|
ATC Explores The Decline Of The Harlem Renaissance.
By Margaret Regan
UP IN HARLEM in the '20s things were hopping. Operating
as a kind of mini-Promised Land for African Americans, Harlem
sounded a siren for writers like Langston Hughes, whose Harlem
poems about the black experience (remember "A Raisin in the
Sun"?), are some of the best ever written on the subject.
Incubated in the southern juke joints, jazz and the blues had
metamorphosed into an urbane music. Their new rhythms were shaking
at the Cotton Club, drawing even the whites uptown. Streams of
impoverished southern immigrants flooded Harlem, but there was
a new optimism among black social activists, including the Rev.
Adam Clayton Powell, who preached social change from the Abyssinian
Baptist Church. A forward-looking black middle class, doctors
and teachers and lawyers, settled into the elegant brownstones.
This was the Harlem Renaissance, and its biggest problem was
that it lasted too short a time. Pearl Cleage's wonderful play
Blues for an Alabama Sky takes a look at the Renaissance
in decline, when the 1930s Depression clamped down on Roaring
Twenties glee, when the money for the clubs dried up, when the
artists started to scatter. Exquisitely staged by director Timothy
Bond and impeccably acted by a troupe of five, Blues is
offered by the Arizona Theatre Company at the Temple of Music
and Art. Written by a gifted storyteller, it's as euphoric and
melancholic as Harlem itself.
Atlanta playwright Cleage has said that she's not a historian.
So while the real-life Hughes and Powell and faraway Josephine
Baker hover offstage like unseen heroes, the play's on-stage characters
come straight out of Cleage's imagination. Minor players of the
fading Renaissance, her people congregate around the tiny first-floor
flats of a Harlem brownstone.
Two of them migrated North together from back-water Savannah,
and they've hitched their fates to the district's disintegrating
clubs. Timothy McCuen Piggee is a joy as Guy, a gay costume designer
who improbably dreams of designing in Paris for Baker. He even
keeps a photo of his beloved Josephine in a kind of shrine, just
across the bed from the sewing machine. Flamboyant, hilarious
and utterly compassionate, Guy takes care of the seductive Angel,
a down-on-her-luck singer who tends to rate men by how willing
they are to pay her rent. Trish McCall plays Angel with a deft
ambiguity, moving by turns from insolence to anguish. One minute
she arches her body to show her delectable wares, the next she's
crumpled by emotional pain, with sorrow flickering delicately
across her face.
A couple of tentative lovers labor in Harlem's social services.
Amiable Johnny Lee Davenport is Sam, a devoted doctor too easily
lured by the booze and muses of the nightclubs. He's a good man,
though at 40 he's been too long a loner who shuffles through life
in rumpled suits. The radiant Kwana Martinez plays Delia, the
buttoned-up young woman who lives across the hall from the hard-drinking
Guy and Angel. An earnest young social worker and devotee of Rev.
Powell, Delia wants to preach the gospel of birth control to Harlem's
poverty-stricken fertile.
Into the midst of this unlikely quartet walks a classic dramatic
device, a gentleman caller made hunky flesh in the form of Leland
(Adrian Bethea). A conservative Christian from Deep South Alabama,
Leland has the off-the-wall idea to take Angel for his wife. She
just might let him, hardworking provider that he would be. But
while he claims to love her, Leland abhors the slippery city values
that Angel and her friends represent, whether its Delia's proselytizing
for sinful birth control or the utterly appalling homosexuality
of Guy.
Cleage is too good a writer to make any of these characters all
good or all bad. Leland is as rigid as they come, but he's an
honest man, and you have to respect his willingness to take responsibility
in life. It would be too easy to peg Angel as a purely downtrodden
woman, and Cleage doesn't let her off the hook for the wrongs
she commits. Their conflicts make an interesting counterpoint
to the mythology of the free-wheeling Harlem Renaissance. Not
everybody approved of the new social experiments. Clearly there
was (and is) a strain of conservatism among American blacks, much
of it church-linked. In the play it manifests itself not only
in the torching of Delia's clinic, but in the slow smoldering
of Leland's rage.
It's surprising to find the late 20th-century cultural wars over
sexuality and reproduction rearing their ugly heads in a play
set in 1930, but Cleage's tale argues persuasively that this American
rift goes back a long ways. In our tiresome contemporary debates,
though, left is always left and right is always right. It's one
of the many pleasure of Blues for an Alabama Sky that not
once do any of the deliciously complex characters get reduced
to a party line.
Arizona Theatre Company's Blues for an Alabama Sky
continues through Saturday, January 30, at the Temple of Music
and Art, 330 S. Scott Ave. Performances are daily, except
Monday and Tuesday, January 25 and 26. Tickets range from $19
to $28. For information, call 884-4877. For reservations,
call 622-2823.
|
|