Tag Archives: Alan C. Edwards

DAKAR NOIR: PLAYING CHARADES AROUND Y2K

Dina Stevens (Mia Barron) involves Boubs (Abubakr Ali) in a complicated government plot as Y2K approaches (photo by Matthew Murphy)

DAKAR 2000
Manhattan Theatre Club
New York City Center Stage 1
Tuesday – Sunday through March 23, $79-$99
www.manhattantheatreclub.com
www.nycitycenter.org

“If we both describe the same thing at the same time, will one of our descriptions be more true than the other?” Isaac says to Nikolai in Rajiv Joseph’s 2017 time-leaping play Describe the Night. Later, Feliks tells Mariya, “You love to make up stories that are more interesting than what the truth is.”

The concept of “the truth” is also central to Joseph’s latest work, Dakar 2000, a gripping cat-and-mouse contemporary noir presented by Manhattan Theatre Club at New York City Center’s Stage 1 through March 23.

It’s December 31, 2024, and a fifty-year-old man (Abubakr Ali) walks onstage and delivers a monologue detailing a series of life-altering events that happened to him twenty-five years earlier, during the last few days leading up to Y2K, when some people thought the world might end.

Standing on a swirling ramp, he begins, “This is a story within a story, about a person within a person, in a time within another time. In a galaxy far, far away. All of it . . . is true. Or most of it, anyway. Names have been changed. Some of the places have been changed. Some of the boring parts snipped away. Some other stuff has been added to make it . . . theoretically more interesting. But otherwise all of it is almost entirely true.”

After telling us about a secret job he had that has taken him across the globe, he concludes, “The truth — the dumb, boring truth — is that this is mostly the story of a kid who just wanted to make a difference. And the truth is . . . he didn’t. I mean, I didn’t. Or I hadn’t . . . I hadn’t done much of any consequence, ever. Until I flipped my truck, just before the millennium . . . And met a woman who worked at the State Department.”

The narrative shifts to late December 1999, and Boubacar (Ali), known as Boubs (pronounced “boobs”), is a Peace Corps volunteer in Senegal, stationed in Kaolack and building a fenced-in community garden in the nearby village of Thiadiaye. Sporting a bandage around his injured head following the accident, he has been called in to meet with Dina Stevens (Mia Barron), who identifies herself as the Deputy Regional Supervisor of Safety & Security for Sub-Saharan Africa. Dina watches Boubs carefully as he shares the details of what led to the crash; she then starts asking pointed questions that tear holes in his story. He keeps up what turns out to be a ruse until she accuses him of lying about his situation, and he ultimately admits to repurposing materials that were meant for other projects.

Threatening to send him back home to America, Dina, who is hell bent on avenging the murder of several of her friends in the 1998 embassy bombing in Tanzania, offers Boubs the option of performing an odd task for her instead, which leads to another task, and another, each one more mysterious and perilous — and bringing Boubs and Dina closer and closer. As Y2K approaches, Boubs doesn’t know what to believe, and neither does the audience.

Boubs (Abubakr Ali) and Dina Stevens (Mia Barron) grow close working together in Rajiv Joseph’s Dakar 2000 (photo by Matthew Murphy)

Dakar 2000 is a riveting thriller reminiscent of Stanley Donen’s 1963 Hitchcockian favorite Charade, in which Audrey Hepburn stars as an American expat unexpectedly caught up in a dangerous spy drama in Paris after her husband is killed and she is pursued by multiple men, one of whom (Cary Grant) claims he is trying to help her even though she catches him in lie after lie. Which is not to say that Barron and Ali have the same kind of chemistry as Hepburn and Grant, but the quirky relationship between Dina and Boubs is appealing. At one point, when they’re on Boubs’s roof, face-to-face, you want them to kiss but also want them not to, as neither one is ultimately trustworthy.

Two-time Obie winner Rajiv Joseph (Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, King James) and director May Adrales (Vietgone, Poor Yella Rednecks) keep us guessing all the way to the finale. Tim Mackabee’s turntable set moves from Dina’s office and a restaurant to the roof and a hotel bedroom, with small props occasionally surreptitiously added when it rotates from scene to scene. Shawn Duan’s projections range from a starry sky and outdoor African locations to text that establishes the precise time and location. A metaphor linking the 1997 Hale Bopp Comet to fate is confusing, but the choice of Culture Club’s 1983 hit “Karma Chameleon” as the song connecting Boubs with his ex-girlfriend is inspired, with Boy George singing, “There’s a loving in your eyes all the way / If I listen to your lies, would you say / I’m a man without conviction / I’m a man who doesn’t know / How to sell a contradiction / You come and go, you come and go.”

Ever-dependable Obie winner Barron (The Coast Starlight, Dying for It) effectively captures Dina’s enigmatic nature, representing an unethical government that holds all the cards. Ali (Toros) portrays Boubs’s younger self with a tender vulnerability that makes his actions understandable, although his overall characterization is ultimately a bit uneven, his voice too often switching pitches, his youth making him less than convincing as the modern-day Boubs.

Joseph has noted that Dina and Ali are based on actual people, but that doesn’t mean Dakar 2000 is a documentary play, particularly as words such as truth and lie show up over and over again. During the course of the work’s brisk eighty minutes, Dina tells Boubs, “You’re a good liar,” “Trust me, I wouldn’t lie to you about this,” and “Do you ever wonder if it’s all a big lie?” Meanwhile, Boubs wonders, “How could it be a lie?” when Dina questions humanity’s general consciousness.

Theater by its very definition presents a fictional version of reality, no matter how factual it might be. But in the case of Dakar 2000 and other plays by Joseph, we should be grateful that he “loves to make up stories that are more interesting than what the truth is.”

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

FREE UPTOWN SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK: A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM
Classical Theatre of Harlem
Richard Rodgers Amphitheater, Marcus Garvey Park
18 Mt. Morris Park W.
Tuesday – Sunday through July 28, free (advance RSVP recommended), 8:30
www.cthnyc.org

The Classical Theatre of Harlem (CTH) celebrates its twenty-fifth anniversary with a rip-roaring adaptation of William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, at the Richard Rodgers Amphitheater in Marcus Garvey Park through July 28.

