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Curtain Call Podcast Checks In On Local Theatre During Coronavirus Pandemic

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Times are tough all around, but Central Virginia’s theatre world is facing a particularly tough time at the moment. This podcast takes a closer look at the situation.

Chances are if you know Jerry Williams, it’s from his recent documentary, Spider Mites Of Jesus, which focuses on the colorful life of Richmond legend Donnie Corker, aka Dirtwoman. But Williams has been a fixture on the local artistic scene for a long time now, and one of his other major endeavors is the Richmond Theatre Critics Circle‘s Curtain Call RVA podcast, a bi-weekly creation for Open Source RVA that Williams produces.

For the latest episode, which will premiere on WRIR at noon on Friday, April 17 and be available on the RTCC website afterward, Williams has put together an extensive look at the many ways the Richmond theatre world is working to survive during the COVID-19 pandemic. The upcoming episode of Curtain Call RVA, which is over 50 minutes in length, speaks to representatives from every local theatre to learn how productions were affected by the outbreak, how compensation of those involved in shows was handled, how theatre staff is being affected, and what theatres are doing to ensure their survival until their next season… whenever that may be.

In addition, the podcast will also feature an interview with CultureWorks’s Scott Garka about the COVID-19 Artists Relief Fund the organization has set up. Plus, Jacqueline O’Connor of Richmond Performing Arts Alliance will give details on their Legends At Home livestream series, and the quartet of housemates who created Richmond Quarantine Theatre will talk about their own efforts to continue creating art under these trying circumstances.

If you care at all about theatre and performing arts in the Richmond area, you’ll definitely want to catch this new episode of Curtain Call RVA and get the scoop on what theatre in Richmond will look like throughout this trying time, and beyond. Williams and the RTCC are offering a message of support and hope for the local theatre scene, and reminding us all that we’re in this together, and the show must go on.

Top Photo via Virginia Rep/Facebook

Inside The Studio with JR Da Rapper

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RVA #39 is on the streets now! Here’s another article from the issue, in which JR Da Rapper and Esco of The Poverty Crew in Richmond sit down with Hip Hop Henry to talk new mixtapes, telling stories through music, and future full-flow albums.

In the earlier days of RVA Rap Elite, when Strange Matter still hosted the RVA Lyricist Lounge, I remember being onstage during an open Cypher Session when someone struck my eye. 

He walked on stage in a plain white tee and jeans, and looked unassuming at first. He caught the entire room off guard, both everyone on stage and in the audience, with some of the best lines of the evening — and made it to the sudden death round of the Cypher Championship. His name was JR Da Rapper. When he left the stage for the second time, I remember shaking his hand and telling him, “You have to come back.” He never did.

Fast forward to the RVA Rap Elite show on September 25 at the Dark Room, and he’s back in the building. This time, he’s here as one of the headline performers, doing tracks from his mixtape 96 Degrees, and his name is on the flyer. I had the chance to talk with him about new music, what he’s been up to in the time between those two Rap Elite appearances, and how that first performance boosted his desire to make music with younger performers from the city’s Northside. The Poverty Crew consists of himself, Vonton Soup, and Esco, who works behind-the-scenes. I brought JR and Esco to the WRIR studio in Richmond, where we could sit down and have a quick rap overlooking Broad Street. 

Hip Hop Henry: So what exactly is The Poverty Crew? 

Esco: Poverty isn’t just a record label. It’s a movement that’s [using] music to bring something greater to the city. We’re tapped into local politics to know what’s going on, because at the end of the day, it’s our city. We’re fighting for a better city. It’s not a music group out here to make a bunch of money and flex on people. It’s more than that.

HHH: JR, how did you and Esco meet?

JR: Vonton and I are cousins, we grew up together. I was rapping in elementary school, but I was the only one rapping. I took a break when I got to high school and moved to a different school, I hadn’t seen him for a minute. Von ended up moving around my way, and we started linking back up. They had a studio at their crib, and they were rapping now — so I said, “Damn, niggas remember me as the rapper, and now y’all have a studio at the crib. Y’all are freestyling every day.” So I started going over there, getting situated again, and that’s where I met Esco.

Esco: Vonton was saying his cousin rapped. I blew him off, because everybody wanted to come in and rap — half of the hood would come. People would come from Fulton to Northside just to rap. I think I walked in one day, and JR was freestyling. I said, “Man he hard, that’s your cousin? Tell him to come back over.” He wasn’t really trying to come back, but I said “You need to get him back over here, he needs to keep coming.”

HHH: Not showing back up reminds me of his Strange Matter performance when I first saw him. How did that appearance in the Cypher happen to begin with?

JR: That was my first performance. That was the first time I really ever rapped in front of niggas I didn’t know. I was already thinking, “Eh, I wonder how motherfuckers that aren’t around me every day are going to feel.” That reaction was definitely what I needed to take it seriously. People really fucked with me, genuinely. I needed to start going to a studio — when I rapped at Rap Elite, I had still never been to a real studio. You know what I’m saying? We do our little shit at the crib. We might make a dub tape, throw some plugins here and there to make it listenable… but I had never been to a studio and published a record out.

