Theatre in Review: (pray) (Ars Nova/National Black Theatre at Greenwich House) Even the unchurched might enjoy dropping in at (pray), which, billed as "a sacred offering," offers a unique, nondenominational contemplation of faith and Black history. In all its surface particulars, it is a true Sunday go-to-meeting experience. The design collective known as dots has transformed the auditorium into a plausible sketch of an old-time Baptist house of worship, complete with pews and stained-glass windows. In addition to masks, which are requested as a courtesy to the cast members who move through the audience, you will be asked to don booties to protect the carpeting. It gives a whole new meaning to the term "dressing for church." Inside, you'll find a ferociously gifted company of female and female-identifying performers -- the one exception is the lively male pianist Darnell White -- enacting a kind of service albeit with any obvious reference to Christianity carefully removed. The actors, most of them decked in elaborate powder-blue Sunday ensembles (complete with attention-getting hats) by the costume designer DeShon Elem, are ready to engage us in song and praise. The lead celebrant is singer S T A R R Busby, her take-no-prisoners authority established when she riotously directs her disapproval against latecomers. (If you attend, be prompt, or else.) Equally amusing is a money offering sequence, in which the actors hand out small change and seashells for us to drop in the basket. A cast member, handing me the offerings to pass along my pew, offered a gimlet stare and said, "Do better next time." Yes, ma'am. Aided by the jazzy, insinuating music by Busby and JJJJJerome Ellis and some rafter-rattling voices, an explosively joyous atmosphere is cut with more melancholy notes, beginning with sermonettes about, for example. the "leadership role for Black women (and femmes)" in times of slavery and after." The open-hearted, if ahistorical, inclusiveness of "femmes," meaning queer and nonbinary persons, is a clue to the strategy of the show's creator, nicHi douglas. If Black church culture was -- and, in many cases, remains -- hostile to queer people, the author reframes the standard liturgy in a more inclusive way. Then there's Free, a member of the congregation assailed by doubt and self-criticism. As played by Amara Granderson, she is a powerful presence, her expressions of anguish providing a striking countermelody to the overall theme of affirmation. But if (pray) has a weakness, it is here: Free's words often feel self-consciously poetic and perilously untethered to anything specific. "Is my humanity more visible in my sadness?" she wonders. "My? Heart? Like worms writing in poisoned earth/a sickness, agonizing/I'd give my left foot to be able/to agree with myself/my many selves/to reconcile my many thoughts/to align my thoughts with something real/to wrap my arms a million times around/the mind I personify." A little bit of this goes a long way, but there are yards and yards of it on display, and its vague, highly interior tone fights the broader comedy and theatrical ceremony that are the evening's surest sources of pleasure. Other sequences seem to come out of nowhere, even if they are strikingly staged. A menacing dance with machetes is called "An Ancestral Memory;" while it surely alludes to slavery (and, possibly, rebellions like the one headed by Nat Turner), it remains elusive. Equally mysterious are the "burn-based cleansings," staged mostly out of audience view behind a grove of trees. (pray), which is stuffed with ideas and references, works in an associative manner, skipping from one thing to the next without much explanation. And the piece's contrasting moods of faith and crippling skepticism are juxtaposed without really engaging with each other. Still, (pray) is part of an interesting shift in Black theatre; after a couple of seasons featuring plays marked by outpourings of personal rage, there's a new emphasis on the strategic use of humor to deal with intractable social problems, along with, perhaps, a renewed sense of community. (Other plays pointing in this direction include Flex, Jaja's African Hair Braiding, and the revival of Purlie Victorious.) And, as directed and choreographed by douglas, it is a fleet, often captivating entertainment that never forgets the perils that lurk outside the church door. (The action is sometimes punctuated by flashing lights and the sound of helicopters, reminding us of the ubiquitous police presence in the lives of these worshippers.) Among the other members of the design team, Cha See's lighting and Mikaal Sulaiman's sound are solid contributions, as are Nikiya Mathis' wig and hair designs. If (pray) isn't an unalloyed success, it is an original that comes with plenty of crowd-pleasing features and shines a striking light on where some Black theatre artists are headed next. Can I get an amen on that? --David Barbour 
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