The action shifts between a glitzy two-level club during the Harlem Renaissance and a fairy woodland that feels right at home in the park, amid the setting sun, the wind blowing through the trees, the sounds of the birds and insects, and, the evening I went, a few minutes of light rain that felt like fairy dust.

In the club setting, Theseus (Victor Williams), the duke of Athens, is preparing to wed Hippolyta (Jesmille Darbouze), the queen of the Amazons. He is approached by a nobleman, Egeus (Allen Gilmore), who has promised his daughter, Hermia (Ra’Mya Latiah Aikens), to Demetrius (Brandon Carter), but Hermia is in love with Lysander (Hiram Delgado); at the same time, Helena (Noah Michal) pines for Demetrius, who spurns her. Egeus invokes an ancient law in which Hermia either marries Demetrius or is put to death; Theseus attempts to circumvent that potential fate, with no success.

“Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield / Thy crazed title to my certain right,” Demetrius declares, but Lysander, taking the argument lightly, responds, “You have her father’s love, Demetrius; / Let me have Hermia’s: why not marry him?”

Ultimately, Theseus, against his personal preference, rules in favor of Egeus, giving Hermia three options: accept Demetrius’s hand, be exiled as a nun, or suffer execution. “Then I will die if these are my choices, / But I will never consent to marry a man I love not,” she concludes.

Hermia and Lysander decide to run away together; they share their plan with Helena, who betrays them, believing, “My love for Demetrius is so strong it makes me weak! / And in the woods my true love I will seek!”

In those very woods, a troupe of amateur actors known as the rude mechanicals are rehearsing a play they will be putting on for the duke and queen’s wedding, the tale of doomed lovers Pyramus and Thisbe from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The cast features weaver Nick Bottom (Jaylen D. Eashmond) as Pyramus, bellows-mender Francis Flute (León Tak) as Thisbe, joiner Snug (Olivia London) as the lion, tinker Tom Snout (Carson Elrod) as the wall, and tailor Robin Starveling (Deidre Staples) as Moonshine, directed by carpenter Peter Quince (Allen Gilmore). All serve as comic relief, as their rehearsals do not go very smoothly.

Meanwhile, Oberon (Williams) and Titania (Darbouze), the king and the queen of the fairies, are looking forward to attending the wedding but they are in the middle of a fight over a young boy (Langston Cofield) they have taken in.

Oberon has his hobgoblin, the sprite Puck (Mykal Gilmore), fetch a purple flower whose juices, when dripped on a sleeping creature’s eyes, make them fall in love with the first living thing they see when they awaken. To prank his wife, Oberon does so with Titania and orders Puck to drizzle the juice on the eyes of Demetrius so he will love Helena, but Puck makes a mistake, and soon Lysander is mad for Helena, Titania is cuddling with a donkey-headed Bottom, and there is chaos everywhere.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream was previously performed by CTH at the Richard Rodgers Amphitheater in 2013; this new production sparkles under the direction of Carl Cofield. The club scenes include fanciful dancing expertly choreographed by Dell Howlett, using both levels of Christopher and Justin Swader’s glittering set, lit with excitement by Alan C. Edwards; a large ensemble, dressed in Mika Eubanks’s colorful period costumes, shakes and bakes to the Jazz Age score. (The hot sound and music are by Frederick Kennedy, with projections of the moon, forest, and other elements by Brittany Bland.)

Cofield focuses on the importance of eyes in Shakespeare’s romantic comedy. Early on, Hermia says, “I would my father looked but with my eyes,” to which Theseus replies, “Rather your eyes must see things as your father sees them!” Helena opines, “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; / And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.” In the play-within-the-play, Pyramus, upon encountering something that does not please him, cries, “What dreadful sorrow is here! / Eyes, do you see?” And Bottom, waiting for a cue, says, “The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.” When Oberon and Puck use the flower juice, there are giant projections of eyes.

The nightclub scenes burst with life, and everything involving the four lovers is spirited fun. Aikens, Delgado, Michal, and Carter are a formidable quartet, Gilmore is a delightful Puck (and revels master Philostrate), and Williams and Darbouze bring a regal posture to the proceedings. However, the rude mechanicals cannot maintain the pace, occasionally dragging down the momentum. Several scenes go on too long, and the acting is more scattershot, led by an over-the-top, repetitive performance by Eashmond, who alternates as Bottom with comedian Russell Peters. But there is more than enough merriment to make that a minor quibble.

This Midsummer Night’s Dream is just the right play to set your eyes upon to make an already lovely midsummer night that much more dreamy.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

RACE AND GENDER DISCRIMINATION ONSTAGE: JORDANS / SALLY & TOM / SUFFS

Naomi Lorrain and Toby Onwumere both play characters named Jordan in Ife Olujobi’s new play at the Public (photo by Joan Marcus)

JORDANS
LuEsther Hall, the Public Theater
425 Lafayette St. at Astor Pl.
Tuesday – Sunday through May 19, $65-$170
publictheater.org

“A reckoning is coming and the likes of you will be crushed by the likes of me!” the enslaved James tells his owner, Thomas Jefferson, in Sally & Tom, one of three current shows with ties to the Public Theater that deal with race and gender discrimination — and a coming reckoning.

At the Public’s LuEsther Hall, Ife Olujobi’s Jordans is set at a modern-day photo studio called Atlas, where some heavy lifting has to be done. The small company is run by the white, domineering Hailey (Kate Walsh), whose staff consists of the white Emma (Brontë England-Nelson), Fletcher (Brian Muller), Tyler (Matthew Russell), Ryan (Ryan Spahn), and Maggie (Meg Steedle) as well as a Black woman named Jordan (Naomi Lorrain), who they all treat, well, like an enslaved woman. While the others bandy about ridiculous ideas regarding Atlas’s future, Jordan has coffee purposefully spilled on her, is told to clean up vomit and human waste, gets garbage thrown at her, and is essentially ignored when she’s not being harassed.

When a photographer (Spahn) is snapping pictures during a photo shoot, he calls out to the model (England-Nelson), “Tell me, who is this woman? What does she want?” It’s a question no one asks Jordan.

