Artistic works about the passage into adolescence and about the making of an artist frequently have several things in common. Both document a landscape of awkwardness and self-consciousness, of grandiosity punctuated by acute feelings of worthlessness. Literature that illuminates either condition can be by turns tender, compelling, funny, infuriating, and self-indulgent.
Dael Orlandersmith's memoir play "The Gimmick" at Dobama Theatre illustrates the full gamut. Like being faced with a wounded, self-dramatizing teen, you can be moved with waves of compassionate identification–yet occasionally want to snap "oh, please, grow up!"
The heroine of Orlandersmith's one-woman piece is Alexis, a painfully awkward, bookish girl in 1970's Harlem. Ignored by her alcoholic mother and taunted by peers as "fat doofus", Alexis has two lights in her life. The first is the library, where she scribbles in her journal and is befriended by the librarian Mrs. Innis, who encourages her to read James Baldwin. The second is her friend Jimmy, a budding painter. But as she and Jimmy move from the sweet friendship of 10-year-olds to the rockier shoals of adolescence, things get even tougher.
"The Gimmick" is a tour-de-force performance opportunity which poet-playwright Orlandersmith created for herself, with a narrator making quicksilver changes from character to character. Sandi McCree, winsome and round-faced, is a sweetly appealing protagonist. She is devastatingly good at portraying the paradox between the inner/outer Alexis, and makes you care about the fate of the central teen pair. She finds transcendent moments–the awe the children feel when they first walk into the Museum of Modern Art–and quiet but powerful revelations, as when she first sees her nude portrait on a gallery wall.
However, McCree doesn't always have the poetic fire that parts of the piece demand, with its looping monologues, and each character isn't limned precisely enough. Some sketches are sharp–like Jimmy's appalling father, and the model-thin white Genevieve–but she doesn't bring sufficient distinction between others, especially between Alexis and Jimmy.
Production choices don't always help McCree, either. Director Margaret Ford-Taylor sets a pace that is far too languid: there's no earthly reason for this piece to run nearly two and a half hours. At times, especially in the second act climax, it ought to crackle with ferocity, not drag and whine (although the self-pity is inherent in the writing). It's a nice idea to have an on-stage musician, but Edward Ridley's synthesizer accompaniment is too full of meditative ballads, which further slows and sentimentalizes the work.
Nevertheless, "The Gimmick" has a big heart, and an uplifting story to tell. Amid addiction, poverty, and self-hate, one soul manages to overcome harsh conditions, is saved by finding beauty and her authentic voice. If the example of James Baldwin can reach across the decades to inspire a teen, so might Orlandersmith's tale of compassion and hope.
Originally published in the Plain Dealer.