Sex, Racist Language and a Naked Kit Harington
★★★
WARNING: SPOILERS!
‘Is London ready for this?’ asks the publicity material for Slave Play by Jeremy O. Harris. We’re promised- sorry, trigger-warned- about racist language, sexual violence, and of course a naked Kit Harington. There’s even a high-tech solution to stop you taking a picture of Kit with his kit off: you’re given a piece of sticky paper to cover your mobile phone’s camera lens. So, is this the most shocking play in the West End?
Well, I wasn’t shocked but, if you are of a sensitive disposition, this may not be the play or indeed the review for you. More to the point, before you read on, I will be revealing a number of plot twists which may not be shocking, but, if you are going to see Slave Play, will spoil the intended surprises. What surprised me is how funny the play is.
The first thing you see is Clint Ramos‘ set. You immediately notice that the back of the stage is covered in mirrors. This means you can see some of your fellow audience members, plus a painting of a Southern States plantation owner’s house that is fixed to the front of the circle. Why the mirrors? Perhaps it’s so you can see who’s finding the discriminatory language funny, and who’s uncomfortable with it. Or maybe, so you can how many black people are in the audience, to which the answer is, definitely more than usual in a West End theatre. Or, given that we the audience are still predominantly white and the slavemaster’s house appears to be in our midst, it could be to remind us that this play is intended to be about us, white as well as black, even if we think it isn’t.
‘Work’ is the name of the first act. A couple appear, played by Kit Harington and Olivia Washington (she’s Denzel Washington’s daughter by the way). Some of the Broadway cast have come over, along with original director Robert O’Hara, but both these actors are new to the play.
Judging by what they are wearing and their drawling speech, we seem to be in a pre-Civil War, or antebellum, Southern state. She’s a black slave, but she’s gyrating to a Rihanna song called Work, as she does her chores. This strikes one as a little odd- a bit Bridgerton maybe. He’s a white overseer but not a slave master, as he is at pains to make clear.
There’s a sexual relationship in which he dominates and she submits. He throws a melon on the floor, which he describes as a watermelon, and tells her to get down and eat it. She corrects him, pointing out it’s a cantaloupe. (The poster for the play cleverly turns a cantaloupe melon into a sexual image.) This seems slightly off kilter, as she appears to be more like his equal, maybe even taking the lead. Nevertheless, as instructed, she eats it off the floor. The scene ends with him eating her.
In the second scene, a mature Southern Belle seduces a mixed race (or ‘mulatto’, as she describes him) servant, who could pass for white. She produces a family heirloom- a large black dildo, which she proceeds to use on him. Like all the sex in this production, it is simulated but quite graphic for the stage, and also laugh-out-loud funny (or maybe not, depending on your sensitivities). For me, the stilted Southern accents and porn movie dialogue made me think it could be called Carry On In The Cotton Fields or perhaps Carry On Up The Khyber might be more appropriate.
Scene three and couple number three: two men, one black, one white. The white man is shifting bales of cotton. He is an indentured servant who eventually licks the boots of his black boss. It is by now fairly obvious that there is some kind of role play going on in which the couples are acting out domination and submission fantasies. We are reminded in the programme of the quote by J N Benjamin: ‘everything is about sex, except sex which is about power’. But it could still, just, be early 19th century America. Act One culminates with all three couples having sex. Then Kit Harington’s character calls out ‘Starbucks’, which turns out to be a safe word, and everyone stops. Two women with clipboards enter and we move from farce to satire.
Act Two is called ‘Process’. It turns out that all three couples are on the fourth day of a therapy group- it’s fantasy day, hence the title Slave Play. The black partners are suffering from anhedonia, the first of many conditions I had never heard of. Some of these are made up but anhedonia does exist and, put simply, is lack of arousal.
They gather for discussion and analysis led by the two researchers, played by Chalia La Tour and Irene Sofia Lucio, both from the Broadway cast. They turn out to have encountered the same problem in their own relationship, which they believe can be overcome using what they call ‘Antebellum Sexual Performance Therapy’. This begins an initially hilarious satire as they spout more and more psycho babble, while being at times over sensitive to feelings and at others ignoring them, sometimes shutting down people for saying the ‘wrong thing’ and at others embracing whatever is said and attempting to integrate it into their theory.
Farce and satire are followed by a disturbing climax
To my way of thinking, these couples are simply incompatible, or bored with their relationship. Not so, say the therapists, they maintain that the black participants are feeling the legacy of their ancestors having once been slaves and subject to white imperialism. This is said to affect their sexual relationships with their white lovers. They propose acting out fantasies involving slavery as a solution.