Concerned that the company is becoming “vibeless” because their personnel lacks diversity, Hailey hires a Black man also named Jordan (Toby Onwumere) as their first director of culture. When 1.Jordan, as he’s referred to in the script, arrives for his first day, he asks Jordan, “What’s a brotha need to know?” And she tells him: “Well . . . the way I see it is, I work in an office owned by an evil succubus, staffed by little L-train demons, and I spend all day trying not to fall into their death traps. Sometimes it feels kinda like a video game: me running around, dodging flying objects, trying to save my lives for future battles. But then I remember this is my actual life, and I only have one. So.”

Hailey enters and runs her hands over 1.Jordan’s body as if she were evaluating a slave she has just purchased. Maggie demands to know where he is from — and she does not mean where he was born and raised, which happens to be in America. Fletcher, Emma, Tyler, and Ryan bombard him with questions about why his father was not around and was such a deadbeat. The stereotypes keep coming, but 1.Jordan stands firm, even as Hailey asserts to him when they are alone, “I am the owner of this studio.” He has been hired to be the (Black)face of the company and to do whatever he is told. Did I mention that 1.Jordan’s last name is Savage?

Outside the office, the two Jordans disagree on how to “play the game.” Jordan advises 1.Jordan to keep his head down, follow the rules, and not to show off his accomplishments. “You have to let them think that they own you,” she says. But 1.Jordan is determined to be a success on his terms, not theirs, arguing, “I want the freedom to do what I want without having to beg.”

Soon the Jordans become interchangeable, their roles and responsibilities merging and veering off in strange ways, each seeing the white world they inhabit from a new viewpoint. “Who are you?” Jordan asks. 1.Jordan replies, “Who am I?!” Meanwhile, the racist clichés ramp up even more.

Ife Olujobi’s Jordans is set at a modern-day branding studio (photo by Joan Marcus)

In her 2021 pandemic book No Play, in which Olujobi interviewed hundreds of theater people about the state of the industry as impacted by current events — I was among the participants — she asks in the chapter “the end of all things as we understand them”: “In the context of the racial and social justice movements reinvigorated by last year’s uprisings in response to the police killings of Black people, and in the simplest and most literal terms possible, what does ‘doing the work’ mean to you?”

Jordans — the title instantly makes one think of Michael Jordan’s heavily marketed and branded sneakers — is about doing the work, no matter your race or gender. Olujobi, in her first off-Broadway play, and director Whitney White (Jaja’s African Hair Braiding, On Sugarland) don’t back away from harsh language and brutal situations to make their points about where we have to go as a nation, when to take action, and when to sit back and listen. At a talkback after Donja R. Love’s Soft in 2022, White, who directed the show, told the audience that white people were not allowed to take part in the discussion. It was a sobering experience that has remained with me.

Lorrain (Daphne, La Race) and Onwumere (Macbeth, The Liar) are superb as the two Jordans, who get under each other’s skin both literally and figuratively. In an intimate and potent sex scene, only Lorrain’s vulva is exposed, not for titillation, but to declare that power and success do not require a penis. Walsh (If I Forget, Dusk Rings a Bell) excels as Hailey, who represents white leaders of all kinds.

The narrative has a series of confusing moments, and it’s too long at 140 minutes (with intermission); the scene with influencer Kyle Price (Russell) feels particularly extraneous, draining the story of its thrust. But the finale makes a powerful statement that won’t be easy to forget.

Sally Hemings (Sheria Irving) and Thomas Jefferson (Gabriel Ebert) pause at a dance in Suzan-Lori Parks’s new play at the Public (photo by Joan Marcus)

SALLY & TOM
Martinson Hall, the Public Theater
425 Lafayette St. at Astor Pl.
Tuesday – Sunday through June 2, $65-$170
publictheater.org

Pulitzer Prize winner Suzan-Lori Parks pulls no punches in her sharp and clever Sally & Tom, continuing at the Public’s Martinson Hall through June 2. It’s a meta-tale about different kinds of enslavement, from the start of America to the present day.

An independent, diverse theater troupe called Good Company is rehearsing its latest socially conscious play, The Pursuit of Happiness, the follow-up to Patriarchy on Parade and Listen Up, Whitey, Cause It’s All Your Fault. It’s set in Monticello, Virginia, in 1790, at the plantation home of Thomas Jefferson, who is in the midst of a sexual “relationship” with Sally Hemings, one of his slaves; he first started having sex with her when she was fourteen and he was forty-four. The show-within-the-show is written by Luce (Sheria Irving), a Black woman who plays Sally; her partner, the white Mike (Gabriel Ebert), is the director and portrays Tom. Dramaturg and choreographer Ginger (Kate Nowlin) is Patsy, one of Tom’s daughters; stage manager and dance captain Scout (Sun Mee Chomet) is Polly, Tom’s other daughter; publicist and fight director Maggie (Kristolyn Lloyd) is Mary, Sally’s sister; music, sound, and lighting designer Devon (Leland Fowler) is Nathan, Mary’s husband; Kwame (Alano Miller), who is looking to break out into film, is James, Sally’s older brother; and set and costume designer Geoff (Daniel Petzold) plays multiple small roles.

The opening scene between Sally and Tom sets the stage.

Tom: Miss Hemings?
Sally: Mr. Jefferson?
Tom: What do you see?
Sally: I see the future, Mr. Jefferson.
Tom: And it’s a fine future, is it not?
Sally: God willing, Mr. Jefferson.
Tom: Do you think we will make it?
Sally: Meaning you and I?
Tom: Meaning you and I, of course, and, meaning our entire Nation as well. Do you think we’ll make it?
Sally: God willing, Mr. Jefferson. God and Man willing. And Woman too.

While Tom is keeping his relationship with Sally secret, Mike and Luce do not hide theirs, although Luce is suspicious of Mike’s ex. Art imitates life as what happens in the play is mimicked by what is occurring to the company members. When Luce points out, “This is not a love story,” she might be talking about not only Sally and Tom but her and Mike. When unseen producer Teddy demands that a key speech by Kwame, aka K-Dubb, be cut and threatens to pull his funding, the company has some important decisions to make that evoke choices that Sally and Tom are facing. Jefferson admits to owning six hundred enslaved people, including Sally and her family, while Luce declares, “Teddy don’t own me.” And just as the company was depending on the money promised by Teddy, Sally and James are quick to prod Tom of his vow to eventually free them. “We build our castle on a foundation of your promises,” Sally tells Tom.

