white men and knows that he could probably get away with it, has too many doubts, so he orders them released at some risk to himself—even though he knows that his search will probably pin the guilt on members of his own race and fuel the lies and distortions that produced the situation in the first place. Davenport’s final dedication, however, is to truth, not color. The question of whether his decision will lead to real justice is left open.

A Soldier’s Play was awarded the 1982 Pulitzer Prize for Drama.

The first act opens on a darkened stage with the murder of Sergeant Waters by a mysterious man holding a .45-caliber pistol. Drunk and trying to stand, Waters is mumbling “They’ll still hate you! They still hate you. . . !” when he is shot twice. His last words are symbolic of the play’s theme of the effects of the institutional racism rampant in the United States Army in the 1940’s and the self-hatred it often created in people living under its oppression.

The scene immediately shifts to the Company B barracks, where five African American enlisted men are being searched by Corporal Ellis, a black “spit-and-polish” soldier. Captain Charles Taylor, a white officer in his mid-to late thirties, watches the policelike search for weapons, worried that the murder of Waters might incite severe racial confrontations between members of Company B and local whites in the nearby town of Tynin. Those being searched are Corporal Bernard Cobb, a man in his mid-to late twenties; career soldier Private James Wilkie, a soldier in his early forties who has lost his stripes; Private Louis Henson, a thin man in his late twenties or early thirties; the angelic-looking Private First Class Melvin Peterson, a soldier in his late twenties who wears eyeglasses and has the most polished appearance; and Private Tony Smalls, a career soldier in his late thirties who “is as small as his name feels.”

Finding no weapons, Captain Taylor and Ellis then exit the barracks, leaving the men to discuss how, instead of being allowed to fight alongside white soldiers overseas, they have been stationed in the Deep South, essentially doing custodial work. They also discuss the Ku Klux Klan and Waters’s murder. Henson says, “I just hope we get lucky enough to get shipped outta’ this hell hole to the War”: A cutting commentary not only on the life of a black man in the American South at this time, but also on the reality of black American soldiers who will eventually be allowed to fight overseas for a freedom that they cannot experience at home.

Captain Taylor then meets Captain Richard Davenport, who will be investigating Waters’s murder. Captain Davenport is a very confident African American man with a degree in law from Howard University and the first “colored officer” that Captain Taylor has ever met. Even though he believes himself to be a liberal man who is concerned about his black troops even to the peril of his own career, Captain Taylor is very threatened by Captain Davenport’s rank, composure, and confidence.

As Captain Davenport begins to interview each soldier (with flashbacks accompanying each interview), the many facets of Waters’s character are revealed. From Private Wilkie, Captain Davenport learns about Waters’s unyielding standards as he demotes Wilkie for being drunk on duty and lectures him that his behavior provides ammunition for racist claims that blacks are untrustworthy.

The next interview with Private First Class Melvin Peterson begins to reveal Waters’s internalization of the racism he has dealt with all of his life, and how this racism created both a self-hatred and hatred of members of his own race. For instance, after winning another baseball game against the white soldiers, Waters tries to make the company paint the lobby of the Officers Club, a club they are not allowed to enter under normal circumstances. In response to his men’s protests, especially Peterson’s, Waters responds that he is the “kinda’ colored man that don’t like lazy, shiftless Negroes!” When Peterson later attempts to defend C. J. Memphis from Waters’s rage, he and Waters almost get into a physical fight just as Captain Taylor enters. It is apparent that C. J.’s boyish mentality, ball playing, and musical abilities bring out a violent response from Waters. Despite Waters’s request to the contrary, Captain Taylor relieves the men from painting duty and gives them some time off. Yet, after Captain Taylor leaves, Waters insists on fighting Peterson and beats him badly.

Peterson leaves and Captain Davenport then meets Captain Taylor. Taylor tells Captain Davenport that two racist officers, Byrd and Wilcox, were seen fighting with Waters outside the club for “colored” soldiers. He also tells Captain Davenport that he is working to get him off the case because he believes that only he, a white liberal officer, has a chance to bring these two to trial for murdering a black officer. In the flashback of Byrd and Wilcox’s interview with Captain Taylor, a drunken Waters mocks them, telling them that he is not going to listen to white people, do what they tell him to do, or try to be like them any more. Waters tells them, “Look what it’s done to me!—I hate myself!” and divulges a clue about what really happened when he says, “I’ve killed for you!”

In act 2, Captain Davenport interviews Private Louis Henson, who reveals that Waters was after C. J. Memphis, especially after the incident at the pay phone that resulted in two dead black soldiers and one dead white M.P. (military police). Wilkie finds the gun under C. J.’s bunk; Waters accuses C. J. of the crime, and C. J. denies any involvement in it. When he realizes what the consequences of being arrested for this could be, C. J. attempts to break free from the other soldiers, lunges at Waters, and knocks him down. He is restrained and put in the stockade.

