This past Sunday, October 2, at Goodman Theater, as part of our subscription series, we saw the production of “Clyde’s,” a play by two-time Pulitzer Prize winner Lynn Nottage, and directed by Kate Whoriskey. The play was a Tony Award winner in its run on Broadway.
According to the Goodman description, “creating the perfect sandwich is the shared quest of the formerly incarcerated kitchen staff of Clyde’s, a truck stop cafe.” It has 5 main characters, including Clyde, the namesake owner of the cafe, who is herself formerly incarcerated.
Clyde, the owner, is a horribly abusive, demeaning presence in the play. Her employees, dreamers all, each try to create their own perfect sandwich and are roundly suppressed in their ambitions by a Clyde whose obsession is to protect Clyde’s reputation and retain its menu, upon which she sees the reputation resting. Each of the employees has emerged from incarceration with glimmers of hope, but they are scarred by their imprisonment and its grinding depersonalization and the constant reminders of their worthlessness. Clyde, as if she were the apotheosis of a sadistic warden, is determined to keep her workers reminded of the precariousness of their lives and of a low-life status from which they are trying to escape.
Ironically, it is, in the end, the demeaning itself and the crushing of their sandwich dreams that frees them from what has seemed inescapable life-long hard-scrabble struggle. Without revealing how this occurs, I will say that yes, resolution, even a sort of absolution, arrive in the end.
In its thematic development, the play has an intensely engaging power. The play is, however, an extended metaphor on something else entirely, according to the Chicago Tribune’s theater critic, Chris Jones, who says, “Nottage really is going after the forces that control Broadway and the upper echelons of the other branches of showbiz. This shrewdest of American playwrights is tacitly accusing them of a lack of imagination, unkindness toward vulnerable workers, the propagation of unsafe work environments and a determination to play to the lowest common denominator when it comes to the tastes of customers who would prefer better quality fare, if only they were offered such a menu.”
This metaphor likely has escaped all who are not part of the inner circle of American theater production, including me. No matter. Whether or not the play is about theater in America or about rising above the circumstances that crush a person, this production obscures the subtleties and layers of possible meaning. In a word, it yells at you.
Experienced singers, choral singers especially, learn from good directors what dynamic range is all about and why it’s important. The conveying of emotion and meaning comes from where the emphases are and where they are not. One learns what “pianissimo” and “fortissimo” mean and about everything in between. Dynamic range is but one of the vehicles of musical expression, but a very important one. One learns that singing softly can convey as much meaning as singing loudly, and can have its own sheer power.
This production of “Clyde” begins fortissimo and, except when one of the sandwich-makers, Montrellous, or, occasionally, two others, Rafael and Jason, speak, the sheer volume of dialogue is assaultive all by itself, never mind the aggression of Clyde’s driven degradations of her workers. It seldom gets below what musically is termed mezzoforte. This was jarring enough. But the urge to “loud” intruded on articulation, and the dialogue became both strident and muddy, a real impediment to understanding and insight. In fact, articulation was a problem with most of the players, with the exception, as noted, of Montrellous, whose every word was clear and understandable, spoken always mezzopiano (not all that loud).
It is possible that the loud stridency is an intentional assault on the audience, making its members unwilling participants in the awfulness of post-convict life. I would hope not. Many other more effective dramatic techniques are available to a director for pulling an audience into the emotion and plight of the characters. And, in fact, this play has many junctures at which such involvement could be invited without shouting about it. Unfortunately, Ms. Whoriskey has chosen to turn up the volume to 11 most of the time as her audience involvement technique. It wasn’t pleasant and caused my companions to withdraw in their seats and to think about other things. I strained to comprehend to the end and can say that the resolution for the characters was a resolution of relief from bombast as much as it was a denouement for me.
If this production emulates, in all ways, the Tony-winning Broadway production, I certainly hope it does not portend a trend in presentation. We have enough of unhinged shouting in our daily lives. We don’t need it as a steady diet in theater. Sure, we seek to be invited into the lives of the characters we see on the stage, but we don’t need to be bludgeoned into participating.
Edmund J. McDevitt
© October 2022