Theatre in Review: The Blood Quilt (Lincoln Center Theatre/Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater)

	Crystal Dickinson, Lauren E. Banks. Photo; Julieta Cervantes

Katori Hall has given us so many different kinds of plays -- among them the historical drama The Mountaintop, the musical Tina, the religious investigation Our Lady of Kibeho, and the groundbreaking study of Black middle-class gay life The Hot Wing King -- that she seems to reinvent herself each time out of the gate. For The Blood Quilt, she morphs into a purveyor of old-fashioned melodrama, and -- believe me -- she knows every trick in the book.

Hall plops down five female characters on an island off the coast of Georgia, then calls up a storm that leaves them isolated from the outside world. Part of a family, they are mourning the recent death of their matriarch, who left behind a pile of debt that threatens them with the loss of their birthplace. Next, the playwright produces a hidden will, unknown to nearly everybody, which stirs up no end of bad feeling. And let's not forget the stash of forgotten letters that sends additional shockwaves. Add in several cases of sibling rivalry, additional money problems, a couple of troubled marriages, a rebellious adolescent, and shock revelations about HIV and sexual abuse -- and, voila, you have a pot ready to boil over. Any two or three of these conflict points would be enough to power a full evening of drama; here, they come and go, flaring up before vanishing to make room for something else. An excellent alternate title for The Blood Quilt might be One Damn Thing After Another.

Four of the characters are half-sisters, each the product of a different father. (This is Hall's way of assembling a set of relatives so diverse it's hard to believe they grew up knowing each other, never mind their blood ties.) Clementine, the eldest, has stayed home on the island, nursing her mother to the end. The others are far-flung: Gio is a police officer with a chip on her shoulder, a soon-to-be ex-husband, and a drinking problem. Cassan, an Army nurse with a husband perpetually on a tour of duty, is worn out by her de facto single motherhood. The youngest, Amber, a hotshot entertainment lawyer living in LA, is the odd woman out -- Gio scornfully refers to her as "the other other sister" -- who, for the flimsiest of reasons, missed their mother's funeral. Also in attendance is Zambia, Cassan's daughter, who, surveying the mayhem unfolding on both floors of Adam Rigg's set, says, "Y'all worse than Mob Wives." She has a point.

Of course, Zambia should talk, being -- at various points -- a fresh convert to Islam and a budding lesbian. But The Blood Quilt has no time to explore such contradictions, having so many other issues to namecheck. The immediate problem facing the characters is the massive tax bill, which, if not paid, will result in the loss of the house. (As designed by Rigg, it is weathered, fragile, and loaded with charm.) There's a possible solution: The women in the family have met annually for generations, making quilts; at least a hundred examples are on hand, which Amber is certain can be sold at auction for as much as $10,000 apiece. But the idea horrifies Clementine, who doesn't want to trade away the family heritage; to her, it's bad enough that her mother is gone, her sisters are scattered, and a proposed bridge from the mainland promises an influx of unwanted gentry. This urgent question provides another source of conflict -- as if one were needed.

With its setup of four adult sisters (one a glamorous mystery woman from California) dealing with their late mother's mixed legacy, The Blood Quilt resembles Jez Butterworth's The Hills of California. The question of what to do with beloved family heirlooms calls to mind August Wilson's The Piano Lesson. But The Blood Quilt, although lively and funny throughout, never reaches the level of these plays; instead, it treats its characters' troubles in superficial, even cursory, fashion. Arguing about the quilts, Clementine and Amber state and restate their positions to irritating effect; the fighting seems especially pointless since nobody has a Plan B. Besides, they have so many other things to fight about.

Because Hall is a pro and Lileana Blain-Cruz is her director, The Blood Quilt is never less than watchable. The script is filled with colorful, candid talk. Gio, shocking Clementine with a ribald comment, adds, defensively, "That's the God-honest truth and I always tells the truth on Fridays." Clementine notes about the locals, "folks always got that slick tongue. Different from every island from 'round here. Had tongues like Christmas." You could love a playwright who comes up with lines like that.

Even better, Blain-Cruz's cast fully embodies this assertive, earthy, opinionated crew. As Clementine, the great Crystal Dickinson is one part propriety and two parts fury, riding herd on her troublemaking clan. Susan Kelechi Watson has a deadly stare and an even deadlier way with a zinger as Cassan, who worries that she is passing on her unhappiness to Zambia. Amber is the trickiest character -- she barely seems connected to the others -- but Lauren E. Banks finds the rue under her polished exterior. The mononymic Mirirai gives Zambia a sharp way with a comeback that suggests she is her mother's daughter. (We could do without the too-cute moment when, demonstrating her acting skills, Zambia quotes a profane passage from Hall's ghetto drama Hurt Village.) Adrienne C. Moore's Gio gets plenty of laughs -- more, I suspect from her symphonic displays of attitude than her vocal delivery, which is often mumbled and hard to make out.

Rigg's set -- framed in moss-covered trees, offering a horizon view, and packed to the rafters with quilts -- is yet another success for this gifted designer. Indeed, the set is so gorgeously detailed that there's little need to layer on Jeanette Oi-Suk Yew's projections of turbulent ocean waves. Jiyoun Chang's lighting is alert to the tiniest changes in the atmosphere as day turns into night and the storm arrives. Montana Levi Blanco's costumes suit each member of this varied lot. Palmer Hefferan's sound design includes the tastiest preshow playlist in town -- including "That's the Way the World Is," "Walk on By," "Stormy Weather," and "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay" -- in addition to some solid surf, thunder, and foghorn effects.

Hall is getting at something interesting -- a singular, vanishing way of life; the sacredness of family traditions; a legacy of powerful female friendships -- but she packs the action with too many flashpoints, even introducing a touch of the supernatural at the eleventh hour. (Interestingly, the late mother, who casts an enormous shadow over her descendants, never comes into focus; depending on who is talking, she was a tower of strength, scandalously neglectful, or an enabler of child rape.) Ultimately, however, the playwright is more interested in stirring up a storm than crafting a clarifying vision of this family's turbulent history. The Blood Quilt isn't a dull play - not by a long shot -- but neither is it illuminating. Its varied pieces are roughly sewn together and the seams show. --David Barbour