Theatre in Review: Father Comes Home From the Wars, Parts 1, 2 & 3 (Public Theater)Earlier in her career, it seemed as if the Civil War had permanently lodged itself in the imagination of playwright Suzan-Lori Parks. (You could argue that the same is true of us all, a point with which Parks might well agree.) In The America Play, the assassination of Abraham Lincoln took place, over and over again, with Lincoln impersonated, for money, by a black gravedigger. Then there was Topdog/Underdog, about the troubled relationship of brothers named Booth and Lincoln. The author has subsequently been otherwise preoccupied, drawing inspiration for two plays from The Scarlet Letter and dabbling in musical theatre. But she has returned to the Civil War, this time with a vengeance, in Father Comes Home from the Wars, Parts 1, 2 & 3. Even for a playwright who sometimes seems to reinvent herself each time out, this is a distinctive, and distinctively scalding, piece of work. "There's a kind of sport to be had in the consideration of another person's fate." So says one of the play's minor characters, known as Leader of the Chorus of Less-Than-Desirable Slaves. Yes, there's a Greek chorus of sorts, and there's plenty of horror, too. Father Comes Home From the Wars, is Parks' mock Homeric epic about slavery, a tale of brutality told in a coolly ironic style with a cast of characters named Hero, Penny, Homer, and Odyssey Dog. But Brecht appears to be looking over the author's shoulder, as well, in the contemporary tone of the dialogue and the way the characters freely speak to the audience. Part 1 focuses on the question of whether Hero, a slave, will accompany his owner, known as Boss Master, to the War Between the States. Allegedly, Boss Master has given Hero a choice of whether to stay or leave. Penny, Hero's lover, thinks he will stay. Homer, another slave, is convinced he will go. Of course, Homer may be prejudiced: He tried to run away and was caught. Boss Master forced Hero, on pain of death for disobeying, to cut off half of Homer's foot. The fact that this horrifying incident is discussed in the most matter-of-fact matter is a clue to Parks' intentions. To tell her tale, Parks has created an unusually dramatic halfway house: Without resorting to slang or contemporary references, the characters speak in a style that is very much of today, and yet they retain the consciousness of 19th-century slaves of the Deep South. Even so, the dialogue is tinged with poetry. Homer returns from meeting Boss Master "with my mind as unmade as my bed." Penny muses, "Crossing Boss Master is a horrible thing. That's what went through my head. But also, it was sweet. Even though it was terrifying it was sweet." Another character, known as the Oldest Old Man, speaks disparagingly of "the little crumb of choice" Homer is being offered by the man who claims to own him, body and soul. For, in truth, Homer's choice is no choice at all. Boss Master has promised to free Homer at the end of the war if he comes along now. But Boss Master has promised him his freedom in the past, only to renege. Homer balks at going to fight for pro-slavery forces; he has dreamed of killing Boss Master, and yet he can't say no; seeing him put on a Confederate gray uniform provides just one of the production's many nerve-jangling moments of cognitive dissonance. There's an especially tense passage as Hero seriously contemplates chopping off part of his own foot to stay out of the war, and the action concludes with the shocking revelation of a betrayal. "All we've got is the trust between us," says the Oldest Old Man, and, in truth, they may not even have that. Part 2 finds Hero and Boss Master, now known as the Colonel, separated from their regiment in a wilderness; the Union and Rebel armies are advancing and bombs are heard in the distance. Once again, the subject of Hero's freedom comes up and the Colonel describes himself as distraught at the prospect: "'Cause I'd be feeling like my good life had left me. Just like I felt when my son died, but worse, 'cause you wouldn't be dead, Hero, you'd just be gone. And I'd weep." If that isn't enough to give you the willies, the Colonel follows up with this speech: "I am grateful every day that God made me white. As a white, I stand on the summit and all the other colors reside beneath me, down below. For me, no matter how much money I've got or don't got, if my farm is failing or my horse is dead, if my woman is sour or my child has passed on, I can at least rest in the grace that God made me white. And I don't ever have to fight the Battle of Darkness." Three guesses as to who does have to fight that battle; this speech goes on for some time, becoming more jaw-dropping as it does. As it happens, the Colonel and Hero have a prisoner, a Union captain named Smith. They keep him in a makeshift cage where he rests, trying to bait the Colonel. This leads to a discussion of Hero's cash worth on the slave market; it's an appalling experience to hear him discussed, in front of his face, like a piece of horse flesh. Yet, when Smith talks about the imminent freeing of the slaves, Hero asks, "How much you think we're gonna be worth when freedom comes? What kind of price we gonna fetch then?" Smith replies that there won't be a price, adding, "That's the beauty of it." Where's the beauty in not being worth nothing?" asks Hero. Later, wondering how the world might treat a free black man, he adds, "Seems like the worth of a colored man, once he's made free, is less than his worth when he's a slave." Hero, Smith, and the Colonel are finally separated and the action jumps ahead to Part 3, with Penny, Homer, and a chorus of runaway slaves waiting to see if Hero will return. There are more betrayals in the wings -- for one thing, Penny has not been as constant as her Homeric namesake -- and a rough adjustment to a world that is going to have everyone wrestling with the notion of personhood. Ironically, the Emancipation Proclamation is in someone's hand, but in the rush of events it never gets read. Parks seems to be saying that freeing slaves is one thing, and freeing their hearts and minds is quite another. By coolly excavating the assumptions underpinning slavery and laying them bare, she goes a long way toward showing why its destructive effects have persisted across several generations. And by putting her characters in scenes of wartime and showing the beginning of the end of that peculiar institution, she has created a great number of crackling confrontations. Making those confrontations even more gripping are Jo Bonney's adept direction and a solid cast, led by Sterling K. Brown, a new face, who charts Hero's shifting emotions and deep-dyed conflicts with real authority. As Penny and Homer, Jenny Jules and Jeremie Harris have less interesting characters, but each is gifted with a strong presence. Ken Marks is riveting as the Colonel, who at times appears to be almost a sociopath, especially when parading around on fields of war with a giant plume attached to his hat, and Louis Cancelmi does good, crafty work as Captain Smith, who isn't all that he seems to be. Peter Jay Fernandez makes an excellent éminence grise as the Oldest Old Man. Russell G. Jones is effective as the leader of both choruses. Neil Patel's neatly stylized sets include a small slave cabin that rises to reveal the Colonel's wilderness campsite. Lap Chi Chu's lighting creates very different looks for scenes of wartime and peace. ESosa's costumes blend period and contemporary elements, mirroring the playwright's work. Dan Moses Schreier's sound design and music supervision are both finely done. Not everything works; there are occasions when Parks indulges herself, especially in a long and excessively cutesy sequence where Hero's dog, played by Jacob Ming-Trent, shows up and delivers the kind of exposition-filled speech usually assigned to messengers in Greek drama. But at its best, Father Comes Home From the Wars has the ability to shake you up and make you look at slavery and its legacy in a brand-new way.--David Barbour 
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