DeJuan Christopher and Kacie Rogers (Photo by Makela Yepez Photography)
Reviewed by Deborah Klugman
The Echo Theater Company at Atwater Village Theatre
Through August 25
RECOMMENDED
Of the many prison songs that evolved out of the old South, “Berta, Berta” is among the most stirring. It’s a love song, sung by a prisoner engaged in forced labor at Parchman Farms, the state of Mississippi’s chief penal institution founded at the turn of the 20th century (and utilized among other perfidious purposes to imprison and brutalize Freedom Marchers in the 1960s). Also featured in August Wilson’s The Piano Lesson, the lyrics are a prisoner’s paean to the woman he loves, her presence in his life no longer attainable. The song sets her free from any obligation she might feel to wait for him, and bids her find some kind of security and peace as his own life morphs into barren survival under the yoke of his incarcerators.
Directed by Andi Chapman, “Berta, Berta” serves as the launch for playwright Angelica Chéri’s two-hander, with her narrative conjuring an origin story for this lament for lost love.
The story takes place in 1923, in the interior of an old farmhouse (Amanda Knehan’s colorfully detailed set), where Berta (Kacie Rogers), a widow, has lived alone for three years since the death of her husband and (we learn later) stillborn child. Into her sanctuary bursts Leroy (DeJuan Christopher), a lover from the past who is on the run after committing a crime spun from his love of Berta. Desperate to see her again, Leroy proves himself both an obsessively jealous lover and a womanizer; he and Berta have a tumultuous, tempestuous history, their relationship marred by his drifting ways and frequent infidelities (and his dangerous predilection to project on her the disloyal acts he himself commits). Fed up, Berta had married a gentler steadier man, but her attraction to Leroy, which is mutual, is as strong and fiery as ever.
Their attraction is the spine of the play. For her part, Rogers delivers a glowing performance (one that follows on her sterling turn in Furlough’s Paradise at Geffen Playhouse, again as a troubled person at a crossroads). Here we observe the flawless depiction of a woman confronting the love of her life who “done her wrong.” And while she’s determined that he not get under her skin again, she’s nonetheless drawn in, despite herself, when she learns of the predicament that’s brought him to her doorstep.
More problematic is Christopher’s depiction of Leroy. From his first moment on stage, it’s a high-powered yet single note portrayal of a jealous, obsessive man that unfortunately lacks — to my eye and ear — the kind of double-edged charm and nuance that would draw Berta to him. Even less apparent is a manifestation of love beyond a desire to possess. The absence of that vital element goes to direction even more than performance, and to the script itself, which drafts for the actor a character who rages but never provides an opportunity to counter those outbursts of fury with dialogue that relays genuine caring for this woman he (supposedly) singularly yearns for.
Instead, in terms of plot — and despite moments that do click — the characters engage in a circular and ultimately tiresome pattern of recriminations and momentary resolves — which are then punctured by doubt, and so abandoned. It’s a 90-minute thread, easily halved.
There are other confusing elements, having to do with the script’s segue into magic and the supernatural traditions in Southern folklore, and the revelation that the heretofore seemingly rational and down-to-earth Bertha is involved with an improbable (and utterly creepy) obsession of her own. And the introduction of meddlesome “haints” — haunted and haunting spirits that disturb the peace of the living and appear quite late in the story — is a further compromise of its organic integrity.
By contrast, more particulars about Leroy’s ordeal as a convict at Parchman would add breadth and power to the narrative, focusing our awareness not only on what drives his personal desperation when he appears in Berta’s kitchen, but also on the oppressive circumstances that people of color in 1920s Mississippi endured (and still do). Which is not to eclipse the love story, but to have it stand in sharper, more potent relief.
(In a monologue, we do learn that Leroy’s already been jailed at Parchman on a trumped-up charge that will have him bearing the stigma of incarceration for the rest of his life — even if he had not subsequently committed a real crime, which he now has. We also learn that he was never brought to trial, just willy-nilly released when the authorities there felt they had drummed his spirit out of him. Meanwhile, as a prisoner, he became part of an involuntary unpaid labor force, a practice widespread in the South then, current in some penal systems now — and what some suspect is the aim of the mass roundups and arrests of citizens and non-citizens alike that loom on our horizon today.)
But back to this production as is, where the visuals — notwithstanding other reservations — are outstanding. Knehan’s scenic design pulsates with the story of an individual life, present in the yellow café curtains, the antique water spout, the ancient one-burner stove, the calico quilt, the bright white slip draped for drying beneath the window where the gentle moonlight (lovely, subtle lighting by Andrew Schmedake) filters in. Designer Wendel Carmichael costumes Berta in a pale pink housecoat that, despite her limited means as a farmer’s widow, emanates class. When Bertha serves up a bowl of greens to her visitor, it’s the real deal, and he eats them with relish. I admit, however, to confusion at some point with Jeff Gardner’s sound design; when cicadas appear, their song is more a deep thunder than a trill. That may be because they represent a trepidatious sign within the story; nonetheless, it seems strange —though again, perhaps that is the point.
The Echo Theater Company, Atwater Village Theatre, 3269 Casitas Ave., Atwater. Fri.-Sat., 8 pm, Sun., 4 pm, Mon., 8 pm; thru Aug. 25. www.EchoTheaterCompany.com Running time: approximately 90 minutes with no intermission.
