APT's "A Raisin in the Sun" is Haunting, Sadly Relevant

Lorraine Hansberry’s classic A Raisin in the Sun may be the most perfectly titled play in the American canon. Referencing Langston Hughes’s “Harlem,” the poem is a roadmap for the play’s plot, which focuses on the Youngers, a Black family on Chicago’s south side in the 1950s, struggling to get ahead while facing overt, suffocating racism at every turn. We meet them just as each character in the extended family is asking themselves what to do with their “dream deferred” — let it die, let it fester, or simply explode?

American Players Theatre’s extraordinary production of this haunting, heartbreaking play is running in the outdoor Hill Theatre through Oct. 7. Directed with insight and complexity by Tasia A. Jones, she paints every one of the Younger family members as the hero of their own story, each with well-earned contrasting goals, convictions, dreams for the future, and points of pain. Brought to life by a stellar cast composed of both APT regulars and newcomers, the actors embody the push and pull of a real family — including the innate hierarchies, the resentments, the love and tolerance, and the disconnects between generations that are hard, if not impossible, to bridge.

The practical question of the play is, can the Youngers finally move out of their cramped apartment and into a real home? And can they finally make a financial investment that will accumulate value, resulting in wealth they can pass on, instead of simply enriching their landlord?

From the first scene, it’s obvious that this is imperative; their current living situation is bursting at the seams with possessions, people and emotions. Although the stage up the hill is expansive, Scott Penner’s set manages to compress the entire Younger family into a tiny, cockroach-infested apartment where the residents and their possessions are literally stacked on top of one another. To reinforce the feeling that the family is boxed in, the only apartment windows face a blank brick wall — a taller building stands just a few feet away across a narrow alley, its former doors and windows bricked up and painted over.

The close quarters means that grandson Travis (De’Anthony Jackson on the night I attended) sleeps on the couch; although the family has adapted to the space they do not have room to thrive here. Like matriarch Lena Younger’s stunted houseplant, they have barely enough space and nourishment to survive.

So when Lena (played with gravitas by Deanna Reed-Foster) receives the life insurance payout after her husband’s death, buying a house seems like the best use of the windfall. But her restless, ambitious, and often bitter son Walter Lee (a pitch perfect Gavin Lawrence) has more ambitious plans — investing the money in a liquor store so he can quit his job as a chauffeur and get out from under his wealthy white boss. And he’s not the only one with big dreams. Younger daughter Beneatha wants to go to medical school, while daughter-in-law Ruth (a strong Gina Daniels) has other important news that will cost money, however it is eventually resolved.

As a family at a crossroads with an enormous decision to make, the stakes could not get higher. But then they do, as each scene progresses. It is a testament to both the script and this production that the tension only increases over the three-hour performance. The audience knows that historically the Younger family was set up to fail by the financial, governmental, social and educational systems of 1950s America, so it is hard to believe any of their dreams will come true. But it is impossible not to hope, especially when we see light coming through literal cracks in the wall. The cast keeps us on the edge of our seats, still hoping, until the very end.

Director Jones emphasizes the burdens of the two mothers in the story — elderly matriarch Lena and her son’s tenacious wife, Ruth. They are women who are always in motion, working for and worrying about others. We see them both come home from working domestic jobs, only to dive into the arduous, everyday tasks that keep the family members well fed, in clean clothes, and in a respectable home. They are both desperate to create a better life for their children. They are also exhausted. And in the end, they are both ruled by the man of the house, even though he is often petulant, self-absorbed and mean.

As Ruth, Daniels radiates physical and emotional defeat, while willing herself to go through the motions of another day. Her moments of joy come when Lena announces her plans to buy a larger, nicer home, and when her husband momentarily finds his confidence. As Lena, Reed-Foster moves slowly, worn down by time and grief, and carrying a long history of struggle on her back. Her happiness is tied to her grandson and a future that is not so filled with strife.

By contrast, Charence Higgins gives Beneatha Younger both a youthful vitality and an electric sense of possibility. A college student who is trying out many paths before finding her way forward, she is unafraid to use her mind and her voice for change. While she may be unsure of her future, Beneatha is certain that she is dissatisfied with the present: spraying the decrepit apartment for pests, taking orders from her older brother, conforming to the wishes of her wealthy Black beau, and believing in her mother’s God. The energy that Higgins infuses into this “modern woman” foreshadows both the women’s movement and Civil Rights movement of the coming decades.

As Walter Lee Younger Jr., Lawrence channels that same energy that seeks change, but it manifests in negative ways. When frustrated, Walter yells at the air, cursing his lack of opportunity, berating his wife, staying out late drinking with his buddies, and then moping in the bedroom after walking off his job. When he finally gets the money he’s been fantasizing about, Walter trips up terribly in a get-rich-quick scheme. But by the end of the play he begins to put the needs of his son and his family before his own. It is fascinating to watch Lawrence’s emotional journey, as he morphs from anger and defeat, to elation and then to devastation and panic. It’s a whole body and whole heart transformation that develops minute by minute, without one false note.

Several actors appear in only one or two scenes in the play, but their characterizations are just as sharp as the leads. Chiké Johnson’s Bobo, in particular, is riveting as he delivers crushing news about Walter’s investment. Tim Gittings is also painfully real as the white representative from the neighborhood association where the Youngers hope to relocate. While it might have been easier to play the character as a villain, Gittings makes him much more frightening as a calm, reasonable guy who just wants what’s best for everyone — as long as it means only white families will be allowed to move into the subdivision.

As a viewer, it is easy to chafe at the sexism that is written into the play and has not aged well in the ensuing decades, but it is more difficult to see the bald-faced racism as a piece of history. Perhaps that is one reason this play is a classic — it remains so sadly relevant.

Post Script

APT's "A Raisin in the Sun" is Haunting, Sadly Relevant