Flint water crisis fuels powerful ‘cullud wattah’ at Stages
Around the periphery of the theater in the round stage at Stages, there are plastic water bottles filled with various shades of rust-colored water, some so dark you cannot see through them. They are the daily proof of the poisoned liquid that circulates in the pipes of the residents of Flint, Mich. In real life, this unaddressed public danger culminated in a 2016 federal lawsuit requiring that the citizens of Flint be provided with clean water.
Even without this tragedy in American history (mostly underprivileged and Black citizens were affected), this would still be a fascinating and moving play with an excellent ensemble cast. There is no drama like family drama, and the water issue is another, albeit significant, tributary feeding into the ocean of interconnected challenges these characters face.
Written by Erika DickersonDespenza and expertly directed by Rachel H. Dickson, Stages’ production of “cullud wattah” (winner of the Susan Smith Blackburn Prize) focuses on the Cooper family of women bravely facing the daily challenge of coping with a toxic, lead-filled water supply. This situation creates a crisis that forces them to adjust every single day just to cope with unclean water, while radio and television snippets during the play remind the audience that the state authorities engage in empty promises and do nothing to help as they suffer physically, psychologically and spiritually.
The striking set (Stefan Azizi and Jodi Bobrovosky) is a home with a modest kitchen, den and bedrooms, and a rusted tub. The use of water on stage, as well as in sound (Ricjuane Jenkins), worked well.
While the play dramatizes problems ranging from unintended pregnancies, addiction,
keeping secrets in order to retain employment to support the entire family, cancer, financial stress and religious conflicts, it is the interconnection between these issues that makes the play so compelling. Layer upon layer of Catch-22 decisions create a mental strain that is palpable, with the toxic water adding illness and stress at every turn. It is heavy, but with comic relief from witty lines that punctuate the dialogue.
You also have a song with “Lead in the Water,” sung like a traditional spiritual, interpretive dance that conveys the suffering of the characters (sometimes in a trance-like state), the corporate presence of General Motors that never goes away as the main source of income for the family. It is a clever mix of surprising elements.
Another reason to see this play is the excellent acting from these five talented actresses. Brenda “BeBe” Wilson is wonderful as the family matriarch, asking herself, “Where did I go wrong?” as problems multiply. Aryana Green gives a moving portrayal as the sleep-walking Plum, who is suffering from
cancer caused by the water that poisons their lives.
Reyna Janelle is powerful as Ainee, who has sass and a history of addiction and unintended pregnancy, and an outrage that fuels political action. She laments, “I can’t leap across time and fix the past.” Jessica Jaye is a standout as Marion, who makes decisions to support everyone financially, often at a high moral cost.
Tyne Jenae is powerful as Reesee, who turns to African traditions and rituals in a compelling effort to help her family members survive the turmoil that characterizes their daily lives. With the overwhelming problems plaguing the family, she says, “Jesus don’t work.” The town cannot even perform baptisms because there is not
enough water.
But it is the interaction among these actresses, be it screaming, arguing, dancing, or performing the angriest dishwashing in the Midwest, that is a marvel, as it involves not only pitch-perfect dialogue but a use of body language that is worth thousands of words.
From rashes to miscarriages to cancer, “cullud wattah” shows us the seen and unseen damage of this tragedy. But it also reminds us that this could happen to anyone, and that vulnerability is real. Like the family dramas of August Wilson and Anton Chekhov, this play will linger in the mind a long time.