Reading McCraney's Brother/Sister Plays

In honor of Black History Month and Tarell Alvin McCraney's Oscar nomination for the Moonlight screenplay, I decided to read his Brother/Sister Plays trilogy, which had been sitting on my shelf for a while. These plays made a big impression on me when I saw them in the Bay Area in Fall 2010, but I hadn't revisited them since then. (Click my "Tarell Alvin McCraney" tag to see my earlier posts about this trilogy.) Interesting that, in many cases, my opinions about these plays have remained the same, even though it's 6+ years later and I was reading the scripts instead of seeing them produced!

The Brother/Sister Plays by Tarell Alvin McCraney

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

(4 stars for In the Red & Brown Water; 5 stars for The Brothers Size; 3 stars for Marcus.)

It’s not every day that a twentysomething playwright writes an ambitious trilogy that blends spoken stage directions, free-verse poetry, Yoruba mythology, and contemporary slang to tell the stories of an African-American community in the Louisiana bayou. But that’s Tarell Alvin McCraney’s achievement in his Brother/Sister Plays.

In the Red & Brown Water is our introduction to this world, and to McCraney’s inimitable voice. However, while the play’s style is unexpected and powerful, the story is kind of clichéd. Oya, the heroine, is torn between two men—the boring but reliable Ogun and the seductive but fickle Shango—and spends most of the second act despondent over her inability to get pregnant. Points to McCraney for trying to write a female-centered play, but I’m not sure he understands women as well as he understands men.

Ogun returns as one of the title characters of The Brothers Size, the trilogy’s centerpiece and masterwork. It is a tightly focused, 3-character drama with an ending that I find almost unbearably moving. The play delves deep into Ogun’s relationship with his younger brother Oshoosi, a charming fuck-up who recently got out of the penitentiary. Toward the end, the brothers lip-synch to a song—the script does not specify what song to use, but when I saw The Brothers Size at San Francisco’s Magic Theatre in 2010, the production used Otis Redding’s “Try a Little Tenderness.” I can’t imagine a better song choice: this play is really all about the tenderness and vulnerability of black men, the love they have for one another, in a society that refuses to acknowledge that tenderness. (In this, The Brothers Size has some similarities with Moonlight, the acclaimed 2016 film that is based on a different McCraney play.)

Marcus, or the Secret of Sweet has a more lighthearted tone than the other two plays. It depicts the next generation of the community, centering on Marcus, a 16-year-old boy coming to terms with the fact that he is “sweet” (gay). While the play has many charming moments, I find it kind of imbalanced in terms of its structure. An important character shows up out of nowhere at the start of the second act, and the characters talk a lot about how a hurricane is about to hit, but the hurricane never arrives.

Notes on Two Theatrical Sequels

There's been a lot of talk about how 2010-2011 is the year of multi-part plays in Bay Area theater. Three theaters teaming up to present The Brother/Sister Plays, Shotgun producing both The Salt Plays and The Norman Conquests, Sleepwalkers producing the This World and After trilogy... there's a lot of theater to see and, as you can tell, I haven't always been good about writing up what I see. It's even worse when I've written an enthusiastic blog post about the first play in a duology or trilogy, and then neglect to share my thoughts after I see the second play. Herewith, some catching up...

Marcus, or the Secret of Sweet (at ACT, closed in November) -- I basically enjoyed this play, and after the harrowing drama of In the Red & Brown Water and The Brothers Size, it is nice to know that Tarell Alvin McCraney can write a coming-of-age comedy. As I recall, there were some hilarious lines in this play. True to its title, one of the best words to describe this play is "sweet." However, the ending of it was incredibly anticlimactic. It would have been anticlimactic if Marcus were just a stand-alone play (the characters spend all of Act II worrying that a Katrina-like hurricane is going to hit their bayou town, but the hurricane never shows up) and it's even worse considering that Marcus is not a stand-alone play, but the conclusion of an ambitious trilogy. We know from Red and Brown Water and Brothers Size that McCraney can write unflinching, emotionally gripping finales... why did he falter when writing the ending of Marcus?

Also, part of me wonders whether ACT shouldn't have produced In the Red and Brown Water and Marin produced Marcus, instead of the other way around. Red & Brown Water is the biggest play of the trilogy -- the most characters, the most overtly mythological themes, the most stylized. So mightn't it be better in ACT, the biggest theater; and mightn't Marcus, a gentle comedy, be better in the medium-sized Marin Theater? Then again, ACT has the most tickets to sell and the most subscribers to please. Under those circumstances, Marcus is probably the most crowd-pleasing show of the trilogy, and the safest bet.

I really need to buy and read the whole trilogy of plays now; despite my occasional caveats, this is exciting writing, and I am sure I can learn from it.

