What happens to a dream discussed? The characters in Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun are all trapped in their own ways – by racism, by poverty, by outdated ideas – to the point where it sometimes seems that all they can do with their dreams is talk about them. But rather than allow her characters to stagnate in their helplessness, Hansberry gives them the power of her poetic language. In Harry J. Elam, Jr.’s incandescent production, this one-house family drama attains an epic scale as the actors use the exuberant force of Hansberry’s dialogue to speak their dreams into existence.
The play centers around the Younger family, in 1959 Chicago, as they decide what to do with the $10,000 life insurance check they received after the death of the father. While the original Broadway production highlighted the son, Walter, this production focuses our attention more on the women of the family. Aleta Hayes (’91) plays Lena Younger (“Mama”), with formidable energy, making Mama into the kind of matriarch who could keep her family together through anything. Gianna Clark (’19) portrays Ruth Younger, Mama’s daughter-in-law; her transformation from weary persistence to unexpected happiness in the second act is a joy to watch. Last of the Younger women is Beneatha Younger, Mama’s ambitious, college-educated daughter. Played by Danielle Stagger (’19), Beneatha is confident, callous, and utterly magnetic. Mama’s son and Ruth’s husband, Walter Lee Younger (Irie Evans (’20)), seems immature next to these world-wise women, and his carelessly hurtful comments towards his wife and sister initially turn the audience’s sympathy against him; however, Evans’ portrayal of Walter’s tragic fall and heroic return in the third act is exquisitely done. Finally, Travis Younger (Rahil Menon), Walter’s son, gives us a glimpse of the hopeful future for the family. The Youngers laugh, fight, cry, and live together, showing us not a tragic group crushed by the world but a family that loves and supports each other as best they can.
Surrounding them are an excellent cast of supporting characters. Beneatha’s two suitors, George Murchison and Joseph Asagai, could not be more different: Murchison (played with an entitled confidence by Cameron Woods (’20)) seems stilted, snobbish, and sexist, while Asagai (in a fiery performance by Charles L. Wattley III (’20)) is forward-thinking, passionate, and spontaneous. Two of the other characters have only a single scene each, but their impact vastly outweighs their stage time. Ramona Greene (’20) has a hilarious turn as the nosy neighbor Mrs. Johnson, while John Okhiulu (’21) delivers a painfully truthful performance as Bobo, the bearer of bad news. Sam Roach (’21), as the only white character in the play, Karl Lindner, is so unbelievably likable that his veiled threats towards the Younger family almost come as a surprise.
A Raisin in the Sun is predominantly a realistic play, and the technical elements surrounding the actors reinforce that impression: Erik Flatmo’s set and Courtney Flores’s costumes are beautifully detailed, to the point where Ruth can cook real eggs on the stove in her period-appropriate robe. The sound design by Sara Huddleston and Jamie Tippett (’19) is similarly realistic, with essentially all of the sound internal to the world of the play. However, just as the dialogue sometimes launches into a poeticism outside of natural speech, Tony Shayne’s lighting design is not fully confined by realism. When Walter stands on the table and orates as Beneatha dances to her new Nigerian record, the lights redden and highlight the evocative power of the moment.
This joyful moment is a microcosm of the play itself: despite their differences and difficulties, the Youngers continually find pockets of happiness, pride, and hope. To be sure, Raisin is full of tragic moments, and the cast plays them beautifully: Walter down on his knees, drowning in his own shame, Mama shouting at Walter after his massive mistake comes to light, Ruth sobbing helplessly on the couch where her son has to sleep. Even more affecting are the moments of quiet sadness – Mama’s attempt to justify not moving by explaining all the ways they could improve their tiny apartment is perhaps the most heartwrenching moment in the play. But what stayed with me as I left the theater was not sadness at all, but energy. It came from Asagai’s explosive monologue on the power of revolution. It came from Mama’s exhortation to Beneatha, to love whom we love despite – or even because of – the ways they’ve failed us. And it came from Walter’s stumbling, spontaneous monologue, surrounded by his family, reminding them, himself, and all of us that the world may be harsh and unfair and painful, and we may not be able to change it – but what we can decide is how to live in it.
A Raisin in the Sun ran October 25 to November 3 in Roble Studio Theater.
Images courtesy of Frank Chen (’14).
(Theater and Performance Studies, '20) has acted in, sound designed, or has directed ten shows in his time at Stanford, and reviewed a small handful of shows for the Stanford Daily. In his "free" time, you can probably find him doing something for the Stanford Shakespeare Company. Come see him in TAPS's The Seagull, or watch his directing work in the spring with Thirteenth Night!