Theater Review of Clybourne Park

Clybourne Park

Most theatergoers are familiar with the poem by African-American writer Langston Hughes, which asks "What happens to a dream deferred?" One of the possibilities offered in Hughes's poem is "Does it dry up / like a raisin in the sun?" This gives the title to Lorraine Hansberry's legendary 1959 drama A Raisin in the Sun, about the attempts of an African-American family to purchase a house in a largely-white suburb. Bruce Norris's 2011 Pulitzer Prize winning play Clybourne Park is, in many ways, a contemporary rewrite of Hansberry's play -- but it seems to explore the possibility that Langston Hughes hinted at in the last line of his poem: "What happens to a dream deferred? / Does it explode?" Certainly Grant Mudge's production of Clybourne Park, now running at Notre Dame University, is an explosive event -- the fireworks fly onstage in the lively impassioned performances by the ensemble cast, and they continue in discussions held by audience members afterward.

Norris' play is, inescapably, about Obama's America, and more specifically about the widespread but contentious claim that America is now a "post-racial" society. He uses the premise of Lorraine Hansberry's original play to show events taking place before and after the aspiring African-American family tries to buy their house in a white neighborhood in 1959. As a result, the two acts of the play feature two different sets of characters, but taking place in the same house. In the first act, we see the story of A Raisin in the Sun told from the perspective of the white characters (one of whom is the only white character in Hansberry's original play). In the second act, circumstances have changed: the neighborhood is now entirely black, but undergoing gentrification. So we see, with some historical irony, a white couple 50 years later undergoing difficulties in attempting to purchase a house in an all-black neighborhood.

If anyone in 2014 doubts that the contemporary scenario in Norris' play is somehow incapable of stirring the same kind of passions and prejudices that integration stirred in Hansberry's day, a quick Google search for "Spike Lee + gentrification" will make it clear that Norris is writing about a real issue -- although one that expresses a good deal of historical irony when considered alongside A Raisin in the Sun. It should be said of Clybourne Park that it pulls no punches -- neither in terms of the savage irony nor in terms of the genuine sentiment that mingle together in the piece. It is here that Mudge's work as director is assisted by the work of a stellar cast. As the white couple in 1959 about to depart their Clybourne Park home, Renee Roden as Bev and John Corr as Russ strike the right mix of poignant and comedic. Joey Doyle as Karl -- the only character in the play that also appears in Hansberry's A Raisin in the Sun -- is vividly satirical. Sienna Wdowik playing his wife in both acts and in different centuries is a memorable presence as the deaf Betsy in Act I, but really offers a remarkable and unforgettable performance as the gentrifying hipster Lindsey in Act II. Jonathan Walker plays three separate roles, but genuinely stands out in Act I as the unctuous and platitudinous young pastor, Jim. But really the entire evening is held together by Zuri Eshun and Troy Lewis: in the first act, Eshun plays the African-American maid to the white homeowners, and manages to salt her portrayal of a potential stereotype straight out of The Help with a heavy dose of wit. In the second act, Eshun is wife to Troy Lewis's officious bourgeois homeowner, come to condescend to the white interlopers in the Clybourne Park of 2009. But in both acts Eshun and Lewis seem believable as a couple, seem amazing as comic talents, and most importantly give the audience the permission to express laughter and catharsis. This production is worth seeing for their performances alone. Clybourne Park may not be the easiest or most lightweight fare for an evening at the theater, but it is strongly recommended to anyone who is willing to listen, laugh, think, and possibly leave the theater arguing -- although hopefully not arguing as loud or long as the vexed denizens of the benighted suburb Norris depicts at fifty year intervals.