I don't know why August Wilson specialist Stephen McKinley Henderson, who was announced to direct this production, didn't; but, though he might have achieved a slightly more elegant subtlety [like his authoritative acting in Wilson's plays], I doubt he would have significantly improved Geva Theater artistic director Mark Cuddy's work on this beautiful revival of Fences. It is a landmark achievement for Cuddy and for his theater. I still remember the late Lynn Thigpen's performance as Rose in an otherwise fine but unremarkable Fences on Broadway as incomparably masterful and right, but otherwise I thought this as satisfying a performance of this great play as I have seen, including its world-premiere production.
Few Wilson authorities agree with my belief that Fences is Wilson's masterpiece, his Death of a Salesman. Most regard more highly his more obviously ambitious plays, like Joe Turner's Come and Gone or Gem of the Ocean.. But I am slightly put off by the straining for significance in the jarringly unreal symbolism of those plays. The only such element in Fences is Troy's brain-damaged brother Gabriel's trying to play his horn to alert Saint Peter that Troy has come to enter the Pearly Gates. I don't feel any strain in that symbolism; it is prepared for, and even Gabriel realistically understands the implications of what he is saying and doing at that moment. It feels heartbreakingly true.
The significance of the title is clearly discussed: Troy's friend Bono remarks that a fence can keep people out or keep them in, and Rose is struggling to hold her family together inside the fence they are building on their property. The baseball images might be misinterpreted because we are told Troy was deluded about his lost chances to play major league baseball; Rose says he was too old. But that refers to his delusion that he should have been allowed to play after he was older. Troy says, presumably truly, that in the Negro League he hit a number of home runs off Satchel Paige's pitches. The legendary Paige did get into the major leagues as a relief pitcher, retiring in his 60s, and striking out most of the hitters he pitched to.
I once asked August Wilson whether he intended Troy to seem a possibly great hitter who played too early in the game's racist history, and he said that he meant Troy to be hanging on to the idea too long but to have once been a potentially great player.
So we need a big man with big weaknesses, bitter about his lost chances and limited possibilities, rigid in his sense of responsibility but selfish and wavering in his ability to love. Troy takes care of his family but doesn't feel care for them a little man in societal standing but a very big man in physical, emotional, and interactive stature.
Tony Todd, a very experienced stage and screen actor, made an indelible impression as the frightening Candyman in films: he has an amazingly expressive and commanding face, voice and body, so he has little problem dominating this play. His Troy is charismatic, and variously humorous, menacing and tragic. Mostly, he simply embodies the role. When he raised the bat threatening to beat his cringing son with it, the audience gasped aloud. His presence remains palpable in the final scene when Troy is dead and not seen.
Nora Cole makes Rose's transition effortlessly from all-accepting wife to woman-in-charge after Rose finds out Troy is cheating on her. Her quiet, "This baby's got a mother, but you a womanless man" elicited spontaneous applause. But she was even more moving when refusing to let her embittered son stay away from his father's funeral.
Jared McNeill gave a nuanced account of the son, Cory, utterly believable except almost too movie-star handsome. Jason Dirden managed to give understanding and even likability to Lyons, Troy's son from an earlier marriage, a feckless musician with an adjustable conscience. Though only an occasional visitor, his Lyons remains throughout a connected part of the family.
Wiley Moore as Bono, Troy's oldest and closest friend, suggests perhaps more depth to that character than Wilson wrote for him. And Brian D. Coats gives in to the over-the-top character of the almost uncontrollable, brain-damaged Gabriel remaining just this side of scene-chewing hammy; it's a nifty balancing act.
Shaun Motley's beat-up house and surrounding neighborhood are a telling collection of persuasive details; the warmth or ugliness, and even hints of redemption are left to Dawn Chiang's sensitive lighting to emphasize. And Emilio Sosa's costumes are effectively unnoticeable until he dresses Rose to look smartly in charge near the end (the script just puts a Marine dress uniform on Cory to grow him up in a minute).
There's a warm sense of accomplishment when a theater can bring a great drama to life with such appealing, balanced artistry.