“Handing me a book while you keep me on a leash,” James says to Tom. “Do you want me to remind myself of how kind you are? Kinder than other Masters, hoping that I will rejoice every day that you keep me enslaved? Let me proclaim my Liberty: You are not on the Throne! I stand with all Enslaved People who rise up and revolt! I say ‘Yes’ to the Revolutions that explode and that will continue to explode all over this country. I condemn the ‘breeding farms’ not more than a day’s ride from here. I acknowledge all the Horrors and the Revolutions that you dare not think on, and that we dare not speak of in your presence. What would we do if we were to wake up out of our ‘tranquility’? The wrongs done upon us would be avenged. And the world order would be upended!”

As Tom decides whether he should go to New York City at the behest of the president and who he will bring with him, Luce and Mike have to reconsider the future of the play, and their partnership.

Sally & Tom is about a small theater company putting on historical drama (photo by Joan Marcus)

Presented in association with the Guthrie Theater, Sally & Tom might not be top-shelf Parks — that illustrious group includes Topdog/Underdog, Father Comes Home from the Wars (Parts 1, 2 & 3), In the Blood and Fucking A, and Porgy and Bess — but it’s yet another splendidly conceived work from one of America’s finest playwrights. Parks and director Steve H. Broadnax III (Sunset Baby, The Hot Wing King) breathe new life into a familiar topic, which has previously been explored in film and opera as well as television, music, and literature.

Irving (Romeo and Juliet, Parks’s White Noise) and Tony winner Ebert (Matilda, Pass Over) are terrific as the real couple from the past and the fictional contemporary characters, their lives becoming practically interchangeable on Riccardo Hernández’s set, which contains Monticello-style pillars, the actors dressed in Rodrigo Muñoz’s period costumes. The score was written by Parks with Dan Moses Schreier; Parks, an accomplished musician, composed and played the songs for her intimate 2022–23 Plays for the Plague Year, and on April 29 she appeared at Joe’s Pub with her band, Sula & the Joyful Noise.

“You will be ashamed that you were proud to father a country where some are free and others are enslaved! Where some have plenty and others only have the dream of plenty!” Kwame proclaims to Tom. “All them pretty words you write, Mr. Jefferson, they’re all lies! You’ll soon be ashamed by the lies that this country was built on, Mr. Jefferson! Ashamed by the lies on which we were founded, and on which we were fed, and on which we grew fat!”

As Jordans and Sally & Tom reveal, those lies are still with us, more than two hundred and thirty years later.

Shaina Taub wrote the book, music, and lyrics and stars in Suffs on Broadway (photo by Joan Marcus)

SUFFS
Music Box Theatre
239 West 45th St. between Broadway & Eighth Aves.
Wednesday – Sunday through January 5, $69 – $279
suffsmusical.com

The reckoning forges ahead at Suffs, Shaina Taub’s hit musical that began at the Public’s Newman Theater in 2022 and has now transferred to the Music Box on Broadway in a rearranged and improved version.

Most Americans are familiar with such names as Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, but Taub focuses on the next generation of women who fought for the passage of the Nineteenth Amendment in the second decade of the twentieth century: Alice Paul (Taub), Inez Milholland (Hannah Cruz), Doris Stevens (Nadia Dandashi), Lucy Burns (Ally Bonino), and Ruza Wenclawska (Kim Blanck).

The musical focuses on generational conflict and disagreements about strategy that have characterized all sorts of progressive movements in the United States; an older, more sedate crowd wants to work within the system, while young radicals want to bust it open with outright aggression.

In Suffs, the youngsters decide to take on the powerful National American Woman Suffrage Association (NAWSA), led by Carrie Chapman Catt (Jenn Colella) and Mollie Hay (Jaygee Macapugay), a group that does not want to ruffle any feathers. While Carrie sings, “Let mother vote / We raised you after all / Won’t you thank the lady you have loved since you were small? / We reared you, cheered you, helped you when you fell / With your blessing, we could help America as well,” Alice declares, “I don’t want to have to compromise / I don’t want to have to beg for crumbs / from a country that doesn’t care what I say / I don’t want to follow in old footsteps / I don’t want to be a meek little pawn in the games they play / I want to march in the street / I want to hold up a sign / with millions of women with passion like mine / I want to shout it out loud / in the wide open light.”

While Carrie is content to set up pleasant meetings with President Woodrow Wilson (Grace McLean) that are either nonproductive or canceled, Alice has no patience, demanding that action happen immediately. After seeing Ruza give a rousing speech at a workers rally, Alice asks her to join their movement. “Look, I want no part of your polite little suffragette parlor games,” Ruza says. Alice responds, “Well, that’s perfect, because when we take on a tyrant, we burn him down.”

One of the most troubling aspect of the fight for twentieth-century women’s suffrage is its relationship with Black-led racial justice and civil rights movements. Suffs does not ignore the issue and instead makes it a major plot point. When Black journalist and activist Ida B. Wells’s (Nikki M. James) offers to bring her group to join the march, Alice initially rejects her, fearing that southern white donors will pull their funding, but Ida won’t take no for an answer.

“I’m not only here for the march,” Ida tells Alice and the others. “My club has also come to agitate for laws against lynching; my people cannot vote if they are hanging from trees.” She also proclaims in the showstopper “Wait My Turn”: “You want me to wait my turn? / To simply put my sex before my race / Oh! Why don’t I leave my skin at home and powder up my face? / Guess who always waits her turn? / Who always ends up in the back? / Us lucky ones born both female and black.”

Despite the march’s surprising success, the suffragists still have their work cut out for them if they are going to convince the powers that be that women deserve the right to vote.

Inez Milholland (Hannah Cruz) leads the charge for women’s right to vote in Suffs (photo by Joan Marcus)

Taub’s (Twelfth Night, As You Like It) lively score, with wonderful orchestrations by Michael Starobin, and sharp lyrics keep the show moving at a fast pace, matching Alice’s determination to break down political malaise by getting things done ASAP. Tony nominee Leigh Silverman (Merry Me, Grand Horizons) directs with a stately hand that never lets the energy slow down.