The Salt Plays, Part II: Of the Earth (at Shotgun Players through January 16) -- After producing writer-director Jon Tracy's innovative Iliad adaptation In the Wound at John Hinkel Park this summer, Shotgun presents the sequel, an adaptation of The Odyssey, in their indoor space. One of the most thrilling aspects of In the Wound was its huge cast and innovatively staged fight scenes; I feared that Of the Earth, an indoor play with just eight actors, would be more sedate and conventional. I shouldn't have worried, though: the staging is imaginative, very physical (the taiko drums return!) and makes good use of the space. For instance, video is incorporated into the production, something that obviously could not happen at John Hinkel Park. A five-woman ensemble plays all of the roles besides Odysseus, Telemachus, and Penelope: they transform themselves into Greek gods and goddesses, Odysseus' crew, Circe, the suitors. You haven't lived till you've seen five women, using nothing but their bodies, some ladders, and a lighting instrument, come together and characterize the Cyclops. It is an amazing theatrical moment.

The Salt Plays are a very unconventional take on Greek mythology. For instance, the gods are given different motivations than they have in Homer: the driving force of the play is Zeus' insistence that Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena must atone for having caused the Trojan War, and must punish Odysseus for killing Iphigenia. It is exciting to watch such a fresh take on such old myths, but some plot points in both In the Wound and Of the Earth were unclear. At times, Jon Tracy seems to pack too much into each of these plays -- the text is dense, and on top of that the staging is complex and physical.

I love what Tracy does with most of the mythological figures, but I don't like the way he's characterized Penelope. Usually, Penelope is one of my favorite characters -- seriously, read The Odyssey and be amazed at how such a strong, well-rounded female character appears in a poem that was written in the eighth century B.C. But in the Salt Plays, she seems kind of one-dimensional and weak. The play captures the part of her that is a loving mother and faithful wife, but not the intelligence and cunning that draws Odysseus to her (and she to him). Tracy presents Odysseus as an antihero, full of flaws, and Penelope as the perfect woman -- whereas the The Odyssey makes the point that Odysseus and Penelope are an evenly matched pair. (A very radical point, for such an ancient work.) I love how The Salt Plays treat the other female characters, and in particular how Of the Earth has actresses portray Zeus and Poseidon -- it's just a shame that, in this telling, Penelope becomes a more conventional ingenue.

Outline of the Post on "In the Red and Brown Water" That I Don't Have Time to Actually Write

OK, it's been two weeks since I saw In the Red and Brown Water at Marin Theater, and even though it's closed, I wanted to write about it, because I loved The Brothers Size so much and Tarell Alvin McCraney is important. But I have to accept that I don't have time to write the full, formal post that I had planned. Herewith, the outline of what I was going to write:

• Apology for the blog post being mostly a comparison of Red and Brown Water to Brothers Size, and not a consideration of Red and Brown Water in its own right; also, apology for spending more time on criticism than commendation.
  

• Acknowledgement that, while there was good stuff in Red and Brown Water, I preferred Brothers Size.

• Citation of other sources to back me up on this. Sam Hurwitt's reservations with Red and Brown Water: "It's hard to connect with [Oya, the heroine]. She's a cipher, full of promise unexpressed as she wastes away in nameless discontent." Lynn Ruth Miller: "The dance was powerful, the presentation disturbing and strong and the acting wonderful to see and yet…and yet…were those characters people we know? Did they respond to the forces that threatened them in ways we understand? In contrast, Magic Theatre’s production of The Brothers Size, magnificently directed by Octavio Solis, is immediate, compelling and unforgettable because it is a story that reflects every one of us. Every character is so real, we feel he is us on that stage, agonizing about human loyalties, sexuality, right and wrong."

• Recognition that Red and Brown Water is a more complex/ambitious play than Brothers Size, but that also means that there are more ways it could go wrong. Discussion of how McCraney has some difficulty handling the passage of time and the sequence of events in this play. Time passes really quickly in Act I (Oya's mother is mildly ill one moment and dead the next; by the end of the act, Oya has already taken two lovers), and by comparison, not a lot happens in Act II.
  

• Reference to my "Law of Timespans": a story that covers a short period of time is more likely to be good than one that takes place over a long period of time. This could also be extended to the number of characters/plotlines encompassed by a work of narrative art. Brothers Size covers about a month, and has 3 characters; Red and Brown Water covers several years and has 9 actors, some of whom play multiple roles. This is why Red and Brown comes across as "promising" while Brothers Size comes across as a more complete work of art.
  

• Mythical, mystical, ritualistic Red and Brown Water versus more naturalistic and "muscular" Brothers Size. Is it just a personal predilection that I prefer the naturalistic and streamlined play, or is one storytelling mode inherently "better" than the other? After all, theater did develop out of myth and ritual...

• Commendation of McCraney's decision to name his characters after the Afro-Cuban deities, the orishas, and have them take on the personality characteristics of their namesake deity. When I first heard of the Brother/Sister plays, a year or so ago, I thought that this sounded pretentious. But, in the same way that I have come around to loving plays based on Greek myths, I've come around to McCraney's use of the Afro-Cuban mythos. I like the extra layer it gives the play.

• Suggestion that McCraney's decision to make In the Red and Brown Water a loose adaptation of Lorca's play Yerma might have been one layer too many, though. Like Sam Hurwitt, I didn't really find the Yerma element of the play -- Oya's thwarted desire to have a child -- very convincing.

