Ain't No Mo'

B+

I am sorry that I was unable to score a ticket to Jordan E. Cooper’s funny, fierce satire about racism in America earlier in in its run at The Public Theater so I could have urged you to see it. Since it closes on May 5, I won’t take up much of your time with my remarks about it except to say that this 24-year-old recent graduate of The New School’s College of Performing Arts is a playwright to watch. 35 years after George C. Wolfe’s “The Colored Museum,” Cooper has written — and stars in — this collection of scenes from the African-American experience that are loosely tied together by the notion that all American blacks have, sometime in the not very distant future, been offered free one-way plane tickets to Dakar. Cooper plays Peaches, the assertive gate agent for Flight 1619, the final flight to Africa. The other five actors — Fedna Jacquet, Marchant Davis, Simone Recasner, Ebony Marshall-Oliver and Crystal Lucas-Perry — all fine, are unfortunately only identified as passengers 1 through 5, so it is difficult to single anyone out for special praise. They assume many roles in a series of scenes that take place in locations as varied as a funeral, an abortion clinic, the set of a “Housewives”-style reality show, the dining room of a wealthy assimilated black family and a prison. As often happens in a collection of this sort, the quality of the scenes varies widely, with more hits than misses. Even the weaker ones usually make up in energy what they lack in coherence. The scenic design by Kimie Nishikawa (The Light), the costumes by Montana Levi Blanco (Daddy) and the hair, wig and makeup design by Cookie Jordan all enhance the production substantially. Director Stevie Walker-Webb occasionally loses momentum near the end of the play. I was glad I caught it before it closed and look forward to seeing what Mr. Cooper does next. Running time: one hour 50 minutes; no intermission.

Cyprus Avenue

B-

This seems to be the season for importing harrowing plays with superb actors from across the pond. First we got “Girls & Boys,” a solo piece for Carey Mulligan that takes a very dark turn. Now The Public Theater is presenting this import from Dublin and London starring an actor too rarely seen here, Stephen Rea. “Girls & Boys” is a stroll in the park compared to this play. Rarely have I left a theater feeling so emotionally drained. David Ireland has written a very, very black comedy about a Belfast Protestant, Eric (Rea; Someone Who'll Watch Over Me, "Thr Crying Game"), who becomes obsessed with the idea that his infant granddaughter is the incarnation of archenemy IRA president Gerry Adams. Eric is a staunch Unionist who derives his sense of self from hatred toward Irish Catholics or, as he calls them, Fenians. He actually says “We are nothing without prejudice.” After verbally abusing his wife Bernie (Andrea Irvine) and daughter Julie (Amy Molloy) and menacing the baby, Eric is turned out of his own home. We learn his story in flashbacks during his conversations with his black psychologist Bridget (Ronke Adékoluejo). Be prepared to hear both the N word and the C word. While sitting on a park bench, Eric is accosted by Slim (Chris Corrigan), a Protestant paramilitary who mistakes him for a Fenian. Their extended scenes together are the best in the play. Each gets a remarkable soliloquy that exemplifies absurdism of a high order. The roles for the women, alas, are underwritten. While the details are about ethnic strife in Northern Ireland, the playwright is clearly using them to illustrate the all-too-relevant universal problem of demonizing the other and turning too readily to violence. At a certain point, the play crosses a line from black comedy to theater of cruelty. The last 20 or so minutes of the play were excruciating to sit through. I felt manipulated, exhausted and angry. The entire cast is strong, particularly Rea and Corrigan. Vicky Featherstone, artistic director of the Royal Court, successfuly gives equal attention to the two halves of the audience seated on opposite sides. The scenic and costume design by Lizzie Clachan (Yerma) is appropriately bland. It would have been helpful if the program had included a few notes, e.g., explaining that the UVF is a Protestant paramilitary group or that Cyprus Avenue is a prosperous Belfast street mentioned in a Van Morrison song. Whether the opportunity to see Stephen Rea in an absurdist play that is highly relevant to our world is worth sitting through the play’s shocking finale is a close call. Running time: one hour 40 minutes; no intermission.

The Low Road

B

Five years after its premiere at the Royal Court Theatre in London, this picaresque epic by Bruce Norris (The Pain and the Itch, Clybourne Park) has arrived in New York at the Public Theater. Jim Trewitt (Norris has changed the last name of the lead character from Trumpett so audiences would not think he was writing with our president in mind), played by Chris Perfetti (Six Degrees of Separation, Everybody), could be a mashup of Tom Jones, Candide and Michael Milken. Left on the doorstep of a brothel as a baby, he has been raised by the brothel owner Mrs. Trewitt (Harriet Harris, ever a delight; The Roads to Home, It Shouda Been You) to believe that he is the illegitimate son of George Washington. At a tender age, he is exposed to the works of Adam Smith and decides to make the practice of free-market capitalism his life’s mission. Smith, by the way, drolly personified by Daniel Davis (Wrong Mountain, Noises Off), is our narrator. In his ruthless pursuit of wealth, Trewitt defrauds the prostitutes to build a stake for his future dealings. He purchases an educated slave, John Blanke (the charismatic Chukwudi Imuji; Hamlet and King Lear at the Public), who had been the ward and intended heir of a British nobleman. The two spend some time in a New England religious community where there is a spirited debate about the relative merits of altruism and selfishness. Trewitt is captured by Hessian mercenaries and threatened with execution. We are suddenly diverted to the very recent past where a blue-ribbon panel is bloviating at a Davos-like conference not long after the financial meltdown of 2007-8. After their session is rudely interrupted, we return to the story of Jim Trewitt who, of course, has not been executed and has survived to pursue his career under the patronage of Isaac Low (an amusing Kevin Chamberlain; Dirty Blonde, The Ritz), a wealthy New York businessman. His financial shenanigans closely resemble the maneuvers that brought about our recent collapse. Will he get his comeuppance? I’ll let you guess. While the play has lots of amusing moments, the targets of satire sometimes seem too easy to hit. The picaresque tale and the cautionary economics lesson do not cohere smoothly. Nevertheless, it is quite entertaining and I will never complain when a production offers the opportunity to see such stalwart actors as Harriet Harris, Kevin Chamberlain and Daniel Davis. While Chris Perfetti is fine as Trewitt, I would have loved the chance to see Johnny Flynn in the role he originated. Alas, Mr. Flynn is otherwise occupied in the cast of Hangmen at the Atlantic Theater and has not yet mastered the ability to be two places at once. The other members of the 17-person cast, most of whom play multiple roles, are fine. The set design by David Korins (War Paint, Hamilton) is elegantly flexible and the costumes by Emily Rebholz (Mary Jane, Indecent) add a lot to the production. Director Michael Greif (Dear Evan Hansen, A Parallelogram) directs with confident control of a complicated work. While it’s not up there with Norris’s finest work, it offers enough to enjoy to make the experience worthwhile. Running time: 2 hours 30 minutes including intermission.