HHH: What I notice in your music is that you have a street style, but you can do the lyrical music as well. Where did the balance in styles come from?

JR: I’ve thought about this a hundred times. I know I can rhyme… But at the end of the day, I rap for me. A lot of people will give you bullshit excuses that they rap for the fans, the money, all that. When I first started rapping, it was a way for me to vent; to talk about shit I can’t talk about — because like any nigga in the hood, you look weak when you start talking about certain things. The only way I could get certain things off my chest was to rap. [If] you fuck with my raps, you’re saying you fuck with me as a person. That’s how I take it. 

Esco: I think it was also a journey because at first, it wasn’t always like that. When he first came back to the studio, he was leaning more toward trap and street music, but you could always see the talent. It wasn’t basic ABC trap music. I think as he started to find this — his flow and sound — it all developed. We always have talks that we strive for greatness, right? You play the game like a pro. Somebody like Kendrick, he’s playing the game to be the best. Not everybody plays the game, and that’s cool. Some people rap like Dom Kennedy. He’s not really rapping to be the best, but he’s dope.

HHH: You have a buzzing video for “Real Niggas” right now. What’s in store for the new year? Or is that just a loose single?

JR: That’s just a loosie. On my next project, I’ll probably do some mixtapes. I won’t do an actual album until I get a little bit further toward where I want to be, with more listeners. When I do my first album, I want to tell a story.. something you’ll be listening to 20 years from now. I want it to be timeless, not hot right then and there. I want something that people can go back to 20 years later and say, “You remember when this came out? I used to listen to this every day.” We’re going to do skits, and I like that album flow, full songs. I’m not a stream seller. I want it to be quality music; it puts you in a space.

Esco: We’re here to play like the pros play it. We aim for longevity.

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Be on the lookout for more singles from JR in the coming months. 96 Degrees is streaming on all platforms.

Top Photo by Kathryn DeFrank

Rest Easy With WRIR’s Death Club Radio

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RVA Mag #38 is on the streets now! Here’s another article from the issue, in which we explore the ins, outs, ups and downs of death and dying with Death Club Radio, the weekly WRIR show that helps demystify the universal experience of the end of life.

Here’s the thing: you’re going to die. If that makes you uncomfortable and you stop reading this right now, you’re still going to die. It is the singular universal experience of all living things. That platitude about death and taxes being the only certainties? Propaganda. It’s just death. That we die is inevitable — how we do it is not.

There is a movement right now in the workings of collective thought, a shifting perspective on death and dying. It has the potential to reintroduce End-of-Life experiences to the human narrative of life itself; to transmute this inescapable end from a fate we all ignore into an action undertaken with intention and grace.

Of course, in order for that to happen, we have to actually talk about it. 

That conversation started on a larger scale in Richmond with the introduction of Death Club Radio (DCR) in a weekly show hosted by the River City’s champions of local radio, WRIR 97.3 FM. DCR makes no claims of paradigm-shifting grandeur. It’s not hitting the campaign trail for wisdom in dying, and its only catch phrase seems to be “Stay Alert, Stay Alive.” But it is the kind of extended conversation that has the capacity, in thirty minute increments, to subdue our cultural knee-jerk aversion to addressing our mortality. And, at the very least, it sticks a pointy-toed shoe in the path of the unlockable door we’ve been slamming on death.

DCR started when twenty-year hospice veteran Alane Cameron-Ford was asked to do a segment on death and dying for Open Source RVA, a Richmond-centric radio news show on WRIR hosted by lauded local journalist Don Harrison. But it was their producer, Jack Johnson, who saw potential for something more.

Alane Cameron-Ford: I had no radio experience, knew nothing about it. So several free lunches had to occur before I could be talked into it — and then it was actually our producer, Jack Johnson, who totally talked me into it.

The show didn’t come into its essence until Alane’s co-host (and now husband) Phil Ford wandered in from recording his own show elsewhere in the studio.

Phil Ford: I guess there had been a revolving door of various co-hosts. I had my own show I was doing at the time. And she was recording hers. 

ACF: We were sitting in the studio looking lost, and Phil just kinda popped his head in and said “Are y’all… okay? Do you need anything?” And we did.

PF: Just to provide commentary. Ask dumb questions. Or insightful questions from the common person.

ACF: Phil, Jack, and I didn’t really know each other well at this point.

PF: And this was after it was a module. So what happened was, she had done a little 5-minute segment on open source and then through Chris Dovi and Don’s encouragement, as well as Jack’s. She needed to do a bigger show — she needed to do a 30 minute show. The station was looking for local programming. And so everybody was like “let’s just do it.” She was a little trepidatious, and there were some rough moments when Jack was still trying to find his ground as a producer. But it all came together, in this nice little fold of her and I being able to have this great dialog back and forth. And Jack also included sometimes in the dialog, but also to be able to edit… mostly me out, when it needed to be edited.

