BROKE-OLOGY

BROKE-OLOGY? I couldn’t figure out what the play was about from the title. I still don’t like the title much, but I loved the play. Nathan Louis Jackson’s play at Lincoln Center’s Mitzi Newhouse Theater is a pearl because it is layer upon compelling layer of a play about a family facing the progression of a debilitating illness.

I was chagrined at first that the only woman in the play was dead so early in the play. I’m cranky on the issue of roles for women onstage. But that was before I realized we hadn’t seen the last of Sonia King. Crystal Dickinson’s ethereal quality in the first scene was explained by subsequent developments. Ghost presence in dramas is a well-used convention and I liked the use of it in BROKE-OLOGY. Dickinson handles this coming and going with believable grace. William King’s wife is gone, but not forgotten and she continues to inhabit the heart’s home that he’s made for her. Once when Malcolm speaks to his father excitedly about his career aspirations, we see what William sees -- all the ways that this boy is like his mother. Alano Miller’s very sensitive, virile portrayal does mirror the aspirations of the woman in the first scene. The notes are subtle, but beautiful and when William comments about this, we audience members want to say, “He sure does.”

It’s easy for me to empathize with stage plays. I’m ready to suspend my disbelief and plunge down into any emotion you’ve got that feels genuine and well developed. Empathy is natural and easy with BROKE-OLOGY because Jackson’s play stays small and focused. The humor is used sparingly and deftly in the August Wilson mode. Jokes are more self-revelatory than mean. The lighter moments act to relax the audience and bring us into the drama to face the sadder moments. By the time the mournful beats come, we love these people too much to turn away.

Wendell Pierce’s work as William King is magnificent. He is nuanced in his sufferings and keeps a very sentimental play from going too far. Francois Battiste as Ennis is also judicious in his portrait. He wears his cap in the infuriating way of many young men, but keeps his face available to us so that we understand him and don’t dismiss him. Alano Miller sings no false notes either. His Malcolm is successful by mainstream standards, but is not slick or obnoxious. He is straightforwardly trying to come to a workable decision to care for his father. Happily, we don’t have to choose between them.

I don’t think it gives anything away to say that our profound sorrow at the play’s end anticipates that of the sons. Jackson allows William King a triumph and a succor we all would wish for, but he shows us what the cost will be to those who love us.

Talk about BROKE-OLOGY? It was more like BROKE-down-OLOGY. Dreaded Tourmaline cried unabashedly and had a damned good time. Where did DT go to pull herself together? Oh yes, the efficacy of dark, leafy greens is well documented. The Dreaded Tourmaline went uptown to MELBA’S to have collard green spring rolls --- again.

Memphis, The Musical

“Memphis, The Musical” is all it promises to be and not a bit more. It is musical -- and only that. There is no book. There are only a few events between songs. But all and everything in the production is down to the music and the really great dancing. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough music for two full acts. Because the second act sounds like a reprise of the first act even the full-out, rip-roaring dancing seems repetitive in the second act. The talent is there -- more than just there. The ensemble and the featured players are a fresh and lively group of superb singers and dancers. They need more material to work with.

Montego Glover as Felicia Farrel, especially needs more singing to do. She is Broadway electric. She is in charge of her material and has the vocal confidence to avoid the over-do. But the music is too quick to leave Memphis. In fact the music seems to leave town a lot faster than the characters. By the second act you have a hard time hearing even a glimmer of that Memphis blues-iness that the characters are talking about -- and that they served up in the first act.

Chad Kimball as Huey Calhoun, the white D.J. with a love for Black music, should sing more, too. He has a lovely singing voice with a twangy resonance that sounds Tennessee white and urban to me. I found this quality annoying in his speaking voice so I think he should have done more singing.

Another reason the players should all have sung more -- especially the lovers, Felicia and Huey, is that they are far stronger singers than actors. The love affair between the two is a little thinly realized on both parts.

The dramatic set-up is thin, too. Granted it is hard to have a feel good musical about a feel bad time in our history, but there is too little menace in the segregated community of this play’s landscape. A few unfortunate things happen, but people talk about it more than bring it to the audience.