Taub fully embodies Alice, a fierce, driven fighter you would want on your side no matter the issue. Tony nominee Colella (Come from Away, Urban Cowboy) is a terrific foil as Carrie; their battles are reminiscent of those between Gloria Steinem and Phyllis Schlafly over the ERA in the 1970s — which Alice also was a part of. Tony winner James (The Book of Mormon, A Bright Room Called Day) brings down the house with “Wait My Turn,” and, in their Broadway debuts, Bonino is lovable as Lucy, Blanck (Octet, Alice by Heart) is a force as Ruza, Cruz rides high as Inez, Dandashi is sweet as the nerdy Doris, and Tsilala Brock adds a sly touch as Dudley Malone, President Wilson’s chief of staff.

As in Jordans and Sally & Tom, Taub’s Suffs explores various aspects of race- and gender-based discrimination, and each offers a very different conclusion.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

SUNSET BABY

Nina (Moses Ingram) and her father, Kenyatta (Russell Hornsby), meet for the first time in years in Sunset Baby (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

SUNSET BABY
The Pershing Square Signature Center
The Romulus Linney Courtyard Theatre
480 West 42nd St. between Tenth & Eleventh Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through March 10, $49-$119
212-244-7529
signaturetheatre.org

“History is bullshit. Only thing matters is the present. The past don’t do a damn thing but keep you chokin’ on bad memories,” Damon (J. Alphonse Nicholson) says in Steve H. Broadnax III’s blistering revival of Dominique Morisseau’s Sunset Baby at the Signature.

Family legacy is at the heart of the play, which debuted in 2013 from the LAByrinth Theater Company. It’s the early 2000s in East New York, where Nina (Moses Ingram), teaming up with Damon, dresses up like a street hooker to sell drugs and steal from people. Nina’s mother, 1960s radical civil rights activist Ashanti X, has died, leaving behind a stack of love letters she wrote but never sent to Nina’s father, Kenyatta Shakur (Russell Hornsby), while he was in prison. Academics, publishing companies, and the press are after the letters and are willing to pay good money for them, but then Kenyatta shows up at his daughter’s doorstep, claiming he just wants to read them.

Nina, who was named after singer, composer, and activist Nina Simone, doesn’t trust this man, whom she considers a stranger; they haven’t seen each other in decades since he left. But Damon, always on the lookout for a deal, is interested in hearing what Kenyatta has to offer.

Several times during the play, Kenyatta stands alone, making a camcorder video that is projected on three screens. (The stark projections are by Katherine Freer.) In the first one, he essentially introduces the topics that the story will touch on. He says, “Fatherhood. Complex. Complicated. An abstract concept. Not clearly definable. Stages. For sure there are stages. Levels of its affectiveness. Affectionless. Manhood. Confusion. Preparedness. Lack of preparation. Funding. Resources. Instructions. No instructions. Child support. Life being run by child support. Drama. Suffocation. Lots of suffocation. Guilt. Lots of guilt. Incompetency. Freedom. Freedom lost. Freedom never acquired. Fear. Lots of fear. Decades and decades of fear. Lifetime of fear. Lifetime of fear. Fear. Fear.”

Damon praises Kenyatta’s activist past and sees the two of them as somewhat similar, telling him, “The fuck-the-government, disrupt capitalism, develop-our-own-economy type shit. I’m with it. Believe in that cause myself. My line of work is a little different, but same principles.”

Damon has a son of his own with another woman; the relationship is one of potential abandonment, echoing Kenyatta’s abandonment of Nina. “When a man wants to spend time with his child, shouldn’t be not a goddamn thing that gets in his way,” she tells Damon. She dreams of saving enough money to leave New York City for Europe, and Damon seems ready to go anywhere with her, thinking they are an inseparable Bonnie and Clyde. But nothing for Nina has ever been easy.

Nina (Moses Ingram) and Damon (J. Alphonse Nicholson) make plans for a better life in Signature revival (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

Sunset Baby recalls Suzan-Lori Parks’s 2001 Pulitzer Prize–winning Topdog/Underdog, in which two brothers contemplate their fate in their cramped, tiny apartment in a rooming house, one a petty thief, the other a bluesman portraying Abraham Lincoln at an arcade, both holding on to a small inheritance their mother left them. Nina lives in a tiny, cluttered studio apartment with decaying walls and the bathroom down the hall; however, where Arnulfo Maldonado’s set for the recent Broadway revival of Topdog/Underdog was claustrophobic, penning the characters in like a kind of prison, Wilson Chin’s set for Sunset Baby is more open, suggesting that Nina may be able to escape and seize the freedom she so desires. Emilio Sosa’s costumes delineate Nina from the two men in her life; Kenyatta and Damon wear ordinary, everyday jeans, shirts, and jackets, while Nina puts on glittery and shiny red and blue tight-fitting outfits, fancy boots, and any of a number of long wigs, only occasionally relaxing on her couch without all the glitz of the street.

Songs by Simone, who died in 2003 at the age of seventy, are scattered throughout the show, including “Love Me or Leave Me” (“My baby don’t care for shows / My baby don’t care for clothes / My baby just cares for me”), “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” (“I’m just a soul whose intentions are good / Oh, Lord, please, don’t let me be misunderstood”), and “Feeling Good” (“Stars when you shine, you know how I feel / Scent of the pine, you know how I feel / Oh, freedom is mine / And I know how I feel”), the tunes moving from the background to the foreground, lifting through the theater, courtesy of co–sound designers Curtis Craig and Jimmy “J. Keys” Keys.

Kenyatta (Russell Hornsby) tries to explain himself in a series of videos in Dominique Morisseau revival (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

Broadnax III (Thoughts of a Colored Man, The Hot Wing King) lets Morisseau’s (Skeleton Crew, Confederates) rhythmic, potent dialogue sing; words flow out of Nicholson (Paradise Blue, A Soldier’s Play) like music. Hornsby (King Hedley II, Fences) is convincing as the complicated Kenyatta, who always seems to be holding something back. And Emmy nominee Ingram (The Queen’s Gambit, The Tragedy of Macbeth), in her off-Broadway debut, is a powerhouse as Nina, a woman desperate to break free of the legacy that weighs her down.

