Among the several sketches in Jordan E. Cooper’s Ain’t No Mo’, three take place in an airport waiting-area presided over by pink wigged flight agent Peaches (Cooper himself as herself). Throughout the sequences the cockpit of a red-green-and-black plane is seen through a large window. More significant than the view of what’s identified as an African American airlines vessel is a sign announcing gate 1619 that hangs over the passenger gateway door.
The 1619 is—should it be needless to say?—pointedly meaningful. It refers to August 20, 1619 when approximately 20 blacks arrived by ship in Jamestown, Virginia. Those arrivals represent what many consider the beginning of slavery in America. (The assumption is sometimes questioned, a discussion for another time.)
In other words, Cooper—and set designer Kimie Nishikawa—intend the visible plane section to stand for the vehicle by which today’s African-Americans can book passage, should they choose, for a return to the continent of their descendants’ origin. And though funny—with a somber underpinning—from start to finish, Cooper isn’t entirely kidding about his radical Ain’t No Mo’ proposal.
[Read Michael Sommers’ ★★★★ review here.]
In a program note, Cooper suggests that with its depiction of today’s black cultural manners and mores Ain’t No Mo’ is a follow-up to The Colored Museum, George C. Wolfe’s breakout click. He’s determined that his revue qualifies, although whether he’s as consistent in his writing as Wolfe begs a comparison that won’t be pursued here.
Once Peaches aggressively addresses the audience about dealing with their cellphones, Cooper hops to the first of his extended skits. This one is built around popular black “goin’ to church” behavior. Here he goes to church with boisterous Pastor Freeman (Marchánt Davis) who doesn’t censor the occasional obscenity, even though some of his well-outfitted parishioners (Montana Levi Blanco is the inspired costumer throughout) object. With his high-volume imprecations he does anything but shy away from repeatedly invoking the n-word. (Is the often-heard n-word an obscenity? There’s a query to mull over.)
Cooper’s religious leader is importuning his nicely-chapeau-ed witnesses—the specified date is November 4, 2008 when Barack Obama is elected—to repeat after him, “The President is my [n-word].” He’s so insistent that at the preview I attended several self-designated witnesses in the audience joined the fun(?) by raising their voices in gleeful assent. Incidentally, at several moments he mentioned light-skinned blacks, referring to an apparently still-discussed shades-of-blackness categorization carried on within the black community. This, it seems evident, continues reflecting an attitude arising from living within a larger white population.
Given the premise of the opening, “goin’ to church” may offer the early impression that that’s Cooper’s entire objective for Ain’t No Mo.’ It did go on longer than it needed to, but when he moves on, it’s to bring back the exuberant Peaches for her chats and then to introduce four more hard-hitting skits.
The first takes place in the Sister Girl We Slay All Day ‘Cause Beyoncé Say Community Center, where women talk outspokenly while waiting for their number to be called. Called for what? For abortions. They’re all pregnant but, having lost children in beatings and shootings, they don’t want to bring more into their oppressed world.
Yes, Cooper’s characters can be rib-tickling in their vulgarities, but while he’s tickling ribs, he’s also punching guts. His references cover what seem like just about everything and everybody in the newspapers and on television today, and he does have a knack for getting laughs while hitting home.
So his intentions couldn’t be clearer. Far from questioning the country’s racist fabric, he demonstrates varying ways in which racism persists. Indeed, why should he question conditions that are only being made worse by the nation’s divisive national leader?
(N.B.: Plays questioning the disturbing intolerance circumstances persist this season and, possibly most importantly, include Suzan-Lori Parks’ White Noise, also now at the Public and which presents a radical possibility of its own. It could be said the Public is on a roll.)
Another of the sequences involves the members of an upper-class black family that, as they deal with retainer Latoya’s abrupt departure, are determined not to look back at their ancestral past. In Cooper’s schemes, they’re the least likely to think about boarding that upstage plane.
No need to go into detail about the other sketches, one of which features The Real Baby Mamas of the South Side and the other unfolding in a prison. They’re as long, if not longer, but are less consistently successful.
Under Stevie Walker-Webb’s no-holds-barred-no-profanity-bleeped direction, actors Cooper and Davis are accompanied with amazing facility by doubling-tripling-quadrupling Fedna Jacquet, Crystal Lucas-Perry, Ebony Marshall-Oliver, and Simone Recasner. Lighting designer Adam Honoré and sound designer Emily Auciello add to the often-irresistible raucousness.
In the last of the Peaches scenes, where her drag-queeniness regularly approaches RuPaul Drag Race level, she’s in a frenzy to board the last passengers for their flight to Senegal and beyond. She’s so harried she’s risking her own ability to make the flight.
Whether she does won’t be revealed—only that the last view of what has been Peaches is stunning. What it says speaks silent volumes on how today’s African-Americans must sometimes (often? habitually?) feel about living in an excessively unsettled United States.
Ain’t No Mo’ opened March 27, 2019, at the Public Theater and runs through May 5. Tickets and information: publictheater.org