In his next interview with Corporal Bernard Cobb, Captain Davenport learns that C. J. had relayed to Cobb that Waters had come to his cell and told him that he and Wilkie had caught the real murderer, but that Waters was going to let C. J. take the rap. The audience learns that Waters has developed his own plan to cleanse his race of black men like C. J., men whom he describes as “singin’, clownin’—yas-sah-bossin’” types who make white people believe “the whole race is unfit.” Distraught at what lies ahead of him, C. J. commits suicide. His suicide, though, impacts Waters on a deep psychological level and awakens him to what he has been willing to do to himself and others in his efforts to integrate into a racist white society.

Captain Davenport dismisses Cobb, and he and Captain Taylor begin talking about the case. Captain Davenport tells Captain Taylor he believes that Waters goaded C. J. into attacking him. They both arrive in Captain Taylor’s office where Captain Davenport interviews Byrd and Wilcox. After the interrogation, Captain Taylor wants to arrest the two, but Captain Davenport overrules him. He realizes that Waters’s earlier claim to have killed for white people was really about his “killing” of C. J.

Captain Davenport then returns to talk with Wilkie, where he learns about a racist incident that happened to Waters in France in World War I. This incident helped to develop the self-loathing and hatred of his own race that Waters carried with him to the end. During his talk with Wilkie, a celebration breaks out as the black troops learn they are finally going to be sent overseas to fight the Germans.

Captain Davenport goes on to meet Private Tony Smalls in the stockade, where he was placed for going absent without leave with Peterson. Smalls admits that they were running because they knew Davenport would figure out that Peterson had killed Waters while they were both on guard duty. Meeting with the drunken Waters after he was beaten by Byrd and Wilcox, Peterson had compared Waters to Adolf Hitler and Japanese war general Hideki Tojo, the racists they were supposed to be fighting overseas. In response, Waters tells the two that in order to succeed, they have to be like white people, even to sacrifice their own. Yet, he admits that despite his efforts, he could never fit in because the “rules are fixed.” No matter what he did, in the end, he says, “They still hate you!” Peterson then shoots Waters twice, killing him.

In the denouement, Captain Davenport describes how Peterson is caught and sent to prison, Waters is incorrectly reported as the first colored soldier killed in action, which elevates him to a hometown hero, and the rest of the outfit gets killed in a surprise German advance.

Creating this play as a mystery was an important strategy that allowed Fuller to use the interviews with the other characters as a means of slowly unraveling the complex Sergeant Waters. It also allowed the author to comment on American society and racism. Gary Storhoff, an African American literary critic, notes that the detective genre generally represents crime as an anomaly in a well-ordered society and that the solution of the crime therefore restores the proper social order and gives the audience a sense that justice has been restored. Yet in Fuller’s case, the typical detective-story pattern is reversed since Waters’s murder is, in fact, a logical extension of a society that is itself corrupt and unjust.

Another important element is the entire stage set, which Fuller designed to resemble a courtroom with several platforms at varying levels. On the right side of the stage near the barracks arrangement is a poster of boxing champion Joe Louis in military uniform. As Storhoff notes, this arrangement is symbolic not only of American society and justice on trial, but also is effective in demonstrating how a black superstar in the public world can become literally and figuratively a lowly private in the army.

In 1981, when Charles Fuller penned A Soldier’s Play, the U.S. military was fully integrated. The armed forces had long been the largest equal opportunity employer for African Americans. However, this wasn't always the case. Historically, African Americans were recruited during wartime but were often dismissed from service once the conflict ended. This pattern continued into World War II. Many African Americans saw little reason to participate in the war, having learned from World War I that their sacrifices would not yield the freedoms they sought. The very nation they defended continued to reject them after their service. As a result, many viewed World War II as a "white man’s war." Yet, individuals like Sergeant Waters saw the war as a chance to demonstrate that African Americans were just as courageous, strong, and responsible as their white counterparts. They believed African Americans could handle a weapon, pilot a plane, and kill an enemy just as effectively as any white soldier. They hoped that proving their capabilities in the military might help break down the segregation that still dominated American life. If the military could be integrated, perhaps other aspects of American society could follow suit.

During both World War I and II, the army remained thoroughly segregated. African Americans were mostly assigned to non-combat roles, tasked with duties that were largely limited to labor and support rather than direct combat. They served as domestics, gardeners, mechanics, and handymen. Only a few were allowed to join artillery units, and even these were segregated, with black soldiers serving alongside other black soldiers and white soldiers with other whites. As World War II commenced, black community leaders urged President Roosevelt to open aviation schools to African Americans. In response, he authorized a black aviation school, but it took a lawsuit against the War Department to finally admit African Americans into the Army Air Corps. This led to the formation of the Tuskegee Airmen. Initially, these black airmen were not welcomed, but they eventually saw combat in North Africa and Italy, where they distinguished themselves with their performance.

