Clybourne Park stars Crystal A. Dickinson, Annie Parisse and Jeremy Shamos
photo by Joan Marcus

Much of the early publicity surrounding Clybourne Park generated smiles about playwright Bruce Norris’ shrewd whim to locate his new play in the very house in the white neighborhood that the black folks from A Raisin in the Sun moved into. They remarked on the delicious P.C. irony, the rosy, incestuous theatrical glow the very notion sparked. Way to go, Norris. And Norris delivered what the wits called a black comedy, in which the white folks of the neighborhood tried to talk the white folks selling the house out of selling to black folks, which makes for a biting feel-bad feel-good comedy and a fast paced first act. But Norris isn’t done; there’s a dark, painful joker in the deck: just why are these nice white folks selling? Gotta be something funny in that, something with teeth for the smug, racist zeitgeist back in the olden days of 1959, yes? Well, no. Not at all funny. Not one goddam bit. Horribly, achingly tragic is more like it. And director Pam MacKinnon makes sure that it underlies the flavor of everything in Bruce Norris’ wicked wallops at our built-in racism in the olden, golden days of 1959.

Because Bev and Russ are selling out of pain, deepest pain. Their tall, strong, beautiful son, Kenneth, went off to war in Korea and shot to death a lot of women and children, then was shipped home in disgrace. And hanged himself upstairs. Two years ago. So, while there’s lots to laugh at in the packing and crating and the tumult of moving, Bev ( marvelous Christina Kirk) is always walking on eggs, playing silly word games, being over-the-top condescending to Francine (excellent Crystal Dickinson), her colored maid, and much too smiley. And Russ? (Frank Wood, phenomenal). He’s sitting around in his chair in his pajamas at noon, eating ice cream out of the box, staring into space. After two years. Today’s the day they have to get Ken’s foot locker out of his room.

Everybody else is taken up with their moving and the sale to persons of color. Nary a mention of Ken. Wouldn’t be nice. And, besides, that’s hardly more important than what’s happening to the neighborhood. Good friend Karl (simply splendid Jeremy Stamos) just won’t shut up. He’s taken on the role of spokesman for the neighborhood, has a counter offer to buy the house, pushes and pushes and pushes. Until Russ snaps. It’s done. The house is sold. The colored maid and her colored husband, Albert (remarkable Damon Gupton) lose their grip on the fated footlocker and it comes thundering down. Karl shocked, shuts up, then continues. Russ blasts him, takes out a letter. It is Ken’s suicide note. Bev goes completely to pieces. Everyone leaves. Russ takes a shovel. He is going to bury the footlocker in the back yard. Great first act curtain.

Act Two is 2009. A meeting of the neighbors is going on with the new, white owners, who are the first in this all black neighborhood and intend to build a considerably larger house on the site. The house is a mess, graffitied, dirty. They are sitting on crates, pails, whatever, discussing the Situation. Playwright Norris has turned the tables and is obviously going to have nasty, bitter fun. Lena (the estimable Crystal Dickinson), is trying to speak for retaining respect for an historic black neighborhood, but that’s the last civilized utterance to come out of the lot of them. It all turns into a Donnybrook which only stops when a workman who had been hired to clear a blockage turns up with an old, padlocked foot locker. Which drives them all out of the house. He cuts the lock, settles down to read what we recognize as Kenneth’s suicide note. And the ghost of Kenneth in his uniform enters the room. He sits writing what the workman is reading. Damn black comedy.


Playwrights Horizons, 416 W. 42^nd St. (play ended its run March 21)