Sweat

Reviewed by Mayank Keshaviah
The Mark Taper Forum
Through October 7

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The phrase “a divided America” is constantly used these days, whether in news broadcasts or in casual conversations between friends and family. Talking heads pontificate about what it implies for upcoming elections. Average folks wonder whether or not they should de-friend a high school classmate who posts “offensive” political views on social media. There seems to be little optimism for bridging such a divide, as a steady stream of White House scandals, school shootings, police brutality and the like only lead to each side digging its heels in harder and demonizing its counterparts more fiercely.

I confess that I, too, have engaged in a sort of pessimistic magical thinking, ready to cut off friends and family who don’t share my values. It’s hard not to do when the nation seems to be fracturing at its very foundations, and “they” keep engaging in “un-American” behavior. Taking the long view, however, there has been much greater division in our history (the Civil War, for instance) — but somehow we’ve always managed to return to a semblance of “e pluribus unum” in the aftermath, albeit imperfectly so, and without truly addressing the basis for the division.

Those moments of unity, while tenuous, have come from finding some commonality with those we’ve regarded as adversaries: some points of connection that allow us to respect each others’ humanity and empathize with each other’s feelings — although perhaps not with the words and actions that manifest from those feelings. It’s in creating those points of connection that playwright Lynn Nottage succeeds most admirably with her Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Sweat.

Based on extensive interviews conducted in Reading, Pennsylvania, where the play is set, Nottage has crafted a deeply human examination of the de-industrialization of a nation, a major upheaval in the last two decades that has finally culminated in the divide we’re currently experiencing.

In Nottage’s story, a multiethnic group of workers at Olstead’s steel tubing factory gather at a local watering hole to blow off steam. The tight-knit nature of both the group and the community they live in is evident. But as the narrative ping-pongs between 2000 and 2008, we come to see how the demise of domestic manufacturing has splintered not just the economy, but also decades-long friendships.

The most prominent of these bonds is between gal pals Cynthia (Portia, exemplifying dignity and strength) and Tracey (Mary Mara, who dives in with gleeful abandon). They have “jacked” together on the factory floor; they have vacationed together; and they drink together at the same bar regularly. Even their sons, Chris (Grantham Coleman) and Jason (Will Hochman), work together at Olstead’s and are best friends. The ties here are generational.

So once word gets around that the plant may shut down, tensions run high and large fissures open in those concrete bonds. To exacerbate the situation, Cynthia, who is African-American, and Tracey, who is European-American (read: white) both apply for the warehouse supervisor position — but it’s Cynthia who is promoted off the floor, leading to a simmering race-and-class–based resentment that bubbles over as the impending lockout of the unionized workforce looms. And once the workers go on strike, Oscar (Peter Mendoza), the barback at their watering hole, crosses the picket line and takes a job at the factory, ratcheting up the anger even further. The fact that he’s Latino only makes his actions that much worse in the eyes of the union workers.

Bar manager Stan (a grounded, solid Michael O’Keefe), an ex-factory worker who was forced to retire due to a work-related injury, tries to maintain peace with soothing words and free-flowing booze, but his entreaties only keep the contentiousness at bay for so long. His booze, however, does keep a pair of regulars, Jessie (a playful Amy Pietz) and Brucie (a soulful John Earl Jelks), sauced. Jessie, the third of Cynthia’s and Tracey’s gal pals and their coworker at the plant, is an erstwhile hippie who never got the chance to “turn on, tune in, drop out” because her summer job at the factory turned into a decades-long career. Brucie, Cynthia’s estranged husband and a former factory worker, continually tries to make amends to Cynthia and their son Chris, but his lack of employment and sobriety keep getting in the way.

The drama surrounding the threat to the workers’ jobs plays out in the scenes set in 2000, while the 2008 scenes showcase the aftermath of those events, including interrogations of Jason and Chris by parole officer Evan (Kevin T. Carroll). Despite these shifts, dramatic tension is sustained because information isn’t readily revealed. In fact, the first act feels like a fist unclenching: we begin with bloody knuckles — then, slowly, the fingers peel away to reveal the source of the fury. This also applies to the characters, whose relationships come into focus gradually and organically, avoiding obvious exposition.

Director Lisa Peterson skillfully allows the moments of lighthearted banter between those characters to breathe while ramping up the intensity of their interactions at critical points in the story. All the while she brings a dynamism to the staging, so that scenes where people sit around in a bar talking never feel static.

Christopher Barreca’s cavernous set— constructed of brick, steel, and concrete — has a naturalistic appeal, but its hulking proportions make the bar feel like a factory floor — a poetically spatial echoing of the DNA of its patrons. Emilio Sosa’s costumes reflect a period authenticity and are a sartorial match for eastern Pennsylvania.

The stage directions at the top of each scene describe newsworthy events of the month in which each scene is set, but the playwright gives no indication of how to relay them. Thankfully, Yee Eun Nam’s larger-than-life projections of news footage give us a sense of the world outside the bar, contextualizing the events of the play as Nottage intended.

Though Nottage occasionally employs lingo (like a party being “lit”) that feels too contemporary, her dialogue otherwise feels completely natural to the characters and the world they inhabit. It’s a world that many theatergoers have never experienced firsthand, so in that way, Nottage provides us the opportunity to feel empathy with those so far from us, both geographically and otherwise.

The Mark Taper Forum, 135 N. Grand Ave., Downtown L.A.; Tues.-Fri., 8 p.m.; Sat., 2:30 p.m. and 8 p.m.; Sun., 1 p.m. and 6:30 p.m.; through Oct. 7. (213) 628-2772 or https://www.centertheatregroup.org. Running time: two hours and 30 minutes with a 15-minute intermission.