So last weekend a new friend and I went to see Jeremy O Harris’ Slave Play at the Noel Coward Theatre. A show that has received 12 Tony nominations in the States, I hadn’t heard of it until the play came under attack for wanting to hold Blackout nights.
Common on Broadway I believe, Blackout nights are shows where priority is given to Black audiences. Some arguments for the practice include the safety and self care of Black audiences, to allow them to experience theatre without judgement by other races and in some cases there may be specially priced tickets fot those who find theatre ticket prices prohibitive. When announced that the practice would be brought here the outrage went to so far up the chain even the Prime Minister at the time, Rishi Sunak, called it “divisive”. Ironic.
Anyway, out of sheer frustration that the PM had used the play as a way to appease those who would never vote for him, I “gave him the bird” by spending my money and asking my friend to come with me.
Months later, the day of the show arrived and what was challenging was that I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to see? Reading the description on the website didn’t really say much except that it was an “extraordinary play about race, identity and sexuality in twenty-first century America”
Mate. Never has a more light touch description been written. And been so extremely impactful.
Essentially, the play follows the dynamic between three interracial couples: the quintessentially English Jim and his richly melanated wife Kaneisha, Alana who gives suburban house wife with Karen-esque vibes and Phillip her younger mixed race lover who’s never really felt his Black side and finally Gary and Dustin a gay couple where one is Blackity Black Black and the other just wants you to know he’s not white.
For the first 20 minutes I was stunned and had no idea what I was watching as each couple simulated sex and played out the slave and master dynamic of the 18th Century’s Deep South. It was uncomfortable, confusing and stirred the ‘English’ sensibilities I’ve absorbed by osmosis, Can you do what I’m witnessing on a stage in front of a couple of hundred people or so? Apparently you can. But the real crux of the play kicks in when you realise that this is all part of a therapy session designed to have each couple face the challenges and deficiencies within their relationship. And that’s where the real conversation begins…
Another inadvertent character in the play are the audience. It was weird how some people (mainly white) laughed heartily in some places whilst people of colour in the room remained silent? Or we protested or audibly reacted in agreement where our white counterparts remained silent. Initially I thought that maybe I just didn’t get the humour but having listened to another person’s take on Radio 4’s Front Row it made me realise that our cultural and experiential differences were playing out in our reactions.
I have to admit that one of the more striking parts of the play is when Game of Thrones star Kit Harrington proceeds to strip completely naked as part of him finally giving in to his wife’s desire to be dominated by her White husband. He’s relentless, fully succumbing to her kinda sadistic need to be denigrated by her husband almost in penance for betraying her ancestors for making him her life partner. By the time he’s done he is broken and in complete distress in the foetal position whilst Kaneisha sits at the head of the bed, stronger in my opinion, and thanks him for finally giving her what she needed despite his complete resistance to it initially.
Interestingly, a Togolese-British journalist Issac Ouro-Gnao described this part as “ distasteful and gratuitously violent, sullying an overall brilliant production” I think he missed the point.
As a Black woman, I felt I witnessed Kaneisha take back her ancestral power by ‘breaking‘ her husband, forever changing her relationship in that power dynamic that is actually far deeper than them and spread far into how society sees Black women with white men. And even though the play first came out in 2018, I saw American politics being played out in the current narrative of Harris vs Trump.
In Trevor Noah’s What Now? Podcast, his guest Tressie McMillan Cottom discusses how Kamala Harris being elevated to the presidency would be a potential head f*** to the American public, especially if she chose a white, male running mate. (The episode aired before Tim Walz was selected.) I remember listening to the interview and wondering if there would be an unspoken tug of war for power when foreign dignitaries met the pair. Whether despite being one of the most powerful (and proven capable) women in the world would she still be handled differently because she’s a woman. McMillan Cottom highlights that it is extremely rare to see a Black woman in such control in the US and may be a blow to white male American egos.
To anyone who hasn’t lived a day as a Black woman I can understand why Harris’ (Jeremy not Kamala) elevation of a Black woman in this way may seem odd and distasteful and almost unbelievable. Quite simply put power is not seen as our portion. However Kaneisha opens the play and ultimately has the last word, leaving us triumphant and in control.
Slave Play was an assault on the senses that sparked debate long after my friend and I had returned home, that kept me talking and writing about it, that even made me get a copy of the play so I could catch bits I might have missed in the performance. I can’t remember ever going to a play and being so viscerally moved. It’s not something I’d take my mum to but would definitely share and debate with friends. It is the true definition of multilayered, complex and compelling art.
