The Mountaintop Topples Martin Luther King
Samuel L. Jackson and Angela Bassett Flirt on Broadway
By: Charles Giuliano - Oct 15, 2011
The Mountaintop
By Katori Hall
Directed by Kenny Leon
Original Music, Branford Marsalis, Set and Production Design, David Gallo, Costume Design, Constanza Romero, Lighting Design, Brian MacDevitt, Sound Design, Dan Moses Schreier, Hair and Wig Design, Charles G. LaPointe, Casting, Jim Carnahan, C.S.A.
Cast: Samuel L. Jackson, (Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.). Angela Bassett (Camae).
Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre
241 West 45th Street
New York City
It is a dark and stormy night. All hell is breaking loose outside Room 306 of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee on April 3, 1968.
Earlier in the day Dr. Martin Luther King delivered what is known as “The Mountaintop” speech to, for him, a relatively small audience of some 2,000. There to support a strike by the largely black members of the Sanitation Workers union in March he had drawn 15,000.
Death threats against the civil rights leader had escalated. That day his flight to Memphis was delayed because of a bomb threat.
There was a tone of resignation and fatalism in remarks delivered in that final speech. They would prove to be chillingly prophetic.
“Well, I don't know what will happen now; we've got some difficult days ahead” he said. “But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life - longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over, and I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the Promised Land. And so I'm happy tonight; I'm not worried about anything; I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”
The play The Mountaintop by Katori Hall conflates fantasy with reality in a hard to swallow concoction of the last night on earth by the greatest orator of his generation, a martyr for his people, and an icon of change in America.
We came to the theatre to see two renowned Hollywood actors, Samuel L. Jackson, and Angela Bassett, in what one assumed would be a formidable, reverent and insightful tribute to a national hero.
Imagine then the shock and disappoint of a one act travesty in which the revered minister and activist not only has feet of clay, but, good grief it is revealed that his feet stink. Yes, that’s a fact. And that he was a womanizer. No surprise as that has been widely known largely through the snooping of J. Edgar Hoover and the F.B.I. In this deconstruction, part tribute, part roast, we also watch Jackson, who channels Dr. King with compelling veracity and nuance, smoke Pall Malls, drink, cuss, lust, and even, my goodness, utter the n-word.
If the intent of Hall has been to humanize Dr. King, not only has she knocked him off the lofty pinnacle of the Mountaintop, but tarnished the reputation of a great, but hardly saintly leader.
Responses to this treatment of Dr. King largely depended upon where you are coming from. For the numerous African Americans in the audience it was an emotional and cathartic experience. There was more of an embrace of the broad humor presented in zinging one liners and farcical over the top scenes. While such an approach has an ethnic, populist appeal that may ensure ticket sales, it was also an undignified smear on a flawed human being who accomplished so much at the cost of his own life.
There is an uncanny human trait to both elevate our heroes to lofty heights as well as righteous satisfaction in dragging them down through rumor, gossip and innuendo. This fiasco of a play attempts to have it both ways. It has us careening through scenes where we are prompted to laugh or cry. It was an experience chock full of cheap tricks and easy gags.
For his first appearance on Broadway the PR reads that Jackson leaped at the chance to play Dr. King. A role which he commands masterfully. The makeup achieved an uncanny physical resemblance. The vocal style, while not an impersonation, was stunningly plausible. Jackson found a firm grasp of the character and projected it with wonderfully restrained nuance. Don’t be surprised if he is nominated for a Tony in the role. Oh, if only he had a better script to work with. It was a thrill to experience such a remarkable actor.
We first encounter Dr. King calling room service from a drab and generic motel room serviceably designed by David Gallo. It is so uncompelling that you wonder why we were seeing this on Broadway jacked up with two movie stars on the marquee. It was played as Fringe in London where it won an Olivier award on its way to Broadway.
Opening the door to look outside Dr. King experienced sheets of rain and claps of thunder and lighting. These elements of nature, with lighting by Brian MacDevitt, and sound by Dan Moses Schreier, also signify the rifle shot by James Earl Ray that was fired at 6:01 P.M. on April 4. An hour later, Dr. King was pronounced dead at 7:05 P.M. at St. Joseph Hospital.
