Sheroism: You gave me FEVER!!!

Tamika Catchings is beyond heroic -- beyond sheroic. If you have watched her and the Indiana Fever of the WNBA play this year. You know this is true. These women were on the verge all season long. All throughout the stunning Olympic victories -- the gold medal - you knew that the WNBA Finals were going to come down Tamika Catchings and The Indiana Fever against whomever was the best in the west. I saw it in her eyes months back.
Now if I had an avatar in the WNBA, it would be Maya Moore of the Minnesota Lynx. There is something about her easy-going intelligence and lethal skills that put me in mind of myself when I was in college. Not an athlete, but I had other skills. Under any other circumstances in the world I would have wanted to see Maya and Lindsey Whalen and Taj McWilliams Franklin (who tried to will her team to a victory) and The Lynx win this thing -- the best of the best in women’s basketball.
It belonged to the Fever. When Katie Douglas went down against the Connecticut Sun in the Conference Finals, my heart dropped. I knew she must have been badly injured because that girl is a baller and she didn’t get up. I thought the Fever were toast. They most definitely weren’t. They won the Eastern Conference and then they went on to win the Finals. They kept playing and playing withstanding every Minnesota run -- everything that the best team in the league had -- and they knocked them down AND they kept them from scoring. They won three games out of four to win it all.
I cried real tears when Lynn Dunn called Katie Douglas to take off her sweats and go in for Shavonte Zealous for the last game’s last possession. It was an honor for both women because Shavonte had STEPPED UP for her team! The coach was crying -- a great, broad, silver-haired woman in a red snakeskin jacket who had prepared her team well. She didn’t have to throw off her jacket to inspire them. Though I really did love it when Cheryl Reeve, the Lynx head coach, got hot and bothered at the officials in game two and ripped off her jacket and pulled out her blouse. I got scared for a wardrobe malfunction and laughed uproariously. Her team rallied and won that game to keep coach in her clothes I think. That was one hilarious moment in women’s basketball.

Harvey Catchings, NBA great and Tamika’s father was there and I know his chest was so swollen he could hardly take a breath. Erin Phillips’ father, an Australian rules soccer great, must have been thrilled cause his daughter PLAYED! And Shavonte Zellous? Zealous. Zealous for her team. I know her friends and family were cheering. And Erlana Larkins said, “Not in my house and not in your house either.” Briann January showed her mettle. Once she nailed a shot, took a spill, tumbled head over heels, then stood up and ran back on defense. She kept Lindsey Whalen relatively quiet. She became my avatar because of her huge heart and her similar name. Every last one of them that came up off that bench was wonderful. You knew they had the rock-solid veteran, Tammy Sutton Brown, if they needed her. She showed her grace by giving up her starting position to the bigger and stronger rebounder, Erlana Larkins. They were a team -- a team of Titans!
If you would want to see courage, determination, athleticism, passion, heart and beauty, you should watch some WNBA games next season.

Race is a construct

Whether acknowledged or not in a polite, post-racial society, race identity is a construct. On stage a character's color is absolutely meaningful except in works that intend to work against the limitations. Then it is agreed that race does not matter. Other plays (most of what we see), of course, use "race" to enlighten or to advance their plot. "Clybourne Park", a troubled effort by Bruce Norris, is one such. Now before you get your nose out of joint, take a survey of dramatic efforts and decide which ones are REALLY colorblind.

I usually don't like "black version of" productions, i. e. plays written with only white characters in the playwright's mind that are adapted to a non-white/Black cast. Most such productions assume white European Americans to be the default race and all other colors to be sort of tributaries of the mainstream. Often the production looks and feels like a curious interpretation of the "real"play. Notable exceptions are the color re-interpretations of Greek classics. Reaching back to works that pre-date the European hegemony appears to be more successful for African-American actors. Done up in different costumes and saying different-sounding text makes being different a bit easier to accept, I think.