The set is economical, but not much to see. I attended a preview performance, but there is nothing rough or unpolished about the production. Originally produced by North Shore Music Theatre and Theater Works and is co-produced by LaJolla Playhouse and 5th Avenue Theater in Seattle.

Everybody in the show can blow -- and dance. I liked Cass Morgan as Mama. J. Bernard Calloway is notable. Give him another song! Derrick Baskin as Gator is a standout in acting and singing. And the ensemble is strong vocally. There is one female voice that rises to the rafters on every group number, but the performer is impossible to identify. Kudos to this wailer. But because this is a classic broadway musical -- a skeleton script wrapped up in song and dance numbers -- IT NEEDS MORE SONGS!

Dreaded Tourmaline had a real New York encounter after the show when she tried to race a senior citizen to a stcky, red table in Times Square. He squealed, "My wife is sitting there." Dreaded Tourmaline replied, "Okay. Sorry," and headed to another red, sticky table and matching chair. There she drank her grande pumpkin spice frap from you know where. D.T. finished the outing at MELBA'S restaurant uptown at 114 and Fred. Douglas. This place is part of the lively , cosmo scene in Harlem. MELBA'S food is better than most and the room is cozy and well appointed for an after (or before) anything meal. I give them ten tourmalines for excellence for the collard green spring rolls! Check them out at: www.melbasrestaurant.com

Convergence, A Theatrical Study of Pearl Cleage

LATE BUS TO MECCA is a startling drama and it was superbly performed in a staged reading at RACCA'S Seaport Salon Sunday evening by the two women who had brought it glowingly to life 17 years ago. Kim Yancy and Claire Dorsey were marvelous in this redux of work by Pearl Cleage, an under-appreciated giant of contemporary theater.

The Richard Allen Center for Culture and Art, founded by Hazel Bryant and sustained through the devotion and perspiration of Shirley Radcliffe and Imani, is an institutional guardian of the recent history of African American theater in New York. Between June 12 and 21, 2009, RACCA produced ten days of readings of the work of Pearl Cleage followed by discussions of the meaning and relevance of the works. I was lucky enough to attend the reading of A SONG FOR CORETTA Sunday afternoon and was entranced by the compelling stories of five fictional women who wait in the rain to view the body of Coretta Scott King as she lay in state at Ebeneezer Baptist Church.

The Convergence, a theatrical study of the work of Pearl Cleage, was produced at RAACA's Shooting Star Theater down at the tip of Manhattan at 40 Peck Slip. And if you can't feel the vibrance of the millions of people who have trod the cobblestone streets in this section of Manhattan then you are not fully awake.

Unfortunately, I missed a lot of good stuff. There were readings of MAD AT MILES, FLYIN' WEST, WHAT LOOKS LIKE CRAZY . . . , SOME THINGS I NEVER THOUGHT I'D DO, BABYLON SISTERS AND CHAIN. There were performances by: LaVonda Elam, Karen Malina White, Sharon Hope, Lynda Karen, Pauline E. Meyer, Dominique Morisseau, Dennis Pressey, and numerous others.

A question: Why, oh, why is it that cultural obeisance is offered to the work of August Wilson and little recognition is given to the theater work of Pearl Cleage? Why are the dramatic possibilities of the lives of women, most especially African American women, given such short cultural shrift? Women are useful as eye candy, but are otherwise of no interest on stage? Should we let one man's vision of African Americans in the twentieth century dominate the cultural landscape?

The sliver of hope in both A SONG FOR CORETTA and LATE BUS TO MECCA is that the characters in each leave the stage together -- willing to face what comes together.

The evening concluded with a brief discussion of the characters and literary work of Pearl Cleage. The author was unable to attend these programs, but sent her regards via a letter. We also listened to a radio interview with the author.

I had dinner between shows at The PARIS TAVERN at 119 South St. It is a comfortable spot with good food and a view of the Brooklyn Bridge. It is said to have been at the spot since 1873 -- yikes!

