The scene is a single-room hut of thrown-together, uneven boards in the non-white Korsten outskirts of Port Elizabeth, South Africa. This home is the scenic metaphor for its inhabitants, two half brothers. Morris is mixed race—half black but could pass for white. Zachariah is definitely black. Morris keeps this home for them. Zachariah works in a hard, menial job outside. They’re saving to perhaps buy a farm. When Zachariah comes home from work, Morris is ready to wash his feet and then fix supper. Before bed, they like to play games. Gavin Lawrence’s nice, pitiful Zachariah has been writing to a gal in the big city with hopes they’ll get together. The brothers then find out she’s white and has a policeman brother. So what to do when she writes that she’s coming there and wants to meet up with Zachariah? They decide Morris will pretend he’s Zachariah’s brother. They spend their precious money on getting him proper clothing. Jim DeVita as Morris skillfully accomplishes a turn-about not only of his self—his dress up scene is truly memorable—but also his relationship to black Zachariah. So what remains of their brotherhood when the feminine pen pal advises she’s not coming? Apartheid may be gone, but the powerful play and splendid performances here make clear racism is still omnipresent. The ending begs for audiences to examine their own racial views. Nothing but good can be said of Ron OJ Parson’s direction that unites the artistic and technical perfectly. Every aspect of the APT staging meets the highest standards. It will long be remembered, I predict, by most audiences.
