By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Eric Nicholson
How far will a man go to win back his own soul? That question drives the drama of two new productions, Jubilee Theatre'sJoe Turner's Come and Gone and Lyric Stage'sCabin in the Sky. Each tells the story of a troubled man who finds himself driven to the hinges of Hades. And in each it is the boundless faith of a good woman that brings him back and grants him grace.
Cabin in the Sky continues through October 21 at the Irving Arts Center. Call 972-252-2787.
The Glory of Living continues through October 22 at the Black Box at WaterTower Theatre. Call 972-450-6232.
There are other similarities shared by these two shows, including their casting of strong ensembles of local black actors, but there is one major difference. Only Joe Turner's Come and Gone, one of the earliest and finest plays by the late playwright August Wilson, really has a prayer of deeply touching the souls of its audience.
Set in 1911 Pittsburgh, Wilson's two-act drama unfolds around the busy kitchen table of a black-owned working-class boarding house. As landlady Bertha Holly, played with quiet intensity by Stormi Demerson, shovels fresh biscuits onto the boarders' plates, her husband Seth, played by wiry Lloyd W. L. Barnes Jr., frets endlessly over money. Always fearful of losing the house he owns, Seth works the night shift at a factory, then earns extra dollars making pots and pans out of sheet metal in his shed out back. His biggest customer is Rutherford Selig (Abel Baldazo Jr.), a peddler known as a "first-class people finder" for his detailed records of the whereabouts of black families living on his route between Pittsburgh and Memphis. For a dollar per request, Selig hunts down long-lost relatives, boasting a high rate of return.
The theme of personal identities and loved ones lost and found recurs throughout this work. Barely half a century removed from the Civil War, even the youngest residents of the Holly house carry the emotional scars of families separated by slavery. The most mysterious of the small group of boarders, glaze-eyed Herald Loomis (F. Carl Brown), was ripped away from his wife, Martha Pentecost, to endure seven years of forced labor under the notorious Joe Turner, a Tennessee plantation owner who kidnapped freed men and illegally enslaved them.
Loomis, with young daughter Zonia (Orlexia Thomas), has walked from town to town searching for Martha (Regina Washington). Turns out Seth Holly probably knows her whereabouts, but Loomis is so spooky he's not sure he wants to tell him. Loomis pays the peddler for help tracking her down and also enlists the house's resident "conjure man," Bynum Walker (Robert Rouse Jr.), who casts spells out in the yard and fills his pockets with voodoo-like charms and talismans.
Walker, unreeling long parables from his perch at the table, warns Loomis that he hasn't only lost a wife, he's also lost his soul, or his "song," thanks to the evil deeds of Joe Turner (whom we never see). "He's got you bound up to where you can't sing your own song. Couldn't sing it them seven years 'cause you was afraid he would snatch it from under you," Walker says.
Loomis' awakening from his numbed psychosis comes at the end of the play in a scene that combines religious fervor, a violent physical confrontation and the longed-for reunion of the man with his wife. It is soul-shattering and soul-saving and, under the direction of Jubilee's new artistic director Ed Smith, absolutely enthralling. What a pleasure to watch actors who trust each other not to overdo the big moments. They allow Wilson's wonderful words and some tense stretches of silence to draw the audience in.
The acting is more subtle, more disciplined than in previous productions here. Rouse, one of Jubilee's best-loved veterans, restrains his natural tendency toward broad comedy and makes his Bynum Walker a believable mystic able to calm the troubled spirit of Herald Loomis when no one else can reach him.
The beauty of August Wilson's writing in Joe Turner's Come and Gone is that it lives in the natural cadences of kitchen-table talk. The magic comes when Wilson takes the action out of the realm of realism and into the mystical. With seamless transitions, it's easy to get swept into the magnificent rush of the play's passionate messages about faith and redemption. It's Wilson at his best, and this production, the first of a series of Wilson plays Smith says he plans to produce at Jubilee, shows a company achieving new levels of artistic excellence.
Looks like there are valid reasons why this one fell into obscurity for 60 years. It's just not very good. The book by Lynn Root is talky and drab where it needs to be succinct and witty. The music by Vernon Duke and lyrics by John LaTouche tend toward the tuneless and forgettable. The one well-known number, "Takin' a Chance on Love," comes early in the first act, followed by a raft of songs whose melody lines wander so haphazardly that the singers have trouble keeping up.
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