Although it would be welcome at any time of year, Athol Fugard's A Lesson from Aloes was particularly appreciated during February's bitter chill. Set in 1963 South Africa, the play explores the emotional and physical effects of apartheid.
Surprisingly, the play's title is quite literal. No sooner does the curtain rise than the two main characters, Piet, a liberal Afrikaner, and his wife Gladys are musing about how the thickly leaved aloe plants have adapted to the sometimes-inhospitable climate. (In fact, before the initial dialogue is finished, the audience will perhaps learn more about aloe plants than they care to know.) While speaking, Piet holds aloft a small aloe plant from his collection. He marvels at how, many years ago, such plants survived a devastating four-year drought that basically wiped out farmers such as himself. Although that was many years ago, Piet still carries the memories of that harsh time. He expresses the belief that the aloe plant's survival is based on "thorns and bitterness." Gladys, a cultured woman from England, won't accept that notion. She proclaims that she wants to "live her life, not just survive it." Of course, all this is subtext for the play's compelling tale of how apartheid affected the "survival" of both whites and blacks.
Piet and Gladys have time to chat because they are waiting for some friends to arrive for dinner. It is a beautiful day, and they are planning to eat outdoors. They linger and comment about the setting sun. Eventually, they wonder whether anyone will show up. As they wait, Piet recounts how he left the farm and became a bus driver in the city. During a famous bus strike by black residents, Piet abandons his empty bus out of curiosity. He is so taken by the speaker's words and so startled by the crowd's welcome that he quickly converts to their cause. He makes friends with Steve, a black man. As they hand out leaflets to passersby, they create a strong bond between them. However, the events that follow put this friendship to the test.
Meanwhile, Gladys talks about how a recent house raid put her into such a traumatized state that she is sent away to a mental hospital. Although she is now in "recovery," it proves to be a fragile one. Fugard allows the plot to carefully build and build until the audience is on the edge of its seats.
Director Montgomery Davis adeptly takes this tension to the brink before the mystery begins to unfold. Brian Mani is masterful as the Shakespeare-quoting bus driver, Piet. He brilliantly reveals the many sides of this character, from doting husband to possible betrayer. Piet's easy camaraderie with Steve is crucial to the play's success, and Mani makes this friendship most believable.
Although Patrick Sims has a much smaller role as Steve (the only one from his family to arrive for dinner), he makes a memorable impression. He conveys the pride, as well as the bitterness, of his situation. The glue holding all this together, however, belongs to Gladys. Tracy Michelle Arnold gives such a superbly nuanced performance that it is almost cinematic. This works spectacularly well in the intimate confines of the Studio Theater. Gladys forces the men to cut through their casual conversation to discuss what is straining their friendship. Fugard offers no easy answers.
The play's production values allow the audience to thoroughly become engrossed in the action. The set must be one of the largest ever built in this small space. It is so convincingly crafted down to the last detail that one wonders if it was simply transported intact from South Africa and set down onstage. Costumes and lighting are also at a high level, making for an incredibly fulfilling theatrical experience.