ACF: It’s amazing, when you talk about death… you get to know someone real well.

But they weren’t bonding over a shared morbid fascination. Listeners will tell you there isn’t much depressive fatalism being kicked around in on-air conversation. DCR focuses almost exclusively on our relationship with death; not just experiences of grief and loss, but cultural perspectives, social attitudes, and the ways in which coming to a deeper understanding of our mortality might improve our lives. 

ACF: I’ve heard other death shows. They’re not as interested in science as we are, and they’re not as interested in social science as we are. They are interested in how the body dies and that’s it. We are not preoccupied with how the body dies. It’s part of what we talk about. It’s important to what we talk about. But we’re as interested in talking about cures that are being found. We’re interested in talking about people who recover from devastating grief, and how they’re able to recover and live their lives.

If this sounds hopeful (if not downright uplifting), that’s because it is. These conversations look directly at something almost universally feared. That focus gently illuminates the anxious shadows we cast, often refusing to openly deal with End-of-Life processes. It lightens the neurotic dread that festers in the parts of ourselves we don’t acknowledge. It does so with candor and — more often than not — humor.

PF: To use an analogy, we kind of take death out of the hospital and take it to a natural grounds, someplace where you’re more in tune with it. And I think that’s the goal. Being able to identify with it easier.

While the need for these discussions is by no means geographically limited, regional attitudes and lore play a significant role in our death mythologies. Death is a community event, after all. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, it’s hard to describe Richmond without noting the spectre of history we live alongside.

ACF:  I think what makes it easier in Richmond is that Richmond is big enough — that a lot of what we talk about is news to people — but it’s small enough that we have certain niche groups that really like to listen to it. That would be some of our nursing schools, our social work pool, funeral directors, the Richmond City Jail. When we start talking about their stuff, they all know each other. The fact that WRIR is known nationwide for being an extremely successful independent radio station brings much to the show. I mean, that is absolutely essential — that they are so popular with so many people, and people really trust that station to give them information. So could it exist in another town? Yes, but only if it had another WRIR. 

PF: Another strong community.

ACF: And WRIR only exists here.

PF: We’ve done interviews out of state, and when we tell people what it is, they’re like… what? Because it is a strange thing. They don’t know what to expect. We’d love to get it on PRX, and I think it would be picked up by a podcast. Other community stations, I think, would absolutely pick it up. I think where there’s a strong sense of localism and community, it would be successful, because we don’t specifically talk about Richmond. I mean, sometimes. We did a show on the Jefferson during the holidays.

ACF: But Richmond does have a few attractions that are death-related, that make it a town where people are talking about these things. You’ve got the Poe Museum, you have the constant discussion — thank goodness — about burial grounds, and the respect that has been historically shown them versus the respect that needs to be shown. And that’s at least five different sites. You have a very prominent medical school. And Hollywood cemetery, which is just the jewel.

PF:  We have a lot of famous presidents buried in our backyard.

ACF: So all of those things promote more discussion about death and dying. And then if you look at our history museums, they cover it a little bit, between The Valentine and the Museum of History and Culture, and Tredegar. They all touch on it a little bit.

In another turn of local providence, Alane and Phil have started hosting live recordings at the Firehouse Theater. Under the banner of Death Club Radio Live, these bi-monthly black box events provide both a physical forum for community engagement, and supplement the on-air experience with vaudevillian theater.

ACF: The Firehouse, for various productions, would have a group discussion about the production. And they invited me on to discuss the aspects of death and dying in To Damascus.  And that evidently went so well, it might have been an audition I didn’t know was an audition. 

PF: The Artistic Director, Joel, was looking for a collaboration among several different types of things. He’s really a big fan of that. And obviously, she’s a wonderful speaker and engaging person. And then we combined that with the EAT people. They’re a nonprofit where they do these educational pop-up meals, combining Indian food with whatever subject they had in mind, and a chef would come in and cook for a family-style table.

ACF: So we did one of those on death and dying. We collaborated with them and we talked about funeral food. We talked about traditions. So we did a couple collaborations with the Firehouse, and then they invited us to be in-house every other month for two years.

PF: As part of the fringe. 

ACF: Yeah, we’re the fringe. But it’s really nice because it gets our listeners introduced to The Firehouse, and it gets Firehouse people introduced to us. It’s a nice collaboration. And they do all kinds of incredible things. They have like 250 shows a year or something. What we’ve spent our time on is community events — events that are also related to the radio station. We also have multiple publications that we have made as part of a community education effort. We’ve looked into grants. If we were able to get some grants, what we’d like to do is more work with marginalized populations, and how they cope with death and dying.

