Sisters Nelly (Toni Lachelle Pollitt) and Lillian (Nikkole Salter) draw the battle lines in Zora Howard’s family drama Stew.
Nearly two years ago Jackie Sibblies Drury’s Fairview, which revolves around a high-stakes family dinner party, opened at Soho Rep’s theater on Walker Street. The devastating play compelled audiences to examine their attitudes toward race and class in the United States and went on to win the Pulitzer Prize. Currently playing in the same theater (presented not by Soho Rep but by Page 73), Zora Howard’s Stew also centers on the stressful preparation of a meal while addressing issues confronting African Americans, particularly women, in the 21st century. Stew does not have the raw power of its predecessor, but in its assault on the senses, the play is ultimately unnerving.
Portia (foreground) as the tough-as-nails Mama, with Salter. Photographs by Jeremy Daniel.
Before entering the theater, audience members are warned that the production includes loud noises and the smells of cooking. Sure enough, Stew begins with the yapping of a dog followed by a loud bang (Avi Amon did the unsettling sound design), and, during the course of its 90 minutes, the aromas of simmering meat stock and steaming vegetables pervade the space. They are not the only ingredients in the play’s sensory overload, though. Taking place in the cramped kitchen of a suburban home (Lawrence E. Moten III designed the exquisitely detailed and functional set), family tensions quickly come to a boil.
Mama (in a richly layered performance by Portia) commands the kitchen and desperately wants help making the traditional stew that will need to feed 45 to 50 people at a church function. Her oldest daughter, Lillian (movingly played by Nikkole Salter), is distracted by her own marital conflicts, so she is not as much help as she could be. Similarly, Mama’s 17-year-old daughter, Nelly (Toni Lachelle Pollitt, also excellent), is preoccupied with her own emotional and physical concerns, so she tends to shirk her cooking responsibilities.
That leaves Lillian’s adolescent daughter Lil’ Mama (performed by a realistically pouty and put-upon Kristin Dodson) to handle most of the chores. Lil’ Mama does not have the experience that the other women have, so she puts the recipe at risk by using the wrong pan, incorrectly snapping the green beans, and almost burning the tomatoes. Added to the pressure, the women also have to get ready for the event. (Dominique Fawn Hill’s costumes and Nikiya Mathis’s wig and hair designs are spot-on.)
Stew is often very funny, but there is a pervasive sense of dread that festers and finally explodes. (Stacey Derosier’s moody lighting heightens the effect.) At times, however, the intensity is undercut by a formulaic quality in the writing. In the course of the play, for instance, each character reveals a secret that relates to her health, relationships, or personal aspirations.
Lil’ Mama (Kristin Dodson) participates in a family tradition in Stew.
As often happens when family members are forced to work together under tight time constraints and in claustrophobic circumstances, there is a lot of shouting and hurled insults. Under the direction of Colette Robert, the performances tend to be pitched loud and broad. This adds to the feelings of discomfort for the audience, but the dialogue occasionally comes across in the style of situation-comedy one-upmanship. For instance, when Nelly says she is too tired to work, Mama counters: “You know who else was tired? . . . Jesus was tired. He was tired when he walked all that way to Calvary after being flogged and beaten and spat on, and He was tired sitting up there on that cross for six hours bleeding out His hands and feet and legs and eyeballs.”
The play is at its strongest when it does not hit its points too hard and lets the audience fill in the blanks. Intriguing questions, like pungent food vapors, linger in the air. For starters, whose dog is that? What was that bang? Where are the men? And the large pot prominently sitting on the stovetop is enough to remind audiences of the metaphoric precariousness of race and class in the United States. Unless they are carefully tended to and gently stirred, relations could boil over and burn.
Page 73’s production of Stew plays through Feb. 22 at Walkerspace (46 Walker St.). Evening performances are at 7:30 p.m. Monday through Saturday; matinees are at 2 p.m. on Saturdays. For tickets and performance information, visit page73.org/show-pages/stew.
