In 2003 Tarell Alvin McCraney wrote The Brothers Size as the second of his Brother/Sister Plays. It was the first to be performed and continues to be the most frequently staged of the trilogy, which he also calls a “triptych.” (Yes, he’s the one who copped an Oscar for the screen adaptation of his Moonlight.)
McCraney’s use of “triptych,” a word conjuring artworks, is appropriate. It certainly is artful in this latest, hot-as-burning-coals revival transferred from the Geffen Playhouse in Los Angeles, a manifestation that—as co-directed by Bijan Sheibani and McCraney and choreographed by Juel D. Lane—can be appreciated as athleticized/poeticized mythology.
On entering the Shed, André Holland, Alani iLonge, and Malcolm Mays immediately cavort and contort so continuously that soon enough audience members have to be wondering how the three get through a single performance, never mind eight a week.
[Read Melissa Rose Bernardo’s ★★★★☆ review here.]
Who are these characters? Holland and iLongwe are the title figures, Ogun Size and younger brother Oshoosi Size; Mays is Elegba, just out of prison, along with Oshoosi, and looking for more trouble than Oshoosi is now that they’re released on probation.
Though the years following the first production, much has been claimed about playwright McCraney’s intentions (probing the reality of freedom, for instance). Yet, The Brothers Size is primarily about brotherhood, pure and simple. Check that. The play is about literal brotherhood, yes, but hardly pure or simple.
Ogun and Oshoosi love each other, but their psychological constitutions are quite different—not unlike, for instance, Cain and Abel of the Old Testament’s original brother tragedy. (The allusion isn’t, of course, coincidental on McCraney’s part.)
Ogun, who owns a car-repair shop, believes in making an honest living and wants Oshoosi to join him. He’s fully aware that a condition of Oshoosi’s probation is finding a job. Oshoosi isn’t so keen on the idea, fighting against it. He’s encouraged in his recalcitrance by Elegba, who has criminal activities in mind.
McCraney, in other words, is putting brotherhood to the test and not coming up with an A+. Eventually, he doesn’t provide a happily-ever-after ending but rather a hopefully-ever-after ending in which (spoiler alert) Ogun tells Oshoosi he’ll be sending him off and, when police predictably arrive, will deny his brother three times.
Surely, the three-time denial Peter gives about Jesus conjured here is McCraney introducing religion as a major concern. But what’s notable is not that he invokes the Old and New Testaments but in time a different spiritual source—Yoruba religiosity.
More about that allusion later. Right now, the vision of The Brother Size needs to be described as the major reason for the dramatic thrall in which the audience is inextricably caught. To begin, the action takes place both inside and outside a chalk circle, the actors announcing their entrances and exits as they cross the chalk line. (Suzu Sakai is the economical set designer.)
The circle seems to suggest its own cosmos. Within it, Ogun, Oshoosi, and Elegba carry on with abandon, all the while conveying the intricate plot. (Percussionist Munir Zakee underlines things.) Throughout, their hyper-gyrations rouse the audience, culminating just before closing in a rip-roaring musical sequence.
For this and out of nowhere sound designer Stan Mathabane pipes in the Otis Redding version of “Try a Little Tenderness” (composer Harry M. Woods, lyricists Jimmy Campbell and Ray Connelly). The sequence is a let-it-all-hang-loose exercise, the likes of which may never have been seen before. Through it the audience itch to stomp and cheer is palpable.
That alone is worth the price of admission. Okay, the entire production is worth more than the price of admission. If there’s any drawback to what’s on view, it may be that the early clowning somewhat delays McCraney’s up-close-and-personal view of brothers unsuccessfully trying to align. (Inevitably, men in the audience who have a brother will focus, even if fleetingly, on their sibling.)
By the way, McCraney’s dialogue, unrelentingly exploding through the physical shenanigans, is top-drawer. Not since August Wilson’s expansive musical monologues has anything like them been heard. As for the vital Yoruba influence: A long-existing tribe in Nigeria’s northeastern region, their ideologies have infused McCraney’s obsessions. They’re so prevalent that he’s named Ogun, Oshoosi, and Elegba after mythic Yoruba figures. Ogun is a god whose specialty is metalwork (hence the car shop occupation). Oshoosi is a hunter (hence Oshoosi’s urge to hunt for trouble). Elegba is a trickster god (the name choice obvious enough).
At the end of McCraney’s theatrical day, understanding the strong Yoruba effect on The Brothers Size enriches McCrane’s creation but is hardly necessary for falling under its ultimately encompassing power.
The Brothers Size opened Sept. 10, 2025, at The Shed and runs through Sept. 28. Tickets and information: theshed.org