Death Club Radio at Firehouse Theatre

A cursory search of the internet will reveal thousands of articles, sites, and services tagged #deathpositive. But it’s not a niche enclave of macabre Hamlet enthusiasts, nor is it an iteration of “New Age Positive Thinking,” which claims that by simply concentrating on perceptually enjoyable aspects of life, we can dispense with all unpleasantness. Death Positivity is not attempting to trade culturally-predominant death denial for a denial of grief. It doesn’t offer an oversimplified approach to overcoming the foreboding feel that we are genetically wired to feel toward dying. It doesn’t free you from loss. What it does is engage in a dialog about — and at times with — death. It offers up the taboo notion that, with a bit of luck, the end of your life can (and should) be an expression of the ways in which you have lived.

As a society, we have come to view death as a medical issue. Lives end in hospitals. Last breaths are intubated. There are visiting hours and harsh light fixtures. These sterile environments are attended by exhausted strangers in scrubs and coats. Death is hidden from view. It’s a combative approach to the End-of-Life enabled by death denial. This is an extension of our conditioning toward embattlement — we have to fight for what’s ours. Anything less is weakness. Anything less is giving up. We have become so obsessive in our pursuit of cures, we’ve largely lost sight of something profoundly more attainable: healing.

Here’s the thing: you’re going to die. Whether that happens in a hospital, surrounded by overworked and underappreciated nurses, or at home surrounded by family (or friends, or pets, or string lights that look like Corona bottles) won’t change that. But it will change your experience. And that matters. A terminal diagnosis is an opportunity to co-author the last chapter of a story written by every day of your life. In the business of stories, endings are important. But there’s a catch: you have to co-author this one with death.

We’re taught to run naked into battle, screaming Not today! and Fuck cancer!  Hopefully it’s not today. And definitely fuck cancer. But battles are messy. Explosive. And there’s a very real possibility of getting more meaningful mileage out of an emptying tank than a head-on collision. It’s your journey. The Death-Positive movement wants you to know that, as much as circumstance allows, you can choose how it ends. And since, in truth, we’re all on that road, Death Club Radio is there to help make sense of the miles.

All Photos via Death Club Radio/Facebook

Still Rocking In The Commonwealth

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For the ninth year in a row, WRIR DJ Shannon Cleary brings us a jam-packed multi-night showcase of excellent local music under the banner of his radio show, The Commonwealth of Notions.

WRIR and The Commonwealth of Notions Presents: Volume 9, a showcase of some of the best bands Richmond has to offer, kicks off on Saturday, August 3 at Gallery 5. The showcase will continue with its second show on Saturday, August 10 at The Camel. Both shows act as fundraisers for WRIR, a local independent radio station. 

Shannon Cleary, who hosts The Commonwealth of Notions — a show on WRIR that frequently features local artists — has been organizing the festival for the past nine years. “I wanted to see if I could develop a live equivalent of the radio show,” Cleary said. “Showcase the bands I’m playing on the show and use that as a means of supporting independent radio based out of Richmond.”

As always, this year’s The Commonwealth of Notions Presents features something for music fans of all types. Those attending the first show will be treated to the driving, political punk of Lounge Lizzard, who put out the first of their recorded music just this past March. HotSpit, a relatively new band in Richmond, will also be bringing their lush, melodic indie rock to the stage. Warrington will spruce things up with some delightfully emo-flavored indie, and the show will finish up with the high-energy garage rock of Washers, followed by the synthy, spooky punk of VV. 

The second night of music, at the Camel, will feature Midlife Pilot, who skillfully turn emo music into something positive and upbeat. Things will get a little more distorted when Twin Drugs takes the stage and show off their hypnotic shoegaze. Gnawing brings a powerful sound to the bill, and the jangly indie pop of Young Scum is always a pleasure to witness live. Opin closes out the night with their danceable synth-filled sound.

Both nights of the festival offer an excellent opportunity for music fans to hear the sounds they love while also checking out bands they may have never heard of. For the bands performing, it’s a rare opportunity to be part of a diverse bill. “I appreciate how it brings artists together onto bills that might not typically get the chance to play shows together,” Cleary said. “They are all fans and supporters of one another.” 

VV (Photo via Facebook)

Proceeds from the shows benefit WRIR, which is run by volunteers and is “the largest low power FM station of its kind in the country,” according to its website. The station airs everything from political talk shows to programs about film. There seems to be a show for just about every type of music, including punk, electronica, and Americana. 

Cleary noted that while also supporting local bands, people who attend the shows “are supporting a platform like WRIR that gives independent, underrepresented ideas, thoughts, and art a voice in the community. It’s an opportunity to support a lot of things all at once that all come together to piece together the identity of the creative community in Richmond.”

With two nights of music and bands that touch on multiple genres of music, The Commonwealth of Notions Presents: Volume 9 has something to offer for everyone while raising money for an independent radio station Richmond is lucky to have. It provides an excellent way to support Richmond’s buzzing music scene in general.

