Jonathan Raymond Popp
It’s more than a little disturbing to know that Trouble in Mind was written in the early 1950s.
The play, which runs through March 9 at the Bartell Theatre, is a witty and poignant sendup of backstage dynamics in a “colored play” headed to Broadway.
Thanks to a first-time collaboration between UW-Madison’s Afro-American Studies department and Kathie Rasmussen Women’s Theatre (KRASS), Madison audiences are getting a chance to see what has changed — and what has stayed the same — in the world of race relations since then.
The short answer: not enough.
Playwright Alice Childress won an Obie (Off Broadway) award for the play in 1955; she was the first black woman to receive the award for best original play. It deals with issues that are salient today: representation on stage and screen, the erasure of black anger and centering of white voices, the role of the arts in advancing issues of equality, white saviors and white fragility.
When the play begins, a world-weary Wiletta Mayer (a commanding Theola Carter) enters a Broadway rehearsal room. She encounters Henry (Donald Dexter), a genial and much-abused Irish doorman, whose character injects some levity when things get heavy.
Things get intense when newbie John Nevins (Pherow Lavahn Drain IX) enters, dressed to the nines and full of hope and positivity. Wiletta takes the opportunity to warn him about getting too close to the white people running the show. “Don’t be too cocky,” she warns. “Laugh at everything they say.” They discuss the different between being an “Uncle Tom” and a “yes man.” “You’re all handsome and manly,” she says, adding he could become a doctor or lawyer. “Why don’t you make something of yourself?” When he says he’s going to “make it” on Broadway, she looks straight at him and says, “What do you think I thought I was going to do?”
It’s not long before Millie Davis (a fantastic Martha White) swooshes into the room, wearing furs and full of attitude. Next comes Sheldon Forrester (Ekenedilichukwu Ikegwuani). Before the white people come in, these actors talk about Chaos in Belleville, the play they are about to rehearse. “It stinks,” says Wiletta. They make fun of the kind of lines they are always asked to speak: “Yes, sir, thank you, sir. Iff’n? Iff’n?” They are all tired of playing the characters available to black actors: subservient and/or noble. Not smart. Not angry. These actors of color have plenty of gripes about how they are treated in the industry and on the street. But they’re expected to put it all aside and “find truth,” according to their well-meaning and ridiculously patronizing director, Al Manners (Paul Lorentz).
Manners drops a crumpled up piece of paper on the floor and demands that Wiletta pick it up. The energy crackles in the room — onstage and off — as she first refuses and then steps up to follow his order. Ah, but it was just a test, to evoke emotions among the cast.
They begin to rehearse the clumsy anti-lynching play (written by a white man, of course) set in the Deep South. A family of share croppers wants to hold a barn dance. But the son, Jobe, is spending time with dangerous characters, black people agitating for the right to vote. He’s in peril, and it seems his savior is … a white judge. (See: To Kill a Mockingbird.) Instead of urging him to run, as every instinct tells her, Wiletta’s character is supposed to tell her son to give himself up and go to jail, where he’ll be “safe.” She just can’t stomach it. She repeatedly tries to tell the director that a mother in that situation wouldn’t do that. And all the director can say is “Don’t think.” Instead, he coaches her on how to sing gospel tunes (Carter has a magnificent voice), written as a shortcut for the audience to understand that these black people are noble, peaceful, non-threatening.
During a break, Sheldon recounts witnessing a real-life lynching, adding contrast to the stereotyped version of the lynching in the play-within-a-play. Wiletta finally breaks. She says the play is a “damn lie” and she finally calls Manners out on his racism. Carter is at her best here, commanding the stage and finally expressing her character’s years of frustration at being pigeonholed and demeaned. Unfortunately, instead of letting Wiletta have the last word, Manners replies in kind, raging at the system, and throwing his own pity party. Most depressing of all: He reminds the black cast members that this show is not for them; it’s for an audience that isn’t ready to see black agency, or black rage. “They are not ready to see you,” he says.
Trouble in Mind is not perfect. It suffers from some uneven performances and pacing issues. Director Sandra Adell has done a wonderful job pulling out subtleties of characters, but could have helped the actors pick up the pace. Childress’ script is packed full of wit and poignancy, but it’s wordy; the characters stand around and talk a lot. But the production is enhanced by exquisite costumes (designed by Marie Schulte), and world-class lighting design by Kathy A. Perkins, a renowned designer and theater historian.
Most importantly, Trouble in Mind demands that we listen to the voices of black people, then and now. You might squirm a bit — these are the “uncomfortable conversations” we all need to have.
