Theatre in Review: Paradise Blue (Signature Theatre)

	Simone Missick. Photo: Joan Marcus

Detroit and Dominique Morisseau: a pairing to look out for. In her first two plays about the Motor City, Morisseau deftly yoked her characters' conflicts to key historical stress points in the larger community. Detroit '67 is a family drama set against the backdrop of the race riots that gutted whole neighborhoods in that tumultuous decade. Skeleton Crew focuses on workers in the auto industry in 2008, when the economy crashed and long-held jobs vanished. In Paradise Blue, the third entry in her Detroit Project, Morisseau turns her attention to Paradise Valley, a stretch of jazz clubs in Black Bottom, a largely African-American neighborhood, in 1949, an enclave that may be in peril. Especially in Ruben Santiago-Hudson's production, it is her most evocative work yet.

Following a tasty musical prelude, Paradise Blue opens with a jazz trumpet riff followed by a gunshot, putting us on notice that Blue, the protagonist, will not leave the stage alive. Blue, in his early thirties (and, as played by J. Alphonse Nicholson, looking at least five years younger), owns the Paradise Club, where he is also the star performer, supported by Corn, an affable, avuncular pianist and in-house eminence gris, and P-Sam, a drummer so edgy and ambitious that even when standing still he seems to be nervously keeping the beat. At the moment, the trio is missing a fourth, who left following a dustup with Blue about his salary -- and Blue isn't in any hurry to replace him. Not surprisingly, people are talking: Are the rumors true that the club is up for sale?

The short answer is yes. Blue, whose determinedly in-charge manner masks a soul haunted by night terrors and ghostly visions, is desperate to escape the violent legacy of his mother and father, from whom he inherited the club. He is also hell-bent on joining the list of jazz greats who have passed through the Paradise and is pushing himself so hard that he is in danger of strangling his very real musical gifts. Pumpkin, his pretty, placid girlfriend, who manages the club and a small rooming house upstairs, is torn -- loving the security of her life with Blue but horrified at the thought of leaving a community where she feels at home. As adroitly played by Kristolyn Lloyd -- unrecognizable from her turn as the bossy school organizer in Dear Evan Hansen -- Pumpkin has ambitions of her own, which are slowly surfacing, along with the understanding that Blue might not be the be-all and end-all of her existence.

As it happens, two candidates are vying for ownership of the club. The more traffic-stopping of the pair is Silver, a widow of uncertain years with a distinctly murky background, who slinks in, renting one of Blue's rooms and trailing clouds of seduction like a burst of Jungle Gardenia perfume. P-Sam, accurately summing up the situation, says, "She ain't got no man and she got a walk like that, she ain't gonna be in that one-person room too long." His words are prophetic: Corn soon joins Silver in bed, only gradually figuring out that his main function is to represent her case to Blue. At the same time, P-Sam wants the Paradise for himself, and he'd like Pumpkin as part of the deal.

If Blue is ready to sell -- and he isn't admitting anything to anyone -- he has a plan of his own. Rumor has it that the city, fulfilling a campaign promise of Mayor Albert Cobo, is buying up parcels of land throughout the neighborhood, leading to fears of Black Bottom being razed. (It was, in 1960, for housing projects.) Careless of the implications, Blue wants in on the deal, convinced that it will fetch him the best price. But if Blue sells, can anyone else in Black Bottom hold out? Does the closure of the Paradise Club foretell the loss of the neighborhood's soul? Other questions abound: Is Silver, as they say, a black widow? Why does she carry a gun? Why is Pumpkin so fascinated by Silver? And who will finally pull the trigger?

With its richly detailed setting, plentiful jazz lore, and vividly realized characters, Paradise Blue can fairly be termed Morisseau's August Wilson play. The sassy, insinuating dialogue is entirely hers, however. "I got one-person rooms for rent," Blue tells Silver. "Not enough space for your ol' man or nothin'." Silver replies, without taking a breath, "My ol' man dead. How much you charge for you rooms?" It's an exchange that memorably establishes her as trouble in high heels. Corn, looking appraisingly at his especially cagey-looking friend says, "Afternoon, Blue. You lookin' like Sunday on a Tuesday." When Silver tries to horn in on the club, Blue says, "I ain't askin' for your business help. I been runnin' this place for five years just fine." "Five years ain't nothin'. I seen goldfish last longer than five years," replies Silver, coolly.

Santiago-Hudson has assembled a cast that can handle the richly colloquial dialogue while holding back their characters' intentions with the flair of professional poker players. Nicholson captures Blue's controlling ways while also laying bare the fears that are eating him alive; his careful handling of the character's extreme contradictions makes him a talent to watch. Lloyd charts an equally complex course for Pumpkin, grappling with warring emotions before emerging as a woman with a mind of her own. Keith Randolph Smith, in a role that he could probably have phoned in from another continent, brings multiple shadings to the widowed Corn, who, late in life, finds himself rediscovering the joys of female companionship. Francois Battiste's P-Sam bristles with resentment and frustrated energy.

Making her New York debut, Simone Missick, as Silver, offers a graduate-level course in Advanced Insinuation. More than once, Santiago-Hudson has her traverse the distance from her bedroom to the club's bar, and her carefully articulated panther walk is worth every viewing. Seated at the bar, she displays an unlit cigarette for some man to light -- with the air of a goddess awaiting proper tribute. Every breathily delivered line seems to hum with unspoken thoughts -- but she also does beautifully by a speech in which she makes clear why she has no intention of ever again putting her trust in a man. We're going to be hearing from Missick again.

The production design is equally accomplished. The set designer, Neil Patel, has put the audience on two sides of the stage, wrapping the room with a collage of posters of Jimmie Lunceford, Muddy Waters, Louis Armstrong, Erskine Hawkins, Maxine Sullivan, Cab Calloway, and Fats Waller. The ground plan juxtaposes the bar and Silver's upstairs bedroom -- here rendered all on one level -- with an enormous overhead electric sign spelling out the club's name. Rui Rita's lighting is attuned to the peculiar look of a night spot during the day, with just a touch of daylight sneaking in; at other times, he creates ghostly night looks, fluently carving the cast members out of the darkness. In addition to his usual grasp of period style, Clint Ramos has designed an entirely black wardrobe for Silver that fully explores the extent to which widow's weeds can be sexualized; he also deftly indicates Pumpkin's new maturity in a knockout of a red evening gown. Darron L West's sound design provides solid reinforcement for the jazz interludes composed by Kenny Rampton; he also offers some key effects, including the aforementioned gunfire.

Taken singly, each of the Detroit Project plays is a satisfying drama; seen together, they constitute a triptych of the black community in an especially fraught American city over six decades, shining a light on a series of tumultuous crises while revealing the tough bargains her characters make to survive. Morisseau is one of the most engaging, enlightening talents to emerge in recent years, and this play continues her run of successes. -- David Barbour