Playwright: Regina Taylor
At: Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn
Phone: 312-443-3800; $20-$65
Runs through: July 23
BY MARY SHEN BARNIDGE
Biographical fiction is a fundamentally artificial form, an orderly narrative forged from a disorderly mess of facts. What distinguishes good from bad in this genre, then, is not how closely or comprehensively the author adheres to documented history, but how deftly they integrate chronological data with the primary task of acquainting us with their subject's personality.
If playwright Regina Taylor is to be believed, Sarah Breedlove had plenty of it. The story of how hair-care products, marketed under the name of Madam C. J. Walker, transformed a humble laundress into the founder of a million-dollar empire would in itself assure its inventor a place in the annals of American capitalism. But Taylor is more fascinated by the price exacted by success and ambition on filial values, as well as the limits of wealth and power in a country where a tycoon of color is still not permitted to use a whites-only lavatory. Even without the author's occasional dramatic license ( Taylor's account has Madam not only divorcing her philandering husband, but shooting him in flagrante delicto ) , it's not always a pretty picture.
This Goodman Theatre production, however, is never less than breathtaking in its iconography. Even in the first scene, set in Breedlove's washing-room, Scott Bradley's decor hints at the prosperity to come, as does the inflection imposed on the word 'gravy' by Keith Randolph Smith ( playing the seductive C.J. ) . Rolando Boyce, Sr., projects dignity in the role of the corporation's lawyer and the Walker clan's referee. But the show belongs to L. Scott Caldwell, Nikki E. Walker, Libya Pugh and Cheryl Lynn Bruce, whose valiant ladies confront adversity, defy convention, explore new paths, squabble among themselves, deliver heroic speeches with operatic conviction and model Jacqueline Firkins' splendid costumes in a milieu enhanced by Daryl Waters' original incidental music, Hope Clarke's minimalist choreography and Richard Woodbury's precision-perfect sound design.
The play's running time ( two-and-a-half hours on opening night ) may seem excessive, and the literary seams may still be visible, but Taylor's schematic reveals a well-constructed fable, making for engaging—as well as educational—entertainment.