“I want to showcase artists, venues, organizations and beyond that I think are doing remarkable things in the scene,” Cleary said. “And the fact that this will be the ninth year that I’ve done this has not completely hit me yet.”

Top Photo: Opin, by Craig Stephen (via Facebook)

Music Sponsored By Graduate Richmond

Critiques For The Culture: TheatreLAB’s An Octoroon

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In Critiques For The Culture’s latest contribution to GayRVA, Taneasha White and Brooke Taylor examine TheatreLAB’s An Octoroon, and ask: Did this play about racial relations in the 19th century — and today — achieve its intended goal?

Critiques for The Culture is a conversational podcast and radio show (on WRIR and WRWK) that focuses on the socio-political themes found within current movies, TV, and plays — covering all with humor. Hosted by two Black Queer folks of varying opinion, Critiques for The Culture aims to dissect our media, point out where we aren’t represented, and say what the rest of us are thinking. Taneasha and Brooke make up the CFC duo — a couple of Black Queer folks who love their community, and love watching TV and movies.

Critiques for The Culture is committed to uplifting the voice of the marginalized. We aim to discuss representation (or lack thereof) within present media, and invite you all to be a part of the conversation. Our critiques revolve around TV shows, movies and documentaries. In order to engage the local community, we have decided to venture beyond the airwaves and begin covering local plays for GayRVA.

An Octoroon
Written by: Branden Jacobs-Jenkins
Directed by: Dr. Tawnya Pettiford-Wates

An Octoroon premiered in 2014 as an adaptation of Irish playwright Dion Boucicault original, The Octoroon, which premiered in 1859.

There is definitely a lot to this show. The main plotline, which provides the reason for the title of the play, surrounds one of the main characters, Zoe, and the discovery that she has Black blood in her ancestry. Though no longer used in present-day conversation, the term “octoroon” refers to someone who is one-eighth Black and therefore eligible for sale. There are multiple men vying for Zoe’s attention, resulting in the attempted sale of herself, and her family’s estate.

Another plotline in the play focuses on Branden Jacobs-Jenkins, his personal struggle to adapt to the racism found within theatre culture, and his desire to stage this play in tandem with the racial themes that arise. An additional plotline is that of the Native American Wahnotee and the young Black character Paul, which showcases racial profiling and latent biases within the criminal justice system.

After speaking with the director, Dr. Tawyna Pettiford-Wates, and watching the show, it was evident that audience discomfort as a means to incite discussion was a primary goal for this show. For those who are unfamiliar with either this text or the work of Pettiford-Wates, the minstrel style of the show likely came as a shock, especially considering the recent discovery our Governor’s disappointing but unsurprising past.

Pettiford-Wates is both familiar and comfortable with minstrelsy as a genre, using this style as the crux of her company, The Conciliation Project. She says that through this method, we are able to “…peel away the layers of race, historic racism, and systems of oppression.”

Photo by Tom Topinka

Our Ratings

Our Critiques for The Culture rating is based on representation of marginalized folks, showcased with our Black fists. Our overall rating is the quality of the play overall, independent of the representation that may or may not be there, represented with stars.

Taneasha

For me, the best part of the show was the lead actor getting down to Crime Mob’s “Knuck If You Buck.” For those who are unaware, this is the unequivocal Black Millennial throwdown song. If it plays in public, everyone in the space is obligated to dance. It did what it was supposed to do, as far as getting the attention of the folks’ in the audience, but did it happen in the way it was intended?

We’re familiar with the concept of shucking and jiving, and while in 2019 we may not call it that anymore, there is still the idea that people of color are only good for entertainment — whether it be rapping, dancing, or throwing a ball. While the scene resonated with me, it was unclear if that clarity was consistent for the rest of the folks in the audience. This show is meant to act as a mirror, showing the audience more clearly how they have been perceiving others around them. I was left wondering if the non-Black folks in the audience saw their biases in the mirror, or if they just saw others laughing at the physical and outlandish humor that was presented.

As someone who works in activist spaces, I concur with the idea that spaces need to be carved out to have difficult conversations. I just wonder if the white folks in the audience picked up what the director was putting down, or if they just thought they were laughing at some clumsy negroes, witnessing enslaved women mirror the way they perceive Black women in America anyway.

As Black people in America, we are abundantly aware of our history in this country. I struggle with the notion that utilizing slapstick humor, the N-word, and imagery of lynched bodies is the way that change occurs. There was a scene towards the end where they flashed a real photo of a Black man who had been lynched. Though it aimed to serve as symbolism, it leaned towards trauma porn for me, as Black folks in the US are consistently bombarded with imagery of dead Black bodies. Social media has become the vehicle for modern-day lynchings, allowing images and video of those who have been murdered, via police brutality or otherwise, to circulate with speed, and with little censoring.

We know that during the time of legal lynchings, white folks used the imagery for postcards. They gathered their families around the trees from which our ancestors swung. They kept souvenirs of the dismembered. So again, the question is: who is this really for, and are these methods that you’re using plausible for that goal? 2.5 Black Fists.

