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Whit Davis

Grief tests Black women’s friendship in ‘Long Time Since Yesterday’ at Howard

by Whit Davis

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts, here.

What happens when life doesn’t turn out as planned? What happens when the promise of always being friends is fractured? Why does it take grief to make us realize what we have? Long Time Since Yesterday by P.J. Gibson, directed by theater student Naynna Hollins, explores these questions through the friendship between six Black women brought back together by a tragic death. The Howard Players revitalize a lesser-known but essential play for their Next Up! Play Festival featuring student-led productions that spotlight the developing artists of the Department of Theatre at Howard University in the Al Freeman Jr. Environmental Theatre Space.

The death of Jeneen (Emil White) reunites college classmates Laveer (senior Jazmine Manfrum), Babbs (Jadah Evelyn Clay), Thelma (Nadira Davis), Panzi (Rebecca Celeste), and Alisa (senior Jayson Roman Broadnax). We find the group gathered together in the home Jeneen shared with her husband. As they reminisce and reflect on who she was or who they thought she was, her suicide unearths deeply held hurts as Babbs admits that she has felt at her lowest despite possessing beauty that people associate with happiness and desirability. She drinks and pacifies herself with jokes and humor, which acts as the thread line through a heartwrenching story. Like Jeneen, Babbs is lonely. Thelma feels ugly despite her achievements. Alisa believes her braggadocious verbosity about her husband and her success cover up her lost sense of self. Panzi is too busy projecting her anger at Laveer to hold space for her feelings about being misunderstood. And Laveer boasts of being a free-spirited artist who is without rooted connections.

Through flashbacks, we learn that the friendship was the strongest between Laveer and Jeneen, but after graduation, a conflict between Laveer and Panzi caused a rift between Jeneen and Laveer. A friendship they both promised would last forever is torn apart. Years later the death of Jeneen’s father brings them back together, back to their promise. The interwoven flashbacks reveal secrets between Jeneen and Panzi, and Jeneen and her husband. The transitions between the flashbacks and the present have perfect timing and are clearly defined so that the story never loses its rhythm, and the audience easily follows the timeline. When the lights dim on the cast, we know we enter a flashback as the spotlight hovers above Jeneen to give her a ghost-like presence.

Who was Jeneen? This question becomes a focal point as each friend except Panzi believes her to be innocent, shy, and childlike. They made little room for her to be big, imperfect, sad, and a 30-something-year-old woman with needs. In an intimate conversation with Laveer, Jeneen reveals the haunting of judgmental voices in her head. She may have lived a life she never truly wanted, while her friends are left to grapple with this truth.

The tension as thick as fog on a crisp fall morning fills the home between Laveer and Panzi until it drowns everyone, and the only way to make it to the surface is to swallow the bitterness of truth. This climatic moment reveals secrets that were ultimately too heavy for Jeneen to live with. These secrets are too heavy for even the living to deal with.

The cast does a fantastic job wrestling with themes of grief, love, and identity in an intimately set black box theater with minimal set design and carefully placed props like a couch and a bookshelf. White’s performance seems to pull from a personal place deep within as she honors Jeneen’s pain. She captures the rollercoaster of emotions felt by Jeneen, moving from joy to despair. Her tears and facial expressions can easily be another character in the story. Celeste’s presence is powerful. With each line she recites, they land eloquently and with ease. She becomes Panzi. Clay has remarkable comedic timing as Babbs. A play this heavy needs humor, and she delivers. The entire cast surrenders to the story.

The Howard Players productions are invaluable because they provide an opportunity for students to explore their talents and gifts. They share them with a community that believes in pursuing art as serious, rigorous, and meaningful work. To be nurtured in a space that values Black stories, Black storytellers, and Black spaces prepares these artists for a career where they may be the only ones. But they will not shrink; they will bloom.

In ‘Black Nativity’ at Howard University, new and upcoming talent shines

By Whit Davis

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts, here.

At the outset of the production of Langston Hughes’ Black Nativity at Howard University, I was immediately transported back home to the South Side of Chicago to the churches I attended in my youth. I suspect that Hughes’ goal was for this play to be experiential, a sort of journey home to the self, and the director Eric Ruffin is keenly aware of Hughes’ purpose with each scene intimately woven with Black gospel and hymns and choreography.

Black Nativity is the biblical story of how Jesus came into this world. A blessing bestowed upon Mary (Nia Potter) and Joseph (Yisrael Robinson) through God or All for humanity. Regardless of your faith, religion, or beliefs, this is a Holiday story to remind us of love and community and to explore the unique expressions of Blackness.

