“...Can I ask you a question? …How come you ain’t never like me?”
In one simple line from a son to his father, August Wilson captured the clash of two generations. The generation of fathers that felt that care was duty, and the generation of sons who longed for duty in the form of care. There is much to be said for how far modern concepts of masculinity have come since the 1950s, and yet these complex dynamics still resonate today. Back then, to be a man was to be alpha, to be aggressive, to take up space, to demand – no, to seize respect – which as Wilson reminds us, comes at a price.
The father in question is Troy Maxson (Bert Labonte), husband of Rose Maxson (Zahra Newman), who once dreamt of being a professional baseball player before it was made clear that his worth would only ever be determined by the colour of his skin. His frustration and bitterness about where he ended up in life leaves him self-destructive. One by one he pushes those closest to him away, betraying their trust and crushing their dreams with his unapologetic exertion of patriarchy until he is left to face his deepest fears on his own. In his downfall, his loved ones must rise toward healing and forgiveness.
[Labonte and Newman] delicately see-saw through Wilson’s prose, giving space for each other to rise and fall
Fences is the sixth play in African American playwright August Wilson’s ten-part “Pittsburgh Cycle”. Each play in the cycle documents the 20th century African American experience, one decade at a time, making Wilson one of the most revered and important voices in modern American theatre. Fences is the most accessible in the Cycle as its structure most closely follows historically western views of tragic form. It’s renowned as the winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Drama, Tony Award for Best Play in 1987, and the Denzel Washington-led Broadway revival and film by the same name. However, this knowledge does little to prepare you for the astute experience of seeing Wilson’s spoken word staged.
Despite the perception of Wilson as a writer of tragedies, much like Shakespeare, he is unafraid to use humour to establish a sense of place, dimensionalise his characters, and comment on the human condition. His text is filled with ordinary, everyday stories through which the experience of African American people in the ’50s is sympathetically made visible. We learn, through a gradual unveiling, how Troy’s experiences with his father and with society have shaped how he treats, or mistreats, his own family. It’s a profound rumination on the generational cycle of trauma.
In this Australian debut, Shari Sebbens has assembled an exceptional cast of talent on which she paints Wilson’s decadent cadences. Her direction is uncluttered and spacious, working in harmony with Wilson’s poetic rhythm and relational dialogue to keep audiences emotionally engaged for the play’s close to three-hour run time.
She is aided by Jeremy Allen’s grand and illustrative set, which embodies the gravitas that Wilson demands whilst transporting audiences to the 1950s. A tall modest-sized home with a front wrapping porch centred in the stage’s far left leaves ample room for Wilson’s characters to explode towards each other in moments of anger whilst later physically fencing each other in (or out). Next to the house, a baseball tied to a string hangs from a tall, bristling tree – a constant reminder of Troy’s past failures and a frequent casualty of his anger. Verity Hampson’s lighting operates as a character in its own right, at times the glow is a metaphor for Troy’s fear closing in on him, at others the light elegantly moves us through time or centers our attention.
The stage feels like a playground for Labonte, who gives a towering performance as Troy, commanding in the character’s traditional masculinity, but able to give him just enough softness for audiences to see the fearful, vulnerable boy that sits behind his macho exterior. Labonte's chemistry with Zahra Newman, which was supremely successful in A Raisin in the Sun, is on display again in troves. They delicately see-saw through Wilson’s prose, giving space for each other to rise and fall.
Markus Hamilton gives a sensitive and grounded performance as Troy’s friend Jim Bono, and Damon Manns gives plenty of earnestness to Troys’ oldest son Lyons Maxson. Dorian Nkono depicts Troy’s brother Gabriel with considered sensitivity, mastering repetitive movements and behaviours to give Gabriel’s medical condition believability. The final sequence remains oddly abstract against the realism of the rest of Wilson’s text, but Nkono delivers with sincerity.
Darius Williams holds his ground as Cory Maxson in the plays’ most grating father-son relationship. He transitions from playful to pained to detached with restraint, conveying a nuance of emotions through emotive eyes. The final moments of the play are hopeful as his dulcet rendition of ‘Old Dog Blue’ pushes the family toward healing.
It’s been more than two decades since Wilson debuted this show on Broadway, and its examination of love, honour, duty, betrayal and fatherhood still has something to teach us.
For some people, it may not be possible to detach the concept of the “classic” from colonial texts (think Shakespeare or Austen) but this production of Fences shows us what the classic could and should be if the stage is to reflect the intersectionality of the world our audiences experience. With Sebbens at the helm as a resident director for STC, we are sure to see more theatre as captivating as this.
Fences plays at Sydney Theatre Company's Wharf 1 Theatre, Walsh Bay, until May 6. Tickets range from $51-$109 and you can snap up yours over here.
