Theatre in Review: The Liquid Plain (Signature Theatre Company)In The Liquid Plain, Naomi Wallace has constructed a tale of in which the repercussions of crimes caused by slavery are felt across several decades. The narrative includes incidents of rape, escape on the high seas, abduction, a couple of killings, a stabbing, a cross-dressing leading character, several major confrontations, and an appearance by the ghost of William Blake, who inhabits a rotting corpse hung from a gibbet. How can all of this be so dull? Ask the playwright, an exceptionally literate and thoughtful writer -- in addition to Blake, she also works into the script poetry by Phillis Wheatley, the first published African-American poet -- who nevertheless lacks the essential skills needed to turn her materials into drama. That she has found characters and a situation of extraordinary richness makes it all the more distressing that the play sits there, inert, on the stage of Signature Theatre's Alice Griffin Jewel Box Theatre. If nothing else, The Liquid Plain proves that it is one thing to conceive a play, but another thing entirely to animate it. In the first act, set in Bristol, Rhode Island, in 1791, we are introduced to Adjua and Dembi, a free black couple who make a living off of the ships that come into port. (One of them repairs sails; the other works on rigging.) The ostensibly male Dembi is in fact a woman in disguise; they are lovers and dream of escaping to Africa and having a child. (There is a vague plan to get a man involved.) For obvious reasons, they keep a low profile while going about their business. But Adjua, who was kidnapped from Africa, is haunted by the killing of her sister, who was thrown overboard by the captain of their slave ship. (The sister suffered from "the pox," and the captain feared it would spread, killing his human inventory.) Adjua and Dembi are joined by Cranston, an amnesiac sailor whom they fish out of the water. (They strip drowned bodies as a way of picking up extra cash.) They take him on as an employee -- a bad decision, as Cranston is desperate to have his way with Adjua. This trio becomes a quartet with the arrival of Balthazar, an Irish killer for hire, who previously tied up Cranston and tossed him into the ocean, his crime being that he testified against the captain of a slave ship who drowned one of his human cargo. Balthazar also brings the bad news that the ship on which Adjua and Dembi planned their escape has sunk. But then the captain of that ship, a black man named Liverpool Joe, shows up and promises to take them all to the West Indies. This situation offers many, many dramatic opportunities, none of which Wallace employs to her advantage. We are asked to believe that Adjua and Dembi live and work side by side with two white men -- in essence, employing them -- without worrying that their secret will be discovered; that Adjua puts up with Cranston's sexual harassment without reacting or telling Dembi about it; and that Cranston agrees to throw in his lot with Balthazar, his putative murderer, without conflict. In a situation in which the balance of power can shift from moment to moment, the absence of tension and menace is striking. Cranston finally corners Adjua, making her masturbate him; instead of displaying any emotional reaction, she faces front and, in time to her rapid hand movements, recounts her sufferings as a slave. The result, which should be horrifying, is confounding; really, this is hardly the moment to make a speech. The Liquid Plain is filled with a cast of skilled pros, but to a person they have trouble with Wallace's dialogue. She gives her characters thick, word-clotted speeches that, whatever they offer in terms of poetic imagery, utterly lack the rhythms of human speech. Liverpool Joe, describing being saved from drowning, says, "A school of blue fish, each fish tiny as my fingernail, swam into my mouth and down into my lungs and gave me oxygen." Later, when the spirit of William Blake shows up -- more about him in a minute -- he says that God "slipped a giant finger inside my nightdress and touched my hard and frenzied flesh until I poured out of myself and into his gaping oblivion." Say those lines out loud, pronouncing each syllable, then imagine having to project them in a theatre holding 190 patrons. It's no wonder that the actors often seem to be racing through their speeches, swallowing up great gobs of words in the process. Some of the dialogue is merely risible. One character, recalling his youthful career as a heartbreaker, says, "Even men found me attractive. Women would leave small wet patches when they rose from their seats." Between this and the lack of any kind of psychological reality on stage, The Liquid Plain is dismayingly static and unengaging. After a first-act climax, in which the plan to leave via Liverpool Joe's ship goes horribly wrong, the second act jumps ahead to 1837, with the arrival of Bristol, an educated British subject who is the daughter of Adjua and Cranston. It is here that Wallace turns magic realist, introducing the spirit of Blake, who speaks through a corpse -- bits of his extremities fall to the floor as he speaks -- and making use of the worm that has been hiding in Cranston's leg for four decades (!) in order to get revenge against the captain who drowned Adjua's sister so many years before. Bristol also confronts Dembi, whom she believes to be her father. Once again, however, a series of scenes that should positively bristle with drama fall thoroughly flat. The introduction of fantasy elements points to the script's third major weakness, its inability to create a coherent world. The program notes that the play unfolds in "a possible 1791 and 1837," which, in practice, seems to be a license for Wallace to make up implausible characters like Liverpool Joe, a black man who speaks in a posh English accent, having been raised by a duchess, and who freely commandeers ships. Bristol's history -- which includes being born at sea to a dying mother, being raised free, then kidnapped into slavery, then escaping and setting herself up in business -- is an everything-but-the-bloodhounds tale that beggars belief. And the eleventh-hour introduction of ghosts and magic spells merely confirms one's suspicion that Wallace has little interest in any kind of narrative or tonal consistency. This is the first production I've seen directed by Kwame Kwei-Armah, and, given the circumstances, we will have to wait for another to discuss his work. However, Kristolyn Lloyd and Ito Aghayere are both powerful presences as Adjua and Dembi, and it is always good to see LisaGay Hamilton, who gives Bristol a fierce self-possession. Michael Izquierdo seems too young and ingénue-ish to play Cranston, who should be weathered by years of work on slave ships, but Karl Miller is solid as both Balthazar and Blake. If Johnny Ramey can't make sense of Liverpool Joe, it isn't his fault. Robert Hogan gives a notably low-energy performance as the murderous captain sought by Bristol. The Liquid Plain does have an exceptionally powerful production design. Riccardo Hernandez's set places a dock, weathered by the elements and marked by the chilling use of hanging chains, against an upstage wall (fitted out with six boarded-up windows) that serves as a screen for Alex Koch's alluring images of, among other things, water and skies; in this way, the land-bound set can be transformed into a ship at a moment's notice. (Koch also projects bits of Wheatley's poetry and the title of each scene, which, unfortunately, runs to pretentious statements like "Passage of the Tongue.") Thom Weaver makes superb use of side lighting to add depth and dimension to each scene. Paul Tazewell's costumes feel like authentic clothing, no matter what social stratum each character occupies. Shane Rettig's sound design combines such effects as ocean waves, barking dogs, and the creaking of ship's timber, with his effective original music. But if ever a play was stuck in dry dock, it is The Liquid Plain. Rarely have so many combustible elements been assembled without igniting. This one is a flat-out bore. -- David Barbour 
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