August Wilson's RADIO GOLF

RADIO GOLF is the last play in August Wilson’s celebrated ten-play century cycle. Completed months before Wilson’s death, it is a bit scary. I read it and was stunned. I saw the production at The Studio Theater in D.C. and left feeling less hopeful than at the end of any of the nine previous. The writing is beautiful. The drama is realized. The final notes are somber. There doesn't seem to be a way to save the Wylie Avenue house and what it represents.

Ron Himes' direction of this production of RADIO GOLF is mundane. That's okay since the play needs little help. The interpretation -- the themes -- are laid out in August Wilson’s superb text. A director's only work would be to get better performances from the actors and to fully realize the technical elements of the production. The RADIO GOLF set reminded me of the 2000-2001 Studio Theater production of Wilson's JITNEY. In fact, I thought it was a lovely reference to the cyclical nature of the works even though it lacked the hill-like, incline feature of the previous set.

In the role of real estate magnate, Harmond Wilks, Walter Coppage is a little boring. His interpretation of this character doesn’t seem to have any passion. I think he is trying to show comfort and ease with Wilks’ economic status. Very relaxed he is, but he comes across as not being fully focused on the drama. It felt like Coppage was creating Harmond Wilks as George W. Bush.

Erik Kilpatrick missed most of the meaningful beats in the character of Sterling Johnson and Kim Sullivan seemed uncomfortable in the role of Roosevelt Hicks. It is in these spots that the limitations of Ron Himes’ direction is clear. More could have been elicited from these performances.

Wilks’ wife, Mame, has one moment of lively, atavistic, personality -- the "dry ice" quip. This, I felt, was Wilson keeping his visionary-griot, Elder Joseph Barlow, on his toes. Even in the midst of all of the spiritualism, local history and ritual is the possibility of bunko. And it is Mame who says that ". . . its just not practical to throw all that history away." in answer to Harmond's plan to rename the Health Center for an historical figure that no one knows. Mame as written is, unsurprisingly, a woman with little to say. But in these places she does have important things to say. Unfortunately, Deidra LaWan Starnes' breezy, self-assured delivery throws out her character’s best bits. When she is forced into her Act 2 self-revelation, she merely explodes, then capitulates. If we hadn't read the play we wouldn't have known this was coming. It sits out there strangely, frustratingly.

Frederick Strother's Elder Joseph Barlow is the soul of the drama, as well as, the neighborhood's documentarian. Strother is certainly at the center of this production as his character is at the center of the play. In this summing up Elder Joseph Barlow is carrying heavy. He struggles up the hill to the office, he struggles up off the sofa. But he is a survivor because he's got sense enough to ask for - to demand if necessary - the help he needs. He does get water from Harmond Wilks. He does get justice from Wilks. Veteran Frederick Strother is there for every beat. He uses the humor that is in the words and stage directions, yet he keeps it under control -- not letting the audience get too carried away with laughing at him. He is pitch perfect and is carrying more than his share in this unevenly acted production.

Dreaded Tourmaline had dinner before the theater at the corner of 14th & Monroe Sts. N.W. at the casual/classy, Ruby Tuesday. Happily this is part of the revitalization of the old African American shopping hub at 14th & Park Roads. N.W. It’s a nice spot with food and drink and is a nice return to family dining in the neighborhood a la the old Hot Shoppes restaurants. See my blogpost on this old neighborhood shopping hub at: http://dreadedtourmaline.blogdrive.com/archive/cm-6_cy-2009_m-6_d-18_y-2009_o-10.html

The Arabian Nights/Dreaded Tourmaline at the Lookingglass

The Arabian Nights

Dreaded Tourmaline went to Chicago. I saw a great production of  Lookingglass Theater Company:  THE ARABIAN NIGHTS, written and directed by ensemble member, Mary Zimmerman. The play was adapted from THE BOOK OF THE THOUSAND NIGHTS and ONE NIGHT translated by Powys Mathers. 

