There’s a lot going on in ”Daddy,” (sic) the new play by Jeremy O. Harris who burst onto the New York theatrical scene earlier this season with Slave Play, a similarly dense and intense work, presented at New York Theater Workshop. Like that wild and funny piece, ”Daddy” explores racial and sexual issues employing outlandish satire and elements of fantasy. Also like Slave Play, this new piece goes way over the top but has a lot going for it.
Subtitled a melodrama and co-produced by The New Group and The Vineyard Theater, Daddy starts off focusing on the autumn-spring romance of struggling African-American artist Franklin (an amazingly emotive Ronald Peet) and fabulously wealthy, white, 60-ish art collector Andre (sharp and sly Alan Cumming). But as the play’s lengthly three acts proceed, the center shifts to the battle between Andre and Zora (passionate and precise Charlayne Woodard), Franklin’s deeply religious mother, for the young man’s soul. Zora doesn’t seem to object to her son’s homosexuality, but there is something she doesn’t like about Andre but can’t quite put her finger on.
That’s the essential problem with the play. Harris wants to probe the power dynamic in this unusual triangle, but he can’t quite put his finger on the essential conflict. Evidently, Franklin has deep unresolved father problems, Andre has a sadomasochistic streak, and Zora is still enraged at her son’s father who deserted the family decades ago. None of the three emerge as totally three-dimensional beings, particularly Andre who is not developed much beyond being rich and controlling. It isn’t until the final 20 minutes that Harris weaves these threads into a cohesive whole and offers some clarity as to their meaning in a larger context. Zora delivers a moving speech (splendidly done by Woodard) about the fraught relations of African-American fathers to their sons but it’s too little, too late. Plus all these incredibly impactful clashes are resolved too neatly and quickly, as if Harris realized he’d better wrap things up before hitting the three-hour mark.
There are many noteworthy elements in the production and script, such as Harris’s witty sketching of the Los Angeles art scene (embodied by the vapid gallery owner Alessia played with wit by Hari Nef) and Franklin’s airhead friends, pretty boy actor Max (funny Tommy Dorfman) and fashion-and-Instagram obsessed Bellamy (Kahyun Kim in a touching turn, exposing her character’s shallowness and vulnerability almost simultaneously).
Danya Taymor’s insightful, yet outsized direction turns this confusing melodrama into a grand opera with many musical numbers (George Michael’s “Father Figure” is the most significant, of course) complete with a gospel trio (magnificent vocals by Carrie Compere, Denise Manning, and Onyie Nwachukwu) and an onstage swimming pool (Matt Saunders created the envy-inspiring, luxurious Bel Air set). Front row audience members are provided with towels to dry off after the actors have gotten them wet. There’s plenty of splashing, singing, and embellishments in ”Daddy”—including the pretentious quote marks in the title referring to Franklin’s gallery show of ironic African-American dolls—but not enough meaty drama. Still, Harris has a vital voice and is a talent to watch.
