Both And (a play about laughing while black)
Reviewed by Deborah Klugman
Boston Court Performing Arts Center
Thru May 22
Writer/performer Carolyn Ratteray’s Both And (a play about laughing while black) is an ambitious solo work embracing many themes: race, gender, the bond between mother and daughter, the heritage of one’s ancestors, the death of a parent and — certainly not least of all — the mortality of any one individual and one’s place in the giant scheme of the universe. Also, the legacy of clowns, one of whom provides the thematic framework for this show.
Clowns — traceable as far back as Egypt circa 2500 B.C.E. — can be endemic to a culture. In Both And, the clown “belongs” to people of color, more specifically to those who endured the Middle Passage from Africa to North America, only to suffer enslavement and the centuries of racism that followed. In the play, the laughter and tears of this clown frames a narrative set in the here and now: A woman, Teayanna, whose cherished mother is near death, must find a way to let go while simultaneously attaining closure for whatever rifts and misunderstandings have shadowed their relationship over the years.
Directed by Andi Chapman, this personal journey begins when Teayanna is summoned to the hospital after her mom has endured a cardiac event that has brought her to the brink of death. The decision of whether or not to resuscitate engenders a flood of memories — one in particular in which Teayanna’s mother admonishes her not to play the fool when baited by white girls in the schoolyard. Numerous anecdotes dwell on the importance of a “Black mama’s purse,” which is filled with a potpourri of motherly necessities; hence, her mother’s handbag almost never leaves her side. And there are revelations about her mom’s childhood that illuminate how racism shaped her attitudes and wrought hurt on her family for years to come.
All these reminiscences come juxtaposed with sequences in which Teayanna and her mom (still carrying that purse) travel to the edge of the netherworld where the spirits of their forbearers send enigmatic signals about the crossover. It takes Mom a while to actually cross over — rather like the narrative itself, which takes a long disjointed while to reach the catharsis that this writer/performer seeks to embrace.
Artistic Director Jessica Kubzansky notes in the program that much time had been spent nurturing the piece in workshops at the theater, yet Both And comes across as a work still in progress. The parts that play best for me are the familial remembrances —Teayanna’s experience at the hospital at her comatose mother’s bedside, her recollection of her childhood as her peremptory mother’s daughter, her stories about family members who ran afoul of brutal white fists.
Ratteray’s purpose, however, is much broader than relaying the story (partly her own, I assume) of one person’s crisis when facing the loss of a loved one. Rather, there’s a much larger effort to fix that experience within a grander cosmic scheme, one that embraces her African-American heritage and the double-edged legacy of pain and joy that that heritage has yielded.
That’s a grand tough-to-achieve aspiration for a first-time playwright (the program lists Ratteray’s credits as actor and director but no prior ones as writer) and some shortfalls need addressing. Foremost is a need for trim; whether it’s a recollection about Teayanna’s mom, or her description of the discursion into the netherworld, or the clown’s symbolic acting out and/or reacting to the sufferings of Teyanna’s people, the point of almost every sequence can be made in fewer words and less time. This is especially true of the clown scenes and those that take place in the netherworld; Teyanna’s description of this fantastical place often feels similar to a friend’s recounting of an intricate dream — intriguing for the dreamer, less so for the person hearing about it.
Second, while the performer’s stamina — she’s a nonstop whirlwind from beginning to end — is to her credit, the result is a blurring of some of the emotional highlights of the narrative and some awkward transitions of the performer from “actor” (a designation in the script) to clown — a role that, ironically, requires a special single-minded focus so as to have one’s behaviorisms appear effortless and totally natural. The clown in Both And isn’t there yet. Nor is it entirely clear what some of the more intricate details of her mime (not the sobbing or laughing) are meant to convey, unless you have read the script beforehand.
Some of these issues are underscored by technical aspects of the production. A decision to open up the proscenium to its max has the effect of making the performer look smaller and a bit lost. This makes sense from the vantage point of woman-against-the-universe, but it’s less helpful in scenes where Teayanna speaks intimately to the audience, as she does multiple times. Shannon Barondeau’s videography near the top provides colorful illustration of the multiplicity of people and cultures which feature a clown of their own; we could have used more visuals later on to elaborate on the netherworld, now communicated by Andrew Schmedake’s lighting and David B. Marling’s rustling sound. Ed Haynes spare scenic design is best noted for the inclusion of prop person Kevin Williams’ super large size replica of a Black mama’s purse.
Boston Court Performing Arts Center, 70 N. Mentor Avenue, Pasadena. Thurs.-Sat., 8 pm, Sun., 2 pm; added perf Mon., May 9, 8 pm; thru May 22. Running time: approximately 90 minutes. www.bostoncourtpasadena.org.