In a program note, the Detroit-born Morisseau writes that when Sunset Baby debuted at the LAByrinth, it was only her second professionally produced play in New York City, her father was still alive, and she was “not yet a mother. Only a daughter.” But this revival has given her new insight into herself and activist movements, “that they are complex and most people can only understand the trauma from the side they are on, never from the assumed opposition.” She also points out, “My father believed in revolution so much that he espoused it on a daily. Our answering machine message would end with ‘long live the revolution.’ It took many years for me to understand what that meant to him. And then what it meant to me.”

That explanation lends underlying meaning to the relationship between parents and children when Nina declares to Damon, “I don’t need to be part of a revolution. I don’t want a movement or a cause. I don’t want a hustle or no fast money. I want a home. I want somewhere I can walk into my space and not have to look over my shoulder or hold my breath. I want some kids of my own. . . . I wanna sit in the horizon somewhere and watch the sun rise and set. I never even saw a fuckin’ sunset! I am not alive here. I am not alive in this chaos — you hear me? I do not want this shit no more.”

Nina just wants to be understood in a world that insists on defining her, but in Sunset Baby, Morisseau gives her voice and has it rise to the rafters and beyond.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

BALDWIN AND BUCKLEY AT CAMBRIDGE

James Baldwin (Greig Sargeant) and William F. Buckley (Ben Jalosa Williams) face off about the American dream at the Public (photo by Joan Marcus)

BALDWIN AND BUCKLEY AT CAMBRIDGE
Anspacher Theater, the Public Theater
425 Lafayette St. at Astor Pl.
Tuesday through Sunday through October 23, $60-$70
212-539-8500
publictheater.org

During the pandemic lockdown, I watched the american vicarious’s virtual Debate: Baldwin vs Buckley, a sharp re-creation of the famous debate between liberal Black author James Baldwin and conservative white author William F. Buckley that was held at the University of Cambridge in England on February 18, 1965, addressing the question “Has the American Dream been achieved at the expense of the American Negro?” Presented in collaboration with BRIC, the show premiered in person at the Great Room at A.R.T./New York in March 2022 and continues its five-borough tour October 10 at the Old Stone House and November 11 at the Queens Theater. The online performances took place on a dark, spare stage with Baldwin (Teagle F. Bougere) and Buckley (Eric T. Miller) on either side of a small table; the in-person play moved the proceedings to a wood-paneled conference room with a black-and-white television occasionally showing clips of the original debate.

I also watched that original debate, which can be found on YouTube. It is a thrilling event, as mostly white male students in suits and ties pack the Cambridge Union; there’s barely room for the two main competitors to walk to their places at their opposing lecterns. The multiple cameras cut between the crowd and close-ups of Baldwin, in a narrow tie, and Buckley, in a bowtie, as they state their cases and react to each other’s points.

When I heard that Elevator Repair Service, one of the city’s most adventurous and daring companies for more than thirty years, was doing its own version, titled Baldwin and Buckley at Cambridge, at the Public’s Anspacher Theater, I was excited by the possibilities; ERS has previously staged unique interpretations of such classics as The Sound and the Fury, The Seagull, Ulysses, Measure for Measure, and The Great Gatsby (the eight-hour Gatz). Alas, perhaps I was expecting too much.

James Baldwin (Greig Sargeant) and Lorraine Hansberry (Daphne Gaines) have a drink while discussing racism in Baldwin and Buckley at Cambridge (photo by Joan Marcus)

Directed by ERS founding artistic director John Collins, Baldwin and Buckley at Cambridge turns out to be, more or less, a straightforward adaptation of the debate, with small little touches. The introductions by Cambridge students David Heycock (Gavin Price) and Jeremy Burford (Christopher-Rashee Stevenson) are delivered in contemporary dress (the costumes are by Jessica Jahn) and include a land acknowledgment and references to the Public, which opened on Lafayette St. in 1967. Heycock quotes Martin Luther King Jr. and shares frightening numbers about voting and prison that immediately bring to mind current attempts at voter suppression and the Black Lives Matter movement. Burford argues that “the American dream has been very important indeed in furthering civil rights and in furthering freedom for the American Negro,” a controversial statement, especially as delivered by Stevenson, who is Black. (Price is white.)

The bulk of the show are the two long monologues by Baldwin and Buckley, portrayed by Greig Sargeant and Ben Jalosa Williams, respectively; neither actor tries to fully embody their character, although Williams throws in a few lines doing a mock impression of the erudite Buckley’s upper-class accent. Although the words resonate with what is happening today, I wasn’t grabbed by the proceedings. Perhaps it was because I was too familiar with it all, having so recently seen the american vicarious version and the original. It also felt distant; the 1965 debate was filled to the gills with students, shoulder to shoulder in chairs and on the floor, while at the Anspacher we were sitting quietly in our seats, experiencing a fictionalized play, not actual history.

The play did not end with the conclusion of the debate; ERS adds a coda that initially stirred me but eventually left me confused. The brief scene takes place in a living room (the sets are by dots), where Baldwin is joined by his good friend, playwright Lorraine Hansberry (Daphne Gaines), as they discuss four hundred years of racism and the need for societal change. “We’ve got to sit down and rebuild this house,” Baldwin says. “The charge of impatience is simply unbearable,” Hansberry explains.

Mixing past and present, they then turn into Sargeant (who conceived the project) and Gaines, the actors, who recall working together at the Public in ERS’s The Sound and the Fury and discuss white and Black casting. While they make interesting points, reminding us how far we still have to go, it felt tacked on to score sociopolitical points; it also made me think about how Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun, which deals with a Black family in 1959 trying to find the American dream, is playing now in the Public’s Newman Theater.

