We sat down for an exclusive interview with Rickerby Hinds (writer/director) and Jada Evelyn Ramsey (who plays the character of Myeisha Mills). An electrifying fusion of beatboxing, spoken word, and hip-hop dance, Dreamscape is inspired by the killing of Tyisha Miller, a 19-year-old Black woman shot 12 times by police in California while she lay unconscious in a car.
The production is created by groundbreaking, hip-hop theatre pioneer Rickerby Hinds’ and comes to London following award-winning international success, a hugely acclaimed Edinburgh Festival Fringe run in 2025 and direct from its Off-Broadway premiere, presented by 59E59 and SoHo Playhouse in partnership for the first time in their histories.
Dreamscape is at Omnibus Theatre from 10 – 28 February. Tickets here
The following responses are from Rickerby Hinds (writer/director)
You’ve called Dreamscape a reluctant creation — how did you find a form that could honour grief without turning trauma into spectacle?
I began from a place of honour, therefore the form followed. As soon as I read in the coroner’s report that her (Tyisha Miller) heart was “smooth and glistening” I knew that whatever I wrote had to be beautiful before it was tragic.
So I made the words beautiful, the movement beautiful, the stories beautiful so that we could enjoy spending whatever little time Myeisha had left.
What does placing lyrical memory alongside the forensic language of the autopsy reveal about how society values Black lives?
Because Black lives and bodies began their existence in the western hemisphere as commodities – as things to be inspected, bought and sold – the cold, indifferent language of the forensic report immediately spoke to me as a brilliant manifestation of the indifference with which Black bodies are treated in our society even while they’re still alive. Black pain is not real, Black brilliance is not real, Black love is not real because Black people were viewed as things and things have no feelings… the same way that a corpse on a coroner’s table has no feelings. And yet, the beauty created by blackness is what the same society exports as its culture: dance, music, art – if you scratch the surface, you will find blackness.
How does hip-hop theatre enable you to confront state violence in ways conventional dramatic structures cannot?
Hip-hop theatre gives me tools created in oppressed spaces by people who found the beauty in life despite their society’s ongoing attempt to destroy them for hundreds of years. So, what hip-hop culture gave me to work with had been perfected over decades of enslavement, Jim Crow, Separate but Equal, and good ole Southern Christianity. We had learned to speak in codes, endure suffering without retaliating and pray to a God that did not look like us. Deviating from the “conventional” dramatic structure was natural, because we were not included in the conventional: we didn’t look conventional, we didn’t sound conventional, we didn’t move conventionally therefore
After touring the work globally, what has changed — if anything — in how you understand its urgency today?
Nothing has changed. It was urgent when Tyisha Miller was shot 12 time while passed out in the front seat of her aunt’s car in 1998. It was urgent when Trayvon Martin was chased and gunned down. It was urgent when we watched George Floyd being slowly murdered by a police officer in broad daylight. Actually, I take that back, what has changed is that we are no longer pretending that Black lives matter… we know that for a significant segment of the population, they don’t.
The following responses are from Jada Evelyn Ramsey (Myeisha Mills)
Having performed Myeisha across multiple runs and countries, how has your emotional relationship to the role evolved?
When I first read the script, I was overwhelmed with emotion. I cried hard, realizing that while Myeisha is a fictional character, her story is inspired by the real-life events surrounding Tyisha Miller.
Knowing that this story comes from a real loss deeply affected me. As we continued workshopping the play, I began to see Myeisha as a whole person—not only defined by her final moments, but by her hopes, dreams, and inner life. Learning who she was beyond the tragedy shifted my relationship to the role from grief to a deep sense of protectiveness of her essence. Portraying Myeisha is not just about recounting events, but about honoring her humanity with care and love. My emotional relationship with Myiesha continues to deepen and evolve every day.
How do you balance embodying Myeisha as a specific young woman while carrying the wider weight of what she represents?
I balance embodying Myeisha by constantly remembering why I’m telling her story and the many stories like hers. Police brutality in America remains a reality; their voices were taken before they ever had the chance to speak. Carrying this role means more than performance for me—it’s an act of advocacy. I step into Myeisha’s life with responsibility and care, honoring her humanity while using my voice to confront an injustice that still demands to be seen and heard.