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Bessie Minor Johnson with her family,
photographed in New York City in 1958.
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by Steven Cameron Newsome
A curator at the Smithsonian uncovers new dimensions of the American family in Charles Randolph-Wright’s Blue.
The family has often served as the foundation of those theatrical moments we remember and cherish. Think of Shakespeare, Chekhov, Ibsen, and Williams. Their works allow us to hear and see families as they struggle to understand themselves and the world around them. Placed upon a stage, these stories have allowed us as theatre patrons to peek into the throne rooms, parlors and bedrooms of others and see ourselves. This centuries-old tradition is what makes theatre the wonderful collective yet individual experience that it is.
Charles Randolph-Wright’s Blue is part of that tradition. Because of its witty, powerful and truth-seeking exploration of African-American family life, it is an important expansion and redefinition of that tradition. In 1959, Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun captivated and even shocked American audiences as it provided a brightly illuminated look into the Younger family and into the tension between individual desires, a mother’s intentions to improve the quality of life for her entire family, and racist housing policies. Hansberry’s work paved the way for a new theatre that showed audiences realistic images of African Americans, while at the same time exposing some of the raw nerves of our society at large.
Couple at the
Frances A. Keith Funeral Home
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Since the 1980s many theatregoers have been moved — even shaken — by the works of August Wilson. Fences, The Piano Lesson, Seven Guitars and Joe Turner’s Come and Gone have all, in the tradition of great dramatists, taken us into the interiors of the minds and hearts of diverse characters. I believe that without a conscious effort to do so, Charles Randolph-Wright continues in the tradition of Hansberry and Wilson with Blue.
As a museum director, I am always interested in finding new ways to explore and examine the African-American experience. For a long time I have been an advocate for using personal, family and community stories as vehicles for increasing understanding of African-American culture. I had no idea that a phone call in August 1998 would connect me with a writer, director, and producer who had the same impulses. When Charles Randolph-Wright came to town to direct the Arena Stage Company’s production of Kathleen McGhee-Anderson’s Oak and Ivy, he made it clear to me, and indeed to the entire audience, that this was not a play just about two poets, but it was a love story and, yes, a family story.
I had the opportunity to tell him about our plans to develop a public education campaign that encourages African-Americans to collect and preserve family history. He responded with a big smile and the revelation that he himself had written a play based on memories of his family and community. When I was given the first draft of Blue, I knew instantly that it was a moving example of what I wanted our "Precious Memories" campaign to be all about.
Randolph-Wright has taken his own precious memories and rearranged them creatively in order to give us a gift. While the Clarks may be based on his own family, he allows each of us, because of our memories, to be a part of that family. Like an archaeologist or anthropologist, he has excavated family memories, used them as artifacts, placed them within cultural, family, geographical, and occupational contexts and illuminated their meaning to all who see them. That’s exactly what a good museum exhibition does. It is no wonder that I find his work similar in genre and expression, powerful as teaching tools and evocative of the goal of the "Precious Memories" campaign.
Randolph-Wright seems to be saying, "Okay, I have gone through the scrapbooks of my family and told a story; what are YOU going to do?"
Who among us can’t remember the family tension that develops between mother and child when they bring home the "wrong" date, as Sam III does when LaTonya arrives at the Clark residence? Who can’t remember the fights with parents over hair? While today, among many, it’s the locks and twists, I certainly recall the horror on the face of my mother when I returned home from college with the biggest, baddest Afro I could have. Certainly many of us have family members (maybe not our mothers, but possibly our aunts) who in their efforts to expand our cultural horizons tortured us with new and different foods. And who can’t relate to Reuben’s yearnings to be accepted for who he is, for his talents and aspirations? We have all known a Tillie, Peggy or Samuel, Jr. Many of us have lived their lives.
Two young girls
in Harlem, circa 1915 |
Blue gives us a look at the type of African-American family we don’t often see portrayed on stage or screen. It allows us to see what many of us have experienced growing up: the prosperous family that has been at the center of community life because of their funeral home business; the ideal family that was featured in some magazine or newspaper; the family with secrets; and the family that survives and endures because of those secrets and how they are used or explored.
It is not difficult to imagine audience members recounting their own experience as they watch the drama of the Clark family unfold before them. The rhythms and cadences of the play will certainly evoke the call-and-response tradition. Some in the audience are going to see themselves, their grandmothers, or their families on stage. And they are going to let you know. Expect to hear "unh huh, yeah I remember that" or "That’s my Nana." Some won’t be able to keep themselves from joining in the dialogue, because the play speaks to and for them. Watch for those bowed heads to come together in almost conspiratorial whispers as people react to a moment onstage which reveals what they feel is their own personal story or secret.
The magic of Blue is based upon Randolph-Wright’s ability to use the everyday life of the Clarks to tell a significant story. That story, like a good social or cultural history exhibition, becomes the mirror in which people see themselves and their family or community. My staff and I often hope that after viewing an exhibition we have mounted, our visitors will go home and discuss what they have seen and become interested in exploring the issues further. It is my hope that Blue will do the same thing. While mounted on a stage, and presented in a vehicle we normally associate with entertainment, Blue can and should serve as a lesson in cultural preservation. In many ways Randolph-Wright has laid out a challenge. He seems to be saying, "Okay, I have gone through the scrapbooks of my family and told a story; what are you going to do?"
If that call is indeed heard, the response can be a powerful one. After experiencing this unique family drama onstage, go home and go through your drawers, scrapbooks and shoe boxes. Make those precious memories come alive. Put together an exhibit of family portraits. Use electronic and digital technologies to share them with family members. Create a virtual tour of your family history. Pull out that dress or suit worn at some special event and tell your children about that moment. Extract that yellowed newspaper clipping about you or your grandparents and rejoice in the accomplishments it describes. Use those memories of people and events to create a skit or play for the next family reunion. Pick up that old LP or, if you still have it, that 45 rpm record that takes you back in time and write a story about the memories associated with it.
Each of us is a vessel for some very powerful and precious memories. Each of us has stories to tell. Charles Randolph-Wright has used his talents and gifts as a storyteller to share some of his memories with us and to remind us of how valuable, important, and even entertaining they can be. As this work takes its rightful place in the canon of American plays that help us better understand who we are as a society, I hope that it helps each of us find a greater appreciation for our families, our communities, and the memories they have provided.
Steven Cameron Newsome is Director of the Anacostia Museum and Center for African-American History and Culture at the Smithsonian Institution.
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