“DUTCHMAN AND THE SLAVE”: Performances are underway for “Dutchman and The Slave.” Written by Amiri Baraka, and directed by Ozzie Jones, the play duology runs through November 16 at Passage Theatre. Above, from left: Amidst a race war, Walker (Phillip Brown) visits the home of a professor, Bradford Easley (Peter Bisgaier) and Walker’s ex-wife Grace (Deidre Rose), ostensibly to reclaim his daughters. (Photo by Habiyb Shu’Aib)
By Donald H. Sanborn III
Passage Theatre is presenting Dutchman and The Slave. The production links a pair of 1964 plays by Amiri Baraka. Written during the height of the civil rights movement, both dramas depict an explosive relationship between an African American man and a white woman, each using poetry and allegory in the telling of their story.
Previously known as LeRoi Jones, Baraka (1934-2014) was born in Newark. The Poetry Foundation observes, “Throughout most of his career his method in poetry, drama, fiction, and essays was confrontational, calculated to shock and awaken audiences to the political concerns of Black Americans.” He was Poet Laureate of New Jersey from 2002-2003.
Passage’s artist-in-residence Ozzie Jones directs the production. Jones sees the plays as the portrayal of one story arc that explores the “experience of the madness of race in youth and middle age, in the risky passion of meeting/dating, and the gruff reality of marriage and divorce. In our production, Western civilization itself is put under the microscope: its racism, its greed, its bigotry — but not its people.”
Dutchman premiered at the Cherry Lane Theatre in Greenwich Village; it won an Obie Award for Best American Play. The Slave originally premiered at St. Marks Playhouse.
The setting for Dutchman is the car of a New York City subway train. The title can be interpreted both as an allusion to the Dutch ships that transported slaves; and to the Flying Dutchman, a ghost ship that is doomed to sail in perpetuity. Given the train’s underground location, and the play’s premise — a temptress attempting to seduce an initially resistant man — arguably, the play also might be interpreted as a nod to the myth of Orpheus in the Underworld.
An African American man, Clay (portrayed by Phillip Brown), is seated alone, contemplatively immersed in a magazine. (Later, a line of dialogue establishes that the audience members are also passengers, seated elsewhere.) A white femme fatale, Lula (Deidre Rose), slithers to Clay’s seat and sits beside him.
Early in the play another literary allegory becomes obvious. The forward Lula offers the reserved Clay an apple, in an allusion to Adam and Eve. Rose’s body language —sticking her tongue out and lasciviously moving it from one side of her mouth to the other, like a snake — suggests that Lula is an amalgam of Eve and the Serpent.
Initially Clay shuts out Lula’s attempts to engage him, replying to her queries and comments patiently but somewhat abruptly. She persists, relentlessly interrogating him about his background while physically invading his personal space, quickly progressing from casual flirtation to inappropriate touching. In a later scene, spoken dialogue is paused to make room for a sensual dance (choreography by Jones) to express the idiosyncratic but developing rapport between the two.
Brown and Rose play off of each other well, underlining the contrast and dynamics between the characters. Lula’s behavior unquestionably is repulsive; but almost against our will we are entertained, at times amused, by the outrageousness of the scene.
Lula’s seduction fairly quickly turns to ugly taunting, progressing from microaggressions to outright insults. She refers to him as “Uncle Tom” and mocks his clothes and Anglo-American speech, suggesting that they are a façade. She also derisively imitates R&B dance styles. She finally pushes Clay to the breaking point; he snaps, and his dialogue (and Brown’s delivery of lines) becomes almost as wildly impassioned as that of Lula.
Brown shines in his delivery of Clay’s impassioned and poetic monologue, in which he tells Lula that she knows nothing of the blues or anything else she has mocked. He describes himself as “the great would-be poet” who is “safe with my words, and no deaths, and clean, hard thoughts, urging me to new conquests.” The rhythm and cadence of Brown’s delivery point to the monologue as a forerunner of hip-hop lyrics.
