The drive to Petersburg, Virginia, pours out of him: a memory in slow motion.
Green fields blurring past the windows, telephone lines trailing across the sky. Behind the wheel, Tramell Tillman, then in his 20s, sits in silence, his mother beside him. It’s the holiday season — a time of hushed reverence and fragile traditions, of winter roses and greeting cards that can say too little or too much. They’re headed to visit his grandmother, the family matriarch. But Tre, as his family calls him, has brought something else on the trip: a truth that has matured quietly inside him for years. “Mom, I’m bisexual,” he says to her, his eyes fixed on the road.
She glances at him, surprise flickering across her face, before turning her gaze back to the highway: “Well, how’s that going for you?”
Richard Phibbs for Variety
Tillman laughs softly at the memory now — but you can tell it’s one of those exchanges that later becomes a family anecdote, the kind you laugh at because it was awkward. No dramatic climax or emotional hug followed, he says. Just the acceptance of a deeply religious woman who was, and still is, the closest to him in the Tillman family.
Some years later, a second conversation follows, more direct this time, with no ambiguity: “I’m gay.”
This time, her response lands with different gravity, not laced with judgment, but with fear. “I don’t want this to ruin your career,” she tells him. “I don’t want you to be blackballed. I don’t want you to be pigeonholed.”
This isn’t disapproval; it’s preparation and protection from a mother who knows how the world punishes those who dare to live truthfully — especially a Black man.
And then come the words he isn’t quite ready to receive: “Anyone you bring home, I will embrace him as my son.”
It turns out Tillman’s mother’s fears were unfounded — his honesty about who he is fueled his rise. And now, for his hypnotic, unnervingly cheerful turn as Seth Milchick in Apple TV+’s genre-defying drama “Severance,” the soft-spoken actor, 40, has scored a historic Emmy nomination: He’s the first openly gay Black man to be recognized in the supporting actor drama category — the only Emmy acting category that has yet to crown a Black winner. Just in the last few months, the Maryland native shared the screen with Tom Cruise in the summer blockbuster “Mission: Impossible — The Final Reckoning” and has become a breakout star of television’s most nominated series.
Milchick, the workplace liaison whose saccharine smile conceals something sinister, was conceived as a Black character. But Tillman’s casting transformed everything — not only the role, but how audiences experience the unsettling world of “Severance.”
“Playing Milchick is like putting on a suit of armor,” Tillman says. “This man has layers upon layers upon layers, and every movement of Milchick is 100% intentional.” And yet, the performance never feels mechanical. It’s balletic. Almost too smooth. As if charisma itself has become a surveillance tool.
Noah Greenshner, executive VP of development and production at Fifth Season, the production company that makes “Severance,” calls it one of the show’s most masterful performances, saying, “Tramell brings so much subtle humor and menace. He’s able to play the depth of this character and make you laugh while making you afraid.”
Season 1 of “Severance” emerged in 2022 from the pandemic, made with masks and mandates, a kind of forced isolation that mirrored the show’s core themes. Season 2 was rocked by the twin Hollywood strikes. Still, an alliance formed between the show’s three then-unknown main players — Tillman, Britt Lower (Helly R.) and Zach Cherry (Dylan) — who dubbed themselves “the freshman class.”
“We were surrounded by giants,” says Lower, naming co-stars like Adam Scott, Patricia Arquette, John Turturro and Christopher Walken. And yet she compares Tillman to an orchestra conductor. “It’s like he could play any instrument. And then he’d pull out another one. You’d think — how is he good at this too? He can do anything.”
Cherry, reflecting on their shared time on the SAG-AFTRA picket lines, added, “It solidified our bond outside of work, just knowing that this is someone who’s going to show up when you do.”
The audience showed up too. Online, due to his character’s vast vocabulary (“devour feculence,” anyone?), Tillman became something of a fan magnet — dubbed “Dictionary Daddy.” He smiles at the nickname but doesn’t take it too seriously.
Today he leans forward, not delivering lines or navigating the surreal landscape of viral fame. He’s just himself: a Black man, a gay man, a man who told his mother the truth on a quiet road trip years ago and is on the cusp of making history.
Richard Phibbs for Variety
You’re the youngest of six children. How did being the baby of the family shape you?
I’m going to get into trouble because the older siblings have their own perspective on what the younger siblings got. My sister, who’s four years my senior, swears my upbringing was so much better and I got away with more. I don’t know if I got away with more, but I was savvy in the sense that I could watch everyone else’s mistakes and not do that and pivot. But I was also very responsible — oftentimes I was responsible for my older siblings.
There were conversations with my parents like, “Why don’t you tell your sister to do this? Look out for your sister.” And I’m like, “She’s not going to listen to me. I’m 8.”
What did Sundays look like in your household growing up?