Not so with the current limited engagement production of "Streetcar Named Desire" by the great Tennessee Williams, directed by Emily Mann and brilliantly performed by Nicole Ari Parker and Blair Underwood. I'm sure Williams' ability to see the universal, meaningful implications of a sigh and his unrelenting courage in dissecting the workings of sexual allure is what makes the difference. Though many of Williams' characters are eccentric and peculiar, they are universal "actors", i. e. people who move through their lives in basic human ways that they display accurately and exhibit with deep, heartfelt passion/compassion. In fact, what is most always a feature of Williams' plays is that text has empathy for all of its players - even (especially) the rotten ones. If a director/adapter goes for that basic, plausible, universal thread in Williams' work, then it can be any race's play.

This production of "Streetcar Named Desire" is simply a damn good play with damn good performers in it. I heard lines I hadn't remembered from previous productions and the film. Directorial and acting choices are of an appropriate perspective -neither too big nor too timid - musical, lyrical, rough and dirty and finally very, very sad. All of the players are beautiful, but their beauty and magnetism never obscure the crackling, electric beauty of Tennessee Williams' play. This is a must see for students of the play. Without the strictures of the Hayes office, the stage versions of this classic can hit all of the play's notes. In its fullness, the audience can see Blanche as a troubled, mangled, alcoholic. Daphne Ruben-Vega as Stella is an appropriate second fiddle to Nicole Ari Parker's unsteady, skittish, secretive Blanche. Maybe she ought to have been allowed a few more watts of illumination, but its hard to upstage characters like Blanche and Stanley. In fact, I kind of realized for the first time that Stanley doesn't say much -- he's a physical presence who listens and reacts. I'm guessing this is not easy for Blair Underwood. So a lot of what he does onstage is present himself ( a very virile, sculpted self) and menace the women by walking about aggressively and bullying them into smaller spaces. In the card-playing scene he was less aggressive than I would have liked. True drunks can go nuts quickly, but I thought he didn't build his nasty and didn't get nasty enough. For me, Wood Harris's Mitch showed something less than the full range of possibilities for his character. He was more humorous than poignant, gentle giant so that an important counterpoint to Stanley is missing. In this production he is merely quieter than brutish Stanley. Unforgettable is Carmen de Lavallade and the Act Two open is lovely. It is Blanche's play, Blanche's production and Emily Mann and T.W. let her have it. Without feasting on the scenery and taking it over the top, Nicole Ari Parker serves up all of Blanche. And Blanche's last painful moment becomes particularly meaningful for the exquisitely timed gestures of Count Stovall as the doctor. All of us in my clutch of seats emitted a small gasp of pity, recognition, profound sadness and relief when Stovall offered his hand to "the more sinned against than sinning" Blanche.

Not enough ridicule?

