The Royale,
directed by Pirone Yousefzadeh, Kitchen Theatre Company, Ithaca, NY 3/22/19
There
is something to be said of period pieces; even in a time completely different
from their own, they can still feel relevant. How relevant, though, is to be
determined by the work of a director—whose job is essentially to create a
believable world onstage which resonates with an audience.
In
Marco Ramirez’ The Royale, a play set
in a radically racist, early twentieth century America, African American boxer
Jay “the Sport” Jackson (based on the real-life Jack Johnson) spurs a
monumental change in professional league sports. And as a result, the nation’s
sociopolitical climate shifted. As Jackson prepares for the biggest fight of
his career—one which might make him the champion of a historically white
sport—we see the ever lingering struggles that African Americans faced in a
racially segregated world.
While
Ramirez’ play focuses on a Jack Johnson-like character, it isn’t biographical. The Royale leaves many of the boxer’s life
events out of its narrative and quite frankly, it’s a shame. (Johnson’s life
itself was packed full of dramatic, gasp-worthy moments which would make for a
great play, I’m sure.)
What
is not mentioned in Ramirez’ play is America’s search for a “Great White Hope.”
In its xenophobic state (which we’re arguably still in today) the nation hunted
for a promising white man who could beat Johnson. But when Jim Jeffries (the
reigning champion) came out of retirement to fight Johnson in 1910, he lost.
Johnson then became the first African American World Heavy Weight Champion, a win
which provoked racial unrest. The noxious colors of this America are
artistically reimagined and brought to light in Ramirez’ play as he explores
the cost of making—and changing—history.
The
real Jack Johnson was infamously known for a bit more than his skills in the
ring; his lavish lifestyle and womanizing tendencies, as well as his particular
taste for white women, left a bad taste in the mouth of many. This is a persona
well adapted by Jamal James, who’s playing Jackson (under Pirone Yousefzadeh’s
flawless direction) onstage in the Kitchen Theatre Company’s intimate black box
theatre. The simple and open set (by scenic and lighting designer Seth Reiser)—with
a bare, wooden floor, a hanging boxing bag, and the occasional bench—leaves
room for James’ strong presence. But while James’ charismatic Jackson is
archetypal to a successful athlete or celebrity, he’s still human. He
effortlessly and tactfully drives this play in his portrayal of a man with passion
and a dream—and an unending amount of fight.
Alongside
Jackson are his manager, Wynton (Alexander Thomas), and agent, Max (Sean Meehan),
who have been with him for almost a decade. These fiercely loyal men support
Jackson as they bring him to the height of his career. Jackson’s new sparring
partner and friend, Fish (well played by Dazmann Still in his professional
debut), is reminiscent of a younger version of the boxer. He brings out a
difference side of Jackson, one which no one else has yet to meet.
Without
their relationship (especially in an intimate moment when the two sing and
dance together in the locker room) James’s Jackson might have seemed cold and
numb. Deep down he is angry at the world and it shows in his attempt to
forcefully push away those who care about him most.
Though
he puts up this wall, there is more to this macho fighter than he leads on. In
contrast to his typical swagger, James’ vulnerability presents itself in
moments with Fish and later with his sister, Nina (Lisa Tharps). And while he
hungers for the recognition that he deserves, his selfishness—or more so
naivety—clouds his judgment. When talk of violence makes its way to Jackson on
the night of the biggest fight of his career, a deus-ex-machina-like intervention
from Nina reminds him—and us—that this isn’t just about him winning a boxing
match.
Making
quite the entrance, Tharps appears in Jackson’s locker room in an elegant,
black and maroon A-line dress (designed by Sarafina Bush). Tall with intent,
her presence fills the space. Nina is a strong, seemingly modern woman; she
commands respect with her confident, independent air as if she’s a twenty-first
century woman. Jackson and Nina are not unalike in this sense. Nina, however,
sees a fatal truth that her brother can’t recognize.
Jackson
is an inherently self-centered guy, and though he clearly loves his sister and
wants to make things right, he loves his game more. Nothing in this world will
stop him after having come so far. Outside of the ring, there’s a world of
tension waiting to be released upon a black man’s victory over a white man’s—or
rather a black man taking what white men believe to be theirs because it has always
been so.
Ramirez
plays with the idea of what it means to fight, win, and lose, both personally
and as a society. This fight is bigger than Jackson and his hunger for a title:
whether he wins or loses, heartbreak and loss will ensue. But Jackson doesn’t
see it that way. He doesn’t care about the color of his opponent’s skin—this
isn’t an issue of race for him. In his mind, he isn’t breaking down a glass
ceiling; he’s proving he’s the best of the best.
One
might presume that a play about boxing would include, well, boxing. But one of
the most striking elements in the production is the lack of actual fighting. With
expressive movement (smartly coordinated by Rocio Mendez), Jay and each of his
opponents fight in a choreographed shadow boxing manner. They don’t come in
contact and rarely, if ever, do they face each other.
With
claps from those on stage (written in by Ramirez) mimicking the rhythm and
sound of punches, what is meant to be a fight becomes a beautiful dream-like
dance sequence. This perhaps signals the individualistic nature of boxing. Though
Jackson has a team of people rooting him, when he’s fighting in the ring, he’s
alone. And a spotlight on Jay in his final moments in the ring define this.
With the
exception of Fish and Jackson singing along to a music box and the pulsating
underscore for Jackson’s fights, music does not have much of a place in Yousefzadeh’s
production. Scene changes are accompanied by jarringly intense modern music (by
Chris Lane). For a moment, it pulls us out from Jackson’s world and back into
our own, reminding us that things aren’t much different here today—racism still
exists.
The
disparity and racial aggressions present—heightened by Yousefzadeh’s intensely
emotional direction—frighteningly parallel those of our own time. If ever there
was a time to produce and bring The
Royale to life, it would be now: a time wherein action and positive change
are needed in the wake of our nasty political climate.
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