This guy has written the same play five times now, said the disgruntled theater patron at a recent performance of August Wilson's newest Broadway offering King Hedley II, and while I mostly disregard such generalities as a reviewer, this one stuck with me the whole evening. Such cases have been made for people like filmmaker Woody Allen, who in his thirty-plus movies has generally gone to the same well several times in his effort to portray neurotic New Yorkers, usually played by himself. His films have varying degrees of success, but few would consider him talentless or disingenuous in doing what he knows best.
Which brings us to August Wilson, a bold, tenacious playwright who almost always tries to encompass years of African-American strife in a few hours. In work such as Seven Guitars, Fences, and most recently, the revived Jitney, he has bravely attempted to put a human face on the dilapidated lives of his usually lower-class representations and does the same here in Hedley, a three-hour look at street toughs in 1980s America (he has vowed to write a play about every decade in the 20th century). In this labored but occasionally interesting production, the intent is there but the execution is messier than the dirt-filled stage the actors prowl on. Wilson simply tries to do too much, so instead being pushed into the drama, you end up standing far behind it because of all the heavy-handedness.
Directed by Marion McClinton (whose work here is far less subtle than that of former Wilson collaborator Lloyd Richards), the play tells of King (played on the night I attended by understudy Keith Randolph Smith), an ex-con thief who enjoys hatching up money-making schemes with buddy Mister (Monte Russell, in the play's most accomplished portrayal) and dreams of opening a video store. By day, he takes care of a burgeoning garden in the midst of all the dirt, which he repeatedly bellows is "good dirt", and lives with his elegant but troubled soul mother (Leslie Uggams) and his fed-up wife (Viola Davis), whose own daughter is undergoing teenage troubles she has no time for. There's Stool Pigeon (Stephen McKinley Henderson), the Bible-spewing codger next door who acts as the evening's prophet (Wilson's plays always seem to have one) and Elmore (Charles Brown), an aging thug who has not lost his ability to swindle and seduce, makes a belated play on King's mom and boasts a long-suppressed secret about King's family ties. Through these six individuals, Wilson comments on the broken lives of African-Americans in the greedy 80s. Opportunities were scarce, but loyalty was still a virtue, even amongst thieves.
If only these themes weren't so pronounced all the time. From the moment you see the first gun appear, you just know someone is going to get it; our attention is drawn to the devices rather than the people. To his credit, Wilson is a fluid writer and never gives his characters stereotypical falseness; they may be too theatrical in verse at times, but everything sound more-or less-believable.
The drama never wafts sympathy where it isn't warranted, but director McClinton doesn't let the play breathe enough. Big scenes are a little too big, and the use of overbearing pop music merely distracts. Another disappointment is the lack of congruity in the acting. Russell is marvelously low-key and takes what could have been a caricatured street lowlife and makes him fully realized. Henderson is quite effective as the God-fearing neighbor. But the other performances are either underdeveloped or overstated, with Uggams guilty of the former (she appears to be aping Ruby Dee half the time and none too convincingly) and Davis and Brown, two great actors who have won much praise for this production, are more hyperactive than necessary.
I guess it's quite admirable to see a play that is so gloomy even occupying a large Broadway house, but the Virginia Theater still seems too big for it. The scale is large both on and off stage, but the intimacy of the brighter moments is lost in largeness as depicted, though David Gallo's impressive scenery does a great job making the actors seem like ants in an ant farm in the glum backyard surroundings -- a nice touch. Still, one of Stool Pigeon's oft-repeated lines, "They got to know that," resonates in unintended way. We know it Mr. Wilson, and you're good at telling it, but audiences soon may be craving a new way to hear it.
