Twenty years ago, Ma Rainey's Black Bottom announced the arrival of a major new playwright on Broadway. It showed his command of language, humor and tone already at full throttle, while also showing his indulgence for meandering conversation and climactic moments that, however well constructed, feel a little stagey and forced. The playability of Wilson's dialogue has in no way diminished over the years, however; and when you have a force of nature like Charles S. Dutton delivering Black Bottom's powerhouse first-act monologue, not a breath can be heard in the theater.
Alas, there's yawning and exhaling galore in the play's current Broadway revival, most of them at the sight of Whoopi Goldberg trying to fill the shoes (and dress, and wig) of a Bessie Smith-like black blues diva. We'd forgive Goldberg being a merely passable singer if she commanded the stage non-musically, but here it's almost as if Ma Rainey's a side player in her own show. Rather than being a counterpoint to Levee (Dutton), who negatively channels his rage against the white man by assaulting his own people, Whoopi's Ma Rainey is mere, bland, serio-comic relief, when she should be a strong (if difficult) black woman forcing whites to deal with her on her own terms. The result is an experience akin to standing outside a jazz club and hearing the muffled sounds through the walls, a burst of brightness and clarity happening only when the front door occasionally flies open.
