Displaying items by tag: Jared Gooding

Goodman Theatre’s production of Ma Rainey's Black Bottom arrives with the weight of expectation - and under the dual direction of Chuck Smith and Harry Lennix, it does not merely meet that weight, it reshapes it. This is not a revival of August Wilson’s searing text; it is a precise, muscular excavation of its tensions, its music, and its truths.

From the outset, the production leans into what makes Ma Rainey distinct within Wilson’s canon: its compression. There is no sprawling Hill District, no generational sweep - only a room, a day, and a reckoning. Smith and Lennix understand this pressure-cooker structure and allows it to simmer deliberately. The pacing is patient but never indulgent, each pause and eruption calibrated to expose the fractures between the woman, the men and the system that contains them.

At the center stands E. Faye Butler’s Ma Rainey, and “center” is not metaphorical - it is gravitational. Butler embodies what makes Ma singular among Wilson’s women: she is not surviving the system, she is making the system bend to her will. Where characters like Rose in Fences or Bertha in Joe Turner’s Come and Gone endure with moral resilience, Ma operates with economic and performative authority. Butler’s Ma is unapologetically self-possessed, openly sensual in her relationship with Dussie Mae, and fiercely aware of her value. Every demand - a Coca-Cola, a delay, a correction - is less eccentricity than strategy. She dictates the terms, and the room adjusts.

Surrounding her is a cast that functions both as ensemble and as volatile elements in a dramatic equation. Al’Jaleel McGhee’s Levee is electric, restless, and dangerously unmoored. He captures the tragic duality of the character: brilliance tethered to illusion. His performance builds like a slow burn until it detonates, revealing the unresolved trauma and misplaced faith in a system that will never reward him. In contrast, David Alan Anderson’s Cutler is grounded, pragmatic, a man who has learned the cost of survival. Kelvin Roston, Jr.’s Toledo brings intellectual weight, his reflections on Black identity landing with quiet force, while Cedric Young’s Slow Drag occupies the margins with understated authenticity.

The white power structure—embodied by Matt DeCaro’s Sturdyvant and Marc Grapey’s Irvin - is rendered with chilling subtlety. There is no overt villainy here, only the smooth machinery of exploitation. Irvin’s politeness is the point; it is the veneer that makes the system function.

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom at Goodman Theatre. (L-R) Jabari Khaliq, E. Faye Butler, Kelvin Roston Jr.

Visually, the production is nothing short of exquisite. Linda Buchanan’s set design transforms the stage into a 1920s Chicago recording studio that feels both expansive and suffocating. The inclusion of distinct spaces - the recording area, control room, rehearsal room, even a suggestion of the street - creates a dynamic environment while maintaining the play’s essential confinement. This is a world built for observation and control.

Jared Gooding’s lighting design elevates this world into something almost cinematic. The suggestion of the Chicago Loop’s overhead train is particularly striking, its presence looming like an industrial heartbeat. Gooding uses light not just for visibility but for composition - creating tableaus, isolating tensions, and guiding the audience’s eye with precision.

And then there are Evelyn M. Danner’s costumes, which operate as visual dramaturgy. The color palette tells its own story: Irvin and Sturdyvant in stark black and white, embodiments of rigid power; the band in various shades of brown, signaling labor, reliability, and earthbound existence; and Ma Rainey in a commanding money-green dress, a walking declaration of her worth. Dussie Mae’s yellow flapper dress, accented with green, subtly marks her proximity to that wealth and power. Even Sylvester’s patterned brown attire hints at his connection to Ma’s orbit. Every choice is intentional, every color a statement.

What ultimately distinguishes this production is its understanding of language - not just Wilson’s text, but the music within it. The scenes among the band members crackle with rhythm and lyricism, their banter and arguments forming a kind of blues composition. It is beautiful, but volatile - a powder keg of masculinity, frustration, and deferred dreams.

What Chuck Smith and Harry Lennix achieve is extraordinary. They do not merely stage Ma Rainey's Black Bottom; they orchestrate it, allowing every performance, every design element, every silence to resonate with intention. Nowhere is that more evident than in Levee’s arc, where Al’Jaleel McGhee delivers a performance that simmers with ambition and barely contained rage, his volatility carefully shaped into a slow, inevitable unraveling.

This is direction of the highest order - precise, unflinching, and deeply attuned to the rhythms of Wilson’s language and the weight of his themes. What emerges is not just unforgettable theatre, but necessary theatre: a production that insists we listen more closely, look more deeply, and reckon more honestly with the truths it lays before us.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

When: Through May 3

Where: Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn St.

Tickets: $44-$84

Info: www.goodmantheatre.org

Box Office: 312-443-3800

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

There is a saying among the Maasai people that if you do not give an elephant a proper burial, it will haunt you for days. Lynn Nottage’s play Mlima’s Tale is an elephant ghost story. And in it we learn, elephants never forget!

Mlima is a legendary elephant on the savannas of a Kenyan game preserve where he lives. This elephant is personified by David Goodloe. He is a mountain of male beauty as well he should be; Mlima means mountain in Swahili.

Goodloe's perfectly toned body glistens under the atmospheric lighting by Jared Gooding, placed against the stark set by Joy Ahn. The setting foretells the clandestine events to come. As audience members we are ready to hear Mlima's tale.

 He is being pursued by two poachers for his tusks. Mlima tells of his origins and family life in detail.

“I was once a proud warrior, unafraid to be seen,” Mlima tells us. But that was “before the violent crackle, before the drought and the madness.” Now, “I run more than I walk, and I can never catch my breath. They are watching me. Watching always. I hear them all around me. And I run, more than I walk.”

But soon enough, Mlima is hit with a poison arrow. Not wanting to bring attention to their crime, the poachers choose not to shoot him. Instead, they watch him die an agonizingly slow death. When his death finally arrives, Mlima smears his body and face with white paint, reminiscent of the ritual body painting of African tribes.

We see Mlima's tusks travel from place to place, from one corrupt official to the next even more corrupt official, and around the world, until they end up in the home of the nouveau riche as a status symbol.

But the spirit of Mlima travels with the tusks and is present in the dealings between poachers, park rangers, wildlife directors, ivory traders, exporters, businessmen, ivory carvers, art dealers and ivory enthusiast. Everyone involved in the illicit movement and sale of the tusks receives a mark from the ghost of Mlima, a scarlet letter of sorts.

Director Jerrell Henderson has done an excellent job using 6 actors (Lewon Johns, Michael Turrentine, Collin McShane, Ben Chang, Christopher Thomas Pow and Sarah Lo) to portray 18 characters in this tale of greed, treachery and ivory to stunning results. The ensemble was some of the best work I’ve seen from a cast. Special mention must go to Lewon Johns for his interpretation of a Nigerian Government Official. His accent and characterization were spot on, as was the entire cast. Scene and costume changes are done quickly and effortlessly making the 90-minute runtime flies by.

Nottage, a graduate of the Yale School of Drama has won two Pulitzers for Sweat and Ruined, and is a MacArthur genius grant recipient among other honors. (My personal favorite Nottage play is Intimate Apparel.) Mlima's Tale is different in structure than her previous character driven plays. This is a tale told in the African folklore style.

Griffin Theatre's Mlima’s Tale is a beautiful, mesmerizing story that I promise you won’t forget. It runs at the Raven Theatre, 6157 N. Clark February 23 – March 21, 2020,  Thursday, Friday & Saturday at 7:30 pm. Sunday at 3:00 pm.