Seeing Aleshea Harris' "Is God Is" in its fast and furious regional premiere at Old Town's intimate A Red Orchid Theater is akin to seeing Aeschylus filtered through "Kill Bill" and sonically doused with a dose of Spaghetti Western music. that lands like Parmesan. in blood
There's something biblical about the piece, too, directed at breakneck pace by Marti Gobel through a story as wrathful as the Old Testament and populated by a family as haunting, unforgettable, and carnage as their ancestors in the House of Atreus.
In the story of twin sisters on a murderous mission on their mother's behalf, Harris uses the circumstances of a single family to illustrate a cycle of violence that seems as inescapable as a cloak woven by Fate and thrown over you in the womb.
Harris' screenplay, which won the 2018 Obie Award for Playwriting and the 2016 Relentless Award (created in honor of Philip Seymour Hoffman), periodically falters, mostly when the well-crafted characters step out of the action to narrate. Telling rather than showing is rarely a good dramatic idea because it takes the audience away from the action. It's not an insurmountable problem here either.
The story begins with the twins Anaia (Ashli Rene Funches) and Racine (Aja Singletary). They are in their early 20s and have been without their parents for 18 years. They have vague memories of their father, simply called Man (Kevin Minor) setting fire to her mother, Ella (Karen Aldridge) before leaving the young twins and Ella to burn.
Ashli Rene Funches (from left), Karen Aldridge and Aja Singletary star in "Is God Is" at A Red Orchid Theatre.
In the opening scene, Anaia and Racine are shocked to learn that she is not dead after all, but has been in a "nursing home" for years. So the twins set out to find their mother, who in turn sends them on a search that results in a significant body count and says something where restraining orders meant to protect women are as effective as throwing a flake. of snow to put out hell.
The matter of the restraining order is only mentioned briefly, but like everything else she remembers about the night of the fire (and its aftermath), it becomes unforgettable in Aldridge's haunting, kinetic performance.
Aldridge shifts from motherly to vengeful with a wiry grace that makes it painfully clear how damaged she is. Like Clytemnestra and Medea, she is not inherently monstrous, insane, or evil. However, she has lost everything she loved at the hands of a man who is all three.
Singletary is a powerhouse like Racine, who has made it her mission to protect her sister, and she has enough "meanness" to do that job. Funches is a heartthrob like Anaia, furious at her missing father who mutilated her and her mother who apparently abandoned her and Racine. Her sisterhood on stage is palpable.
En route to carrying out their mother's scorched-earth directive, Racine and Anaia vengefully bloody themselves with a host of memorable supporting actors, including twin brothers Scotch (Andrew Muwonge) and hopelessly unhappy mother Riley (Donovan Session). of siblings Angie (Rita Wicks) and Chuck Hall (Sherman Edwards), the lawyer/fixer who helped Man escape to a new life after the fire.
Between Gobel's dreamlike, choreographed scene transitions, bodies pile up, each kill ruthless, complex and, a credit to Harris' writing, unexpected.
Composer Kemet Gobel's original music suits the piece well, never more than when Minor's menacing Man moves toward it with the cunning fluidity of a rattlesnake emerging from its nest.
The maelstrom takes place on Sydney Lynne's relatively open set, all the better to suit the crushing brutality of Jyreika Guest's wince-inducing fight choreography.
Throughout, the twins center the maelstrom, not choosing violence as much as it chooses them. Clytemnestra and Medea would surely understand.