Is it churlish to say there aren't enough laughs in "Clybourne Park"? Is it mean spiried to say that Bruce Norris' Pulitzer prize-winning play (at the Walter Kerr Theater) was dull - that it was not especially entertaining. For the record: I'm NOT defensive of Lorraine Hansberry's play, "A Raisin In The Sun, which Norris' play references. It's a testament to "A Raisin In The Sun" 's enduring literary and dramatic prominence that it is studied and known, i.e. recognizable by a general audience.
I guess I'm quarreling with the idea that this is a comedy/satire -- that this play is funny at all. The pull quotes have you poised to burst at the sides. I didn't think it was funny. Mysides were safe. There wasn't much entertainment in it. Again I'll insist on being clear: I was not looking for broad, contemporary, television comedy. I understand and agree that witty rapartee and subtley satiric situations can be comedic. Ideas can be funny, too. But this play's comedy charms were largely lost on me because the dialogue didn't strike me as . . .well . . . funny. To an African American who knows the Hansberry play and lived out some of the same experience, this dialogue is along the lines of what "we knew all along they were saying." We've heard all this - or imagined it. I was sort of smiling wryly and thinking to myself, "Oh, wonderful now they are aknowledging all of this venom." That actually isn't the same as laughing. And if the audience doesn't laugh, it makes comedy/satire difficult. If the white audience members can look at this blast from the past and be amused, then more power to them. Many peoople did laugh. Laughing at the distant past is cathartic and instructive. In the interest of full disclosure, I did chuckle a bit. But I didn't feel the caustic tickle of satire as I did in George Wolfe's look at Hansberry's play. In "The Colored Museum," Wolfe hangs up the broad, gaudy slices of American stereotype and social mores and lampoons them all including Hansberry's sacred cows. He waggles his fingers in ridicule of them. That's true to the satirical form. And true to form, Wolfe's play, insulates its author from censure because it can be called satire.
It is easy to laugh at stereotypes. It is an American theatrical form of long tradition. Minstrelsy gets the audience laughing and howling along unthinkingly with easy pictures that need little explaination -- nothing complex. In minstrelsy -- the paragon of satire/stereotype -- the audience colludes. In fact, these audiences do half of the work because they come with their notions and their notions are then served back to them. The modern comedy/satire -- the post-minstrelsy, post racial comedy/satire -- ought to look at these notions, then serve them up again by hanging them high for a CAUSTIC look - perhaps including some finger-wagging.
The comedy/satire ought to have laughs and pacing and surprises and, for me, "Clybourne Park" did not. The only surprise was the ending. It tied up too neatly and left a lot unsaid and unexamined. You mean to tell me that all of this is on account of grudges and hurt feelings? I won't expand for fear of spoiling the resolution for folks who haven't been to see it. I thought it was unfortunate that the playwright or the director, Pat MacKinnon or both made this choice. The denouement resorted to a senitmental fillip -- kind of like sharpening a knife then drawing back and dulling it again in a backward stroke.
For me, the oddest thing is that Christina Kirk's characterizations were the most stereotypical, but also the least interesting. It was as if she were going with a style the others were not hewing to. It left her swinging in the wind unfortunately. In fact, the actors didn't seem to be playing the same style. I consider that to be a flaw of the direction rather than the playwright's or the actor's. I did like the performances of Annie Parisse and Crystal A. Dickinson.

Pap and Circumstance

"The history of women who served in or with the US military during World War II is a complex story of policy development, cultural expectations, social norms, race relationships and citizenship. While this may be stated for almost any era, the sheer numbers of women in the military and the global significance of World War II reinforce the impact of the event. The war changed women's expectations and gave impetus to movement for greater gender equality—even though postwar society expected women to leave the workplace and focus on their roles as wives and mothers."

from "In Defense of a Nation: Servicewomen in World War II", edited by Major General Jeanne M. Holm, USAF (Ret.) and Judith Bellafaire, Ph.D., Chief Historian of the Women's Memorial Foundation, Arlington, Virginia, Vandamere Press, 1998.


The Court-Martial At Fort Devens

written by Jeffrey Sweet, directed by Mary Beth Easley

The true, racist incident/s which precipitated the court martial of several Women's Army Corp privates during World War II was a travesty of justice. Jeffrey Sweet's play, "Court Martial at Fort Devens," produced by The New Federal Theater in the Castillo Theater's lovely performance space on 42nd street, is also a travesty. The fault is the playwright's. The script is so very thin that if it were kleenex it could not hold a sneeze. It offers a limp chronology of the events with very little development of individual characters. The actresses are well-meaning and, with better material, could probably do a creditable job. It isn't clear whether Mary Beth Easley's directorial work would shine with a better play to work with. It is clear though that she has few ideas for salvaging this one. The grossly stereotypical white characters in this piece simply have too much to say. Truth is we know exactly what pompous, racist, misogynist white men think. We hear it everyday. We'd like to know more of what a group of young, African American women who took the very bold step of enlisting in the Women's Army Corp had to say about their lives and their treatment by the army. Perhaps in a better play we could hear more of their frank, heartfelt opinions of their personal relationships and the American cities they hail from. This play does not serve up much other than a chronology of events larded with pap.

For more info on African American Women In Service To America visit:http://www.womensmemorial.org/News/BHM07.html

A glorious homecoming

The Gershwins' Porgy and Bess

And sing they did. I loved the singing.