The themes of the monologue turn violent, as does the encounter between Clay and Lula. Eventually one character pulls a knife on the other.
Larry Fowler’s sound design captures the swift, rhythmic movement of the train, and serves the musical underscoring. (A sound designer and composer identified in Jones’ program note as “The great Mr. Cisum” crafts the Dutchman music from samples of works by Sun Ra, while the music for The Slave comes from 1970s Black punk bands Bad Brains, and Death.)
That the setting is a metaphor and not a literal train car is underlined by Alyssandra Docherty’s lighting. As Lula’s character — and, correspondingly, Clay’s — becomes increasingly maniacal (in Lula’s case, this includes venturing offstage, into the audience), the lighting becomes eerily darker, so that sections of the characters’ faces are visible only in silhouette.
While The Slave can (as Jones posits) be considered an extension of Dutchman, in several ways it also is an inversion of it — the reverse side of a coin. Scenic Designer Marie Laster (aided by Props Designer Melody Marshall) illustrates this literally; the car of a subway, an object in motion, rotates to reveal the living room of a house, something that is permanently placed in one location.
The Slave presents a conflict between Walker Vessels (portrayed by Brown), who leads the Black Liberation movement, and a white couple consisting of Walker’s ex-wife, Grace (played by Rose), and a professor, Bradford Easley (a vociferous Peter Bisgaier). Walker, who carries a rifle, visits Easley’s house uninvited — ostensibly to claim the daughters he has fathered with Grace.
If Dutchman is an allegory to Adam and Eve, then The Slave arguably can be seen as a nod to Revelation. There clearly is a war – between soldiers and the Black Liberation supporters – happening in the streets outside of the house.
Unlike the initially introspective Clay, Walker immediately is willing to give voice, and more, to his beliefs. We discover that the prim, somewhat coquettish Grace left Walker because his talk of violence scared her. In this segment, it is Bradford who seems to be trying to keep himself under control, though he is given to enraged outbursts.
The thematic link between the two plays — arguably, an element of theme and variations — is underlined both by Laster and Costume Designer Tiffany Bacon. Observant viewers will notice that a shelf in the living room for The Slave holds two apples, a deft connection to Dutchman.
Bacon’s costumes address both the similarities and contrasts between the two plays. A scarf worn by Lula in Dutchman is draped over Walker’s pants in The Slave, perhaps a comment about past conflicts informing present ones.
In both plays, the outfits for the Caucasian characters are black and white. Lula wears a revealing dress that is white on one side and black on the other. (The scarf is red, as though spattered with blood.) Her counterpart, Grace, wears a white skirt and leggings, along with an elegantly detailed black blouse that seems to evoke the Civil War era (as do two candles that adorn the living room). Inverting Grace, Easley sports black pants and a white shirt under an ornate vest.
Clay, too, wears a white shirt and black tie, arguably a hint of his attempts to fully assimilate into white society. Over that he sports a red sweater and green jacket. Walker, by contrast, wears no black and white; he aims to distance himself from the white characters. Walker’s beige jacket and shirt recall Clay’s pants.
Dutchman and The Slave is compelling. Both segments are intense, contain much for audiences to process, and resolutely challenge our comfort zone. The plays are exploring concepts as much as characters (in a post-show talkback it is explained that Baraka was less interested in theater per se, and more in letting it be a live forum for his ideas), but the actors’ strong performances bring the characters — and Baraka’s rich, impassioned, and poetic dialogue — to life. Passage is to be commended for helping to keep these plays in the public consciousness, through a production that tangibly develops the plays’ wealth of themes.
“Dutchman and The Slave” will play at Passage Theatre in the Mill Hill Playhouse, 205 East Front Street in Trenton, through November 16. The play contains mature themes including sexuality and violence. For tickets, show times, and further information call (609) 392-0766 or visit passagetheatre.org.