I was drawn to the concept of “Black artistry,” as opposed to general artistry by someone who is Black. This topic arose in the very beginning of the show, when Branden Jacobs-Jenkins’s character repeated that he was a Black playwright. Oftentimes, folks of color or of gender/sexuality outside of white or cis/het norms are categorized into a box, and given accolades based on those titles, rather than the talent as a whole. Instead of being seen as a great pianist who is Black, we’re titled a “A Great Black Pianist,” as if the threshold is different outside of whiteness.

The acting was well done. I appreciated the adherence to the style of minstrelsy. The rules of present-day theatre are different than that of the melodramas of previous centuries — we’re used to more natural blocking of characters, rather than the actors purposefully turning to face the audience head-on each time they speak. The music cues during each entrance and exit proved very humorous, and added a light element to the show. All of the characters were purposefully over the top to fit the style, and I applaud them all for doing so believably. 3.5 Stars.

Brooke

The best-laid plans often go awry.

The play featured three enslaved women who all had darker complexions, and unfortunately their characters fell directly into common stereotypes of Black women: loud, inappropriate, and lewd. While the style of the play is minstrel, the depiction was not only uncomfortable but unnecessary, in my opinion.

Dido and Minnie were the two primary enslaved women that were shown, with Grace as a third that was presented later in the play. Dido and Minnie had more than one casually light conversation poking fun at the misfortunes of others on the plantation, or the prospect of other’s families being broken through the sale of persons. The topic of “sex” with a slave-owner arose, and they discussed which white men they would like to seduce — not to mention penis size.

For those of us who are familiar with African-American history, we can conclude that this is a scene that is meant to act as a mirror. Enslaved women were seen as salacious and insatiable, to the point where it was literally not legally possible to rape a Black woman in captivity. The notion was that Black women always want “sex,” regardless of how it is acquired, so there would be no point in debating whether the interaction was wrong. We are also familiar with the tropes of the “Welfare Queen,” “Angry Black Woman,” etc. So the laissez-faire attitude that was presented by Dido, Minnie, and Grace were caricatures of White America’s perception of Black women.

The prevailing issue, however, is that it probably wasn’t clear to a more far-reaching audience. For those that laughed at the conversations about “riding the Master”, it makes me wonder if they simply thought they were watching a live-action version of Jerry Springer, not a complex interrogation of race relations in America. Two Black Fists.

Making the audience uncomfortable was the director’s main goal. Mission accomplished.

Yet, I struggle to see the call to action. Having difficult conversations is a huge part of my chosen work in the world — it isn’t something I will ever shy away from. At the end of those conversations, however, everyone should be made aware of their role in the conflict and have action items for moving forward. Aside from the clear critique of using Native Americans as mascots, I failed to see these pieces within the show.

Perhaps this show and ones like it are simply meant to provide the spark for the conversation. I can respect that, but I ultimately feel that there was a disconnect between the intention and the impact. Black folks shouldn’t have to be re-traumatized (whether in the audience or on stage) in order for our white counterparts to potentially be rattled into action.

From a technical standpoint, the show seemed to be executed without a hitch. The music, lighting, stage props, and overall atmosphere were presented very well. I appreciated the multimedia approach that was taken. The actors’ performances were also great and their chemistry on stage was evident. 2.5 Stars.

TheatreLAB is known for pushing boundaries, representation of marginalized communities, and starting conversations — this play did not disappoint. There are still tickets left for the remaining shows, and this Friday, there will be a talkback discussion after the showing. Don’t miss it!

Check out theatrelabrva.org for more information, and then leave us a comment on our social media to tell us what you thought!

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We talk about movies and TV on WRIR 97.3 every Friday at 10am, and WRWK (The Work FM) 93.9 FM every Friday at 7pm.

Critiques For The Culture: Women’s Theatre Festival at TheatreLAB

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In Critiques For The Culture’s first contribution to GayRVA, Taneasha White and Brooke Taylor begin their representation-focused coverage of Richmond-area theatre with a review of all four plays included in TheatreLAB’s recent Women’s Theatre Festival.

Critiques for The Culture is a conversational podcast and radio show (on WRIR and WRWK) that focuses on the socio-political themes found within current movies, TV, and plays — covering all with humor. Hosted by two Black Queer folks of varying opinion, Critiques for The Culture aims to dissect our media, point out where we aren’t represented, and say what the rest of us are thinking. Taneasha and Brooke make up the CFC duo — a couple of Black Queer folks who love their community, and love watching TV and movies.

Critiques for The Culture is committed to uplifting the voice of the marginalized. We aim to discuss representation (or lack thereof) within present media, and invite you all to be a part of the conversation. Our critiques revolve around TV shows, movies and documentaries. In order to engage the local community, we have decided to venture beyond the airwaves and begin covering local plays for GayRVA.

