First
of all I got to say that Daniel Beaty has become predictable. His plays seem to
follow a theme and a formula that showcases his considerable talent. Frankly,
in his case, don't fix what ain't broke.
Daniel
Beaty is the voice of the anonymous: the faceless, marginalized and unheralded
people that we don't acknowledge except if we bump into them, step over or
around them as we go about our day-to-day life. We avoid eye contact and render
them invisible.
As
a playwright, poet, author and performer, Beaty uses his unique gift to strip away the vestiges of class, religion,
ethnicity, gender and race to reveal the hurt, neglect, joy and pain we all
experience. If you play attention you'll pick up on a recurring theme woven
throughout his work.
“My work speaks about the urgency of
issues facing communities of color in our urban centers. I come from a similar
environment,” Beaty says.“These communities are not often understood. Part of
my goal is to give voice to the people I understand and recognize.”
Beaty has built a productive relationship with
City Theatre, a collaboration that has produced a world premiere (Breath
& Imagination) and his one man productions, the arrestingly intense Through
the Night, Emergency and his poem Knock Knock, still a
viral Internet sensation years after his“Def Poetry Jam” appearance.
I first saw Beaty at the August Wilson Center for
African Art and Culture as a installment of Mark Southers' 486 Club
subscription series. I'd seen a performance on Def Poetry so I already knew I
was in for.
Ha! Beaty isn't just a beast, he an effing
guerrilla. I had just settled in my seat and leaned back to chill. But this
Beaty ninja was having none of that. It's impossible to remain chill during his
performance. His prose and poetry will not let you be comfortable. Beaty brings
the voice for the aforementioned anonymous to you -all up in your grill- and
there's and makes sure that we know them.
Sometimes you across someone with amazing talent
that you may think he got your portion. Daniel Beaty is that dude.
Mr. Joy is Beaty's second world
premiere in Pittsburgh follows a similar format of Beaty's previous work. Few
props, a projector screen for a back wall and a spare stage, except for a
covered utility box that doubles as seating and a row of assorted pairs shoes
lining the front edge of the stage.
Six-year old Clarissa bounds on
stage in a surge of excitement, she want to share the sketches she made in the
hospital. She yells that she be back later on. 70-something Aunt Bessie is
upset by the rising number of gangs in
the neighborhood and decides to start her own – the Gangsta Grannies because
she worries the streets could consume Clarissa like her addicted parents.
DeShawn is a 15-year old still
aglow with his recent spiritual awakening. On the way to church he sees a guy
just out of jail. After sharing latest info on the neighborhood he invites his
friend to join him. John Lee, Mr. Joy's son, is a real estate developer who
just completed a major. Grateful for the benefits afforded him by his father's
work, he worries about his father's legacy and the inheritance he has
accumulated. Ashton, John's estranged son, used his inheritance for a sex
change operation.
Rebecca is a longtime customer
of Mr. Joy. She panders this association as proof that she's not a racist
(think “Legally Blonde”) along with her Black Republican finance who not
doesn't want children and suffers from a identity crisis.
To portray these varied
characters (and four more) requires more than heart, strength and stamina, it
demands a lot of faith – faith in the playwright, faith in your own talent and
the ability to step out on faith. All of this and much more is delivered by the
sole actor on the stage and in the spot. The nine separate characters of
various age, young, old, male, female, transgender, Black, Asian, white, poor,
well-heeled, frightened, hopeful; all played by the same actor with no wardrobe
change and no intermission. Who does that?
Meet Tangela Large.
A departure from Beaty's
winning formula of performing his own work, the 26-year old actor fearlessly
embraces Mr. Joy and it's many challenges. Her pacing and energy adjust to the character she's playing. From the
effervescent enthusiasm of can't-stand-still Clarissa to the old tired
indignant Bessie who is feisty and then fearful.
To be able to pull off such
thespian feats requires heart and stamina and Tangela has them in spades as she
plunges in the depths of each character
to mine each portrayal. Chameleon-like, Large smoothly shifts from a teenager
with a angry indictment :
“all of a sudden just out of nowhere
there's a generation of lost black boys? /No. The systematic destruction of a
people is loud – it makes a lot of noise./ Why don't you hear our screams?”
to an old woman clinging on to
hopes and dreams of a six year old.
Large makes use each
character's nuance to make each transition authentic and complete. And she does
it all (and has a very nice singing voice). Her Pittsburgh debut is nothing short
of astonishing. Tangela's last name matches perfectly with her last name
“Mr. Joy” speaks to how we are connected to each other in ways we
can't even imagine,” says Beaty. “It poses the idea that even in the midst of
tragedy and brokenness there is hope and possibility.”
Given what's transpired in the
past year, “Mr. Joy” is chock full of teachable moments. Maybe this will spark
“The Conversation.”
Review: Lower Ninth gives a rooftop view
