“Wynter’s script is light footed and fast paced, packed with witty one liners, but unafraid of sombre, more human moments”
Black Superhero is a fresh and exciting exploration of black queer love, and representation, which effortlessly manages to straddle the personal and political.
David (played by writer Danny Lee Wynter) is a struggling actor, trying to stay true to his principals about black queer representation, but also trying to pay the rent. He is in love with his best friend, King (Dyllón Burnside) and King has just opened his marriage. However, what unfolds is not a love story, but a power struggle of hero-worship, self-loathing and the inevitable spiral into dark and familiar places.
Wynter’s script is light footed and fast paced, packed with witty one liners, but unafraid of sombre, more human moments. While questions of representation, particularly about whether queer actors should play queer parts, and queer baiting, do dominate the discussion, they are handled lightly. There are no tired and long-winded explanations, this is a play which expects a level of knowledge from its audience. As such it can dabble in the conversation, without getting weighed down by it. Also, it’s very funny. The biting satire of the white characters had the audience groaning, wincing and cackling. Yet the emotional connections felt real, and the depictions of joy were a pleasure. At one point David, speaking about the film Moonlight, comments on a lack of representation of queer joy. It is striking how much laughter (especially in the first half) does dominate the characters’ interactions.
Daniel Evans’ direction allows the play to bridge fantasy and reality but remain grounded in the present. The presence of an actual superhero on stage is bold, and at times a little clunky, but when it works, it works very well. There is a hilarious moment where superheroes in garish costumes are suspended in mid-air, parroting the ridiculous exposition all too familiar in blockbuster sci-fi. There is also an incredible moment where David is enveloped by a giant cape, occupying most of the stage.
Rochenda Sandall as David’s sister Syd was a real standout. She navigated the complex emotional role with energy and passion. She was both moving and hilarious.
Joanna Scotcher’s set is dynamic and futuristic. A huge metallic screen takes up much of the stage, made up of intersecting triangles whose borders occasionally glow (thanks to Ryan Day’s thoughtful lighting design). This screen bursts apart to reveal a bedroom, a party and at one point an intergalactic meeting spot. Sometimes though it means the action is cramped onto a small part of the stage, making it uncertain whether the set dominated some of the directorial decisions. There is one particular set piece, involving a waterfall made of sand, which is striking and beautiful and incredibly memorable.
While it’s true that the play loses steam a bit in the second half, it is original and somehow manages to have a new angle on questions of representation. In terms of representation itself, it is interesting how revolutionary it feels to see three gay black men kissing on stage. And also, crucially, being allowed to laugh, as well as cry.
“a clunky amalgam of genres, none of them strong enough to be definitive”
Jonny’s a singer. His job is entertaining folks, singing songs and telling jokes. In a nightclub. Well, not a nightclub but a casino in Atlantic City. It is made clear it is not the most upmarket casino in town, but you’d at least expect the hostess (an underused Jacqueline Dankworth) to insist he smartens up before starting his shift. It feels like we’re at an open mic session in the back room of a saloon bar. Jonny’s wife Rebecca works in marketing at the casino so it stands to reason she would get up onstage to sing a number too. Why not? There’s rich folk who are spending a lot of cash at the roulette wheels, so they need some top-class entertainment. Even the waitress gets a shot, though she doesn’t sing, she plaintively strums an acoustic guitar.
Composer Dylan Schlosberg bypassed the nineties box office hit film and secured the rights to Jack Engelhard’s original novel before teaming up with writer Michael Conley. His songs, however, seem to belong to a different show from Conley’s book and lyrics. With a couple of exceptions, they could be fileted off the backbone of the story and served up with another script.
Most of us will know the story, and the dialogue and debates that surrounded the release of the nineties film. What would you do in their position? Jonny (Norman Bowman) and Rebecca (Lizzy Connolly) are young and in love. It’s a solid marriage but money is an issue. Billionaire Larry (Ako Mitchell) walks into the casino one night and offers a million dollars to spend a night with Rebecca. (For a very brief moment there is a hint that he might have chosen Jonny, which would have provided a more interesting dynamic. But alas the narrative slumps back into its period predictability). “I’m rich, I’m lonely, you’re lovely” Larry says to Rebecca. That is as deep as it gets. The script never ventures from the shallow waters, nor does it try to bring itself up to date.
What would you do with a million dollars? Or rather the question is what will you do without it (do you regret the things you do or the things you don’t?). So, we swiftly move on to post decision, and Rebecca is dressed up and ready for her date with Larry. A stylised bedroom scene stroke nightmare precedes the fall out. Jealousy, regret and separation. Larry sings a song at the club (of course, why not?) then leaves. A year passes, Jonny sings the song he wrote for Rebecca at the start and asks her “so what happens now?”
Bowman and Connolly give solid performances, capturing the emotional fall out of the deed. But there aren’t enough hooks for us to empathise, or to share the need for the answer to the questions. Charlotte Westenra’s staging is often inventive, making good use of the space and nimbly switching from casino to bedroom to a moonlit sidewalk. But overall, “Indecent Proposal” is a clunky amalgam of genres, none of them strong enough to be definitive. The closing line (Rebecca’s answer to Jonny’s parting question) is apt: “Who the f–k knows?”
