Theatre in Review: Fetch Clay, Make Man (New York Theatre Workshop)

	Nikki M. James, K. Todd Freeman, Ray Fisher, John Earl Jelks. Photo: Joan Marcus

Credit Will Power for unearthing one of the odder pairings in modern American history; credit him further for making it the stuff of powerful drama. As strange as it seems, Muhammad Ali, whose unapologetically assertive personality and polarizing religious beliefs made him an avatar of the Black Power movement, forged a friendship with Lincoln Perry, aka Stepin Fetchit, the film actor whose comic lazy-darkie persona got him branded Hollywood's number one Uncle Tom. In 1965, the year in which Fetch Clay, Make Man is set, Ali's defiant public posture reliably grabbed headlines and rattled the nerves of white Americans, whose idea of harmonious race relations was Sammy Davis, Jr. yukking it up in Vegas with Frankie and Dino. In contrast, Fetchit was persona-non-grata in the film industry and among black Americans, an embarrassing leftover from another era.

In Power's fictionalized account, these strange bedfellows form a mutually exploitative alliance with explosive consequences. It is a day or two before Ali's rematch with Sonny Liston, from whom he wrested the heavyweight championship the year before. Despite his I-am-the-greatest posing, Ali isn't so confident this time around; it doesn't help that his entourage, made up almost entirely of members of the Nation of Islam, is riven with internal tensions. For those not familiar with this tiny, but deeply controversial, sect, Power gives us just enough of its bizarre creation story, and its demonization of white people, to make the Church of Scientology seem like mainline Protestantism in contrast.

If Ali's membership in the Nation of Islam has provided him with spiritual sustenance, in Fetch Clay, Make Man he is beginning to feel hostage to it. As a matter of principle, Ali broke ties with Malcolm X after the latter's split with head NOI minister Elijah Muhammad; now Malcolm has been murdered and Ali fears that Malcolm's men, bent on revenge, are coming for him. Speaking of his daily death threats, Ali notes that President Kennedy "had the secret service, and still they couldn't protect him ... So what chance does a black man have, especially one as pretty as me?" Power could do a better job of setting up this admittedly convoluted back story; this is one play that can be best enjoyed by making a little trip to Wikipedia beforehand. Still, his lively characterization of Ali, aided by Ray Fisher's commanding performance, vividly recalls the bravado, and rhyming skills, that made the boxer the Kanye West of his day, at the same time suggesting the increasingly lost young man underneath.

Fetchit, known as Step to his very few friends, was close to Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight champ, and Ali has summoned him to pick his brain about Johnson's technique, especially his so-called "anchor punch," a possibly mythical maneuver that is rumored to be unbeatable in the ring. Step, out of money and tired of being an object of contempt, is willing to play along if he can join Ali's entourage and if Ali will proclaim their friendship in a press conference to be held later that day. In K. Todd Freeman's carefully layered performance, Step's surface geniality -- a slope-shouldered stance designed to disarm the hostile and a sandpapery voice that can draw out a line to remarkable lengths, usually as a negotiating tactic -- only partly hides a festering sense of injustice. Power also gives Fetchit a pathetic belief that he can reclaim the limelight, best expressed in his vain attempts at putting together a biographical film starring him and Ali under the direction of John Ford. The choice of Ford, an aging has-been in 1965, puts Step's foolishness under a harshly revealing light.

In a series of flashbacks detailing the construction of the gilded cage that was his film career, we see Step tangle with William Fox, the movie mogul who made him one of Hollywood's best-paid stars but trapped him in a perpetual shuck-and-jive routine. At one point, Fox calls Step on the carpet for simply admitting to a reporter that he loved classical music; such nuggets of information will only confuse moviegoers, he insists. "We're all in one big movie out here, and as long as you play your part, we can all get rich," Fox says, jovially. "Where else can you make yourself into anything you want?" Step, who says, "Hollywood was more racist than Georgia under the skin," can't agree: "When I tried to get out from under Stepin Fetchit's shadow, I couldn't. 'Cause when you wear the mask for so long, you can't take it off."

Then again, everyone in Fetch Clay, Make Man wears a mask, seeking an identity that will fend off the hostile gaze of a white-majority society. The world is changing fast, and so are acceptable notions of blackness; as Powers makes vividly clear, what works one day may prove disastrous later on. Ali, having dropped his "slave name" Cassius Clay, is keen to present an image totally at odds with that of the mobbed-up Liston. "Negro athletes don't have to be all ignorant, hangin' out with gangsters, doin' drugs and drinkin' alcohol," he says. Sonji Clay is a former goodtime girl determined to be a stellar wife; still, she finds that the modest nun-like garments worn by women in the Nation of Islam fit her like a straitjacket. Brother Rashid, Ali's Nation of Islam handler, may be a tight-lipped prude, especially in matters relating to Sonji's public deportment, but he is also living down his own gangster past. (Even Fox, a Hungarian immigrant, says he made an early decision to escape a childhood scarred by poverty: "I would play it different, play it cool, I'd become white. And it's the best thing that ever happened to me." It's a fine example of the character's chutzpah that he dares to draw this parallel between his experience and Step's.)

Surrounded by this sharp-elbowed crew, each of whom is angling for a prime position next to him, it's no wonder that Ali wearily notes, "All of 'em, Rashid, even my wife, it's like they all playin' a chess game around me." Under Des McAnuff's tightly coiled direction, each of them comes across as a force to be reckoned with. In addition to Freeman and Fisher, John Earl Jelks is especially fine as Rashid, his cold disapproval boiling over into rage at the introduction of Fetchit -- an Uncle Tom and a Roman Catholic -- into Ali's locker room. As Sonji, Nikki M. James delivers a portrait of a woman who is both incandescently in love with her handsome and talented husband and a skilled hardball negotiator who finally overplays her hand, putting her marriage at risk. The role of Fox is a fairly standard Tinsel town vulgarian, but Richard Masur, sporting a terrible comb-over and a massive cigar, makes it fresh, especially in a poignant appearance after he becomes a Hollywood pariah himself, following the loss of the studio.

It all unfolds on an unusually sleek and uncluttered set, designed by Riccardo Hernandez, which also serves as a fine surface for Peter Nigrini's projections. These combine archival images of Fetchit and Ali with boxing match close-ups and panning titles that establish the time and location of each scene. There's also an evocative bit of the opening credits from Steamboat Round the Bend, one of Step's films, directed by, yes, John Ford. Howell Binkley's lighting is a good reminder that this designer, best known for his more flamboyant work on big musicals, can be as subtle and clean in his approach as the best of them. Paul Tazewell's costumes embrace the production's limited color palette, departing from it only to make a strong point, most notably when Sonji appears in a couple of chic cocktail dresses. The disruptive effect of her purple and orange outfits helps to suggest the outrageous effect that these clothes have on Rashid and his men.

As far as I can tell, Fetch Clay, Make Man is full of dramatic inventions -- for one thing, Fetchit apparently converted to Islam, something that Step explicitly rejects in the play -- but there is little doubt that Power has used his solid historical material to spin a provocative drama about identity and race. It's a kind of prizefight of ideas, and it is as gripping as anything The Sweet Science has to offer. --David Barbour