This past month, four local theatres formed a collaboration for Womxn’s history month. Weinstein JCC, 5th Wall Theatre, TheatreLab, and Heritage Theatre all showcased one-act plays of varying theme, all written and directed by womxn, and all housed at TheatreLab.

Two of the four plays were written, directed, and performed by womxn of color, and all were from varied perspectives. In one, a current actress told the story of how she came to be in her current position. Another was told by a womxn who was enslaved. Another was from the perspective of a previous Israeli Prime minister, and the last came from a single mother getting back into the dating circuit.

Overall Similarities:

In addition to each play’s focus on womxn, there was also the non-existent fourth wall — all of the actresses spoke directly to the audience, providing their thoughts and their own narration of the plot. All except for Bad Dates seemed to ignore the traditional rules of creating a plotline, undercutting the standard expectation of rising action, climax, and resolution in a linear timeline.

Our Ratings:

Our Critiques for The Culture rating system is based on two categories: representation of marginalized folks, showcased with our Black fists; and our overall rating of the quality of the play, independent of the representation that may or may not be there; this rating is represented with stars.

Pretty Fire

Charlayne Woodard’s play about her life started right before her birth, highlighting her parents’ relationship. This play was well constructed and utilized its sole prop of a chair extremely creatively, setting up multiple scenes. Lead actress Haliya Roberts gave a near-perfect performance as she switched seamlessly between characters, giving each one their own little something that distinguished them from the others.

Pretty Fire tells a familiar story of a Black girl and her family that live in the North, but have roots in the South. This coming-of-age story clearly depicts the realization that racism has no preference for above or below the Mason Dixon Line. Strong themes of the impact of family dynamics, religion, and rape culture guide this play from start to finish.

Brooke:

Pretty Fire did a great job highlighting some of the fundamental challenges with being Black in America. As a child, Charlayne learns about the presence of what W.E.B. DuBois termed the Double Consciousness (known in the modern era as Code Switching), and how critical it is to survival. She also contends with being born female in a world that preys on femininity. 4.5 Black Fists.

Overall, this play had a captivating story, smooth transitions, and a terrific leading actress. Four Stars.

Taneasha:

As far as representation, Pretty Fire highlights the complexities of living life in America as a Black woman, from dealing with the sordid history of the US and all that it encompasses, to the added layer of having grown up during Jim Crow without understanding the impact. The writing, direction, and acting all did a great job of showing the differing perspectives of Black folks, and how geographic location and age play a role.

It could have been stronger if there had been more dissection of the problematic themes that came up, particularly with Charlayne and her younger sister’s desire for whiteness. Four Black Fists.

Overall, the show did a great job keeping your attention. Realizing that a show only has one person throughout can bring skepticism, but Roberts held the audience’s attention the entire time. She portrayed more than five different characters of varying age and gender, and all were clearly defined through voice and body language. Four Stars.

Bad Dates

This play had an interesting, but seemingly disjointed, plotline. Was the main character truly experiencing these complicated interactions, or was she a compulsive liar? Hard to tell. A blatant showcase of white privilege marked the end of the show, as even though she had been stealing funds from the restaurant, she was spared criminal charges.

Brooke:

This storyline was not catered towards Black or queer folks. Black and POC folks were simply not included — and that may be for the best, when one considers the role of queer characters in this play. The character had a particularly homophobic moment when stating emphatically that her date was gay simply because of the way he dressed and carried himself. The lone Black Fist is given for the fact that this was a female-led play that highlighted the (ever so deluded) realities of a woman in America. One Black Fist.

The theater space was convincingly transformed into a cozy bedroom, and the audience felt like a trusted friend that the main character confided in throughout the play. The lighting and audio was carried off without a hitch and definitely added a touch of sophistication. The main character seemed to connect well with her audience and drew laughs easily all night. While this play lacked a solid plot development, the experience was an enjoyable one. Two Stars.

Taneasha:

The main character is a white woman, and while the plight of a single mother is real, I am tired of plotlines meant to garner sympathy from the public being focused on people of privilege. The only Queer representation we have is that of her brother, about whom she speaks fondly, and that of a supposed gay man that she is set up with. Sure, we have all potentially met folks whose sexual orientation we assumed. In reality, however, none of us can honestly know if the person has not told us. Additionally, her reasoning was based solely on his usage of language and the fact that he was well-groomed — homophobic stereotypes. One Black Fist.

The actress did a good job of playing a believable character, as there were no unbelievable character arcs. I wasn’t sure why the main character’s shoe obsession was important, other than to potentially exemplify the expendable money she had, to set up her role in the money laundering. I appreciate the showcasing of the main character trying on different outfits, questioning both the audience and her daughter on their choices. Most of us can identify with testing out multiple outfits before a big interview or a date, maybe sending photos to friends for feedback.

The plot, however, had a sharp turn at the end that made the show feel highly disjointed. The love life of the character was at the forefront, with her career as a connecting link, but at the very end, the play shifted to legal trouble that ended up being swept under the rug by her newfound love interest. 2.5 Stars.

