Coming of age in the days of apartheid

There's a bit of deception in the title of South African playwright Athol Fugard's 1982 play, '"Master Harold ... and the boys,' now on stage in a crackling production directed by Owen Thompson through Sept. 22 at the Schoolhouse Theater in Croton Falls, N.Y. 

Just looking at the title, you might think the play was primarily concerned with someone named Master Harold and a few secondary characters, but this drama, set in 1950 just two years into South Africa's system of racial segregation known as apartheid, places "the boys" -- two adult black servants -- on the same level of importance as "master" -- a 17-year-old white boy. 

The men, Willie (played by Devin E. Haqq) and Sam (Alvin Keith), work as waiters at a tea room in Port Elizabeth. It's not specifically mentioned in the play, but after 1948, the city was a significant example of a South African city that was stratified into racially-restricted areas through land zoning and legislation.

Fugard, who is now 92, has written some 35 plays and was one of the leading voices against apartheid, which lasted until Nelson Mandela was elected South Africa's first black president in 1994. 

"Master Harold" was initially banned in South Africa and was first produced at the Yale Repertory Theater in 1982 and subsequently transferred to Broadway, where it ran for nearly a year. In 2011, Fugard was awarded a Tony award for lifetime achievement.

Schoolhouse Theater since 1986 has been producing classic and new plays, with a reputation for high quality. Last year's "mis-Understanding Mammy," about actress Hattie McDaniel, was reviewed here.    

"Master Harold" begins on a lighthearted note as the men straighten up the dining room, devoid of customers on a rainy day. Willie is struggling with ballroom dancing in advance of a competition and Sam good-naturedly needles and coaches him.

The Harold of the title, a 17-year-old white boy nicknamed Hally (Will DeVary), arrives, wearing his school blazer and carrying his book bag.

The three have known each other for years, but their respective social status is communicated immediately as Willie jumps to help Hally off with his coat. Yet the play is full of surprises. Fugard won't let us settle into a particular narrative. 

From left, Devin E. Haqq as Willie,
Alvin Keith as Sam, Will DeVary as Hally

As Hally's mother has been busy running the tea room and his father is a disabled alcoholic, the boy has partly been brought up by Willie and Sam. 

However, the men also have taken something from the relationship. Sam is able to trade smart banter with Hally about the great men of history because he has drilled Hally in his lessons, educating himself at the same time.

As Hally starts his schoolwork, the three reminisce about seemingly inconsequential things -- a time Sam and Hally flew a kite, young Hally's desire to hang out in the "servants' room."

But the fond regard these three have for one another can't exorcise the underlying tension of a racially-polarized society. Hally mouths rhetoric about society needing a "social reformer," then falls back into the arrogant manner of the white supremacist: "What does a black man know about flying a kite?" "Why don't you start calling me Master Harold ... Thank of it as a little lesson in respect." 

From left, Devin E. Haqq as
Willie, Alvin Keith as Sam

Hally's emotions become more intense after he remembers having to care for his father, including helping Sam clean him up after he's passed out from drink. The rainy afternoon closes in on the three until a searing confrontation threatens to destroy relationships within a few seconds.

Alvin Keith brilliantly embodies Sam's dignity and lifetime of pain in his final speeches that, against all odds, still contain a note of hope that people -- especially good friends -- can find connection in pure humanity. It's worth noting that for this man in his 40s, racial discrimination in South Africa didn't just start in 1948. It was part of the country's reality since Dutch colonization 400 years before.

While Sam is the older and wiser of the two black men, Devin E. Haqq beautifully expresses Willie's more guileless nature. His reactions to the thunder of Hally and Sam's clash are heartrending. One almost thinks that Willie is more devastated by what is happening.

But there is a disturbing element to Willie's character -- he hits his girlfriend Hilda. Although Sam tells Willie to stop, playwright Fugard, writing in 1980, seems to regard violence against a woman as just one of those things that happens sometimes. No one gets anywhere near as emotional about it as they do about racism and, of course, we never hear from Hilda.     

Will DeVary is clearly an intelligent actor, but his (or Thompson's) decision to play Hally throughout with a consistent tone of angry nastiness left this viewer seeking a bit of vulnerability and some variety of tone. DeVary's South African accent occasionally made it difficult to understand lines. 

