Paul Anderson, review of Ma Rainey's Black Bottom by August Wilson (National, Cottesloe), Tribune, 3 November 1989
In his native United States, the black playwright August Wilson is big. From Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, the first of his works to be staged here, it's not hard to see why. Wilson's ear for the poetry of everyday language is extraordinary, his didactic purpose tempered by the unusual ability to create believable characters whose views are entirely at odds with his own.
Ma Rainey's Black Bottom is of a genre that British audiences will find familiar enough, a musical drama that uses the experience of black American entertainment stars — in this case, Ma Rainey, "the Mother of the Blues", and her band, who are recording in a Chicago studio in 1929 — as a means of exploring the whole system of racism in the United States. What sets it apart is its subtlety. Wilson refuses to see his black characters simply as put-upon heroes; all are complex, fully formed characters.
The play begins with the seedy, white recordingstudio owner (Tom Chadbon) and Ma's white manager (William Hoyland) preparing for the session. The band arrives, without Ma, and makes ready to rehearse In fact, precious little rehearsing happens. The four band-members bicker and joke, and from the start it's clear that there is tension between Levee (Hugh Quarshie), the flash, young cornet-player who wants a band of his own playing sophisticated dance music for whites, and the others, particularly Toledo (Clarke Peters), the pianist, who's something of an intellectual and an advocate of black self-reliance.
Eventually, Ma (Carol Woods-Coleman) arrives, and after further delays, the recording session takes place. In the meantime, the tension between Levee and the others mounts inexorably. Toledo's taunts that he's just a collaborator with the white man are rebuffed by Levee, who reveals that, as a boy, he was knifed by a gang of whites who were attempting to rape his mother, and that his father was lynched while trying to avenge her.
But any sympathy this generates among his fellows quickly disappears. Levee brags, offends religious sensibilities, loses his temper and rages after another band-member with a knife, plays his cornet too flamboyantly and, worst of all, refuses to accept Ma's authority. He is fired from the band after the sessions.
He doesn't care, but then the white studio-owner tells him that he is reneging on his promise of a band. Levee is devastated and, when Toledo treads on his shoe, he loses his temper , again and kills him.
The moral of this story – that blacks are exploited by whites and often, wrongly, turn their anger against their fellow blacks – is clear enough, but Wilson's script never descends to crude agitprop. With some excellent acting (Hugh Quarshire's Levee, Clarke Peters' Toledo and Carol Woods-Coleman's Ma in particular), some competent music (provided by the actors on stage) and an impressive set, Howard Davies's production is one of the most refreshing pieces currently on the London stage.
