If you follow #theatretwitter at all, you probably heard the riveting tale of playwright Jeremy O. Harris holding the curtain for Queen Rih and the unending policing of his behavior, her behavior, and theater’s general degradation. It’s all very dramatic and is part of a larger conversation about audience engagement and who is “allowed” to enjoy theatre. Perhaps this is the effect of the provocative nature of the show. Perhaps it's a mere displacement of the discomfort of reckoning with yourself as Slave Play requires. Either way, Slave Play is making its mark on Broadway and each audience member’s psyche.
Jeremy O. Harris is a star in his own right. His magnetism in interview, on Twitter, and in every spread he does is outstanding. His words, within his writing and in his conversations with others are less radical and more on the cusp of change. Harris, as much as the traditionalists hate to see it, is where there is going and where theatre is from. From creating an audience #blackout to promoting affordable and easily accessible tickets, Harris is doing the diversity, equity, and inclusion work that Broadway claims to want but does little execute.
This can’t-look-away feeling and general openness from Harris trickles into the writing of Slave Play seamlessly. So much so that despite desperately needing to pee, I did not get up from my seat at all during the two and a half hour production. There are too many moments of clarity, too many moments of eye-opening action, and too many quotable lines to tear your eyes away. The actors give gripping performances half comedy and half traumatic reenactment.
There are enough reviews about Slave Play at this point that it feels silly to discuss the scenery, the plot, the acting. Those are all excellent. A play with this content wouldn’t have made it to Broadway without those things being excellent. No, what I am far more fascinated by is the nuance in the dialogue happening on stage surrounding interracial relationships.
The most fascinating part of Slave Play, for me, was the fact that the interracial lesbian couple facilitates this dialogue. They are the masterminds behind this innovative antebellum role play. They guide each character through self-discovery and comfort as they grapple with the reality of their positions in life. These actions are familiar to anyone who has experience with community organizing, restorative justice facilitation, or emergent strategies facilitation. While there are moments where our illustrious facilitators are woefully misguided, they are also the only ones, it seems, who have taken the time to examine their difference and seek a way to reconcile. What does this say about woman + woman relationships? How does this play into the stereotype that highly educated lesbians are the “masters” of public discourse on race, sex, gender, and body politics? Why are they (we? I?) responsible for hand-holding others through their journey through race? Are we really like that? Am I really like that? As I sat picking apart the characters, wondering about the symbolism, and praying other people in the audience were as riled up as I was, I realized that this is what Slave Play is. It is a reckoning on so many levels for so many different embodied experiences. It is so easy to chalk up the provocative nature of the play to the sex and violence when in actuality it is the fact that even when you think this play is not about you...it is.
So go reckon with yourself. Live in your truth for a moment. Take a deep breath. Take action.