The script follows the outline of the well-known, traditional story. The production is good -- great even, though it is flawed, over-long and repetitious. A half hour of running time could certainly be trimmed off the first act. I would swear I heard the exact story more than once and my knees started to squeal before intermission. Intermission was humorously, cleverly introduced by Dunyazade, sister of Scheherezade. Louise Lamson does a creditable job of portraying the beautiful and smart Scheherezade, but her performance lacks emotional fire. One never actually fears that she will be harmed. In fact the only empathy that is elicited is for her poor father who must come each morning with her shroud in case she hasn't managed to distract the King from his murderous campaign. Though his face is not visible, the father's dejected posture is heartbreaking. The costumes were superb. They were eye-candy in the best sense of the term. They were a visual delight that advanced the story. The set begins as a large naked area covered with what seem like painter's cloths. The ensemble enters to live drumming and sings and removes the cloths revealing arabic rugs and pillows. The play likewise unfolds and is revealed and builds and rearranges. The production's strength is the solid ensemble of the players. Individual performances don't emerge from the whole as each player portrays several parts. Allen Gilmore is memorable, however, as Scheherezade's father. The music and musicians are excellent. Actually the ensemble are the instrumentalists and singers as well as dancers -- a talented group. They cooked on the traditional looking Middle Eastern percussion instruments. The climax is the traditional one: the King grows to love Scheherezade and nights are alight and there is no fear. The production tidies itself with drawing us to consider what our government is doing to the nights over Baghdad today. This is a play well worth seeing though a little less might be a better thing. 

The performance is held in a Chicago landmark The Water Tower Water Works.  http://www.aviewoncities.com/chicago/watertower.htm  Lookingglass is a multi-disciplined collective and they are a brilliant bunch -- a lovely, energetic, diverse ensemble.

Dreaded Tourmaline finished the evening face down in a hot fudge sundae sort of diagonally across from the WTWW in a Ghirardelli ice cream parlor -- great spot for people-watching. 

Ruined

I am tempted to joke that the glowing, intelligent reviews of Lynn Nottage's 2009 Pulitzer Prize winning drama, "Ruined" nearly ruined the experience for me. No disrespect is meant. It is that their explication of the plot/the script nearly discouraged me from going. From what I'd read I didn't think that I could face the play in a room full of other people. My timidity about sexual violence depiction might have kept me away the way it keeps me out of movie theaters. Others I spoke to likewise expressed uneasiness about "putting themselves through it.” I'm so glad I went. My understanding of the world and of myself has broadened. The greatness of the play for me, however, is the specificity. This is a particular place in a complex, particular time and place -- the Democratic Republic of Congo. 

The character of Mama Nadi, the central protagonist of “Ruined” may become a tour de force part for African and African-American actresses. Portia owns it right now. This is, happily, Mama Nadi’s play just as it is Mama Nadi’s bar-bordello. With frightening clarity Mama Nadi asserts her claim to this spot in the Ituri Rainforest and asserts herself in the drama. She is the hub of the play and it is around her that the other spokes will revolve. Portia is truly wonderful. She is in full, glorious charge of the part.  An accurate measure of the progress through growth and understanding for a character and for a performance is perhaps the measure of the progress of one's feelings about the character and the performance. I began with feelings toward Mama Nadi that developed, changed, were challenged, redirected and resolved. 

Because I am mature enough to know that the self-assurance and authority she shows in the first act is hard won, I am not surprised by the beats that unfold in the play's climax. Every turn seems the right one -- no falseness.  In fact, I was listening for lofty words and I never heard them. I heard real words -- real, beautiful expression of the deep feelings of the characters, as well as, clear,  unequivocal language about events in their lives. The performance of Russell G. Jones as Christian is unforgettable. His wonderfully expressive face opens a window to his character’s tenacity, his constancy, his humor and his unabashed hopefulness. He helps us toward the finely crafted denouement. All of the cast are skilled in the use of humor. There is never too much of it. There is pathos in the life tales of the women of Mama Nadi's and there is a passage - an emotional -- transition for each which is neither ham-handed nor formulaic. The individual talents of Quincy Tyler Bernstine as Salima, Cherise Boothe as Josephine and Condola Rashad as Sophie ably embellish a well written, well directed production. 