Howard University’s Theatre Department has a robust legacy launching the careers of such notable actors as Lynn Whitfield and Chadwick Boseman. So it’s no surprise that there are new and upcoming talents in this play who will undoubtedly leave their mark on theater, film, and television. The ensemble members of the cast gave performances worthy of gossip over Sunday dinner. Wynter Cook (senior BFA Musical Theatre major), Kendrick Jackson (sophomore Jazz Studies major, Voice concentration), and Jantanies Thomas (senior BFA Musical Theatre major) possess remarkable stage presence and have the vocals to match. Jackson is a triple threat: acting, singing, and dancing with such poise that one can tell he’s born to do this.

Black Nativity’s creative team shines through with each scene. The musical performances remind me of the best of Bobby Jones Gospel and the Stellar Awards, thanks to musical director Greg Watkins, music arranger/consultant e’Marcus Harper-Short, sound designer Michael Willis, and the band. The music flows in a call-and-response-like rhythm, drawing in the audience to clap their hands, stomp their feet, and do their dance. The choreography of Princess Mhoon (choreographer) and Daniel L. Moore (assistant choreographer) unleashes a magnetism of movement felt by the audience. The icing on the cake is the costumes transitioning from Act One biblical garments to what reads as ’90s clothes, similar to the album cover of Kirk Franklin and the Family in Act Two, all thanks to costume advisor Frankie Bethea and the costume crew.

There are a few shortcomings related to lighting, sound issues, and a slight shakiness in performances from the young actors finding their way. Yet none of these occurrences dim a light on the very entertaining and worthwhile production. Howard University continues to live up to its reputation for offering the world its best through Black Nativity!

Laughing and feeling our way to ‘The Mountaintop,’ at Round House Theatre

By Whit Davis

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

I’ve always wanted to sit with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on the mountaintop to gaze at the stars, to drink the Milky Way, and to pray silently to our ancestors. The mystery of Martin Luther King Jr.’s inner world has always been of great interest to me. Dr. King was a thoughtful writer. As much skill as he had on stages, in pulpits, in front of cameras, and on streets, he could command a page. His work lives with me like a ghost, gently haunting me to read more and better and then drown in his poetics. So much of his legacy is co-opted, repackaged, and sold by big corporations. They rework his image until he is more cotton candy than fire blazed to sundown towns.

Katori Hall’s play The Mountaintop (now playing at Round House Theatre) is a reminder, a wake-up call to all who think they know or knew King. She asks us to think, look, and listen again. She spars with our imagination. Her words land like Ali vs. Foreman. We’ve got to go deeper; no, we must go higher!

In The Mountaintop,  we find King, played by Ro Boddie, in his hotel room in Memphis at the Lorraine Motel the night before his assassination. He’s alone working on his speech, but only briefly before the arrival of a woman who, at first, seems to be merely a hotel staff member navigating her first day bringing King the coffee he requested from room service. An assumed brief encounter turns into a heartfelt, intimate conversation. Camae (Carrie Mae), as her character pronounces it, played by Renea S. Brown, is utterly hilarious. She’s quick-witted, outspoken, edgy, and lyrically weaves curse words together to tickle your insides. King’s character finds himself in awe of her beauty, her light, and the way she shows up authentically. He unsuspectingly lets his guard down, discards his God-like persona, and allows her to see him vulnerable.

Throughout the brilliantly woven dialogue, Hall suggestively allows us to feel the looming darkness as King keeps describing not feeling well. Camae is never alarmed by his remarks as they share cigarettes and secrets throughout the night. King is frightened of the loud thundering noise from the storm, and Camae is his unexpected comfort. At a critical moment, King’s paranoia raises its head, suspecting her of being a spook, resisting the calling to see her more deeply, more spiritually, out of fear, out of what he knows has been whispering his childhood name, Michael.

King and Camae both take command of the stage, supported by the set design of the hotel room, thanks to Paige Hathaway. The actors are both keenly aware of their mannerisms and the space they occupy. There’s something special about their performance. They share chemistry, trust each other, and know where the other ends and begins. Brown and Boddie are evenly matched in talent and build off each other with each line. The actors have great respect and seriousness for their roles. Boddie as King is powerful yet gentle. He makes King human. He brings him down to his details, to what makes a man, to the heart of what it means to be a person. Both actors are brilliant and deserve our witnessing, celebration, and acknowledgment for giving their all to this production.

TOP: Renea S. Brown (Camae) and Ro Boddie (Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.); ABOVE: Ro Boddie (Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.) and Renea S. Brown (Camae) in ‘The Mountaintop.’ Photos by Margot Schulman Photography.