• Another consideration of McCraney's device of having the characters speak their stage directions aloud. Because there are more characters in Red and Brown Water than Brothers Size, the characters have to do this more frequently, and it does start to wear on you after a while. Also, many of the actors in the Marin production seemed to speak their stage directions almost apologetically, as if they didn't like having to say these lines. The exception was Aldo Billingslea, who played the virile warrior Shango. Every time he came onstage and said "Enter Shango," he was confident, bold, and perfectly in character.
  

Sizing up "Brothers Size," at the Magic

Last Friday, kind of on the spur of the moment, I went to see The Brothers Size at the Magic Theater. It was a night full of "I love my town, I love my life" moments. My friend Marisela posted on Facebook that the Magic was offering half-price tickets to that night's performance of The Brothers Size; at 6:30 PM, I called the box office to take advantage of it. The MUNI buses worked smoothly and efficiently to take me to Fort Mason, where the Magic is located. In the parking lot outside, the Off-the-Grid street food festival was taking place, so I got some yummy paella for just $5. Inside the theater, a friend of mine was working concessions, and let me have a glass of wine for free after discovering that she was unable to make change for my $20 bill. Taylor Mac was in town for initial rehearsals of The Lily's Revenge (SO excited about that--though it's still 6 months away!) and I sat in the same row as him during the post-show talk-back!

But, most important and most thrilling was that I got introduced to the work--and the world--of playwright Tarell Alvin McCraney. This young man (turning 30 this month) is already considered one of the most important playwrights in the country--and with The Brothers Size, it was easy to see why.

This fall, three Bay Area theaters are each presenting one of the plays in McCraney's trilogy, The Brother/Sister Plays. After seeing Brothers Size, I scrambled to find someone with whom to travel to Marin and see In the Red and Brown Water at Marin Theatre Co., before it closed on October 10. Fortunately, I was able to attend Red and Brown Water last night. (The third play, Marcus, or the Secret of Sweet opens at the end of the month at ACT.)

So now I have a LOT to say about McCraney, his work, the plays considered individually and in comparison with one another, the productions I saw... and I think I'll have to split my thoughts into multiple blog posts. First up: The Brothers Size. Though it's the middle play of the trilogy, it's the one I saw first (and the one McCraney wrote first, actually), so I want to begin there.

The Brothers Size. Eighty minutes, three actors. It feels like a very tight, streamlined play--yet at the same time it allows for bursts of lyricism and dream sequences. The intensity of the characters' emotions is what keeps the play pushing relentlessly forward until its powerful conclusion.

In a nutshell, The Brothers Size is about two brothers who are very different from one another, who hate each other fiercely and love each other fiercely. It's certainly not the only play to ever tackle this subject, but that's because this love-hate clash is a strong basis for drama. Ogun Size is a hardworking auto mechanic in a poor African-American community in Louisiana. His ne'er-do-well younger brother, Oshoosi, has just been released from jail and has come to live with him. The third character in the play is Elegba, a young man who grew up with the brothers and became Oshoosi's partner in crime (and in prison).

The relationship between the brothers is very well-written and, at the Magic, perfectly performed by Joshua Elijah Reese (Ogun) and Tobie Windham (Oshoosi). I was surprised to read in Reese's playbill bio that he had studied dance in college; not that he was clumsy or ungraceful, but he was so grounded as Ogun, such a solid, steady presence in his heavy work boots. Meanwhile, Windham plays Oshoosi as a charming scamp who flirts shamelessly with the audience (I was in the front row and he made eye contact with me on three separate occasions). He wears thin-soled sneakers and is constantly in motion, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

I wasn't quite as impressed by the character of Elegba. He is supposed to be a mysterious, dangerous, trickster figure. But I felt that in this play he was less mysterious than nebulous.

One of the most distinctive features of McCraney's writing is that he has his characters speak their stage directions in the third person: "Ogun enters," "Oshoosi smiles impishly." I am not usually a fan of this device (cf. one of my old posts about its use in a play called Doris to Darlene) and had worried that I would dislike McCraney's plays because of it. But, I have to say that in The Brothers Size, it worked about half the time--more than I was expecting it would! It can indeed add an extra dimension to the play, calling your attention to something you might not have noticed otherwise. But it can also feel slow and redundant. There's a scene early in the play where Oshoosi hangs around the garage and annoys Ogun, who is fixing a car (see photo at top of post). Ogun keeps sliding out from under the car and then sliding back under it, and every time he does this, he narrates it. Meanwhile Oshoosi is narrating his own actions too. The effect of this is to make the scene take twice as long as it would otherwise, which therefore blunts its force.

Thus, my favorite parts of the play did not involve showy theatrical devices--but rather good, solid dramatic writing. Highlights include a grimly funny scene where the three men talk about what it's like, as a black man, to be pulled over by the police; and Ogun's monologue when he finally explodes and gives Oshoosi a "do you know how hard it is for me to be your brother?" speech.

The Brothers Size is a powerful drama and the Magic Theater gives it a production that makes it easy to understand why the theatre world is buzzing about Tarell Alvin McCraney. I highly recommend it--it plays through October 17.

Image: Tobie Windham and Joshua Elijah Reese as Oshoosi and Ogun Size at Magic Theatre. Photo by Jennifer Reiley.