First Baptist Church of Highland Park. Every Sunday, we were in church and dressed for church. We weren’t allowed in the living room — that was for fancy moments. We had this beautiful crushed-velvet blue couch with gold accents. Music always played in our household, but on Sundays, church music. So we would go from Temptations, Aretha Franklin, Tupac, Biggie, Janet on weekdays to Sunday morning: Shirley Caesar, Kirk Franklin, Mississippi Mass Choir. That was our way of making sure that we kept the Sabbath holy.
The family room, or in some households we call it the “living room” or “front room,” can be off-limits for the kids. Were you allowed in there?
I had not heard “front room” until I went to the South. We weren’t allowed in the living room, or on the china in the dining room. The living room was for fancy moments. We had this gorgeous grandfather clock there, so you had to be careful how you walked.
What was the sound of your childhood home?
It was a mixed bag. We were a very passionate family. So there were arguments, there were fights, but there was also laughter and love sprinkled in as well. There was a lot of music. We were a very active family who were always running around, so a lot of footsteps. Every Saturday, my father would go to Blockbuster Video and rent movies, and we would order Domino’s Pizza. Films like “Die Hard,” “Crooklyn,” “Do the Right Thing,” “Malcolm X” — we watched a lot of Black films. I was watching movies I had no business watching as a kid. My parents felt it was important that I be educated about what’s going on in the world. I learned about sex when I was in the second grade.
Is “Die Hard” a Christmas movie?
Yes. It’s an action Christmas movie.
Was structure a big thing in your household?
Absolutely. There were rules, there was corporal punishment, and then when we got too old for that, we would be punished with book reports — academic punishment. This curtailed my love for reading, because at that time I started to associate punishment with reading. Anytime I didn’t take out the trash, I broke a vase, I lied, I had to write book reports.
For breaking a vase?
Yes. I tried to glue it back together. It didn’t work.
What kind of student were you?
I was very studious. It was very important for us to be excellent in everything we did, including academics — especially academics. Give you an example: When I got my report card, I got all A’s and a B, and the first thing my father said to me was “What’s going on with this B?” The B was in math — I just didn’t like it. Nothing was acceptable in our house but excellence. I had to be studious.
Richard Phibbs for Variety
What was your comfort item as a child?
My go-to was my My Buddy doll. Do you remember those? I remember having that doll as my best friend. I also had imaginary friends. Being shy and growing up in a tough home, I needed coping mechanisms. My wall was painted blue; when things got hard, I’d go to my room and just stare at it to dissociate. That shade of blue would call me. Even now, blue is my favorite color.
Is it safe to assume you had a lot of family game nights?
Spades — you lose your life! [Laughs] If you asked me to play Spades, I’d break out in a sweat, because it tested the strength of our family relationships. In high school, it got so bad, they would ban us from playing spades. Uno was another one that would cause people’s feelings to be hurt.
Do you play with “stacking” rules?
We stack in this house. [Laughs] If someone says “Uno” and another makes them draw four, you’d watch their whole disposition collapse.
Faith was complex in your household. Can you explain that dynamic?
My mom used church as a coping mechanism, but my dad rejected it. He’d say, “I’m not anti-white; I’m pro-Black, and I don’t see why I need to worship a white Jesus.” He hated hymns that talked about being “washed white as snow.”
There was this stark dichotomy when it came to faith in the home, because my mom really believed in the teachings of Jesus Christ, and my father believed more in community and self-reliance. He stopped going to church with us. When we would go to early-morning service, he would say, “Oh, y’all going to get God out the way early.” Even as a kid, something about that made me bristle.
I felt that God and the art saved my life. I’m a person who still prays and believes.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
I wanted to be a storm chaser. “Twister,” “Dante’s Peak,” earthquake movies, apocalyptic films. I was fascinated by natural disasters. I did not want to be in one and never wished anyone to endure a natural disaster. But there was something about the science behind it that was so mysterious, how these storms can have a dynamic effect and just move on.
Was there a moment in childhood when you felt truly seen for who you were?
Honestly, no. There were moments that I felt release or freedom through the art form, because I could get away from the negativity. For me, acting was a vessel to escape, to avoid, to run away. Dancing was a way for me to allow my body to be free and express itself. Singing was a way to be heard in a different way, to allow myself to be loud.
A lot of my childhood was about survival. I had to learn how to survive, produce and be excellent. I think with all those pressures, there weren’t moments where I felt seen, because I didn’t know who I was. I was hiding behind singing, acting, dancing, writing, performing. I’m always a little jealous when people talk about their first crush or first kiss — I don’t remember those.
Do you remember your first acting performance?
My first live performance was a Christmas play I did at First Baptist Church in 1995. I played my mother’s son — she was also in the play — and I had one direction: to say hello and sit on the couch. I cried and didn’t want to go onstage because I was very shy as a kid. But my mom strongly encouraged me, and I did it, and it just clicked. From there, I became more involved in church performances, singing in the choir and even choreographing dances with my sister. But I was not a part of the liturgical dance ministry because, you know, I’m a boy — dance was for girls.