Message From A Slave

Message From a Slave was reminiscent of what would happen if Tyler Perry decided to do a stage version of 12 Years a Slave, but with no plot direction. It was a two-act play, but the separate acts had essentially no connection, aside from the character being present in both.

The first half takes us along a young woman’s journey as she is taken from her village in Africa, in chains, to America, and in great detail, showcases her struggles. The second half of the play showed the daughter that she had given birth to several decades later. This character transitioned from chair positioned stage right to center stage, and relayed a full-blown sermon that explained why Black folks are at fault for our own enslavement. Because our faith in God isn’t strong enough, and because we don’t pay enough attention to our husbands or our children, the Black community is failing, and it 100% our fault– and no one else’s.

Brooke:

It is difficult to leave me speechless but this play did, and for all the wrong reasons. If I knew no better, I would have bet my salary that a white person wrote the script. I cannot comprehend the level of self-hatred that the author of this play must hold. And yes, it was that bad. The first act of the play was simply pain-porn, at the expense of the ancestors of those in the African Diaspora. The sounds of whipping and the vivid details of assault were triggering, to say the least.

However, the first act could have been explained as a misguided attempt to illustrate the horrors of American slavery. It was truly the second act that made this play unbearable. The actress recited a list of allegations against Black folks that was so disgusting, all I could do was seethe with anger. Message from a Slave receives the lowest possible rating from me, half of a Black Fist.

The actress herself did an excellent job bringing this horrid play to life. She should be commended on her ability to make something so bad look good. The props worked well with the content of the play. However, this was not enough to warrant a good rating. One star.

Taneasha:

As far as representation goes, this show gets a .5 Black fist. This centered around the lives of African/African-American people, but was showcased in a way that was painful to watch. The first half of the show was a marvelous exemplification of pain-porn, leaving the viewers wondering who this 10-minute whipping-post scene was really written for. There was nothing that stood out about this particular character; it felt like we were just being taken through what happened to the enslaved post-capture, and that isn’t a lesson any of us asked to re-learn.

Aside from the second act being completely disengaged from the first, it also did the community the disservice of blaming the marginalized and oppressed for their placement within the American caste system. Instead of identifying the longstanding effect that slavery has had on our country, and how we are still operating today out of systemic oppression, this play blamed bad attitudes and the usage of microwave ovens as the reason for our hardships. This fed into essentially every stereotype that White America has created and attempted to hold the Black community to, and the fact that it was coming from a Black woman doesn’t do anything but give it validation. .5 Black Fists.

This play gets a .5 rating overall. The actress herself did a good job in the portrayal, regardless of how problematic the content was. That is the only aspect that was memorable. .5 Stars.

Golda’s Balcony

Golda’s Balcony was told from the perspective of Golda Meir, Israeli’s first and only woman Prime Minister. It was very reminiscent of a war movie, but from a female perspective, in a stage play. Golda’s character showcased her difficulties and her wins throughout the 1973 Yom Kippur War, and the Holocaust, and how her relationships were impacted.

Brooke:

Representation-wise, this play hit on two main things — women in leadership, and the Jewish community. Mrs. Meir seemed like a real badass and her story is inspiring on many levels. Jewish folks have a storied history, and have been the victims of terrible abuse in Europe and America. Golda’s story deserved to be told and appreciated. The play lacked representation in some key areas: POC involvement, queerness, and socio-economic diversity. 2.5 Black Fists.

As a history buff, I really enjoy documentaries, and this play fits the bill. I learned a great deal of information and left feeling very enlightened about the state of Israel during the timeline of the play. There were an abundance of props placed into the small stage space, and it provided a homey atmosphere for the audience. Golda’s Balcony was very informative but, at times, not as engaging as I expect from a stage play. Three Stars.

Taneasha:

When it comes to representation, I can give this play two solid stars. I appreciated the focus on the Jewish community, but would have liked more detail into how the Holocaust affected her and her family directly. A woman prime minister still isn’t extremely common, and Meir was the fourth in the entire world, and the first in Israel, so there is a lot of power in lifting up that story. Two Black Fists.

Overall, Golda’s Balcony receives three stars from me. I think that if you aren’t interested in war-focused movies, than this would not hold your interest. The actress did a great job inserting humor, and she was very believable and likable as a main character. All other characters proved to be auxiliary, and lacked the depth that we saw in some of the other plays. However, it was a solid show overall. Three Stars.

All in all, we had a good time watching the shows put on by these four different theatres, and spending time in TheatreLAB is always a highlight of the week. We encourage you all to join them during the rest of their season — they have some great shows lined up!

For more Critiques For The Culture, head over to our Facebook, Instagram, or SoundCloud.

We talk about movies and TV on WRIR 97.3 every Friday at 10am, and WRWK (The Work FM) 93.9 FM every Friday at 7pm.