Theatre in Review: Jordans (Public Theater)

	Naomi Lorrain. Photo: Joan Marcus

In one of Jordans's sharpest, funniest sequences, the staff of Atlas Studio, "a full-service rental studio and production facility," are planning a launch party for a line of watchbands designed by a rapper named L'il Klonopin. According to Hailey, the gorgon who runs this operation, the star's management is "expecting something big and cool and current, something that'll 'break the Internet'." One staffer points out that L'il K has done time for aggravated assault, a factoid that gets everyone's everyone creative juices flowing. Why not a prison party? With bartenders dressed like wardens? And fake tattoos and real-ish fights? "It's prison representation. For people who have had that experience," someone says. "Like he's taking prison back!" adds Hailey.

Next, a mockup of this ludicrous event -- complete with pink prison bars, a bejeweled toilet, baton-wielding officers of the law, and "a number of these novelty prison jumpsuits available for people to put on for the photo booth" -- is shown to the client. Klonopin is suitably impressed but he calls for the accompanying loud music to be silenced. Isn't it from his album? "Yeah," he says. "My passion is folk music. I just do this rap shit for the money."

Clearly, playwright Ife Olujobi has a faultless ear for the nonsense flooding the modern media world. This knack is operative when Hailey uses a staggering number of euphemisms to express the need for a diversity hire. "(I just worry that we're missing out on potential clients because people don't see us as a place that's welcoming, to all kinds of... to different... to an array... to a diversity of... viewpoints... cultural experiences... to understanding how to... accurately... authentically... address... represent... the artistic visions... values... of people... individuals... communities... that may not be... statistically represented within our current creative team.") It is especially acute during the video shoot for a huckstering self-help book titled The Secret to Unlocking Your Own Life. And it is deliciously present when Emma, one of two female staffers disastrously pitching Hailey on the idea of a women's networking event, says, "Even here in this office, as great as things are, it's like, who is really doing the work? Who is actually getting things done?" Even as she trots out these clichés, we see Jordan, the office manager (and, initially, the only Black person on staff) -- dragging pieces of furniture upstage, ignored and unaided.

Clearly, Olujobi is a playwright to watch, although I'm betting that, the next time out, the result will be more consistent; the overlong Jordans skitters between sketch-comedy hilarity and blunt, violent surrealism before burning up in a burst of rage that takes down everyone onstage. It's funny when Kate Walsh, as Hailey, enters with her coat draped on one shoulder, an arm holding a handbag extended, waiting for Jordan's ministrations. It's disconcerting when Hailey, disliking her coffee, pours it on Jordan's head. It's almost too obvious when the new "director of culture" is a Black man also named Jordan (known as "1.Jordan" in the script) and nobody can tell the two Jordans apart. This is a race-and-class-conscious satire that revels in going to extremes. Given the normalized abuse at Atlas Studio, not to mention the moment when raw sewage floods the stage, one may well wonder how many times the playwright has seen Ruben Östlund's Triangle of Sadness.

The action turns on the relationship between the two title characters. 1.Jordan thinks he can make a difference with this crew despite their astonishing self-absorption and deep-seated racism; he tries to enlist the original Jordan as his confederate. But she, a longtime employee of Hailey's, has seen it all and, getting by on a mix of cynicism and an unnaturally high tolerance for bad behavior. "I know I'm a sellout," she says. "My soul has left the building and I have to make my peace with that every day. But at least I'm honest about it, and I know how to play the game." Their sparring provides some of the play's most crackling passages until the characters improbably end up in bed, taking part in a copulation that is more like a soul-swap. Among its repercussions, Jordan's skin starts peeling off in large increments and 1.J Jordan becomes pregnant. By then, however, Jordans has long-ago kissed coherence goodbye.

Olujobi is, I guess, making the point that there can be no real exchange of ideas or power in an inherently unjust system, which probably explains the rather stagy bloodbath that ends the play. But her approach is exhaustive, putting the two Jordans through too many rounds of the same arguments. Ultimately, her take-no-prisoners fury torches one's interest: The white characters are cartoons, funny at first but marked by diminishing returns. 1.Jordan's attempts at bridge-building are mordantly dismantled by Jordan, but her nihilism proves self-destructive as well. The play arrives at a dead end, undone by overkill and relentless provocation; arguably, the director, Whitney White, might have done more to contrast its satiric and horrific qualities.

Still, these are the faults of a young artist, and at least Jordans provides a fine showcase for Naomi Lorrain as Jordan, who, underneath her carapace of contempt, is fooling herself, asserting, "I'm putting in the work, paying my dues. You have to do things their way to earn their respect." Lorrain is unruffled by the script's most demanding passages, including the lengthy monologue that precedes the bloody climax. As 1.Jordan, Toby Onwumere, a new face, is a charismatic presence even in the most bizarre situations -- for example, confronting a swelling belly and morning sickness. Walsh, armed with a stare that kills, is a living HR nightmare; her cadre of sycophants and double-talkers is led by the always-reliable Ryan Spahn.

Matt Saunders' all-white studio setting converts easily into 1.Jordan's apartment and Cha See's lighting is solid throughout. Qween Jean, one of the most observant and detail-oriented of the current crop of costume designers, is especially amusing in dressing Atlas Studios' parade of clients. Sound designer Fan Zhang's original music includes L'il Klonopin's compositions along with a preset playlist by such artists as Abby Jasmine and Tyler, the Creator.

In giving Olujobi a first-class showcase, the Public is once again what it has done for half a century, finding fresh, abrasive, and exciting voices. If Jordans is too long and too much, it signals the arrival of a writer with things to say and the eloquence to say them. Big things are expected of Olujobi.--David Barbour