Cherise Boothe's dances incorporate myriad elements of what I think of as Africanesque, tribalesque dance and the movements of pornographic enticement that we generally refer to as gyrations. In her climactic moment she appears to become a gyroscope  -- her arms and legs spinning around a seemingly unstable axis. If there is a flaw in "Ruined" it is that Josephine is not given her full moment of  self-awareness. 

Quincy Tyler Bernstine's Salima  put me in mind of a kind of cabbage flower -- a low-growing ornamental that opens as it grows to reveal a larger, more colorful, more nuanced head. The revelation of her victimization is squeezed out gently and, by the time of her climactic event, we have seen and felt her move to the center of the drama. 

Condola Rashad's portrayal of the physical mutilation of Sophie feels right. There are surprises in this character, too. She is not a "one note" victim. Her performance is contrapuntal and harmonious and more lovely than you expect. Rashad's singing is wonderful and, as with the dancing, is integral to the drama.  

The original music by Dominic Kanza was a particular delight. The guitar performance of Simon Shabantu Kashama was scintillating and comforting. Director, Kate Whoriskey, as with all of the theatrical/interpretive elements, employs music expertly-- using it to help us relax into the text, provide accompaniment to the action, but not overwhelm or distract. The set was great and the lights were crisp and purposeful.

In “Ruined,” the sheroism is in the specificity. I heard such in the testimonies of Women from the Democratic Republic of Congo who spoke at the tribunals of the Center For Women's Global Leadership at the World Conference Against Race held in Durban, South Africa in August 2001.  Women, women, women from around the world spoke of their own and their sisters' rape, mutilation, torture, abuse, neglect, incarceration, discrimination and vulnerability to disease and famine. This play is a special tribute to the women from the Congo who shared their stories.

On the way to Manhattan Theater Club for “Ruined” I had a good dinner at Zuni: New American Cuisine at 598 9th Avenue at 43rd St. in Manhattan. Nice ambience, pleasant service and good food. I had the cornmeal chicken breast with collard greens and sweet potatoes. I give this spot four tourmalines.****

---Tourmaline

The Mountaintop

I went to see a late afternoon performance of "The Mountaintop" by Katori Hall at LARK Play Development Center. Wow! It is a brilliant two-character piece that is chock full of ideas. I was engaged emotionally though not ripped out of my seat by bogusity. Kudos to director, Kamilah Forbes. Great performances by Dominique Morisseau and Jordan Mahome. 

A hallmark of good directing is the sense of unanimity of ideas, themes, concepts though each individual actor is allowed unfettered creative response. I think this was achieved by Kamilah Forbes. Kamilah kept the play, i.e. the action focused though densely populated with visual interest. 

Dominique Morisseau was compelling to the eye and ear. Her performance was deft -- balancing artistic tensions so that the cat is not out of the bag before the climax. Her surprisingly thick and regionally specific accent/dialect was employed expertly. The magic (also the play’s core strength) is that when the conceit is revealed, it all seems plausible. You know this because this is what you would have wished for MLK -- on that last night. There is self control and self-awareness in Dominique’s performance. All of us will take her hand when she asks for it -- and we all must. Every beat was flawlessly, knowingly reached and one had the delightful feeling of being borne along to the climax of the drama.  

Jordan Mahome handled MLK expertly. He resisted the temptation to imitate MLK. Instead he brought us a life-sized man. Oh so many things were wonderfully done! You saw the fullness of his charm and his intelligence and his vulnerability and his profound solitude. Again every beat of King’s realization of his circumstances was beautifully drawn on Jordan’s face -- on his whole body.  

The two actors were in lovely concert -- as if dancing the play. 

There are so many moments that are fresh and knowing -- fully explored and developed ideas that resonate. I’ve got high hopes for Katori and “The Mountaintop.” This is a wonderful expression of Lark’s mission -- to offer the opportunity to DEVELOP AND SEASON a play. Highest praise and hopes for the success of this project and all the participants!