I am assuming from the way the play mocks the researchers that their theory is poppycock. I suspect this extreme kind of unaccredited group therapy is more familiar to Americans than us British. In fact, it’s only a few months since I was at the National Theatre watching Annie Baker’s Infinite Life, another American play about a group of people being conned by bogus therapy.
I was amused at first by this central and dominant part of Slave Play, but it is like a satirical sketch that has been stretched out until it stops being funny. A bit like when a pleasant hug carries on until you feel trapped in the embrace.
After a while, I began to wonder how much more humour could be wrung out of these parodies of quack therapists, no matter how well the actors were nailing their techniques. I started to wish there was a safe word I could call out to get us on to the next scene. After all, this play is over two hours long without an interval.
Then, there is a change of gear from comedy to disturbing drama. Despite, rather than because of, the therapists, the black characters overcome what the therapists describe as ‘racialised inhibiting disorder’ and ‘alexithymia’ (guess which term is invented for their difficulty in talking about their emotions). They begin to recognise the true root of their problem, different in each case but with one thing in common.
It has already become clear that the white people are doing a lot of the talking, even though the sessions are supposed to be for the benefit of their black partners. Particularly funny in this respect is the way a middle-aged woman Alana, acted with a wealth of shocked facial expressions by Annie McNamara (from the Broadway cast), constantly speaks for Phillip. He is played with wide-eyed shyness by British actor Aaron Heffernan. She says she doesn’t even think about his colour, until he eventually speaks up and declares that he has been mistaken in thinking that his ability to pass for white is a good thing and that he’s at his most fulfilled when he is seen as being black. He mentions that he was excited by the way they met, when he was brought in by her then husband to fulfil the latter’s cuckold fantasy of seeing his wife have sex with a black man.
Gary, played by British actor Fisayo Akinade, eventually sees that he was wrong to regard a white partner as a kind of prize. Dustin, a flamboyant actor played for laughs by James Cusati-Moyer, who acted the part on Broadway, doesn’t want to think of himself as white. Gary becomes furious that this attitude denies the importance of his own ethnicity. It is one of the most emotional moments in a play that is otherwise more often melodramatic than realistic. The chemistry between them is electric.
Kit Harington‘s Jim, a British white man, is the most skeptical of this so-called Process, and says that he is uncomfortable with role playing a slave master. After some reflection, he observes that his partner seems to regard him as a virus. It is a turning point for Olivia Washington’s Kaneisha, who recognises that her anhedonia has developed because she does see white people that way.
So, at its heart, this play is about an on-going power struggle between white and black people, of which slavery may be the supreme example. The sexual relationships in Slave Play are intended to illustrate that, because white people are used to a society in which they are supreme, they fail to see that they are part of the problem that has caused their black partners’ sexual inhibition.
In the final act, called ‘Exorcise’, the mood becomes more serious. We are back in the bedroom with the couple who opened the play. Kaneisha asks Jim to listen, which he does as she explains to him he needs to recognise that he, as a white man, carries this so-called ‘virus’, because he has inherited a legacy of imperialism, colonialism and, of course, enslaving other races. Then, in a gesture which I took to mean that, this time, he wasn’t simply putting on a costume to play a part, he takes off all his clothes. The lighting is a little subdued as he walks around the bed but it is clear that his body is completely exposed, just as his deepest feelings are now fully acknowledged and revealed.
He once again goes through the ritual of treating her as a slave but this time with sincerity, flinging her, fully clothed, on the bed on her front and climbing on top of her. His aim is not to pleasure her, as in the first scene, but to force himself upon her. All the while, we focus on her calm face and, via the mirrors, and thanks to the bleaching effect of a bright light, at his very white buttocks rising and thrusting. When it’s over, she thanks him, but she is looking at the audience, so it seems she is also thanking those of us who are white for listening and recognising our racial heritage.
Mr Harington does well to convey a character who goes from confident to confused to broken. Ms Washington acts with passion. But, like the rest of the excellent cast, they are portraying characters who too often are ciphers rather than real human beings, and who offer melodrama in place of emotion.
Slave Play may mean more to Americans whose experience of race is different to the British one, so it may not have hit me as forcefully as intended. For me, the points about the psychological effect of white power that Jeremy O. Harris finally teases out in Slave Play, while interesting and provocative, are undermined by the earlier mockery of the psychiatrists. They also take too long to emerge and are less effective than they might be because the narrative is so obviously subservient to an agenda. On the plus side, there is much to enjoy in the sex romps and the send-up of the psycho-therapy industry.
You can see Slave Play at the Noël Coward Theatre until 21 September 2024. Buy tickets direct from the theatre.
Paul paid for his own ticket.