Near the conclusion of the war, African American infantry units were deployed to Germany, where they took part in liberating concentration camps. It's challenging to comprehend their emotions as these victims of American racism freed the victims of Nazi racism in Europe. Upon returning to the United States after the war, African Americans began to advocate for greater equality, particularly within the military. This push ultimately compelled President Truman to issue an order that led to the military's integration. For the first time, African Americans would not be discharged at the end of the war. Instead, after the Korean and Vietnam Wars, they became an integral part of a peacetime military.

Before World War II, integration had to be enforced upon white America. In 1941, President Roosevelt mandated that employers and unions stop all discrimination against African Americans, emphasizing that companies awarded defense contracts must not practice discrimination. The race riots among defense workers in 1943 indicated that integration would face significant resistance. The military also experienced challenges in this regard. Although World War II facilitated the integration of African Americans into the military, it resulted in a higher proportion of black casualties during the war. It would take many more years before African Americans began to achieve a more equitable share of the military effort.

Character
A character is an individual in a dramatic work whose actions drive the story forward. The concept of character can also encompass a person's moral fiber. Characters can range from simple, stereotypical figures to complex, multi-dimensional personas. They may be defined by specific traits, such as a rogue or a damsel in distress. "Characterization" is the technique of crafting a believable person from the author's imagination. This involves giving the character distinct personality traits that outline who they are and how they will act in various situations. For example, Davenport is a black attorney who reveals much about himself through monologues that update the audience on the events between scenes. His character is further developed through his interactions with Taylor.

Drama
Drama is typically defined as any work intended for stage presentation. It involves a narrative, actors portraying characters, and action. Historically, drama encompasses various forms such as tragedy, comedy, religious pageants, and spectacles. In contemporary terms, drama often tackles serious topics and themes but does not reach the intensity of tragedy.

Genre
Genres categorize literature. The term "genre" is derived from French, meaning "kind" or "type." It can refer to literature categories like tragedy, comedy, epic, poetry, or pastoral. It also includes modern literary forms such as drama novels or short stories. Additionally, genre can describe types of literature like mystery, science fiction, comedy, or romance. "A Soldier’s Play" falls under the mystery genre.

Monologue
A monologue is a speech delivered by a character directly to the audience. In a monologue, the character is either alone on stage or believes they are alone, allowing them to speak their true thoughts. This technique helps the author convey the speaker's genuine feelings, as opposed to what they might say to other characters. A monologue can also function like a Greek Chorus, providing information about off-stage events or commenting on the action. In "A Soldier’s Play," Davenport uses a monologue to inform the audience about off-stage happenings and share his inner thoughts.

Plot
The plot refers to the sequence of events in a story. Typically, a plot includes a beginning, middle, and end, but it can also be a series of interconnected episodes. The plot serves as a framework for the author to explore primary themes. Students often confuse plot with theme; however, while themes delve into ideas, plots simply outline what occurs in a straightforward manner. For instance, the plot of "A Soldier’s Play" revolves around the investigation of Sergeant Waters' murder, while the themes address racism and prejudice.

Setting
The setting of a play encompasses the time, location, and cultural backdrop where the storyline unfolds. Elements of setting can involve geographic location, physical or psychological environments, dominant cultural norms, and the historical period of the narrative. In "A Soldier’s Play," the setting is an army post located in the southern United States. The cultural backdrop is marked by racism, segregation, and the divisions present within the still-segregated military.

1944: The cost of living surges by nearly 30% within a year. For Black individuals already living at or below the poverty line, this inflation exacerbates their struggles.

1981: Inflation becomes so severe that, in an effort to reduce the budget, President Reagan mandates cutbacks in the school lunch program, including the reduction of vegetables. Consequently, the Department of Agriculture controversially classifies ketchup as a vegetable.

Today: The economy continues to expand, unemployment rates are low, and the Dow Jones surpasses the 10,000 mark.

1944: Women become essential to the nation's workforce, earning the nickname "Rosie the Riveter" as they take on roles in building wartime machinery.

1981: Sandra Day O’Connor makes history as the first female justice appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court.

Today: Although women are seemingly equal participants in the workforce, the "glass ceiling" phenomenon persists, with many women earning only 70% of what their male counterparts make.

1944: Before the war, Black athletes were confined to the Negro leagues. Although baseball activities are temporarily halted during the war, women's baseball, through the All-American Girls’ Baseball League, attracts nearly a million spectators. Post-war, Jackie Robinson becomes the first Black man to break into professional baseball.

