The Scottsboro Boys
Over the years the issue of race has become one that has been best tiptoed around and when needed, swept under the rug. It’s a topic whose history is as unpleasant as any other possible conversation piece, with perhaps the exception of some heinous crime. It’s amazing then to consider that the newly opened Scottsboro Boys on Broadway at the Lyceum Theatre attempts to tackle two birds with one stone as it recounts the alleged rapes and subsequent convictions of nine black teenage males on a train ride down to Memphis in search of work.
The fictional account would, as one might guess work best as a blockbuster Hollywood drama, a medium in which the emotions of all involved could be best captured; it is surprising however to consider that the harrowing tale was most recently adapted by writer David Thompson (‘Chicago’) as a musical in the form of a minstrel show, a traditionally offensive form of early American entertainment. Utilizing twelve main male actors, several of whom played multiple parts, the Susan Stroman (‘The Producers’) directed play relied entirely on the belief of the audience that the performance taking place onstage was in fact one that was taking place in the early half of the 20th century. Employing utilitarian procedures as one might expect from a ‘minstrel show,’ perhaps the greatest achievement of the night was the display of the set, which consisted of seemingly little more than ten or eleven metal chairs. Once paired with sounds from the crew, and arranged by the show’s cast, the chairs transformed from a train, to a jail cell, to a courtroom and any other setting needed for the plot in between. As simple as it may seem, it could not have been easy for Beowulf Boritt to put together conceptually let alone concretely as displayed on stage. The barebones set also allowed for no intermissions, and a full focus on the events unraveling onstage.
The production itself left little to be desired as far as acting and singing were concerned. Each and every actor played their particular parts to the extent at which the script could allow them. In a show in which there were twelve main characters on stage nearly the entire time, it would seem a difficult task to have to choose those whose performance exceeded the rest. It wasn’t. Joshua Henry’s portrayal of Haywood Patterson, the rising ‘leader’ of the nine, was by and large much more in tune with his character than any other actor playing one of the ‘Boys.’ Perhaps this is in part due to the fact that Henry was featured several times in multiple songs; regardless, his portrayal of the angst and anguish that his character faced should have been the consistent emotion throughout the entire play, certainly not the exception. It is unfortunate then to consider Colman Domingo and Forrest McClendon, the two actors that played Mr. Bones, and Mr. Tambo respectively. Both played their parts superbly and were my two favorite actors in the play. Yet, it is their two roles, both essential to the minstrel theme that prevented the play from making any advances in emotional progress. They were both extremely comical, which in it of itself isn’t a bad thing, but when the seriousness of the storyline reserves little room for such humor, it’s easy to question the intended direction of the play.
If the play’s humor left any mixed feelings on the production, the nature of it being a musical only added to the confusion. The songs, while well performed seemed to come at points in the play in which the dialogue could no longer sustain its importance; considering the material that the collaborators had to work with, one would have hoped that it would have been the other way around: with the dialogue the focus, not the music.
Ultimately though, it comes back to the initial problem that the play’s genre presented. It certainly had its share of comedic moments, and well-done vocals, but what seemed to be lacking was the awareness of the gravity of the story that was being told. The writers though seemed to hit on one issue, if only circuitously, and that was poor treatment of the blacks both in and out of the minstrel shows, as evidenced by the repeated calls from the interlocutor to give “just one more cakewalk,” (a racially-charged dance) a request persistently denied. All in all, the show itself was enjoyable, but by the end, I could not help but notice an uncomfortable feeling in the pit in my stomach.
