★★★★✰
Swirling romances, alcohol drenched soirées, and outrageous outfits. Pearl Cleage’s 1995 Blues for an Alabama Sky paints a lively picture of the emotional ebbs and flows of 1930s Harlem. Lynette Linton’s staging is a knockout, languishing with a smooth electricity charged by vivacious performances.
Samira Wiley’s Angel Eyes is a down and out showgirl navigating romantic flings with gangsters alongside a fledgling career singing the blues. She and Giles Terera’s Guy Jacobs, a majestically performed fashion designer, spend their Saturday nights rubbing shoulders with the brightest and best from the Harlem Renaissance. Their Sunday mornings are spent hungover. The two energise each other, rallying off the other’s wit and presence. They are perfectly matched.
Their flat becomes a safe haven from the impending crawl of recession, their dreams are beacons of light in the darkness. They recite Langston Hughes as if his poetry is a prayer. Angel Eyes’ prayers are answered in the form of the debonair southern gentleman Leland Cunningham, played by an equally suave Osy Ikhile. But as the pangs of economic hardship and reality of poverty crawl closer, cracks form and splinter across fault lines that will come to define Modern America.
Cleage’s play cleverly juxtaposes the narcotic haze of prohibition New York with an exploration of abortion. Across the hall lives Ronke Adekoluejo’s Delia Patterson, a planned parenthood activist seeking to open the first abortion clinic, inspired by real-life figures like Faye Wattleton. Her and Angel Eyes’ lives intertwine with tragic consequences.
Set and Costume Designer Frankie Bradshaw’s world is bursting to the brim with fine-tuned details. From the specks of rust on the fire stairs outside to Guy’s sewing machine, the heat and noise of the sleepless city is just on the other side of a dirt-lined window. Oliver Fenwick’s atmospheric lighting design shoots shards of steamy light across the set, creating a luscious melancholic haze.
Despite the flamboyant fun, witty one-liners, and laser sharp artistic vision, Linton conjures a silent desperation that festers at the heart of the play. It is both tragic and thrilling to watch it unfold. The play itself stands on the shoulders of other writers, a dash of Chekhovian pessimism with a spring of Tennessee Williams’ sultry desire. Yet Linton ensures that the play feels entirely like its own entity. New but familiar. Powerful but endlessly charming.
Words by Alexander Cohen
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