Thompson's direction seems to have inspired the cast to plumb the depths of their characters and he keeps the action consistently interesting on a one-set play. He notes in the program that "Master Harold" is the play that means the most to him in four decades of professional theater, having played Hally as a young man. Far from being a period piece, "it has much to say to us in the deeply divided America of the present moment."

Indeed. Even in the realm of world politics, Sam's words ring powerfully: "Open a newspaper and what do you read? America has bumped into Russia ... rich man bumps into poor man. Those are big collisions, Hally. They make for a lot of bruises."

Thompson is also the play's sound designer, responsible for the raindrops and juke box song, among others. Tony Andrea's set design and Dennis Parichy's lighting design are particularly fine, especially a beautiful scrim at the top of the show that illuminates softly the rainy scene outside the tea room's main window. 

This production of "Master Harold" marks a distinguished start to Schoolhouse Theater's season.

   

 

   
 

  

Illinoise, a state of motion

There are two kinds of theatergoers: those who like to read about (and listen to, if possible) a show before they see it and those who want to go in pure.

I'm usually the first, but life and time and stuff got in the way and I made a quick decision to get a ticket the day before I saw the Broadway musical Illinoise.

The show opened at the Park Avenue Armory last spring, then transferred to Broadway and is playing at the St. James Theater through August 10. 

My decision proved the power of the Tony Awards show. I had never heard of the composer, Sufjan Stevens, or knew anything about the show, but I was riveted by a number performed on the Tonys (above) on June 16, 2024.

Two men, awakening on the floor, obviously in bed, obviously a couple, danced fluid, passionate movement, tender but not madly erotic until a final kiss. The choreography for the men's arms, as they were intertwined while they were seated, was exhilarating. A male-female couple entered. One of the men on the floor was friends with the couple, but something separated their friendship. These brief moments were deeply poignant and left me wanting to see more. 

The musical won Best Choreography for Justin Peck, who is the Resident Choreographer at the New York City Ballet. Sadly, I've fallen out of the habit of attending NYCB, so I was familiar with Peck's name, but not much of his work. 

I randomly listened to a couple of Stevens' songs the night before the show - lyrical, sensitive songs about love in the singer-songwriter mold. I learned that he is, at age 49, beloved by "geriatric millennials," those born between 1980 and 1985. This 1954 baby liked them, too, and wondered if the term "geriatric baby boomer" is redundant.

Justin Peck
Photo/Ryan Pfluger

The Illinoise set at first looks bare. The onstage band is on a high level platform and three singers are on a mid-level deck, but the stage becomes a field, a bedroom, a campfire.

The show is described as a musical, but there are no words other than Steven's lyrics. Although playwright Jackie Sibblies Drury is credited with the book, her work, with Peck, consists more toward drawing Stevens' songs together in a linear story. 

Storytelling is key to Illinoise. The Playbill program contains a graphically-lovely insert that's a few pages of a diary kept by one of the characters, Henry, that is full of the yearning and questioning of a young person looking at love. 

Sufjan Stevens

He brings his journal to a campfire gathering, where the characters bring glowing lanterns to signify the fire. Henry and the others write in their journals as Stevens' lyrics ask, "Are you writing from the heart?"

I've read posts online from people who were confused about the plot of Illinoise, but a show that's purely dance and music allows us to bring our own memories and experiences to the adventure happening onstage. 

During the campfire scene, I thought, "Yes, I remember my in-laws' family gathered in the summer evenings around a campfire on Prince Edward Island, Canada."

The scenes and songs move smoothly as Henry recalls a road trip to Chicago ("Chicago"), the friendship with Carl and Shelby that ended in tragedy ("The Seer's Tower" - a play on Chicago's Sears Tower), his awakening to his true nature and his love with a man named Douglas:

I fell in love again

All things go

All things go

Drove to Chicago

All things know

All things know ...

The lyrics seem simple, but paired with Stevens' hymn-like, dreamy music, they conjure up emotions and thoughts - "Why did she go?" "Oh yes, I remember him from elementary school. I really liked him." "I had a sense of adventure then."

Not all the songs are related to Henry's journey, but all have some connection to the state nicknamed "The Prairie State."

"A story about zombies," one of my favorite scenes, has a young woman powerfully fighting the undead, who emerge from (what else) a cornfield. The creatures of the night, however, wear the masks of well-known figures of American history: Ronald Reagan, Ulysses S. Grant, Joseph McCarthy, Andrew Jackson, suggesting that the country's past continues to haunt its present and future.

