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The choreographer Raja Feather Kelly\u2019s dance-theater works have made him a mainstay on the downtown arts scene. With his latest piece, \u201cThe Fires,\u201d Kelly is making his debut as a playwright. Rarely does a show live up so honestly to its title \u2014 wrecking and illuminating in equal measure.<\/p>\n
In his lustrous, emotionally textured play, which opened on Tuesday at Soho Rep, three gay Black men are stuck in a railroad apartment. But those men \u2014 Jay, Sam and Eli \u2014 are not roommates; they live in the same space across separate time periods: 1974, 1998 and 2021. Since the actors rarely leave the elongated stage, the characters\u2019 stories play out in tandem.<\/p>\n
In the \u201970s, Jay (Phillip James Brannon) lives with his lover, George (Ronald Peet), and becomes depressed while journaling about the Greek goddess Aphrodite, whom, he claims, is gravely underestimated: More than a mere mirthful goddess of love, Aphrodite was vengeful, war-driven and unsettled because, like Jay, she never knew her real father. Sam (Sheldon Best) in the \u201990s is George\u2019s son. He feels deeply misunderstood but finds a kinship with his recently deceased father while reading the journals he and Jay left in the apartment. Eli (Beau Badu) in the 2020s has the most sexual freedom but is stuck playing a tug-of-rope game with Maurice, (Jon-Michael Reese), a tender young man who has the potential to be Eli\u2019s great love.<\/p>\n
Kelly does not have these characters speak directly to one another across time, but there are parallels in each scene that evoke a ghostly connection between the men. And the idea is supported by the scenic designer Raphael Mishler\u2019s set: Most of the 1974 scenes occur on our left in a bedroom with a fireplace, typewriter and a retro two-knob radio; for the majority of the 2021 scenes, our attention is directed to the right, to a living room with an electric fireplace, Eli\u2019s laptop and a smart speaker. Time and technology leap forward, but human desire for heat, expression and a groove remain the same.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
Jumbling timelines on a railroad apartment of a set does present some direction challenges, as when characters in one period trek right in front of (but aren\u2019t acknowledged by) characters in another. You can find yourself ping-ponging between these freewheeling vignettes, desperate to catch all of the action.<\/p>\n
Mercifully, there is some light peeking through the darkness of this play. Well-timed comedic moments prove that queer Black life (and, thus, queer Black love) can at times be tragic and <\/em>hilarious. Kelly balances much of the men’s melancholy with memorable performances from other cast members, including Janelle McDermoth as Sam\u2019s quick-witted, fiery-lipped younger sister, and Jason Veasey, as Jay\u2019s model-masculine brother in 1974 and then Eli\u2019s droll, keto-devoted friend in 2021. And then there is Michelle Wilson, as Sam\u2019s devoted mother, Leslie, who expertly carries the weight of a complicated character hit repeatedly with tragedy. When her<\/em> emotional break comes, its intensity is almost unbearable.<\/p>\n By the show\u2019s conclusion, it\u2019s evident that playwriting should be considered only partially novel terrain for Kelly who has, in fact, grappled with narrative for years. Even without eight counts, \u201cThe Fires\u201d is undeniably another dance. The expressionistic way Jay goes mad while conjuring his Greek muse is butoh. The woeful way Sam mopes around his apartment while grieving is a contemporary dance. The hyper-anxious way Eli pushes away and pulls in his lover is a tango. The graceful way all three and their stories twirl is nothing short of balletic.<\/p>\n The Fires<\/strong>
Through June 16 at the Soho Rep, Manhattan; sohorep.org.<\/a> Running time: 1 hour 50 minutes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n