Stage left, in the bathroom, we hear Dr. King take a pee. Talk about a reality check. Did we really need that detail to comprehend his humanity? Ms. Hall, really, shame on you.
Room service, it seems, has been suspended. Prevailing he implores for at least a cup of coffee. He will be up all night working on a speech. Pacing about, with Jackson ratcheting up to a more oratorical tone, he mulls over the theme of what’s wrong with America. It is evident that he is road weary with a raspy cough and jumpy at every crash and flash outdoors.
Enter the chamber maid Camae (Angela Bassett). She has a newspaper over her head as an ersatz umbrella. With a gush she swoops in with the coffee.
Compared to the measured, masterful delivery of Jackson her Camae is played absurdly over the top. There to deliver the coffee we find her lingering on luring in Dr. King with a manic, seductive, at times sassy and chiding screed of a performance. Every shift and twist of her persistent insinuation into his life, from maid to confidant and potential lover, is punctuated with exaggerated facial expressions and gestures. The director, Kenny Leon, might just as well have muted Bassett and coached her in mime.
We have trouble finding the center of her character. It is a tedious cliché to take a glamorous black actress and cast her as a maid. In her memoir Billie Holiday commented on the roles she was offered by Hollywood. To which she responded “I ain’t playing no damned maid.”
In this role Bassett has trouble ratcheting down from the diva of What’s Love Got to Do With It to a maid. She stumbled badly over tone and syntax in an attempt to convey a working class woman.
From arriving with a cup of coffee Camae lingers to serve an ever expanding range of needs for Dr. King. “Where is that n... with my cigarettes” he exclaims in exasperation referring to Dr. Ralph Abernathy dispatched in a downpour.
Not only does Camae have cigarettes but even his preferred brand. Dr. King is surprised that a woman would smoke Pall Malls. There are just a couple left as he lights up. Later, when he again has a craving for a smoke, it seems she has a spare fresh pack. Hmm.
For that rasping cough she whips out a flask and spikes his coffee with what she calls “Irish cough medicine.” Later she just passes the flask. He begins to complement her beauty. Is he hitting on her? She reminds him that it is the third or fourth time he has x-rayed her uniform. Camae bounces back that it’s ok as he is just doing what men do.
The plot thickens as we wonder just who is this “maid” and why doesn’t she get back to work? It is allegedly her first night on the job. In more ways than one as it turns out. Seems that she has another, bigger job.
Fast forward to a dialogue about the speech he is working on. Bounding up on the bed Bassett has one of her best scenes improvising on the theme. He is amused and absorbed until she reaches an unexpected punch line “Kill the white man.”
The audience roared in laughter some with obvious approval and pleasure while some of us somewhat nervously and taken aback by the scripted divisiveness as humor. This segues into a discussion of his non violence vs. the militant approach of the martyred Malcom X. “He was 39” Dr. King observes adding “I’m 39.” Camae evokes the Black Panthers with a cat like snarl punctuated by a self conscious giggle.
Now that they are evidently more cozy with each other, passing time in a dull motel room on a stormy night, he asks her for some advice. “Should I shave my moustache?” In a snap back she retorts that it is a question to be answered by his wife. It is the first hint of potential infidelity and his ever more obvious womanizing.
Something is amiss here.
When in an exchange she refers to him as “Michael” the cat’s out of the bag.
It seems that was his birth name and just how would a chamber maid know that? He launches into a rage tearing up the room looking for hidden microphones. She is just another lure sent by the enemy to entrap him, ruin his marriage and reputation as a leader.
But no. There is another explanation for the identity of the mystery woman.
Critics have been asked not to reveal the plot twist. But it is such an absurdity. The wheels fall off. Just a hint part of it entails a phone call to God who, get this, is a black woman. Again Ms. Hall, shame on you. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.
There is a wild climax with Bassett’s best scene. In a remarkable speech she reels off a litany of successors to Dr. King. Starting with “Jesse” which got a roar of approval from the African American segment of the audience.
If all of Bassett’s performance could be reduced to the “Bed Speech” and the “Legacy Speech” it would have been truly remarkable. She clearly has the ability to swing for the wall when taking a fast one over the middle of the plate. The rest of the time she wiffed, mostly striking out. Nuance is her tough pitch.
Let it be duly noted there was the usual standing ovation.
As they say there is no cheering in the press box.