 

Despite the show's deeply-felt moment of sadness, it ends on a hopeful but realistic note about longing and remembering in the song "Epilogue": "I stand in awe of gratefulness. I can and call forgetfulness."

A "forza" of nature

 The Metropolitan Opera's new production of Verdi's "La Forza del Destino" for me accomplished what Wagner called Gesamtkunstwerk -- a totally successful work of art. 

Attending a March Saturday matinee, I was completely thrilled at director Mariusz Treliński's cinematic conception, a brilliant cast led by superstar-to-be soprano Lise Davidsen, conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin's passionate interpretation of the score and Verdi's driving, intense compositions - "movie music" in the best sense, foreshadowing and underscoring scenic emotion. 

Listen to the ominous three notes right at the beginning of the overture, played by brass and bassoons:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CkPOVYg4Bxc

Now, John Williams' Darth Vader theme from "Star Wars":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bzWSJG93P8

Like a good police detective, I say, "Coincidence? I don't think so!" Of course, after the three notes, the themes go in different directions, a heavy militaristic march from Williams and, from Verdi, the violins entering with an anxious, jittery theme. 

Solomon Howard and Lise Davidsen
 as the Marquis and Leonora
Photo: Karen Almond/MetOpera

Treliński dramatizes the overture, so we see a statuesque woman, Leonora (Davidsen), in a gorgeous magenta evening gown pacing in and out of the "Hotel Calatrava," nervously tossing a cigarette away. As Boris Kudlička's trifold set revolves, she walks into the hotel's ballroom, where her birthday party is setting up and the henchmen of her father, the Marquis of Calatrava (Solomon Howard) are giving him a half-Nazi salute, then into his office next to the ballroom.

We soon see the source of her distress: her lover, Don Alvaro (Brian Jagde) climbs through the window, eager to spirit her away. The original story (published in 1835) says he is of South American Native heritage, but in our 21st-century eyes, his being a man of color is no reason why the two should not be together. 

This "Forza" is set in a modern time, but this, friends, is not a modern story. The Marquis discovers the two and violently opposes the match, declaring that Alvaro is beneath Leonora, that she has obviously been seduced and a marriage with him ("the baseness of your origins") will bring disgrace on her family. Alvaro protests and, to demonstrate his worthy intentions, throws his gun at the Marquis' feet. It accidentally discharges, killing Leonora's father. 

Brian Jagde as Don Alvaro
Photo:Karen Almond/MetOpera

This is the terrible event that propels the hand of fate for all the characters. Leonora's brother, Don Carlo (Igor Golovatenko) swears vengeance. Leonora, poor girl, is so consumed with guilt at being the unwitting cause of her father's death that she seeks out a religious refuge in order to do penance. Alvaro flees, wanders the country and joins the army as war sweeps across the land. Don Carlo pursues both, with a determined rage that echoes a Sicilian vendetta. 

The cinematic flow of the action was enhanced by Projection Designer Bartek Macias' moody scene-opening videos showing such scenes as soldiers marching through snow and  Leonora driving through the rain.

 

Davidsen has, up to now, been known for roles in the German repertoire, such as Elsa in Die Meistersinger. She did not disappoint in her first Italian role. Her commanding yet beautifully rounded tone, seemingly effortless projection and dynamic control received several ovations during the performance. For example, in Act IV, Leonora, completely broken in spirit, asks God for peace. In the aria "Pace, pace, mio Dio," Davidsen spun out a high B flat so that the note floated through the house on pure wings of magic. 

Lise Davidsen as Leonora
Photo:Karen Almond/MetOpera

All the principals meshed well in this cast. Jagde's ringing tenor and passionate acting gave Alvaro the same emotional strength as Leonora. Golovatenko's baritone matched Jagde in their three sizzling duets. Howard's majestic bass brought dignity and a sense of cruelty to the dual roles of the Marquis and Padre Guardiano, the abbot of the monastery where Leonora is to live in seclusion.

It sounds like an unrelentingly grim tale, but the depth of emotion and constant action are enthralling. The march of destiny progresses inexorably from the elegant hotel of Act I through scenes of army camps, prison-like enclosures and decadent clubs to a final scene in a bombed-out, gutted train station that reminded me of another apocalyptic movie - "Escape from New York." In "Forza," there's no escape.