Jordan E. Cooper is a force in modern storytelling, making waves as a playwright, creator and actor. At just 27 years old, he became the youngest Black American playwright to debut on Broadway with his daring and critically acclaimed play, “Ain’t No Mo’.” Though the production faced an untimely closure, its cultural impact was undeniable — so much so that industry heavyweights like Will Smith, Jada Pinkett Smith, Tyler Perry, Gabrielle Union, Dwyane Wade and Shonda Rhimes stepped in, buying out performances to keep it alive. Cooper’s bold vision and fearless approach to storytelling earned him a Tony nomination for the project, cementing his place as one of the most exciting contemporary voices in theater. Beyond Broadway, he’s also the co-creator of the hit series “The Ms. Pat Show,” proving his ability to shape narratives across multiple mediums.

In February 2025, Cooper stepped into an entirely new arena — literally. Fans can see him like never before in the film UpperCut, starring opposite Ving Rhames. The multi-hyphenate portrays Pain, a boxer who’s physically and mentally transformed for the fight of his life. Just as he’s proven in theater and television, his evolution into film promises to be just as electric, ushering in yet another thrilling chapter in his already groundbreaking career.

What was it like participating in this film with Rhames? Did he offer you any unexpected wisdom, either on set or behind the scenes?

[Rhames] is such an icon — from “Baby Boy” to “Holiday Heart,” he’s incredible. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to have any scenes together, but sharing the same screen with him is amazing.

Life throws uppercuts at all of us, but sometimes they land in ways we don’t expect. Can you recall a moment in your journey that felt like a gut punch at first but ended up being a blessing in disguise?

Ain't it crazy? There [are] times where you feel like the house is burning down and then you forget that you [have] house insurance so you can get a new house. I think about my Broadway play, “Ain’t No Mo’,” and we only got a chance to run for about 50 performances, which I'm thinking, “Oh,” like, “Dang, that's it.” What’s crazy is that, a few months later, we ended up being nominated for six Tony Awards. It ended up being like the most Tony-nominated play of the year that year, which was crazy. It was insane to be able to have that moment of, like, “Dang,” it feels like you’re at the bottom, and then the realization of, “Wait, now they're saying I'm the most award-nominated play of the year on the entire circuit.”

When Broadway announced the premature closing of “Ain’t No Mo’,” you mobilized an entire movement with the support of some of the biggest names in entertainment. What did that experience teach you about the power of community, and what’s a moment during that fight that still sticks with you?

That was like the Black Avengers (laughs)…It was just wild how many people came out. All these people who are giants in our industry and giants in our community coming together to be like, “No, we actually believe in this story, and we actually believe in what this boy's trying to do.” It was not only humbling, but it reminded me of how to stick with community and when we come together, we can really make some things shake and push forward. In the times that we're living in right now, we all really need community. We need to be reminded that it's time to stick together, communicate and persist.

What did becoming the youngest Black American playwright to debut on Broadway and earning a Tony nomination at 27 years old mean to you personally? Did the moment shift how you saw yourself as an artist, or was it simply confirmation of what you already knew you were capable of?

It was definitely a confirmation that I wasn't crazy. Going back to the whole Black Avengers thing I said, I was more so happy also for them to be like, “See, we actually did a thing for something that mattered. This actually should still be here and had that potential.” It was validation for sure. It felt like…a validation of “We can occupy this space too, just like you.”

What was one thing that was challenging for you — but that you also overcame — in the process of getting physically ready to play Pain?

Yeah, that was wild. [There] was about six months of training. Even before getting into the boxing techniques, it was really just keeping up that stamina…and then also the diet and all the things. That's what really drew me to the film — the idea to really get a chance to stretch and play something that I haven't played before. It was tedious, but I loved the action of it all. Even with the choreography, I’m fighting against real boxers in the film. There ain't no other actors in that ring. So, a lot of the time when you're training your choreography, it’s like “I'm gonna punch you here, you’ll duck,” and so forth. So, if you don't duck when you were supposed to duck, you get hit. So, there were like a couple times…you get hit and stuff like that, but it's the adrenaline and you don’t feel anything until after you wrap.

We’ve seen white queer love stories in abundance, but Black queer love — especially in its fullness and nuance — is still rare on screen. As a storyteller, what do you think is missing in how our love is depicted, and how do you work to change that through your projects?

I think what's missing is truth. There’s nothing more revolutionary than love — Black love, specifically. I feel like we never get a chance to really see it in its fullness and complexity. [We see it] in its secrets, but also in its boldness and its unapologetic-ness and in the ability to add love to the fuel that needs to run the world. I feel like we so often are limited to the Black queer stories that we get, which are usually laced in trauma. [I’m] not saying don’t tell a story; [however], we often get into this mindset of it’s a bunch of trauma porn when we’re just telling a story, and they happen to be Black.

My goal is to continue to create and push out images that I know exist, but we don't necessarily get a chance to see on screen. That’s one of my favorite things about working on [“The Ms. Pat Show”]. Every week we do an episode, and I get an opportunity to put conversations in the living room where they probably would have never happened. I get queer people writing me messages saying, “I was able to show my mom this episode and then she automatically understood me.” So that's the kind of work that I want to do — the work that creates language for people who don't necessarily have that language for themselves.

In your opinion, what’s the boldest risk a Black creative can take in today’s industry, and one thing you refuse to let be erased from the narratives you create?

True truth. We're in a time where a lot of people are wanting to normalize ridiculousness. A lot of people [want] to be okay and just take a breath and be like, “Oh, we're going to make it through,” or “This is going to happen” or “Let me just keep on getting my news from my timeline instead of actually doing the research for myself.” What happens a lot of times then is you end up dealing with the consequences of the things that you weren't paying attention to. So, it's not even about staying woke anymore. It's about staying vigilant. It's about not being distracted, because there's a lot of distractions that are going on with the carrots being dangled in front of the TikToks. You be mindful of who owns these platforms and what information these platforms have and how we use them for our benefit and not just our detriment.