When you were 10, you told your family you wanted to be an actor. What was the response?
My father’s response was devastating. He said I’d never make it and I’d be a waiter for the rest of my life. My father had rarely seen me perform and wouldn’t come to my plays. So I carried that with me and thought, “Maybe I just won’t make it.”
In 2014, you became the first Black man to finish the University of Tennessee’s MFA program — top of the class. What was that experience like?
The head of acting warned it might be a deal breaker — I’d be the only Black person in that program, and nearly the only Black male among faculty, staff and students. I thought, “Hey, free education; I’ll learn.” But I didn’t grasp what I was signing up for until I moved there. It was never intimidating — more frustrating, overwhelming and isolating. I endured being called the N-word, followed and taunted with “White power!” There were countless microaggressions. When I reported incidents, some in the community would say, “Well, I didn’t see it,” or “I didn’t think it was racist.”
Tramell Tillman in the Season 2 finale of “Severance”
Richard Phibbs for Variety
What scares you about Milchick? There’s a theory that he’s a prisoner too. Do you think that as well?
I can understand that theory. It’s hard for me to answer because there are so many questions that I have about the character myself. What scares me is his potential. How he moves his eyes, how he moves his head. Everything is methodical.
If you could explore the human side of Milchick, what would it be?
I’m always intrigued by people’s histories. If I could go back to any time period, it would be the 1950s, because I want to watch my parents grow up. With Milchick, it’s understanding where this man came from. I’m fascinated by history and how people get to certain points.
The drum scene in Season 2 became iconic. Tell me about bringing your HBCU culture to that moment.
When I learned there’d be a celebration with a band, I didn’t want to reinforce a stereotype of “Every season the Black man dances.” They understood. I wanted Milchick’s movements to feel intentional, not random; this wasn’t a co-worker who just showed up to kickline for no reason — it followed his being policed over vocabulary, terrible paintings and boardroom disrespect. Yes, it celebrates Mark, but this is also a moment for Milchick: Just like Tramell needed to be seen, Milchick needed to be seen.
It was very important for me that this character did not shy away from his Blackness. I asked if we could infuse HBCU energy — that’s how we got that style. That celebration was for him. That was him reclaiming joy. I knew it would feel authentic.
Were you nervous about the long hiatus between seasons?
I was a little nervous if the fans were going to come back. There’s no telling, and there’s so much quality programming out there. But I knew that we had to finish. I knew that there was too much invested in this show for it not to finish. It was just a matter of when and whether the fans would stay with us. I’m grateful that they did.
What caused the delays?
The delay was outside of our hands. The first season, it was a pandemic. Second, we had two strikes. We’re a show that doesn’t rush. We want to take our time. This show needs that. I think the more we do it, we find our groove. We know who these characters are to a certain extent. We know how they move.
What was it like working with Tom Cruise on “Mission: Impossible — The Final Reckoning”?
On my first day, I filmed the doughnut-garage scene. I had gotten the script only the day before, and I was shaking in my boots. I was taken by his strength, grace, humility and passion. Definitely passion.
What was the morning of the Emmy nominations like?
I was shaking all morning, and I kept telling myself, “I just want it to be over. I want 11:30 to come and go so I can just know and move on with my life.” I kept telling myself, “Tramell, no matter what happens, it’s OK. It’s all right. It’s not the end of the world.”
My manager had set up a Zoom link for the team — if it went our way, everyone could hop on and celebrate, and if it didn’t, there was no pressure. So when the list came out, my manager says, “Outstanding supporting actor in a drama series: Tramell Tillman from ‘Severance!’” and I was jumping up and down. That’s when my team revealed their screens, and they all had “Tram-Emmy” shirts on.
You’re potentially making history as the first Black winner for supporting actor in drama. Does that feel weighty?
Do I feel a weight? No. I feel honored to join the legacy of these incredible storytellers. I’m ambitious and would love an Emmy, but I’ve learned it’s not up to me.
If you could get something greenlit to write and direct today, what would it be?
I’d adapt African folktales and fairy tales, casting Colman Domingo, Mahershala Ali, Lupita Nyong’o, Sterling K. Brown, Jeffrey Wright, David Oyelowo, Michael B. Jordan and Nicole Beharie.
You’re assembling the Black Avengers.
Yes! Black Avengers but rooted in our ancestral stories.
As someone who’s navigated predominantly white spaces, what advice do you have for actors of color?
I’m not playing small for nobody. I’m not dimming my light for anybody. I have spent years doing that, and those days are done. Myself, stepping into that level of thinking and embodying, that is my own form of revolution.
Styling: Chaise Dennis; Grooming: Ruth Fernendez; Look 1 (Orange Turtleneck): Saint Laurent; Look 2 (cover): Full Look Ferragamo; Look 3 (Cream Silk Shirt): Dolce & Gabbana
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