At National Black Theatre, a "peculiar patriot," loyal to her people

Liza Jessie Peterson performs her one-woman show,
The Peculiar Patriot, at National Black Theatre
(photos: above by Garlia C. Jones-Ly;
below by Jean Chambers)

Time and time again, Betsy LaQuanda Ross spends tedious hours riding a bus to and from upstate towns, visiting family and friends like her city homegirl, Jo Jo. She takes Jo Jo hand-quilted squares bearing precious symbols that represent the incarcerated mother (an orange moon) and each of the children she desperately misses (stars). She comes laden with personal stories of life on the outside, told with verve and spice, almost ceaselessly at a breathtaking clip. Together, the women--one we see and one invisible to us yet made palpable through Betsy's love and insight--help us understand the devastating impact of America's prison industry on communities of color, particularly women.

Liza Jessie Peterson
(photo: Ani Berberian)
Below: Director Talvin Wilks
(photo: Adam Nadel)

The Peculiar Patriot--directed by Talvin Wilks and starring its extraordinary writer, Liza Jessie Peterson at Harlem's National Black Theatre--could have been 90-minutes of pure didacticism about a social ill. But it is no such thing. From the moment the pointedly-named Betsy Ross enters the space--set up like a prison's visiting room, with neat, bleak rows of industrial tables and chairs--and calls out "Hey, Boo! Look at you!" you're in her firm grasp.

Peterson, who derived her material from years counseling prisoners at Riker's Island, goes full-on Anna Deavere Smith in adopted body language, facial expressions, vocal intonations, emotional range and expert timing. Not easy to do and sustain but, let me tell you, she's brilliantly on point at every turn.

Her Betsy is hilarious, a Wanda Sykes just waiting to be discovered. But she's there at the prison on a mission to keep her friend's spirits up--as well as her own. In the meantime, we learn much about what it's like to be shut away while your kids are so far, growing up without you; what it's like to have a pal you can't lean in and whisper to and hug and cry with any time you want; how easy it is to get caught up by stringent sentencing laws that disregard your humanity.

If--when--you see this show, you might have a hard time keeping up with the mostly black-and-white slide and video projections that play throughout Peterson's monologue. You'll mostly notice some of these images with your peripheral vision, when aware of them at all, but that's going to be enough. Pay attention to that experience. Peterson holds your attention. Peterson alone, the living, breathing, ebulliently colorful person at the center of this machine. That's as it should be.

Of the many unfortunate, outrageous things The Peculiar Patriot informs us about, as it entertains us, is a new initiative restricting prisoners and their visitors from conversing in person. Some prisons--encouraged by corporate profiteers--have begun instituting visits by video only. When Betsy learns that she and Jo Jo will never again meet face to face across a table, she's shocked and heartbroken, and we immediately get it. Removing the possibility of human touch and connection, like Betsy and Jo Jo have enjoyed, represents one last, inhumane way for the prison industrial complex to control and exploit people caught up in its system. Our only partial awareness of the flat, drab visual projections has been steadily leading us, in a subliminal way, to this moment. By coming to love Betsy--and, through her, Jo Jo--we know what matters and the cost of its loss.

Set and lighting: Maruti Evans
Projections: Katherine Freer
Sound: Luqman Brown

The Peculiar Patriot runs through October 1 with performances on Thursday, Friday and Monday at 7:30pm; Saturday at 2pm and 7:30pm; Sunday at 4pm. There is no late seating. Each performance is followed by a talkback with Peterson. For information and tickets, click here.

National Black Theatre
2031 5th Avenue (at 125th Street), Manhattan
(map/directions)

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Carmen de Lavallade: Remembering it her way

Carmen de Lavallade in As I Remember It (photo: Stephanie Berger)

Carmen de Lavallade's solo, As I Remember It, seems to rip by in a flash, faster than its by-the-clock hour length. Premiered last June at Jacob's Pillow, now presented by Baryshnikov Arts Center, it's less a comprehensive tale of a life unfolding at the epicenter of American entertainment than a gesture towards that history and its dazzling characters--Lester Horton, Pearl Bailey, Harry Belafonte, Alvin Ailey, Jack Cole, Duke Ellington and de Lavallade's late husband, the multi-talented Geoffrey Holder, among so many more. And, of course, as a de Lavallade gesture--direct, shaped with elegance and efficiency--it doesn't need much embellishment. Everything in this production, from set to video to text, works by light touch.

The title tells us two things. First, these are de Lavallade's remembrances of her six-decade-plus career in dance, theater and film; others, she knows, might recall people and events differently. Second, we can expect a little tongue twisting and a few--very few--memory slips along the way. At 83, though, de Lavallade commands better alignment and lively, playful dexterity of body and mind than a lot of folks many years younger.

The memories, brief as snapshots, come with sensory sharpness: a hardworking father's hands, one rough, one smooth; a mother often sitting and staring; the sinuous coils of smoke from ballet teacher Carmelita Maracci's cigarette. Maracci, impatient, would upbraid de Lavallade: "Carmen, talk to your feet! What are they saying to you?" Carmen: "Help!"

In her dance of story, de Lavallade lights but never lingers. She keeps it moving, even when she speaks of racism. Particularly when she speaks of racism. Of being selected to study with LA dance master and choreographer Lester Horton, she says, "In those days, there were only some people who would take you if you were colored. And the white girls would walk out of class." If Hollywood is Hollyweird (as a sign says), we're not privy to a lot of the gritty details of what makes it so. I suspect de Lavallade is one of those sisters--I see them all around me today--who survive and thrive by keeping positive-mind phasers set to stun. I must study this.

Go see As I Remember It and marvel at how good the young de Lavallade looked in any setting, how thoroughly self-possessed. Time has diminished absolutely nothing of that.

Collaborators:

Joe Grifasi (director)
Talvin Wilks (co-writer/dramaturg)
James F. Ingalls (lighting design)
Maya Ciarrocchi (video design)
Mimi Lien (set design)
Christopher J. Bailey (sound design)
Esther Arroyo (costume design)
Jane Ira Bloom (music)

As I Remember It continues: February 20-21 and 24 at 8pm as well as a February 25 at 1pm (with a moderated conversation with de Lavallade).

When advance tickets are no longer available, a wait list will begin at the Box Office one hour prior to show time on the day of the performance. In the event of last minute cancellations, seats may be released and sold to those on the wait list on a first-come, first-served basis.

Jerome Robbins Theater
Baryshnikov Arts Center
450 West 37th Street (between 9th and 10th Avenue), Manhattan
(map/directions)