1981: Baseball is fully integrated, with Black players like Curt Flood of the St. Louis Cardinals playing pivotal roles in the creation of free agency. However, women still face exclusion from professional baseball.

Today: Some of baseball's biggest stars, such as Ken Griffey Jr., are Black, yet women remain excluded from major league baseball.

1944: Despite the wartime production boom, opportunities for Black individuals are scarce. Where jobs are plentiful, disputes over housing and transportation ignite riots in several major U.S. cities.

1981: President Reagan's social and economic policies disproportionately affect Black communities. Many AIDS victims are minorities, particularly Black drug users, yet there is minimal funding for research as the epidemic primarily impacts Black and Hispanic populations. Black unemployment rates soar, reaching 45% in Los Angeles by the mid-1980s.

Today: While unemployment rates are low, many available jobs are in lower-paying sectors. However, in professional sports, Black athletes like Carl Lewis, Florence Griffith-Joyner, Michael Jordan, and Tiger Woods demonstrate that athletic talent can provide significant economic opportunities, helping some escape the poverty that ensnares many others.

In 1984, Fuller’s play A Soldier’s Play was adapted into the film A Soldier’s Story. The movie featured several actors from the original stage production, including Adolphe Caesar, Denzel Washington, and Larry Riley. Additional stars included Howard Rollins, Wings Hauser, and David Alan Grier. Directed by Norman Jewson, the film's musical score was composed by Herbie Hancock.

The film garnered numerous accolades, such as the Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best Screenplay and the Los Angeles Film Critics Association Award for Best Supporting Actor, awarded to Adolphe Caesar. It also received Academy Award nominations for Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Picture, and Best Supporting Actor (Caesar). Columbia Tristar Video distributes this 101-minute film.

Sources
Asahina, Robert. A review of A Soldier’s Play in Hudson Review, Vol. XXXV, No. 3, Autumn 1982, pp. 439-42.

Baraka, Amiri. ‘‘The Descent of Charles Fuller into Pulitzerland and the Need for African-American institutions,’’ in Black American Literature Forum, Vol. 17, No. 2, Summer 1983, pp. 51-54.

Barnes, Clive. A review of A Soldier’s Play in the New York Post, November 23, 1981.

Beaufort, John. A review of A Soldier’s Play in The Christian Science Monitor, December 1, 1981.

Carter, Steven R. ‘‘The Detective as Solution: Charles Fuller’s A Soldier’s Play’’ in Clues, Vol. 12, No. 1, Spring-Summer 1991, pp. 33-42.

Demastes, William W. ‘‘Charles Fuller and A Soldier’s Play: Attacking Prejudice, Challenging Form,’’ in Studies in American Drama, Vol. 2, 1987, pp. 43-56.

Hughes, Linda K. and Howard Faulkner. ‘‘The Role of Detection in A Soldier’s Play’’ in Clues, Vol. 7, No. 2, Fall-Winter 1986, pp. 83-97.

Kalem, T. E. A review of A Soldier’s Play in Time, January 18, 1982.

Kroll, Jack. A review of A Soldier’s Play in Newsweek, December 21, 1981.

Rich, Frank. A review of A Soldier’s Play in The New York Times, November 27, 1981.

Watt, Douglas. A review of A Soldier’s Play in the Daily News, November 25, 1981.

Wilson, Edwin. A review of A Soldier’s Play in The Wall Street Journal, February 26, 1982.

Further Reading
Cooper, Michael L. The Double V Campaign: African Americans and World War II, Lodestar Books, 1998. This book, aimed at readers aged 9-12, explores the dual struggles black soldiers faced: combating a foreign enemy and battling racism at home.

Dryden, Charles W. A-Train: Memoirs of a Tuskegee Airman, University of Alabama Press, 1997. Dryden provides a personal narrative detailing his determination to become a pilot during World War II and his journey to success.

Harriott, Esther, ed. American Voices: Five Contemporary Playwrights in Essays and Interviews, McFarland & Company, 1988, pp. 112-125. In this 1982 interview, Fuller discusses his creative process and the adaptation of A Soldier’s Play into a film.

Hay, Samuel A. African American Theatre: A Historical and Critical Analysis, Cambridge Studies in American Theatre and Drama, Cambridge University Press, 1994. This book traces the evolution of Black theatre from its roots in 19th-century social protest.

Sandler, Stanley. Segregated Skies: All-Black Combat Squadrons of WW II, Smithsonian History of Aviation Series, Smithsonian Institution Press, 1992. Sandler, a military historian, recounts the history of the Tuskegee Airmen, detailing the squadron's formation and their contributions during the war.