Theatre in Review: Amerikin (Primary Stages/59E59)

	Daniel Abeles. Photo: Justin Swader

The playwright Chisa Hutchinson, who is Black, does a very nervy thing in Amerikin, imagining life in a Maryland town teeming with white supremacists. And, until she loses control of her material in the second act, she depicts these characters with considerable, if devastating, understanding. Jeff, her protagonist, is the kind of guy who uses the N-word to name his dog. That way, when calling the animal home, he can stand in his front yard, shouting "N----r! N-----r!" That none of his neighbors are shocked or upset tells all you need to know about the community. (It is Sharpsburg, a real-life town near the site of the Battle of Antietam, which explains the characters' general fondness for the Confederate flag.)

As it happens, Jeff has plenty of trouble on his hands. His wife, Michelle, has recently given birth to a ten-pound, thirteen-ounce baby and an equally gigantic case of postpartum depression. Alarm bells are heard when, cradling the baby, she sings, "Lullabyyyy and goodniiiiight/I don't thiiiink I can love you/You are juuuust a parasiiiiite/Draining everything from me." Later, Jeff catches her quietly trying to smother the infant. Adding to the domestic tensions is the presence, next door, of Alma, Jeff's ex-girlfriend; they broke up when she aborted his baby; in a very real sense, both Michelle and their new son are replacements for something Jeff has lost.

Meanwhile, having applied to join the World Knights, which promulgates the Great Replacement theory, Jeff must submit a DNA test proving his Northern European heritage. His friend and World Knights mentor, Dylan, admits that his wife, Kim was a borderline case, having an Italian strain. "That boot's got its toe just a-'tap-tap-tappin' on the African continent," Dylan notes. Fortunately, for her, Kim's heritage proved to be Northern Italian, putting her within spitting distance of the Master Race.

But trouble erupts when test results show that Jeff is part African-American. Terrified of being socially ostracized or worse, and painfully aware that Michelle is already perched on the edge of a psychological cliff, he enlists his friend Poot, an IT specialist, to Photoshop out the offending information. The plan seems to work and even Michelle appears to be pulling herself together until, getting ready for the World Knights induction ceremony, she looks out the window and says, "There's a cross burnin' on our lawn."

Up to this point, Hutchinson manages the neat trick of presenting these characters in all their casual hatred while extending a certain sympathy to them. Jeff, who says the dog's name is ironic, isn't an active racist; he's attracted to the World Knights for networking opportunities and a sense of belonging. Indeed, the group fulfills many of the functions that, in another generation, would have fallen to the Elks Club or Knights of Columbus. And, in Dylan's melancholy view, the battle is already half-lost: "Seem like so many men of our generation...well, the real smart ones, left Sharpsburg. And most of the ones that stayed are fuck-ups. They're fucking aroun', can't hol' down a job-I mean it's one thing when you can't find one 'cause fuckin' Obama decimated your industry or whatever, but these fuckers are just lazy. And the ones younger than us... forget it." Of course, he adds, "It's like they just don't care that there's a genocide goin' on, you know? It ain't right."

But once the news gets out about Jeff, thanks to a barely believable twist, Amerikin starts to fall apart, thanks in part to an overabundance of flashbacks. Hutchinson introduces Gerald, a Black Washington Post journalist, who brings along his candid, argumentative college-age female offspring, Chris, to get Jeff's story. This version of Take-Your-Daughter-to-Work Day is highly improbable, especially since Gerald is heading into such hostile territory. Chris exists mostly to allow the playwright to editorialize, pointing out the blindingly obvious fact that Sharpsburg is a petri dish of toxic ideas. Her speechmaking triggers some melodramatic wrangling over a gun and a shocker revelation that calls for a mental health intervention. After that, Amerikin struggles to find an ending, first in an anticlimactic encounter in a convenience store run by Dylan and then with a summing-up speech by Gerald, listing all the points Hutchinson couldn't manage to dramatize.

Hutchinson's ambition is appealing, and she is clearly talented. That the plot of Amerikin slips away from her is not surprising; even much more experienced playwrights might have trouble packing it all into a ninety-minute running time. Might it have been better to start with Gerald and Chris, letting them bring us into the story? We'll never know; as it stands, they take stage from Jeff, Dylan, and Michelle without providing comparable dramatic value.

Jade King Carroll's direction varies from scene to scene but everyone in the cast does solid, professional work. If it is possible to be a white supremacist sad sack, Jeff is it, and Daniel Abeles captures the character's striver qualities and his fear that he is unwittingly losing everything. Molly Carden's Michelle, drowning in self-loathing, is genuinely pitiful; her monologue about faith in reincarnation -- which, at least, would provide her with the chance to be someone else -- is one of the production's chief showpieces. Luke Robertson keeps Dylan from being totally hateful, which is no mean feat. Tobias Segal's Poot gets the biggest laugh of the evening when humblebragging about being a playboy; if that particular shoe fits, the romantic pickings in Sharpsburg must be mighty slim. As Gerald, Victor Williams' just-the-facts manner contrasts nicely with Amber Reauchean Williams, who does reasonably well with speeches that feel inelegantly inserted into the text. Andrea Syglowski's Alma brings a welcome touch of warmth, but she also makes a formidable sparring partner for Michelle in one scene.

The scenic design, by Christopher and Justin Swader, focuses on Jeff and Michelle's depressing living room and kitchen, with the latter revolving to reveal other locations, including their front yard and Gerald's home office; the aluminum siding surround is an especially apt touch, as are the scuff marks on the walls. Jen Caprio's costumes and Carolina Ortiz Herrera's lighting are both solidly done; Lindsay Jones' original music, in a country-rock vein, and his sound effects, including a hospital pager, barking dog, and baby cries, are always appropriate.

I suppose you could accuse Hutchinson of a certain kind of cultural appropriation but one of the best things about Amerikin is her willingness to explore the world of Jeff, Dylan, and their friends. Writing about Jeff, Gerald writes, "I can't forgive him, but I understand him -- more than I'd like to, if I'm honest." That pretty much sums up the attitude that pervades the play's memorable first act and it's a welcome one. --David Barbour