What distinguishes Charles Johnson's approach to Black history from that of the sermons recently churned out by playwriting workshops is that instead of a thesis (or a headline), he starts with a story—not just any story, in this case, but a rip-roaring roller-coaster adventure yarn keeping us so riveted on the progress of the action as to barely notice the massive body of knowledge we are absorbing unawares. The Middle Passage recounts the journey in 1830 of a Free Man of Color, steeped in scholarship but short of money, whose youthful impulsiveness lands him aboard a ship sailing from New Orleans to Africa to bring home a cargo of Illegal captive slaves. After many harrowing experiences, he returns home with a new understanding and respect for the complexities of human nature, the necessity of making decisions, and a well-earned longing for the comforts of a quiet land-locked life. Audiences will likely detect, in the course of his education, traces of classic coming-of-age tales —Huckleberry Finn, Moby Dick, Heart of Darkness—but far from diluting our emotional investment in the characters, these elements serve to anchor us just enough to permit the author's side-trips into, say, the social structure of urban and rural society in the ante-bellum American North and South, the economics of the sailing industry, the exploitation of laborers by cruel masters, African tribal deities and many more topics seamlessly blended into the literary landscape. Lifeline Theater's nearly half-century of expertise at fitting panoramic vistas to its silo-shaped stage easily accommodates a cast of eleven playing a multitude of roles (including a puppet parrot and a shape-shifting old-world god). Let's not forget, either, a storm at sea incorporating thunder and lightning, crashing waves, planks ripped away from the ship's hull, and passengers washed overboard—all depicted so immediately that we can almost smell the salt spray.