TWILIGHT: LOS ANGELES, 1992

Karl Kenzler, Elena Hurst, Wesley T. Jones, Tiffany Rachelle Stewart, and Francis Jue star in reimagining of Anna Deavere Smith’s Twilight (photo by Joan Marcus)

TWILIGHT: LOS ANGELES, 1992
The Pershing Square Signature Center
The Irene Diamond Stage
480 West 42nd St. between Tenth & Eleventh Aves.
Tuesday-Sunday through November 21, $35-$70
212-244-7529
www.signaturetheatre.org

Anna Deavere Smith has brilliantly reimagined her 1993 one-woman show, Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992, for this moment in time, for a cast of five portraying more than two dozen characters, all involved in some way in the LA riots that followed the Rodney King verdict nearly thirty years ago. Originally scheduled to premiere in the spring of 2020 as part of Smith’s residency at the Signature Theatre, which began in October 2019 with a superb remount of her 1992 solo show, Fires in the Mirror, about the Crown Heights riots, Twilight has been updated and expanded to include references to the murders of Eric Garner and George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter movement.

In the nearly three decades since Deveare Smith created the work, a number of different productions have tackled it. In 2001, the play was turned into a film with Deavere Smith as part of PBS’s Great Performances series. During the pandemic, a virtual edition of the play was performed by twenty-one students at the Roxbury Latin School in Massachusetts, and a one-woman version starring Jazzma Pryor ran at Evanston’s Fleetwood-Jourdain Theatre in September. The Signature released a short Zoom preview in July with a slightly different cast that failed to capture the scope and majesty of the final product, which opened at last on the Irene Diamond Stage at the Pershing Square Signature Center on November 1.

The play is exceptionally performed by Elena Hurst, Francis Jue, Wesley T. Jones, Karl Kenzler, and Tiffany Rachelle Stewart, using verbatim dialogue accumulated by Smith from 320 interviews with subjects ranging from King’s aunt Angela, former LA police commissioner Stanley K. Sheinbaum, store owner and gunshot victim Walter Park, gang truce organizer Twilight Bey, and author and professor Elaine Kim to attorney Charles Lloyd, community activist Gina Rae aka Queen Malkah, semitruck driver and beating victim Reginald Denny, liquor store owner Jay Woong Yahng, and Congresswoman Maxine Waters. Taibi Magar directs with a captivating ferocity.

Elvira Evers (Tiffany Rachelle Stewart) is one of dozens of characters who share their thoughts about the Rodney King riots in Smith play (photo by Joan Marcus)

LAPD officer Ted Briseno, one of four cops accused of beating Rodney King, laments that his children might not look up to him as a hero anymore. An anonymous juror in the King trial says that members of the jury have received letters from the KKK asking them to join after they acquitted the officers. Real estate agent Elaine Young talks about how she was safe and sound in Beverly Hills and explains how she “was such a victim” because of all her cosmetic facial surgeries.

Sgt. Charles Duke of the LAPD’s special weapons and tactics unit, testifying for the defense, supports the use of control holds, or chokeholds, despite evidence that it kills suspects, primarily Black men. Discussing his own run-in with bigoted policemen, sculptor and painter Rudy Salas Sr. says, “I grew up with the idea that whites, are . . . Physically . . . I still got that, see that’s a prejudice that whites are physically . . . inferior, physically afraid of minorities. People of color, Blacks, and Mexicans. It’s a physical thing,
It’s a mental, mental thing that they’re physically afraid. But you see I still have that prejudice against whites. (But.) I’m not a racist!”

Reginald Denny co-assailant Keith Watson declares, “You got to realize the not guilty verdicts was heavy on everybody’s mind. I followed the trial cause I wanted to see if justice works and on that particular day justice didn’t work.” Free the LA Four Plus defense committee chairperson Paul Parker exclaims, “Basically, it’s that you as Black people ain’t takin’ this shit no more. Even back in slavery. ’Cause I saw Roots when I was young. My dad made sure. He sat us down in front of that TV when Roots came on, so it’s embedded in me since then. And just to see that, eh, eh! This is for Kunta! This is for Kizzy! This is for Chicken George! Now we got some weapons, we got our pride, we holdin’ our heads up and our chest out. We like, yeah, brother, we did this!” Former LA Times journalist Hector Tobar returns for a 2021 interview that places the events of 1992 in a contemporary context.

The actors perform on a central platform, occasionally using a chair or table. They change clothing quickly, either in the wings or right onstage. At one point, dozens of costumes are dumped on the floor, evoking the disarray during the riots. Often, as one monologue is finishing, the actor for the next segment walks up to the platform in silhouette. (The effective set is by Riccardo Hernández, with costumes by Linda Cho, lighting by Alan C. Edwards, sound by Darron L West, and projections by David Bengali.)

Each character is identified by accompanying text, along with the title of that segment; for example, “The words of Elaine Brown, former chairwoman of the Black Panther Party, ‘Bad’” and “The words of Daryl Gates, former chief of Los Angeles Police Department, ‘It’s awful hard to break away.’” Archival video footage of the riots, including the beatings of King and Denny, are shown on a pair of video monitors at the right and left as well as the back screen, immersing the audience in the horrific events of 1992–93, which look all too familiar in 2021.

Francis Jue is one of five actors portraying multiple characters in Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992 at the Signature (photo by Joan Marcus)

I was deeply moved by Deavere Smith’s solo Broadway version, which ran at the Cort Theatre in 1994, but this new Signature iteration blew me away. Running more than two hours with an intermission, Twilight flies by at a relentless, furious pace, a nonstop parade of individuals directly and indirectly discussing systemic racism, police brutality, anti-Asian hate, classism, journalistic biases, government indifference, and looting. “Oh yes, I am angry! It is all right to be angry!” Congresswoman Maxine Waters proclaims. “The fact of the matter is, whether we like it or not, riot is the voice of the unheard,” echoing what Waters and others have said about the rash of Black men killed by white police officers this century.

In a program note, Deavere Smith explains that the play is very much about gathering, about diverse people coming to the table despite their differences, ready to talk — and to listen. In the play’s most theatrical and involving scene, “A Dinner Party That Never Happened,” Brown, Parker, Rev. Tom Choi of the Westwood Presbyterian Church, Asian American man Jin Ho Lee, Chez Panisse chef Alice Waters, and former New Jersey senator Bill Bradley sit down at a table, eating and drinking while appearing to speak to one another. (At the performance I attended, one of the actors accidentally knocked over a glass of wine, and as several other cast members wiped it up, staying in character, it made me think of a ritual spilling of wine, an apt metaphor for what was happening onstage.)

