Imagine being a Black man on trial in a segregated courtroom in Depression-era Alabama, accused of raping a local farmer’s daughter, and mounting your defense before an all-white, all-male jury of local farmers.
It’s hard to imagine that man getting a fair trial, even if he were innocent, which happens to be the case in To Kill a Mockingbird (★★★★☆), Aaron Sorkin’s riveting adaptation of Harper Lee’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel.
At some point in U.S. history, the race, class, and gender dynamics driving Lee’s combustible scenario might feel quaint, laughably antiquated, obsolete. We’re not there yet. Mockingbird‘s Southern-fried courtroom drama still holds plenty of compelling truth in its reflection of racial injustice.
The accused, Tom Robinson (Yaegel T. Welch), a Negro in official ’30s parlance, faces the electric chair — if a lynch mob doesn’t get their hands on him first. And seemingly all that stands between Tom and his worst fate is the most decent and honest white man in the county, a self-described country lawyer named Atticus Finch.
For this smooth-running touring iteration of director Bartlett Sher’s Tony-winning Broadway production, Richard Thomas embodies Atticus in all his goodness, and complex moral reasoning.
Enshrined in the American imagination as an honest and decent country boy, Thomas injects just enough self-doubt and self-awareness into his portrayal to complicate the character’s heroic standing without diminishing him as a model of integrity.
Sorkin’s play — narrated by both Atticus’ precocious daughter, Scout (Melanie Moore), and willful teenage son, Jem (Justin Mark) — draws attention to Atticus’ tendency to excuse the bigotry and racial animus expressed by their “friends and neighbors,” while also encouraging his kids to treat all people equally. Don’t judge a man unless you’ve walked a mile in his skin, he admonishes Jem and Scout.
To Kill a Mockingbird — Photo: Julieta Cervantes
Atticus gets called out on his contradictions by the family’s cook Calpurnia, played with wit and savvy by Jacqueline Williams. Jem, increasingly frustrated with his father’s tolerance of their neighbors’ intolerance, also is critical, deeming Atticus to be meek in the face of corruption and hatred.
Thomas and Mark layer Atticus and Jem’s father-son conflict with love and respect, thus really putting the sting in the boy’s disappointment, or in his dad raising his voice in anger. On the other hand, in moments of deep sympathy between the two, the actors engender a tenderness that heals all wounds.
Moore adeptly juggles Scout’s role as guileless innocent and trusty tour guide to the town, often our eyes and ears on events just partly dramatized. Her Alabama accent wavers — and intentionally or not sounds dead-on like Amy Poehler’s hyper kid character Kaitlin on SNL — but the characterization works.
The Finch family rapport, abetted by Williams as Calpurnia, reinforces their bond with the audience as the household comes under attack, literally and figuratively. The script and direction pace the relevant reveals of the court case with masterful timing, which applies almost equally to the humor, except that a few comic beats are banged too heavily.
There’s nothing heavy at all in Miriam Buether’s graceful scenic design. Pieces glide in, descend softly, or are gently rolled into place, linking to turn a bare stage into a courtroom, or into the front porch of the Finch house. The town comes to life in the setting, as well as in the ensemble.
Yaegel T. Welch as courageous defendant Tom Robinson, Steven Lee Johnson as visiting-for-the-summer Dill, and Richard Poe as shrewd Judge Taylor offer solid approaches in support. Joey Collins’ performance as Bob Ewell, the ornery father of alleged victim Mayella, tips towards parody of a redneck villain, but Arianna Gayle Stucki is fairly mesmerizing as the prevaricating farmer’s daughter.
Mary Badham, who, at age 10, played Scout in the film version (becoming the then-youngest ever Oscar nominee for Best Supporting Actress), gives a feisty turn as crotchety, mean-for-no-good-reason Mrs. Henry DuBose.
Though, as funny as it is watching DuBose rampantly insulting everyone who crosses her path, she’s an eerily potent example of the sort of hatred that keeps this story current, and keeps honest and decent folks fighting for justice.
To Kill a Mockingbird runs through July 10 in the Kennedy Center Opera House. Tickets are $49 to $199. Call 202-467-4600, or visit www.kennedy-center.org.
Signature Theatre’s high-octane rock musical paints Hunter S. Thompson as a counterculture icon, but leans too hard on hero worship and too little on meaningful insight.
If you don't know or don't recall what a big deal Hunter S. Thompson was, he's here to tell you how big a deal he was -- and why -- in Signature Theatre's The Untitled Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson Musical, directed by Christopher Ashley.
In fiction, as he apparently was in life, the maverick writer is his own biggest fan, eager to blow his horn in this rock 'n' roll odyssey from Be More Chill creator Joe Iconis, who composed the music and lyrics, and co-wrote the show's book with Gregory S. Moss. Their story takes us through Thompson's unruly journey from middle-class kid in 1940s Louisville, Kentucky, to self-proclaimed major figure in American history, a leading voice of the '60s counterculture movement.
There isn't a great deal of originality in Jamie Wax's new play, Call Me Izzy, but it may well mark the first time a white porcelain toilet has been featured so prominently in a Broadway production.
The 90-minute, one-woman show opens in the bathroom of a mobile home, situated in a trailer park in rural Louisiana, where Isabelle "Izzy" Scutley (Jean Smart, Hacks) spends much of her time, scribbling on sheets of toilet paper with a mascara pen. Poetically, she describes the various shades of blue produced by the disinfectant tablets that she gingerly drops in the tank. To her, they are beautiful. To her husband, Ferd, not so much.
Brent Askari's Andy Warhol in Iran could shift some theatergoers' perspectives on a variety of complicated topics, from the junction of art and commerce, to Western interference in the affairs of modern Iran.
Making its D.C. premiere at Mosaic in a crisply-mounted production directed by Serge Seiden, the tidy two-hander takes on a world of troublesome issues without ever leaving a luxury hotel room in Tehran.
That's where the artist Andy Warhol (Alex Mills) is holed up, having been invited by the wife of the Shah, Empress Farah, to create pop-art portraits of her and the royal family.
These are challenging times for news organizations. And yet it’s crucial we stay active and provide vital resources and information to both our local readers and the world. So won’t you please take a moment and consider supporting Metro Weekly with a membership? For as little as $5 a month, you can help ensure Metro Weekly magazine and MetroWeekly.com remain free, viable resources as we provide the best, most diverse, culturally-resonant LGBTQ coverage in both the D.C. region and around the world. Memberships come with exclusive perks and discounts, your own personal digital delivery of each week’s magazine (and an archive), access to our Member's Lounge when it launches this fall, and exclusive members-only items like Metro Weekly Membership Mugs and Tote Bags! Check out all our membership levels here and please join us today!
You must be logged in to post a comment.