Theater review by Regina Robbins
When the Johnsons sit down to dinner in Patricia Ione Lloyd’s new play, Eve’s Song, they do everything right, from placing their cloth napkins neatly on their laps to saying “please” and “thank you” as they pass the rolls. Mom Deborah (De’Adre Aziza) takes pride in making a nice meal for her teenage kids, even after working all day at a demanding corporate job. But as the head of this high-achieving African-American family, newly separated from her husband, she’s beginning to fray at the edges. When Lauren (Kadijah Raquel), Deborah’s elder child and a college student, becomes involved with Upendo (Ashley D. Kelley), a sexually fluid political activist, the Johnson home starts coming apart—literally.
The first half of Eve’s Song plays as kooky dark comedy, but supernatural elements assert themselves with increasing frequency as the action progresses. While Lauren explores her burgeoning queer identity, Deborah’s life goes further off the rails; meanwhile, the ghosts of black women swirl around them, heartbroken and forgotten, threatening the family’s suburban middle-class bubble.
A pro’s pro, director Jo Bonney guides the cast on a disquieting journey from humor to tragedy; newcomer Raquel is especially impressive as the sensitive Lauren, dismayed to find that her sexual awakening brings with it a growing political consciousness. As plays about racial violence flood New York stages in an overdue cascade, Lloyd rises above the tide on the strength of her original voice. Guess who’s coming to dinner? Someone you thought was dead and buried.
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“Another mirror for America’s soul, but one trained as much on gender as on race. A mashup of styles and giddy language explosions, Eve’s Song presents a version of our country not covered in the nightly news, one in which the deaths of black women dominate the bandwidth. It is America as Haunted House, with the ghosts finally given voices denied to them in life, through a series of the year’s most aching monologues. After years of adversity, playwright Ione Lloyd made her professional debut at one of the country’s most prestigious theaters, and as such it is one of those plays that feels both surprising and inevitable.”
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“The piece began in darkness with the sound of the dancers’ voices muttering softly, then more loudly.
“It’s mine,” they called. When the lights came on, the dancers could be seen choking and gasping, their sinewy bodies pulled by an inexplicable force from their stomachs. They rolled over one another with tight muscles and jerking limbs. Their power struggles led only to more suffering, with the dancers eventually crawling wretchedly on the ground.
The piece’s final moments, complete with menacing animal masks, were unsettling. Batten Bland revealed the worst excesses of human nature. Her raw denouncement of humanity’s base qualities held a particular resonance in the wake of the massacre three years ago, but it continued to feel prescient even now.”