Ross Zentner
Lachrisa Grandberry, left, is part of a powerhouse ensemble cast.
The women in Lines have stories to share. Some are sad. Some are so painful they will twist your gut in knots. Some will make you cringe with guilt. Others will fill your heart with joy and hope. It’s a rare thing to see an entire cast made up of women of color, and rarer still, at least here in Madison, to see a show where their stories are front and center.
The Theatre LILA production is not a play per se. It’s an “invention” — a dynamic combination of spoken word, vignettes, poetry, choreographed movement. It’s structured nonlinearly, as a series of memories and lessons passed along to an adolescent girl (a wonderfully open Laëticia Hollard). When Lines begins, Hollard is playing by herself on a black stage, marked off with white lines. One by one, the other actors emerge. At first, they embody stereotypes. Olivia Dawson speaks in an over-emphasized Southern drawl as “The Mammy.” Yadira de la Riva dances in as the “Fiery Latina.” Aidaa Peerzada is the “Tragic Mulatto,” Mercedes White is “The Butch,” and Lachrisa Grandberry is the “Real Housewife.” Then, “The Muslim” (Peerzada) enters and the women flee.
There are lots of memories of childhood taunts and bullying. And a story of a black woman facing her college roommate’s ignorance that will make your hair stand up on end. “I have to know all the befores” is Hollard’s refrain. Not everyone is telling a story from her own life. But much of the material seems organic, and it is delivered with loads of vulnerability and heart. The script was developed by writers Melisa Pereyra (an American Players Theatre actor who also directs), cast members Peerzada and Dawson, and Malkia Stampley and Atra Asdou, who don’t appear in the show. Only about 30 percent of the writing made it into the final show; Dawson and Pereya shaped the raw material into the Lines we see.
Not every piece lands with the same impact. I glazed over a bit during some empowerment sections; maybe it’s too soon after A Wrinkle in Time. A scene where one woman excoriates her male partner (portrayed as a clueless dud by the rest of the cast, collectively) doesn’t shed much light on gender relations. There’s surprisingly little content about economic inequality or incarceration, given the pointed disparities here in Madison and elsewhere. And I would have loved to have heard the voices of Native Americans or Asian American women.
At one point, the women swirl around Hollard, giving her advice. It starts out lighthearted (“Let your vagina breathe.”) And then it goes deep, as she begins to shout out what she wants. “I want to sing! I want to fly!” she says. And then ….“I want to be safe.” The women recoil from her, backing away. All the love and self-love they can bestow on this young woman cannot protect her. All they can do is share their own stories and prepare her for life in this world.
