It’s heartening to see a provocative play the caliber of Ain’t No Mo’ vault to Broadway so swiftly. A hit at the Public Theatre in March 2019, it probably would have arrived even sooner were it not for the Covid hiatus. Either way, author/performer Jordan E. Cooper is now, at 27, on Broadway. His accomplishment is at once formidable and, with any luck, possibly premonitory: Imagine the ongoing contributions he’ll be set to make, should he continue to create at this rate.
The history which Cooper outlines, in scathing parodic strokes, is grievously slower-paced – though it speeds by in his imaginative precis. He has taken on no less than three centuries of white-on-black racial oppression and channeled it into one main storyline accompanied by illuminating side scenes.
Cooper leads the way via his own snarky, panicky soliloquies as Peaches, a beleaguered airline attendant charged with shepherding the United States’ entire Black population onto an ultra-jumbo jet in time to catch the “free” – albeit compulsory – Flight 1619 (note that number) to Africa. The time is now – or some not too distant future, given the eroding political climate. A diaspora is underway, only in reverse.
[Read David Finkle’s ★★★★★ review here.]
It’s an ingenious concept, with a structure to match. The play starts with a celebration of sorts: a rousing, upbeat funeral set specifically at 11 PM on November 4, 2008 – the night of Obama’s election. Playing a honey-tongued, hyper-dramatic preacher officiating at the funeral of “Brother ʼRighttocomplain,ʼ” Marchánt Davis manages to get a good portion of the audience up on their feet to chant a paean that in recent decades has evolved from a hideous racial epithet to a signifier of respect – depending, still, on the speaker. Though discomfiting to some, this participatory exercise feels at once cleansing and energizing.
A subsequent scene, set in an abortion clinic euphemistically re-labeled a “community center,” has recently acquired an additional tragic resonance, when the original was harrowing enough. Two women (Shannon Matesky and Fedna Jacquet) are waiting for their numbers to be called; it’s suggested, eventually, that the wait line may run to millions. In the interim, they have time to debate the morality of bringing a child into a life certain to encompass poverty, pain, and increased odds of early death. Cooper does not pull his punches.
Comic relief awaits in the form of a hilarious mock-TV segment, “Real Baby Mamas of the South Side.” In the intimate confines of the Public’s Newman Theatre (a third the size of the cavernous, ornate Belasco), it was easy to catch every ingenious gradation of shade. Slower pacing might help here – but there’s no mistaking the full absurdity of “Rachonda” (Shannon Matesky) claiming to be “transracial.”
Each of these impactful interpolated scenes would warrant its own play. Cooper is a genius at concision, and his critique of the dominant culture cuts deep. His vision is well served by a top-notch, protean cast: you may be surprised to note that there are only five supplemental actors (denoted as “Passengers”) in addition to Cooper, who stays in character right up to the soul-baring denouement.
Every single performer is a standout. Particular praise is due Crystal Lucas-Perry for two exceptional portrayals: as “Black,” the feral embodiment of enslavement imprisoned beneath the dining room of a smug haute-bougie family, and as “Blue,” an about-to-be-released convict crushed – and enraged — by the concrete evidence of her usurped life.
Cooper proves equally heartbreaking as Peaches, whose brittle competence is slowly eroded by the scope of her task. Having left off laughing, you’ll have ample time to reconsider the tragedies which the play presents so movingly, and which continue to play out all around us.
Ain’t No Mo’ opened December 1, 2022, at the Belasco Theatre and runs through December 23. Tickets and information: aintnomobway.com
