Fireworks at times, too safe at others
It’s one of the great contradictions of stardom: an audience will pay hundreds of dollars to scream “I love you!” at a celebrity, yet resent them for acting like they’re special. Even the beloved Oprah Winfrey is begrudged her gold toilet seat.
Thus it always was, with women of colour in particular discouraged from flaunting their power, even as others are quietly building swimming pools off their gifts. This hierarchy is exquisitely illustrated in August Wilson’s 1982 drama Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.
Much of the show consists of a blues band trading existential banter while Waiting For Go
dot- ing for original blues diva Ma Rainey during a recording session in 1920s Chicago. The audience is invited to endure Ma Rainey’s divadom as well: her arrival late in act one blasts the room with a welcome gust of energy.
In the title role, Alana Bridgewater commands the room not just with her height and voice, but with a glance. With just a shift of her eyes, Bridgewater transitions from hope to heartbreak to disdain, such as during a scene where she supportively watches her nephew Sylvester (Marcel Stewart) stutter through his recording session, then rolls her eyes towards the producer who’s just called cut. In an instant she’s charged with an anger that simmers just below the surface. Though Wilson’s breakthrough play — the first in his 10-play Pittsburgh Cycle — won the New York Drama Critics’ Circle for Best American Play in 1982, its themes of a racially-divided power imbalance in the arts remains current. Take, for example, the comedian Mo’nique, who recently gave Netflix a damning public shaming when they offered her $500,000 (U.S.) for a comedy special compared with the $20 million for Jerry Seinfeld and Chris Rock and $13 million for Amy Schumer. Mo’nique may not be the Black Amy Schumer, but her stance does raise the question: why is there no Black Amy Schumer?
Rainey also fought for what she’s worth. Her demands — for example, that she be fetched a Coke before she begins to record — are what the singer substitutes for respect in an industry that only wants to hear one thing out of her mouth: hit records. Her sexual relationship with an opportunistic young woman (Virgilia Griffith) adds another dimension to her marginalized identity.
Yet Rainey’s fame puts her a peg above the four musicians in her unknown band. Though they bat about dreams of their own, the men have no choice but to swallow their pride as they ride the whims of the white producer and the volatile moods of Ma Rainey.
As trumpet-player Levee, Lovell Adams-Gray is a charismatic physical performer, particularly in the production’s co- medic scenes. Wilson’s lyrical dialogue came less smoothly to other members of the ensemble at the Friday, May 11 performance. Neville Edwards as bassist Slow Drag tripped over Wilson’s quick, colourful dialogue and many of the script’s meaty monologues ground the pace of the production to a halt rather than charging the stage with drama.
This production is at its best when it explodes with fireworks. In the script’s more subtle moments, this provocative play is the last thing it should be: safe.