Two-time Tony nominee and Pulitzer finalist Deavere Smith (House Arrest, Let Me Down Easy) and Obie winner Magar (Blue Ridge, Is God Is) have woven together a pseudo-conversation from the individual transcripts, in which the participants discuss responsibility, roots, justice, Saddam Hussein, commitment, and community. “I’m saying that these are the long haul,” Brown explains. “We just be thrown back and we will be twenty more years trying to figure out what happened to Martin, Malcolm, and the Black Panther Party.” It’s now nearly thirty years later and, sadly, as Twilight reveals, we are still trying to figure that out.

FREE UPTOWN SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK: SEIZE THE KING

Classical Theatre of Harlem’s Seize the King offers a unique update on the Bard’s Richard III (photo © Richard Termine)

SEIZE THE KING
Marcus Garvey Park, Richard Rodgers Amphitheater
Through July 29, free (no RSVP necessary), 8:30
www.cthnyc.org

There’s a lot you won’t find in Seize the King, Will Power’s modern-day reimagination of Shakespeare’s Richard III, being staged by the Classical Theatre of Harlem at the Richard Rodgers Amphitheater in Marcus Garvey Park through July 29. There’s no mention of a discontented winter, proving to be a villain, or horses to trade for a kingdom. Writer Power and director Carl Cofield have streamlined the timeless story about the hunger for power to ninety minutes, performed by five actors portraying more than a dozen and a half roles; don’t wait around for Clarence, the Duchess of York, Queen Margaret, Sir William Catesby, Sir James Tyrrell, Henry Tudor, or the Archbishop of Canterbury to take the stage. But what you will find in the triumphant production is an exciting updating of a tale that’s all too familiar and one that keeps repeating itself. “When he comes back, will thou be ready?” the audience is asked at the end. “Can you keep the devil down in the hole?”

Seize the King begins with the death of the beloved King Edward IV, leaving his young son, Edward V (Alisha Espinosa), as heir to the throne. Edward’s brother, Richard (Ro Boddie), the Duke of Gloucester, was named to be the twelve-year-old Edward’s Lord Protector, but Lord Hastings (RJ Foster) doesn’t trust him, with good reason, as Richard believes that he should be the next king. Hastings tells him, “Edward intended for you to be Lord Protector / Still, his true intention is to insure that his son in two years’ time / Be crowned the reigning king of all, none other but him.” Richard answers curtly, “Of course.” Hastings emphasizes, “Only him.” Richard responds, “Yes, only him,” but he is already plotting his nephew’s demise.

Sides are drawn, with Lord Hastings defending Edward V and his mother, Queen Woodville (Andrea Patterson), while Richard eventually convinces an unsure Lord Buckingham (Carson Elrod) to join him. Richard attempts to woo Lady Anne Neville (Espinosa), the widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, to his cause, addressing her while she is taking a bath. “Sweet you are, love I my syrup thick / Allow me to pour this sweet over your / Stack Pancakes, but much more than pleasures,” he says. The wealthy Lady Anne is on to him immediately but is ready to make a deal. “What need I for you? / Come now, let’s talk bidness. / What offer you?” she declares. “You thought your sweet words would be enough? / Please, I got big jocks jockin’ all the time for these vast lands.”

As all roads lead to Bosworth Field, Power sprinkles in references to Fat Albert, Stairmaster, eating sushi with a fork, birth control, and Mother Teresa as well as to other Shakespeare plays and contemporary politics. “England first,” Buckingham proclaims to the people as if he’s speaking to a MAGA crowd. He crows, “Since good Edward Four ascended to / Heavenly orbs. Now what surrounds us? / Foreign heathens that take ours / Immigrants invade while we sit jobless / They up up up the ladder, up the stairs / While we, at dreadful base, now we step — oh / Now the stairs rickety, they are unusable / Cracked is the wood, trapped are we at base / We now at foot and they at head / Imagine the crown worn by them / And we rebuild stairs for them to ascend.”

Power (Stagger Lee, Steel Hammer), an actor, rapper, teacher, and hip-hop theater pioneer, and actor, teacher, and director Cofield (One Night in Miami, Dutchman), the associate artistic director of the company, previously collaborated on Power’s play The Seven, and they are in sync on Seize the King, balancing the old and the new with an occasional slip toward pedagogy and goofiness. The play, which had its world premiere in August 2018 at La Jolla Playhouse, takes place on Christopher and Justin Swader’s crooked stage, effectively lit by Alan C. Edwards, evoking rampant corruption and Richard’s state of mind; Brittany Bland’s projections range from scenes of war and protest to shimmering water and emphasis on a large crack in the back wall. Samantha Shoffner’s props, including a bathtub, a topiary, and a memorial table, are wheeled on and off by either the actors or dancers Daniela Funicello, Tracy Dunbar, Jenny Hegarty Freeman, Hannah Gross, and Alisa Gregory, who perform Tiffany Rea-Fisher’s lovely choreography to interstitial music by sound designer Frederick Kennedy, from Baroque to hip-hop.

Mika Eubanks seems to have had a ball designing the costumes, especially Queen Woodville’s — she’s styled like Beyoncé — and Richard’s coronation robe, which gets its own scene, proudly exhibited by Greygor the tailor (Foster), who explains, “Look this, crimson cloth of maggot Kermes / Peeled from trees of oak to retrieve the reddish juice / Insect bodies dried out to produce dye / Human bodies dried out to produce cloth / Blood-red pure crimson death to give life / All sacrifice for him no matter cost.”

Boddie plays Richard with a limp but is always standing tall, not hunched over, and is more handsome than the wicked Gloucester is usually portrayed. Foster is terrific as Hastings, a steadfast and honest man, Reverend Shaw, whose piety is for sale, and Greygor, who appears to have walked out of an episode of Pose. Patterson and Espinosa delight in their characters’ verbal battles with Richard, but it’s Elrod who nearly steals the show in multiple roles, from the well-meaning Buckingham and the chorus to a wise gardener and a royal servant who has an unusual message for Hastings and the Queen: “Uh, well, I wasn’t supposed to deliver nothing further but I did hear him say ‘The Queen ain’t shit! I’ma prune her ass’ or something to that effect.” You won’t find that in Shakespeare’s original text.