Reviving a classic the caliber of Suzan-Lork Parks’ Topdog/Underdog, which deserved and won a Pulitzer Prize in 2001, is a bit like a high-stakes version of three-card monte. There are so many ways that the contributing elements, no matter how distinguished the contributors, could surface to throw the game. In this production, every single aspect turns up a winner.
Parks’ script is deracinated by design. There are no particulars as to place or time, beyond ”Here” and “Now.” A thirtyish pair of brothers – Lincoln (Corey Hawkins) and Booth (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), supposedly named by their father as a sick joke – are living on the sharp edge of poverty. Set designer Arnulfo Maldonado has placed them in a cramped, unpleasant room, surrounded by cascades of satin stage curtains — as if to suggest that, although there is luxury to be found all around these two, it has not and will not ever fall into their hands.
As the curtain rises (only in part), we encounter Booth practicing three-card monte moves. He’s got the patter, the attitude, but there’s something lacking. Though not clumsy, he doesn’t entrance. It’s not until minutes before the final curtain that we’ll see his elder, Lincoln, ace these moves.
[Read Melissa Rose Bernardo’s ★★★★☆ review here.]
Lincoln, snapping out of an incremental alcoholic stupor, is hypnotic, a master, but – spooked off the street game by a casualty involving an accomplice – he has sworn off using his skill: “I don’t touch thuh cards no more,” he keeps telling 3-Card (Booth’s newly chosen, aspirational name).
Sibling rivalry starts ratcheting up from the get-go, even if the brothers have their moments of mutual appreciation – when, for instance, Booth boosts fancy suits for the both of them, the better to impress the ladies. (Costume designer Dede Ayite gets credit for the fly styling.) Looking slick, Booth heads out in search of the “amazing” Grace, his intended (also, more realistically, his disdainful ex). With no one to court, and no money to devote to the chase, Lincoln strips down again, to practice the skill that is supporting both men. Lincoln plays Abe Lincoln (in whiteface) at a local arcade, where fun-seekers pay to “assassinate” him. Good luck trying to imagine a more humiliating trade – but it gets worse. His employers have been hinting that they might replace him with a wax dummy. Lincoln, the real live one, figures he’d better work on his death-throe theatrics.
Peppered throughout the brothers’ cramped cohabitation, necessitated by Lincoln’s poor pay (despite a strong work ethic) and Booth’s contempt for work (he feels owed), are allusions to long-ago family traumas. These stories could be fabricated – the brothers do seem determined to outdo each another with shockers – but they could just as easily be true. We’re given to believe that they probably are.
The new stars have huge shoes to fill. The 2001 premiere, directed by George C. Wolfe, starred Jeffrey Wright and Don Cheadle (replaced by Mos Def when the play transferred from the Public to Broadway). Though I didn’t see that production, to my enduring regret, I can’t imagine a better pairing than the current one, under Kenny Leon’s deft direction. The actors even achieve a striking physical transformation in the course of the play. The one-upmanship that the brothers practice ranges from subtle to overt. As their fortunes start to reverse in counterpoint, it appears as if they’re gradually exchanging life forces. Booth starts to look haggard, as Link acquires a youthful clarity and purposefulness.
It doesn’t take a Chekhovian scholar to observe that a gun has been onstage, at the ready and frequently referred to, throughout both acts. I won’t spoil the ending, except to say that it elicited a piercing collective scream on press night. You’ll need to be there yourself, on the edge of your seat, to feel the full impact.
Topdog/Underdog opened Oct. 20, 2022, at the Golden Theatre, and runs through Jan. 15, 2023. Tickets and information: topdogunderdog.com
