Theatre in Review: Josephine and I (The Public Theater/Joe's Pub)Cush Jumbo, we hardly knew you. The British actress made a perfectly solid Broadway debut a couple of months ago in Jez Butterworth's puzzle play The River. But clearly that studiedly enigmatic work didn't make use of even one-tenth of her talents. This collection of nerve endings in human form now appearing in Joe's Pub is another kind of performer altogether -- a volcanic temperament with a wicked wit and a commanding presence. She's also ferociously needy, wildly selfish, and yet brutal in self-assessments. At least, I think she is. Few recent entertainments have so thoroughly blurred the line between actress and role as Josephine and I. Ostensibly a solo piece about the life of Josephine Baker, the "I" of the title intrudes early and often, turning the show into a meditation on racism and sexism in show business, and a contemplation of the things we do for love -- of an audience. About half the time, it is a conventional solo show, with Jumbo impersonating the famous entertainer who, on the run from poverty, an abusive family, and plenty of man troubles, clawed her way onto a Broadway stage, then took Paris by storm with her uninhibited -- and sometimes unclad -- singing/dancing style. Finding a kind of freedom in France that eluded her at home, she became a monstre sacré, the undisputed queen of Paris nightlife. Her astonishing nerve proved useful in other ways, too. During World War II, she ran errands for the Resistance, carrying secret documents sewn into her chic outfits ("My extreme visibility is my invisibility," she shrewdly notes), and in the '50s and '60s, she never hesitated to speak out, boldly criticizing the toleration of Jim Crow laws in the US. But as Josephine and I makes vividly clear, Baker was a handful, trailing husbands and lovers behind her, spending money like water, and devoting herself to the never-ending search for the limelight -- perhaps the most egregious example of the latter being her Rainbow Tribe, an adopted family of children of various races, that was one part passion project and one part publicity stunt. (It provided her with endless photo opportunities.) And then there was the château into which she poured all her money, turning it into a resort managed by her husband; she ended up broke and abandoned, literally working herself to death in order to pay off her debts. Jumbo inhabits the role of Baker with a tiger's ferocity, creating a devastating portrait of a woman eaten alive by her own celebrity. But she also spends plenty of time dwelling on the indignities of being a black woman in show business today -- being asked to give line readings that are "more urban," or, as she notes, "a bit blacker." She recalls a horrific incident in which a newspaper profile of her is accompanied, in the online edition, by ugly racial slurs. And she finds herself increasingly having to make professional choices that may damage her personal life, many of them in pursuit of jobs that she feels are beneath her, but which offer plenty of money and that eternal aphrodisiac known as fame. (Not that these passages are necessarily strict autobiography; the program lists two characters, Josephine and Girl, a strong clue that Jumbo has created a character based on some aspects of her own life.) This jittery game of compare-and-contrast gives Josephine and I an almost reckless spontaneity about which I cannot say more, as the Public's press office has sworn reviewers to secrecy about the show's many jarring surprises. Suffice to say that you won't be bored, even for a second. But this part-structure has more troubling aspects, as well. Whatever Jumbo's career and private difficulties, they surely pale in comparison with those of a woman who was abandoned by her father and scorned by her mother, who was married at 14 and miscarried shortly after, who only got a Broadway gig after stalking the show's stage manager, and who, at the height of fame, couldn't enter a posh New York hotel through the front door. I'm just saying. And as Jumbo's performance grows in ferocity, one begins to wonder if she isn't as driven by the demon need for applause as was Baker. Especially in the last 20 minutes, she acquires an almost frightening intensity. The climax, a savage rendition of "The Times, They Are A-Changin'," is either an apotheosis or an act of self-immolation. Is Josephine and I an evisceration of show-business narcissism or a shining example of it? Frankly, I can't tell, and if you attend you will most likely be of two minds as well. But I assure you, you won't be bored. Phyllida Lloyd's direction keeps Jumbo's performance under control -- if only just -- and she no doubt has been helpful in maintaining the tingling illusion that the entire piece could fly apart at any minute. She has also obtained finely restrained work from an A-list group of designers who don't usually work in cabaret situations. Anthony Ward's set provides a simple screen for the cascade of projections by Ravi Deepres, which include images of those close to Baker, scenes of New York harbor, shots of Broadway audiences, and much more. Kate Ashton's lighting, based on Neil Austin's original, carves out Jumbo on the small stage and adds to her natural glamour. Will Pickens' sound design is totally natural-sounding; its variety of effects includes a recorded orchestral arrangement for one of Baker's songs. The simplest, truest thing I can say about Josephine and I is that Cush Jumbo makes a spectacle of herself. But what a spectacle! At times penetrating, at other times wildly foolish, it is almost certain to leave you madly guessing at her intentions. But you won't take your eyes off her. Like Baker, the lady is a star. -- David Barbour 
|
