The cast of Southern Rep’s Sweet Bird of Youth.
In case you couldn’t tell from my two previous posts about The Milk Train Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore and Dividing the Estate, the theatre I saw in New Orleans during The Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival a few weeks ago was very exciting. I bring you a short discussion of two more productions of Tennessee Williams plays that I wanted to mention for various reasons: Southern Rep Theatre’s production of Sweet Bird of Youth and the staged reading of the one-act “At Liberty.” Both of these pieces made bold choices that made different parts of the plays speak in new and interesting ways.
If you have a passing familiarity with Williams, you might still have heard the title, Sweet Bird of Youth. Williams’s excellent talent for choosing titles is in all its glory here, as is his fondness for birds as symbols. The plot involves an aging male hustler, Chance, who has come back to his former hometown with a wealthy former movie star named Alexandra Del Lago, now hiding behind the pseudonym Princess Kosmonopolis. Chance’s ex-girlfriend, Heavenly Finley, is about to marry a new man, and her father, “Boss” Finley, is running for local office. Boss Finley hates Chance, not only because he was a troubled kid who loved Heavenly, but also because he gave Heavenly an STI that ended up causing her to need an operation. Chance does not know this, but it certainly doesn’t make him any more well-liked in the town. The play itself follows Chance’s continued attempts to use his charms to get money and power, Alexandra Del Lago’s struggle to hold onto the power and influence she once had, and Boss Finley’s ruthless political campaign, which Heavenly’s operation threatens to undermine.
Southern Rep’s production of Sweet Bird brings out each thread of the story with strong performances and strategic casting choices. In this production, Chance is well-played by African-American actor Martin Bats Bradford. Though Chance was written as white, this piece of casting goes beyond what is usually referred to as “colorblind.” Theorist Brandi Wilkins-Catanese has argued that colorblind casting is not useful in terms of creating more opportunities for actors of color, as pretending that we don’t see race is not only absurd, but in fact erases the struggles that people of color face in the theatre (and outside of it). The alternative, as she sees it, can be described as “color-conscious” casting, where actors of color are incorporated without the assumption that their race is invisible.
Director Mel. Cook’s production at Southern Rep provides a strong example of how this kind of casting can work to let the audience hear and experience a play in a new way. The racial tension in the play is already there, despite the fact that all of the characters are written as white. As the locals threaten Chance, they tell the story of a man of color who has been castrated. The violence of this story, always used as a tool of fear and manipulation, regardless of the race of the actors, all of a sudden took on a visceral layer of aggression. The stakes are higher here. The white actors in this scene are aware that Bradford’s Chance is even more vulnerable than a poor, white, ex-con Chance would be. Bradford also responds in kind, and his understanding of how real the danger is for him plays across his face. Chance wants to win Heavenly back, and he has an idealistic dream that they will run away together. This foolish hope gives us something to root for in Chance, who otherwise is a wheeler-dealer kind of character, and hard to truly like.
Bradford has charm and a presence that makes Chance a less difficult character to hate, but there is a trickiness involved with the fact that we aren’t really on Chance’s side. If Bradford was the only actor of color, in other words, Chance’s behavior could almost seem to justify what reads here as the town’s racism towards him. However, this production again shows a sharp eye for the politics of their casting by showcasing the talent of Troi Bechet as Boss Finley’s longtime mistress. Aside from her beautiful singing voice, which can be heard during the scenic transitions, Bechet’s Miss Lucy is a confident and well-liked member of the town. She serves as a foil to Chance. She is where he could have been had he not made some bad choices, paired off with Boss Finley the way Chance could have still been with Heavenly.
Don’t misunderstand me, this casting is not a trick to stir up controversy and draw attention away from the other characters in the play. There are many other standout performances, including the impressive Leslie Castay as Alexandra Del Lago. Castay embodies another one of Williams’s indomitable women, who might be down for the moment, but can certainly not be counted out. Castay’s most impressive feat is her nuanced understanding of Del Lago’s power. Del Lago wants Chance, and knows that she can offer him certain things in return. Yet she is also proud, and not yet willing to give up that pride. Castay’s performance does not shy away from the uncomfortable moments in Del Lago’s journey, but is equally unafraid to show Del Lago’s power when it appears.
In the other corner of the plot, Greg Baber’s Boss Finley is also quite compelling. It would be too easy to turn this character into the stereotypical political bigot, but in Baber’s performance we see the charm that keeps people around this complicated man. Cook’s direction here shows an interest in the humanity in this play. These characters live and breath and make a lot of mistakes, but they are each played with compassion by the actors, which allows the story to take on the full range of meanings embedded in the text. I really enjoyed seeing the text brought to life in this way.
Brenda Currin and Beth Bartley in “At Liberty.”
Probably far fewer of you, if any, are familiar with a one-act play entitled “At Liberty,” first produced at La Mama Experimental Theater Club in May of 1964. In the beautiful interior of the historic Beauregard-Keyes House in the bright light of a beautiful New Orleans day, the audience of this staged reading was transported into the early morning hours of a dingy apartment in Blue Mountain, Mississippi. We discover a mother, Brenda Currin, waiting for her daughter Bessie, Beth Bartley. Bessie goes by the stage name Gloria La Greene, but her acting career is not going as it should, and instead she has turned to prostitution as a means of making a living, despite the fact that she is clearly ill and “feverish.” The piece contains some themes that might seem familiar: a character who feels trapped, a mother struggling with the disparity between how she was raised and her daughter’s choices, and a character who is down, but not quite out (see Alexandra Del Lago, above).
Currin and Bartley both showed their considerable experiences in Williams plays, and, as can be seen from the photo, it was easy to forget this was a staged reading rather than full performance. Director Paul J. Willis, who also directed both actresses in Williams’s one-act “Something Unspoken” last year, brought the themes of the play and the style to the surface. Bartley’s portrayal of Bessie/Gloria was full of idealism and denial about her current condition, while still allowing her desperation about the situation to shine through. Currin’s Mother character was also treading a thin line between not upsetting her daughter further and trying to make Bessie understand and accept reality, even when it’s not happy. “At Liberty” is a Williams play in miniature, and the opportunity to see two great actresses tackle these parts was a real joy.
I can’t wait to see what all of these companies, directors, and performers bring to the next Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival. Until then, as Williams would say, en avant!