Meet the Actor – William Moro

What’s your name?

I usually go by William Moro.

Who are you playing?

I am playing Little Charles. I am the son of Mattie Fae and Charles Aiken.

What town are you from? 

I’m originally from Washington, Massachusetts. I’m currently living here in New Britain.

Is this your first time at Hole in the Wall?

No, actually. I’ve been at Hole in the Wall for all, as of this, this approaching winter, I would be at Hole in the Wall for six years, pretty much. Awesome.

How did you get into theater, and what is your background in theater? 

My first real show was in elementary school in fifth grade. All the students had to write their own plays. Mine was terrible, but it was my first chance at performing and I loved it. I went to college very briefly to study acting, and took a break from acting for a few years. Then I started doing shows, starting in Connecticut, and just started branching out from there.

Describe your character.

My character is… I don’t want to say shy. He has definitely been abused a lot by Mattie Fae to a point where his confidence has been badly hurt. Mattie Fae always keeps berating him. “Why haven’t you got a job? Why haven’t you cleaned up after yourselves? Driver’s license.” She just makes Little Charles feel like a loser. It’s kind of the same way with the rest of his family. The only person that really seems to be on his side is Charles, Dennis’ character. Little Charles is just taking all the abuse constantly. He ends up forming a deep connection with another character and develops more confidence because of that relationship.

This isn’t a question that I’ve asked other people. Do you think Little Charles has ADHD?

I don’t know if it’s ADHD. I think it might be, but I don’t know specifically what mental illness. I do know that he probably has a mental illness of some sort.

If you could give your character advice, what would it be? 

That’s a good question. I would say that he’s not a loser. It’s, it’s okay. Be confident in what you have. There are people that are willing to support you and there is love there. There’s someone that will really care about you no matter what goes on. Those people are the ones you should really keep close. Don’t be afraid to express the abilities that you have, and the knowledge that you have as well.

Why do you think this show got a Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 2008? 

It deals with very interesting characters. I don’t think there is a small part in the entire show. Each character has their own uniqueness about it. And each character has a certain dynamic with other characters as well too. Lots of family trauma that just keeps building up and building up until… The climax of it all and even after the climax of it all there’s still more drama Intertwined with it and more details that just keep coming up with it. Just very intricate details throughout the whole thing 

Do you have a favorite book?

As of late, my favorite book is an autobiography by Mark Lanigan. He’s a musician who helped kickstart the grunge movement back in the early 90s, and was in fact very close friends with Kurt Cobain. Lots of drugs, lots of drug abuse, and lots of… adventures because of drug abuse. It’s a very interesting read. Unfortunately, he passed away a year ago.

Do you have a favorite poem? 

None that would come to mind at the moment. However, growing up, I’ve always had a loving fascination with Edgar Allan Poe. Specifically, “The Raven.”

Do you have a favorite drink, alcoholic or otherwise? 

It depends on the mood. I usually go for gin. Also, sake. Not too big on vodka.

What’s a fun fact about yourself? 

I had to have surgery done during the peak of the pandemic because my lung suddenly collapsed. I was the [un]lucky one, because normally people my age and my height, they can fully recover after their lung randomly collapses. Mine wasn’t the case, where I actually had to get surgery done, because there was a thing called a bleb, which is basically kind of like an air pocket. Once it bursts, it collapses the lung, and if it’s not properly removed, it just will keep collapsing the lung. I have… three scars, two on my back, and one in the front where they had to put tubes in just to remove any excess air and fluids out of me. Scary moment, especially in the peak of COVID.

A lung-based pandemic and you get a lung injury, that’s not ideal.


Alright, last question. Is there anything else you’d like to say? Other ventures? Shoutouts? 

I am also working on recording music stuff. I post stuff on Soundcloud. I believe it’s under the title “That Lonesome Devil You”. You’ll probably hear some music stuff if you come to the show. I’ve written original music for the show. 

Appended: “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

            Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

            This it is and nothing more.”

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

            Darkness there and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—

            Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

            With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

            Shall be lifted—nevermore!