After the climax, there is a sweet, honest moment between Camae and King, arguably where the play could have ended. Instead, Hall shifts us to a montage of Blackness, a dreamlike passing of the baton by King. This part of the production seems disjointed and whimsically too hopeful. What if Delicia Turner Sonnenberg’s directing deviated from Hall’s ending into something more cunning, daring, and shocking? I love celebrating our Blackness, but I’m interested in narratives that allow minds to travel to an abstract end. I wanted the audience to be responsible for reflecting and contending with going further into our inner world. Finding joy when the darkness King felt is still alive feels forced. I have to ask Hall, who did you write this ending for? America is still America. Yet, as I wrestle with Hall’s creative choices, which are inspiration from her mother, I cannot help but be thankful for her talent. She’s undeniably one of the best storytellers we have now. From the stage to television, she skillfully entertains and seduces our intellect.

The Mountaintop is mandatory viewing!

2023 Capital Fringe Review: ‘The Road to the End’ by Bella Panciocco

By Whit Davis

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

It’s been said that laughter is the best medicine. The Road to the End uses comedy to tell a story of grief and how we can use it to process our feelings. In 75 minutes the play examines themes of loss, grief, memories, friendship, bravery, and forgiveness.

What appears to be a fairly regular road trip to the Grand Canyon for a father and son, Steve and Henry, actually turns into something surprising. They pick up a hitchhiker by the name of Dabria. She helps the characters to peel back the layers of their rocky relationship. In many ways, Dabria and Henry are alike. They’re both travelers with heavy baggage who are looking to escape from the pain they’re feeling. Over the course of their journey, Henry and Dabria help each other make peace with their past and the people they love.

 The play uses two sets of characters for the past and present, which could have made the story difficult to follow, but the actors were very committed to their characters. The actors maintain the relational dynamics between the characters in the present and references to the past, and as a result, we always stay aware of the story.

I left this play reflecting on road trips, a seemingly mundane thing but a shared experience many of us can relate to.

If you’re interested in a quirky heartwarming story that confronts the sometimes complicated relationships between a child and their parent — especially an adult child and their parent — I recommend this play.

2023 Capital Fringe Review: ‘I could have set the world on fire’ by Shaun Michael Johnson

By Whit Davis

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts on July 18, 2023, here.

Can the accents of characters drive a story? I could have set the world on fire, making its debut at Capital Fringe, asks us to consider.

This play is for you if you love hearing a variety of accents and they make you laugh. Unfortunately, the play fails to inspire much beyond admiration for the accents of the performers.

The play centers around Ernest Williams, an American with a posh accent sharing his old stories of working in film from his hospital bed with his Southern belle ex-wife and their daughter. As Ernest recounts his life stories, he embellishes and tries to gloss over the anti-Black roles he felt obligated to accept if he wanted to have a career in showbiz. The play also taps into how anti-Black racism can wreck the body and how the healthcare system experiments on Black bodies.

 However funny the play attempts to be, the jokes don’t find a solid place to land. The accents do a lot of heavy lifting for the play by distracting from the plot’s flimsiness. Lying underneath are strong themes that don’t quite get the support they need. The dialogue doesn’t easily flow between the characters, and the lack of chemistry is evident among them making me wonder if the director and playwright understood each other’s goals. With competing levels of connection to their characters, the play is stuck in rehearsal.

The play could have set the festival on fire but instead does little more than make a case for the playfulness of accents.

‘The Bluest Eye’ at Theater Alliance honors a giant, Toni Morrison

By Whit Davis 

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

Since the passing of Toni Morrison in 2019, newer and younger audiences are gravitating toward her brilliant, canonical works. A world without Toni Morrison’s physical presence has caused all of us to reach for her through books, YouTube clips, documentaries, TikToks, and plays. The theatrical adaption of The Bluest Eye by Lydia R. Diamond is a remarkable jewel, and the local performance by Theater Alliance in Anacostia honors a giant.

The Bluest Eye is a story about a Black girl named Pecola Breedlove who prays for blue eyes so that she’ll be treated with a femininity only available to little white girls. Instead, she experiences abuse from those who should protect her, and she feels and believes that her “ugliness,” which is her Blackness, keeps her trapped in these horrifying experiences. This play is a true testament to the cruelty of anti-Blackness.

The Bluest Eye is worthwhile viewing. From the set design (by Tiffani I. Sydnor) to the costume design (by Danielle Preston), the audience gets a glimpse into what it looked like to grow up in the 1940s. The set reinforces the hardships of that era and the beauty of making the most out of what you have. The costume design reminds you of how much gendered ideas are a part of clothing. The expectation of the female characters is to be feminine and dainty, and yet they “should know better” when it comes to life lessons.

It can be tricky for adults to play children because not only are the actors expected to look younger in character, but they must also tap into their youthfulness — and this cast succeeds. Amiah Marshall captures the nature and pain of Pecola. Devin Nikki Thomas plays brilliantly Maureen Peal, the light-skinned classmate Pecola connects with — but only briefly because she turns out to be a mean girl. Thomas also transitions to playing a neighboring gossiping adult and is believable as both characters. Finally, Melanie A. Lawrence plays the narrating voice of the story, Claudia, a character both strengthened and shattered by everyone’s desire for whiteness as beauty.

