The Public’s latest audio play is the world-premiere production of Erika Dickerson-Despenza’s SHADOW/LAND. The play is the first installment of a 10-part play cycle centered around Hurricane Katrina. Weathered and thrown into the storm, a mother and daughter are at the forefront of the play being pulled in each and every direction of their memories and futures. They argue about selling the Shadowland, the first hotel and dance hall for Black people to have air conditioning. Now 2005, Magalee (Lizan Mitchell) refuses to let it go while her daughter Ruth (Michelle Wilson) is ready for her next chapter in life. However, Hurricane Katrina alters the path of the argument as the deluge takes over New Orleans. Left with each other to rough the endless flow of waters and memories, Magalee and Ruth self-reflect as they wait for help.
The play begins and ends with poetry crafted by Griot (Sunni Patterson), a storytelling character that contextualizes the scenes like stage directions. The character is also representative of an oral storyteller with the same name in West African culture. The poetry Griot creates is unlike anything stage directions could accomplish. As a character, she paints each scene and corner of Shadowland, all the way down to the bar top and ceiling ornaments. I closed my eyes and saw it all before me: Ruth pulling her polaroid to her eye and Magalee losing herself in the beauty of Shadowland, reminiscing 62 years back.
The dialogue of SHADOW/LAND is poetic in every sense of the word. The metaphors of memory and water blend together and play in a way that forms a song of its own. Dickerson-Despenza’s words are infectious, so much so that I couldn’t write this without inviting poetry of my own to best represent the scenes she paints out of the audio play.
She displays the beauty of the mother-daughter duo even in their moments of disruption. When disaster strikes, they share beautiful moments of bonding even in their dysfunction.
Oftentimes, the introduction of additional elements, such as Magalee’s middle-stage dementia and Ruth’s marital problems, may distract from the purpose of the play, but Dickerson-Despenza connects each element with poetry and metaphor. Magalee’s dementia relates to the withering building and Ruth’s marital problems relates to her sense of freedom.
Everything is connected and it makes for a more stimulating and transcendent experience for the listener.
“memory is a spasm hiccuping out of magalee’s mouth,” Griot says in the play.
Each element and verse plays along with the themes of memory, time, and ancestry. As Ruth stares up at the sky of stars after the winds of the hurricane carry the roof away, she contemplates her life choices and wonders if she’ll ever feel free. The chase for a sense of freedom resonates with Magalee and the moment progresses into a conversation displaced by time: Magalee looking at the past and Ruth looking at the future.
The performance of the two is incredible as they feed off each other’s rhythm. From the beginning, Mitchell upholds specific characteristics of someone with dementia in every part of her voice, slurring into memory at a moment’s notice. And when she pulls back to 2005, she plays with that advantage she has over Ruth. Ruth doesn’t know when she is speaking about the past or the present, and Mitchell’s performance choices play with the power, mocking Ruth.
It is particularly sobering when Magalee remarks that she couldn’t forget the name of Ruth’s daughter because she had notes of names in her purse. She looked at them to remember her loved ones.
Director Candis C. Jones creates the perfect balance between Griot and the two leading women. Alongside sound designer Palmer Hefferan and the audio team, the surrounding environment and the narration of the characters beautifully blend together. As Magalee remembers Sundays at Shadowland, she recalls the musicians and energy of people dancing. The sound of a trombone dances along with her memory until it dissipates into a galaxy of unrecognizable noise.
It not only helps build the storyline, but it also allows for the viewer to discern Magalee’s episodes.
One of the great things SHADOW/LAND does is display issues of environmental racism without stating it explicitly. From the hurricane displacing the Black community of New Orleans to the parachute reporting of journalists watching as Ruth screams for help and then takes photos and leaves the next instant. Instead of providing a snapshot of these two characters and exiting, the listener gets to sit with them and understand why they are tethered to Shadowland.
Encountering ancestors and continually building a bond weathered by time and natural disaster, Ruth and Magalee share in the struggle and connection to Shadowland as a point of reference to their history and ancestry; it is part of them. Even as Magalee’s dementia grows stronger and stronger, there is a feeling of perseverance. You can’t help but accept that the tragedy is part of the journey to freedom, the same kind they talked about while looking at the sky.
Following the play’s poetic nature, the final section of the play, titled, “cut the body loose” says everything in a simple phrase: “she climbs.”
SHADOW/LAND can be heard wherever podcasts are found with details and additional resources to enhance the listening experience here.
Correct: A previous version of this review stated that the play takes place in 2006. It takes place in 2005.