I appreciated, understood and liked the book tweaking done to the original Gershwin- Heyward production and film called " Porgy and Bess." I believe Suzan Lori Parks and Diedre L. Murray have created a more realistic, less stereotypical script. Though I didn't think Diane Paulus's direction was innovative, it was not troublesome. The staging and set were sort of dull. The costumes provided the only "pretty" and I could have used more.

And though I didn't agree that the full and passionate and skillful performance of Audra McDonald put everybody else in the shade, it is her show. She was wonderful and others in the cast were likewise wonderful. Putting it all together finally, all of the elements worked for me. All of the cast was good for me. I loved Norm Lewis' ragged, but virile Porgy. His disability was well done and his vocals were expert. I enjoyed all he did and was occasionally delighted by some note or passage I was not expecting. His voice has these nice surprises and I think he and Audra McDonald are beautiful together both visually and vocally. Of course, this piece doesn't work unless you can be convinced that Bess will/would stay - and be satisfied to do so. Porgy must be attractive to her and clearly Norm Lewis' Porgy is.

Bess is the dance. Bess is the reason for the season. I have read that, for the Gershwins and the Heywards, Bess was an afterthought. Well in this play, she is not. In this production Bess is Audra McDonald and that makes all the difference in the world. With McDonald there does not seem to be the need to diminish her sex appeal or embellish it. She's got it and you can look and see what Crown and Sporting Life and Porgy see. And you can certainly hear it and all of her other myriad attributes in every note out of her throat. I don't have the scholarship to critique the vocals in this production. All I know is taken from the evidence of my ears and my soul. The singing was marvelous.
That the signature song,"Summertime" was sung as a duet by the new parents was one of the small, but meaningful changes in this production. Rather than sing about her frustrations as a poor,rural mother hoping for a good, rich life for her child she was a part of a young couple with high hopes and aspirations. That things don't turn out as Nikki Renee Daniels' Clara would have wished is beside the point since there are no foregone conclusions in the life of a play. Of course we know what will happen though Clara and Jake don't. All parents hope that the road ahead of their child will be paved with ease. Joshua Henry as Jake and Nikki Renee Daniels are sweet and harmonious throughout the play and their energy embellishes the dances.
I liked the dancing in Porgy & Bess. It was not showy or "stagey" or seemingly choreographed though, of course, it was. Ronald K. Brown did a great job with performers who clearly were there to sing. He/They created lovely stage pictures and the competitive, gender-based social dancing echoed the heterosexual contretemps of the main characters.
Yvette Williams as Mariah is a refreshing departure from the much broader film characterization by Pearl Bailey. She is a visual delight in every scene and is a glue for the Catfish Row community. A special mention for Bryonha Marie Parham who sang "My Man's Gone Now" with the vocal brilliance and great depth of passion that the song requires. Yes, Ma'am, thank you.
I laughed at the audience when they gently, good-naturedly booed Crown and Sporting Life in the curtain call. It was atavistic. Cheer the good people and boo the bad ones. Both of the familiar villains were good and properly dangerous. David Alan Grier was excellent as Sporting Life. Who knew he could sing like that? He was in complete control of his character's dignity. He was comic, but not bufoonish. He was a charming villain, but no less serious and dangerous than Crown. This tightrope was skillfully navigated by playwright/adapters, Suzan Lori Parks and Diedre L. Murray and by Grier. Phillip Boykin embodied the play's true villainy as Crown. Whenever he came onstage he changed the stage dynamic and caused a ripple effect in the others. The staging of his violence toward Bess was truly scary. It was dancelike- very dancelike - without seeming to be choreographed. And that became, for me, the metaphor. Men like Crown are, for women like Bess, insurmountable obstacles. Bess could not escape him. She had to tangle with him. And it is a testament to the enduring resonance of this work that I wanted to call out a warning to Bess - I wanted to change the play - I wanted to yell out, "Kick him in the balls and run!"

She didn't. Too bad.

The themes of Porgy & Bess are timeless - and well-worn. There are no surprises. Whatever they trimmed out in this superb adaptation was stuff I didn't miss. The issues and situations raised are oh,so topical. One question: Rihanna, have you seen this show?

To the women who sat near me and surreptitiously videotaped the show: that is piracy and is really,really rude. Respect the performers. Next time I will report you.

