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.
This comment was made about the video on the Theatre.Reviews With Paul Seven YouTube channel. It is reproduced with permission:
Thank you for this review. I saw the Broadway production five years ago, and I own a copy of the script, which I subsequently read after seeing the play. So I want to make a few points from the perspective of an American audience member who has quite deep knowledge of the American history of enslavement as an economic institution of domination and exploitation. I should preface this by stating that I’ve volunteered for years for an historic property that is New England’s main site that served as essentially a Northern “plantation.” (The Royall House & Slave Quarters.)
So I think your review is very insightful, but I also think this play is deeply American in a way that probably won’t read the same for a British audience. I deeply appreciate your respectful attempt at having equanimity and reviewing the play on its own terms. However, there are aspects of this play that probably don’t land the same in London. Our particular, awful history with enslavement as an economic institution that formed a backbone to this country’s economy is a deeply American pathology. It really was like a virus that infected us, to borrow the words that the character at the end of the play says out of sorrow and rage. Plantations really do feel like haunted places. Especially the ones whose structures remain in the South. Consider that these sites are sometimes used as wedding venues for white people – how revolting is that? That’s just one example of how the play directly confronts the legacy of this institution. But I don’t even think it is only about that, or enslavement is the antagonist of the play per se.
I think the Carry On reference – which I understand minimally but I imagine you are saying that the sketch comedy aspect feels broad and silly like something called Carry On – is apt. However, I think there is quite a bit more encoded into the seeming humor and whimsy. As another example of the layers this play is operating on and peeping back: the Black characters play surreal versions of harmful Black stereotypes that began during enslavement. These are numerous, and American audiences recognize them right away as integral to our cultural identity. Though they are consigned to the dustbin of history now, it really wasn’t that long ago that these stereotypes carried violent weight. My grandparents’ generation grew up with the colloquial saying, “Eeny, meeny, mynie, mo/catch a __ by his toe/if he hollers, let him go” I’m sure you can imagine the word that goes into the blank, which I could never bring myself to say because it’s so horrifying and destructive. But I’m sure you can deduce what it is from the topic at hand.
When this play came out in 2019 on Broadway, white audiences – even supposed liberals – were getting overheated and angry enough that some of them would scream and yell during the talkbacks. It was the show that introduced “Blackout nights,” where people of color could attend the show among their peers without the intrusion of the White gaze. (Which is something Slave Play addresses – the White gaze – hence the mirror, in case you were wondering why there’s a mirror.) In our country, states are making it illegal to tell the truth about the brutality of enslavement as a racist system of exploitation and appropriation and commodification of the Black body. Even though the public records available in our country will tell us how brutal this system was. In the town in Massachusetts where the farm/plantation was that housed many enslaved people in the years prior to Massachusetts abolishing enslavement, there are public records that list Black/African people as simply property. You can see evidence of these human beings being sold. And bounties being placed on them when they attempted to flee to freedom. This was in Massachusetts, a supposed liberal bastion.
And there is another thing that probably won’t register for an audience member who doesn’t identify as “Queer” or as a member of the LGBTQ+ communities: this play was written by a Black, queer-identifying person whose intersectional identities in both categories are doubly marginalized in this country. Even now, Black queer people in the US are murdered – just for being themselves and existing in public space. That is part of the reason the Rihanna song “Work” is heard in the show. Jeremy O Harris is making a point about the amount of unasked-for labor people with multiply marginalized identities have to carry in this country. That exploitative model is in part due to the legacy of enslavement. If you’ve read a Faulkner novel about these overall subjects, this play is a bit of an offspring of the ideas contained in those books.
I’ll end for now by pointing out: if you want to know just how personal this play is to the US context, a direct example from a current political figure is how white children were afraid to play with Kamala Harris when she was growing up in California. The legacy of this vile institution of enslavement is hundreds of years in the making, and it is America’s Original Sin. (Though colonialism/Other-ing/xenophobia are not unique to the US, of course …) I hope you find these thoughts useful to your consideration of the play.
@christophercobb249
