In 2010, there were reasons to be optimistic about the future of LBGTQ rights in the United States, even if that acronym (which has since been expanded, of course) was not yet ubiquitous. A number of states had already legalized same-sex civil unions or marriage, and in that year, one of the most high-profile referendums banning the latter—California’s Proposition 8—was declared unconstitutional. Months later, the Senate voted to repeal “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” the egregious policy prohibiting openly gay, lesbian and bisexual citizens from serving in the military.
Over in Uganda, alas, as in many other places, the picture wasn’t quite as rosy. In the program notes for his vital, harrowing new play, The Rolling Stone, Chris Urch reminds us that a tabloid with that title, minus the article (presumably no relation to the iconic magazine founded by Jann Wenner), published on its front page the names, photos and addresses of known homosexuals and people suspected of homosexuality, which had been illegal in the country since the era of British colonial rule, stretching from the late 19th century to the early 1960s.
It’s in our current century, though, that Ugandan homophobia has grown particularly virulent, and violent—a trend also due, as Urch tells it, to Western influence: that of Christian missionaries, hailing mostly from our nation. Wisely, though, the young British playwright has not written an anti-Christian (or anti-American) screed; Rolling Stone rather examines how faith, among other factors, can become distorted or abused when a community is especially vulnerable to exploitation.
[Read Michael Sommers’ ★★★★ review here.]
We meet Dembe, a quick-witted, tender-hearted young man, all of 18 and preparing for medical school exams, during a rendezvous with Sam, an Irish doctor with a Ugandan mother. They sit in a boat, suggested in Arnulfo Maldonado’s spare, atmospheric set by a central chunk of the stage that lowers when characters are out on the lake, trading confidences. Dembe’s father has died recently, and the son expresses relief “that he’ll never know me for who I am.”
Dembe’s challenge now is to keep his secret from other family members: Joe, his charismatic older brother, who is about to be appointed pastor of the local church; Wummie, his fiercely smart younger sister, whose teasing belies a devotion and a willingness to sacrifice that will be borne out before long; Mama, the meddlesome but seemingly loving neighbor who has served as a maternal figure since their own mother died; and Naome, Mama’s daughter, who hasn’t uttered a word in months, suggesting she may be harboring her own skeletons or trauma.
Under Saheem Ali’s vigorous, sensitive direction, all of these characters are brought to vivid life. Ato Blankson-Wood’s Dembe is a gentle soul with a mischievous spirit, earning our sympathy without playing the victim. Robert Gilbert’s performance as Sam, a biracial character, is similarly nuanced, showing us the interloper’s selfishness while making his affection for Dembe undeniably genuine.
Myra Lucretia Taylor brings both comic panache and a foreboding sense of inflexibility to the role of Mama, whose concern for Joe and his siblings takes on an increasing air of self-interest. As Naome, Adenike Thomas has virtually no dialogue, but an exchange with Dembe on the lake, which the actress conducts entirely in pantomime, proves one of the play’s most moving and revealing scenes.
One of those revelations sets the stage for Rolling Stone‘s explosive and ultimately poignant final passages, in which the actors James Udom and Latoya Edwards, both standouts throughout, burn particularly bright. Edwards, a radiantly expressive actress, gives Woomie endearing sweetness, razor-sharp intelligence and an irrepressible spirit, all of which are challenged to wrenching effect. Udom’s Joe is equally captivating and haunting, a man of ferocious pride struggling to provide for his family, and to reconcile what he believes they and God demand of him. Towards the end, he and Dembe hurl seemingly contradictory Biblical lines at each other, proving how tricky this task can be.
“All I ever wanted was to be a good person,” Joe insists. With The Rolling Stone, Urch demonstrates how that seemingly simple goal can be complicated by both human frailty and the times and places we find ourselves in—a reminder that seems sadly topical right now.
The Rolling Stone opened July 15, 2019, at the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater and runs through August 25. Tickets and information: lct.org
