Theatre in Review: Bad Kreyol (Signature Theatre)It's hard to think of a playwright with a broader canvas than Dominique Morisseau. Whether exploring the history of Detroit in a three-play cycle, examining the struggles of unionized workers in Skeleton Crew, probing the generational fallout from the Black Panther era in Sunset Baby, or turning a scalding eye on slavery and modern academia in Confederates, she always has something provocative and original to say. This streak continues with Bad Kreyol, in which, for the first time, she strays beyond our shores. Indeed, she goes all Henry James on us with a tale of an innocent, well-meaning American visiting Haiti, her efforts at helping others ending up entangled in social mores and attitudes about which she knows little. Simone, a Haitian American in her thirties, visits the island she hasn't seen since she was twelve. Raised in the US, she hopes to reconnect with her cousin Gigi, who runs a chic clothing boutique in Port-au-Prince. The feeling is mutual, but it won't be easy: Simone is at loose ends, with no job (having thrown over her career in finance), few family attachments, and no serious relationship; her only motivation is an unfocused desire to be useful. Gigi is steely, dogmatic, and a tough businesswoman -- and, despite her affection for Simone, is allergic to lecturing from Americans who think they know best. Despite their best efforts, they are poised on a collision course, especially when Simone begins to meddle in other people's lives. During Simone's visit, all sorts of flashpoints are exposed: Many of them center on Pita, who is, technically, a restavek -- part of a system practiced in Haiti in which children from the rural districts are taken in by well-off families in the city, trading indentured servitude for an education. Pita is well-treated, makes decent money, and has taken Gigi's family's name -- but the setup gives Simone the willies. Pita is charming, witty, a snazzy dresser, and very obviously queer; Simone, trying to liberate him, urges him to get involved with an LGBTQ rights organization without grasping that she might be putting him at risk of mob violence. Pita introduces Simone to Lovelie, a former prostitute turned skilled seamstress. Promoting Lovelie's talents to Gigi, Simone is shocked to learn about the sexual harassment that, to Lovelie, is the cost of doing business. Simone is even more shocked when Lovelie rejects any attempt at bringing her tormentor to account. But, as Gigi tries to explain, "There is no money trail in all of Ayiti that is not without blood." The script of Bad Kreyol is loaded with enlightening observations about Haitian society's distinct rules, many formed around the island's history of natural disasters and repeated colonization. Morisseau's characters aren't overly prone to moral judgments; having taken the measure of a wicked world, they are masterful at finding workarounds. Gigi and Pita both take a dim view of the many NGOs working in Haiti; as Pita notes, they, "come here to take over the beauty of our island and leave us with the shitty parts;" commenting on their sexual tourism, he notes, "You don't want to be caught in their quest for Haitian ass." Thomas, Gigi's associate, a middleman who purchases local products for the US market, wants to know if crafts persons (like Lovelie) are AIDS sufferers, "tempest-tossed," or "abandoned by families," adding, "The client wants a personal connection with a poor Haitian woman in the slums. When they wear the bags, or wrap their heads before heading to the beach, or when they model their latest swimsuit, they want their consciences to be absolved." Lovelie, refusing Simone's help with her harassers, warns her, "All of them together, they have much power. I cannot win. Neither can you. You and your kouzin, you help with trade. That is how I make a way. Because the line is too thick to break." It's no wonder that Simone, in a moment of despair, admits, "I don't know what I'm doing here. I was hoping to find whatever is missing in my life here. Some ancestral spirits would rise up, welcome me home, and make me complete." Horrified, she adds, with an honesty that both stings and amuses, "Oh God, I just made magical negroes out of Haitians." For all its wit and insight, however, Bad Kreyol suffers a bit because Morisseau has done little to make Simone seem complete; she is largely defined by the career she doesn't want, the aspirations she can't define, and the family from which she feels alienated. Even her private life is a question mark, given her vaguely expressed fluid sexual identity. She's an attitude, a stereotypical American abroad, flailing and failing to comprehend the complexities of the culture into which she has inserted herself. This leaves something of a hole in the play's center. Morisseau drops hints about the backstory that has left Simone out of the family loop, but, overall, we should know more about her and her history. When Pita, who is well-versed in family lore, reveals the extent of Simone's grandparents' activism and political influence, she is left stunned at everything she never knew. Fair enough, but cluelessness is not a great defining quality for a character and, as a result, Bad Kreyol is a little bit slack where it should be most acute. Still, Kelly McCreary's nuanced performance goes a long way toward evoking the sadness of Simone who, like Pita, shuttles between two worlds, feeling at home in neither one. Providing most of the comic fireworks are Pascale Armand as Gigi -- pragmatic in business, overbearing to her loved ones, and ready with a scalding comparison between restaveks and foster children in the US -- and Jude Tibeau as Pita, dreaming of Greenwich Village as "Carnivale for the people like me. Where we can all be Lady Gaga for a day without taking a beating in the streets for it," yet concluding "Ayiti is my true love. There is no easy place to be me...You cannot run away from who you are." Providing solid support are Fedna Jacquet as Lovelie, noting, sadly but accurately, "Many people speak but they do not act," when it comes to helping people like her, and Andy Lucien as Thomas, whose business is moving merchandise not parsing moral considerations. The director, Tiffany Nichole Greene, catches the play's ruefully comic tone, neatly casting light on each of its conflict points without overdramatizing them. This co-production with Manhattan Theatre Club has provided the budget for Jason Sherwood's superb scenic design, which frames the action in an enormous surround depicting a Port-au-Prince hillside covered with houses; this is a clever solution to the challenge of presenting an intimate play in the barnlike confines of Signature's Irene Diamond Stage. A turntable set includes the interior and exterior of Gigi's shop plus Lovelie's workroom. Alan C. Edwards' lighting completes each stage picture with beautifully rendered time-of-day looks. Haydee Zelideth's costumes employ a fabulously colored palette for Gigi and Pita, which contrasts amusingly with Simone's dull, unflattering athleisure wear. The sound design, by Curtis Craig and Jimmy Keys, mixes ambient street noises with local music to evocative effect. Clearly, Simone has a lot to learn even as she nudges Gigi to take action against some of the injustices surrounding her; by the end, both are making halting steps to a reconciliation that will require humility from both. Bad Kreyol starts slowly and never reaches the dramatic heights of Skeleton Crew or Sunset Baby, but it has plenty going for it as a relaxed, observant tale of cultural conflict that benefits from Morisseau's restless intelligence and confirms her as one of our most consistently interesting playwrights; where will she take us next? --David Barbour 
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