Religion, Traditions and Zimerican perspective

THE CONVERT written by Danai Gurira and directed by Emily Mann is running through February 13th at the McCarter Theater in Princeton, NJ. I went down with my little theater wolf-pack and we were really glad to have made the trip. We were pumped up at the chance to see THE CONVERT before it travels to The Goodman in Chicago, then to Los Angeles' Center Theater Group.

If you want to quibble you could say THE CONVERT by Danai Gurira, billed as a world premier by the McCarter, is too long a play by about thirty minutes. But the performances are so good and the directing so expert and the writing so lovely that it seems churlish to complain. It was a true pleasure to see Cheryl Lynn Bruce's work as Mai Tamba. Her skills are impeccable and, as always, her work is memorable. To the inexpert ear, the Shona language and pidgin English as used in the production appeared well rendered by all of the actors. Very little information is lost though the dialogue of Chancellor is often difficult to understand. Pascale Armand begins as appropriately winsome in the role of Jekesa/Ester and finishes as a stalwart woman warrior. It is pleasure to watch the progress. And though we kind of know where things will end, we are surprised and gratified by the clear, unequivocal moral stance that Jekesa/Ester takes - that the playwright, Danai Gurira gives. Zainab Jah is convincing as Prudence. Here again, a character buds, then blooms nicely. LeRoy McClain and Kevin Mambo as Chilford, the aspiring priest and Chancellor, the opportunistic, African businessman are vastly out-done by the three actresses. The play is set in Salisbury/Harare, Zimbabwe in 1895-1897 at the time of the Ndebele-Shona uprising.

"What drives me artistically is the lack of subjective voices from the African world heard in the Western world. In the profession of storytelling, I am blessed to have the opportunity to bring one voice to the other, and therefore, in my small way, to contribute to more balance." by Danai Gurira from NOTE FROM THE ARTISTIC DIRECTOR by Emily Mann, director of THE CONVERT.


http://www.mccarter.org/theconvert/

Hurricane By The Tail

SALVAGE THE BONES by Jesmyn Ward is a novel with a lot of urgency. It has a palpable pulse -- a ticking clock even. We know what will happen to these people - in this place. It is certain. So the suspense - the pace - must be driven by other forces. It is. It is there in each paragraph. There is a sense of foreboding in almost every sentence.

We know what will happen. For this reason SALVAGE THE BONES is a haunting -- a haunted - book. We know what bad is coming. We suffer through all of the seemingly smaller tragedies - Esch's crisis - the dog's crisis - Esch's several brothers' aspirations and crises. And the novel barrels ahead and the storm keeps advancing and we have to be swept along. Ward's language works magically to set and keep its pace.

So you do get it. You begin to understand how the thing - the hurricane - came up and trapped up all of these people and rearranged everything in so short a time.

We saw pictures on TV and in magazines and newspapers. They say that one picture is worth a thousand words. The implication, of course, is that it is better, more informative and more economical to have a video or photograph. Yes, but . . . Just because they were impoverished - abjectly poor --didn't mean they were unable or unwilling or too stupid to prepare. Pictures need context - explication. Ward gives this to us in 272 fast pages. Fast, but dense with minute detail. Occasionally you forget about the impending hurricane. Only for brief, intense moments though. Then you go back to foreboding. You get so caught up with caring about these people that you feel motivated to warn them. It is a measure of this book's magic that you do feel like calling out to them to beware of what's gaining on them. You are so frightened that their fragile lives will be ruined further in the storm that you forget about the power of resilience, resolve and the other intangibles of human character. SALVAGE THE BONES addresses a question that those of us who do not live in the Gulf often ask. I was shown that this is precisely the wrong question. This book is worth several thousand pictures. We who do not "know" there intimately can gain a deeper understanding of "there" where the hurricane came through reading this novel. Incomplete depictions are replaced in some measure - enlarged upon in - SALVAGE THE BONES. SALVAGE THE BONES by Jesmyn Ward is The 2011 National Book Award winner for fiction. It is a stunningly successful novel of our times.