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And it's all apparently simple to begin with, too. The (grown) children of a recently deceased man arrive with their families at his house in Arkansas, determined to make the place presentable before it's sold. No easy feat: The former plantation home is both run-down and crammed to the brim with useless objects collected over a lifetime that suggest their owner was sentimental at best and a hoarder at worst. They all have their problems—the oldest, Toni, the executor, is uptight; older brother Bo is positive he can do better; and younger brother Franz, who didn't even publicly acknowledge Dad's death, isn't even supposed to be there and isn't wanted in any event. But assuming they can endure each other for a few days, they're all here for the same reason: to say goodbye. Slowly, though, they begin to wonder to whom. A book of disturbing photographs of lynched blacks, discovered on a shelf, would seem out of character for the man who raised these people. Or, maybe not: Bo's Jewish wife, Rachael, insists she heard Dad use ethnic slurs toward her a few times, though no one is quite sure whether to believe her. Were the photos really his? Were they left by the previous owners, or the numerous visitors who've passed through the house? And are there more things—maybe even worse—still to be found on the property, which disturbingly includes a graveyard for all the slaves who died working here once upon a time? With Appropriate, Jacobs-Jenkins demonstrates a compelling storytelling skill that was not always in evidence with his Off-Broadway debut work, Neighbors, in 2010. He adeptly skirts the line between the necessary and the uncomfortable, raising questions most of us would prefer were not asked in real life. The photos, surreptitiously passed from person to person as if pornography (and affecting many of the recipients in similar ways), become a powerful symbol of the complicated relationship even today's enlightened whites can have with race. The matter of how they're dealt with at every step along the line—should they be shown? hidden? sold? destroyed?—is strangely absorbing, even if you think you know the right answer. Here, as in Neighbors, however, Jacobs-Jenkins plots a bit broadly, leaving certain elements and events looser than is absolutely ideal. Whether the characters here absolutely need to be coping with the once-every-13-years emergence of a particular breed of cicada, for example, is not entirely clear; too many of the characters are saddled with too many crippling problems (Toni's son, Rhys, is especially a bundle of bewildering psychological issues that are insufficiently explored); and a number of events in the second act, particularly an explosive brawl and the final resolution to the adult children's conflicts, do not ring true. Ultimately, alas, neither does the production, as Jacobs-Jenkins's intense and surprising writing is never matched by what we see onstage. Director Liesl Tommy makes good use of Clint Ramos's crammed-to-bursting, two level set, which Lap Chi Chu has hauntingly lighted. But there's an acrid stuffiness about the proceedings that slows down the action and keeps much of it from being either tense or convincing. You rarely feel, as you ought to, that you're at a kind of historical crossroads no one here is equipped to approach; everything plays just a little too fake. This also extends to the actors, most of whom are even more at odds. Johanna Day observes Toni as if at a distance, but does not display much emotional connection to this woman who must hold herself together even though every part of her life is crumbling. Michael Laurence makes Bo stiff, intractable, and little else, an obstacle he can't easily evolve from. As Rachael, Maddie Corman tries but fails to marshal the same comedic resources and depth of feeling she did to such good effect in Next Fall. Patch Darragh and Sonya Harum, as Franz and his girlfriend River, come closest to balancing the necessary rage and acceptance in their performances, but are still fairly flat. As the various children, Izzy Hanson-Johnston impresses most as Rachael and Bo's straightforward daughter Cassidy, though Mike Faist plays Rhys combatively and well, and Alex Dreier is a young charmer as Cassidy's brother, Ainsley. Dreier, by the way, is responsible for the evening's most chilling moment, when the crimes and uncertainties of the past become impossible to ignore and everyone has to accept that neither the patriarch nor each other are exactly who they once believed. It's a vivid vivisection of white guilt given physical form, and a fascinating investigation from an African-American playwright who's once again unleashing his distinctive voice and outlook on what race means today. If Tommy's spin on Appropriate doesn't pack the fully devastating impact it should, it still leaves you wondering whether you know and can trust even the people closest to you—or, for that matter, yourself.
Appropriate
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