The cast works well together, possessing the chemistry needed for a play with deep complexities of themes like anti-Blackness, colorism, poverty, abuse, and friendship. The actors seem close to the story and yet possess enough distance not to be swallowed by its power. Morrison’s works tend to have that effect.

The play is not without fault. It’s an adaptation turned into an interpretation by the director, Otis Cortez Ramsey-Zöe. Some scenes with mature content where abuse occurs feel more like scenes from The Three Stooges. Yet the trauma Pecola is experiencing remains concretely humorless due to the profound storytelling ability of Morrison.

The legacy of Toni Morrison stands tried and true. Her absence drives a longing for us all to become more deeply acquainted with her works, especially as she continues to be on the list of banned books. The Bluest Eye has solidified itself as a classic, and the stage adaptation reinforces its ability to be timeless no matter the form. It’s hard to do wrong with a work of art so close to perfection.

Stellar acting saves the day in ‘Clybourne Park’ at City of Fairfax Theatre Company

By Whit Davis

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

Sometimes the story is not the play; it’s the acting.

The performers in the City of Fairfax Theatre Company’s production of Clybourne Park prove that sometimes local community theater talent is on par with the pros. It is clear that director Chaz D. Pando spent intentional time casting the production, working on table reads, and guiding the team of skilled actors through rehearsal. The brilliant performances by the actors confirm that.

Unfortunately, despite Clybourne Park being a Tony and Pulitzer Award-winning play, I found it problematic. The play’s attempt to tackle topics like racism, gentrification, capitalism, homophobia, and sexism feels like a giant undertaking that was undermined by playwright Bruce Norris’ paper-thin stereotypical portrayal of the play’s Black characters.

Clybourne Park is meant to be a nod to the Pulitzer Prize-winning play A Raisin in the Sun by acclaimed playwright Lorraine Hansberry. The story continues where A Raisin in the Sun left off as the Youngers, a Black family, are about to move to a middle-class white neighborhood in 1959. In Clybourne Park, the vantage point is from the white family they’re purchasing their new home from and the other white neighbors trying to convince the current owners that they should not sell to a Black family. But bubbling underneath is a secret that has the present family deep in grief.

In Act II of the play, set in 2009, the house is dilapidated, undergoing a renovation by a young white yuppie family following the trend of gentrification as they receive pushback on the modifications they are trying to make to their new home on the Southside of Chicago. An argument ensues bringing the tension between them to the surface.

The actors turn this material on its head by embodying the characters so that you believe you have traveled to 1959 and 2009. You feel you’re in the house with them as the dialogue unfolds, partly due to the 1959 set design by Roger Ray and costume design by Remeja Murray. The 2009 set feels less realistic, with bright blue, red, and yellow graffiti that spells out the word cop.

In the play’s first act, Ann Brodnax plays the wife Bev, and Kevin Dykstra her husband Russ. Together they give you the homespun feeling you’d expect from a TV show set in 1959. In the second act (each actor in Clybourne Park reappears as a new character for the second act set in 2009), Brodnax returns as the quirky lawyer Kathy and Dykstra as a construction worker named Dan, providing a much-needed dose of humor to the story. Eric Kennedy takes on the part of the priest Jim with a recognizable Southern accent. In the play’s second act, he plays Tom, a lawyer wanting to appear laidback. Later, Kennedy tackles the part of Kenneth in a jarring flashback scene at the end of the play. Karl, played by Rob Gorman, is a nosy, racist neighbor who believes he is doing the right thing for his community by fighting against a Black family moving into the neighborhood. In the second act, Gorman mirrors his character, but this time as a more modern younger version, Steve, suggesting that preconceptions and bigotry pass down from generation to generation.

The two Black characters in the play fall into recognizable tropes: the Black woman with an attitude and an aggressive Black man. A white playwright, Norris appears to have little insight into the inner lives of Black people. He writes from a place of assumption and stereotypes. Khanner Hancock plays the quick-witted characters of Francine and Lena. Tokunbo Adedeinde portrays the characters Albert and Kevin, Black men who go along to get along until they become angry. It’s disappointing to see Black characters written without any character development. Despite the play’s shortcomings, these actors make the most of their roles by giving the audience memorable performances.

Clybourne Park was praised as a nod to A Raisin in the Sun when it won the Pulitzer Prize in 2011. But in 2023, its flat portrayal of Black characters makes it feel like an attempt by the playwright to attach himself to a notable play and use it as a vehicle to garner interest in his work.

In the end, you should see this play because of the performances by a stellar cast. They are a great reminder of the value of local theater. The acting can be the whole story, and the performances in the City of Fairfax Theatre Company’s production are truly the best part of Clybourne Park.