Theatre in Review: The Royale (Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater)

	Khris Davis, Montego Glover. Photo: T. Charles Erickson

The Royale, a drama about boxing, is almost entirely populated by men, but when the time comes to deliver the knockout punch, it takes a lady to do it. She is Montego Glover, best known for her roof-raising vocals in Memphis and here assigned the task of delivering the coup de grâce to the lead character of Marco Ramirez's play. He is Jay, a prizefighter, who, at the beginning of the last century, is the undisputed champion of the black boxing world -- a distinction that, for him, is no longer enough. He aims to coax Bixby, the white champion, out of retirement for the first-ever big-time commercial interracial match. (Jay is based on Jack Johnson, who also inspired the play The Great White Hope; the action of The Royale is based on Johnson's match with the white James J. Jeffries, an event that riveted the nation.)

It would be putting it mildly to say that this match comes with considerable obstacles. Bixby sends word that he is disinclined to come out of retirement "for a title fight half the country won't recognize." Lest we forgot what the times are like, Max, Jay's white manager, apologizes for Bixby: "It ain't like he's a bigot/He's got no problem with 'em/Like's 'em fine/His driver's a negro." (The Royale is written in a kind of blank verse, often punctuated by handclaps, that pares away any unnecessary details while managing to retain the tenor of realistic speech.) Jay makes it clear to Max that his job depends on setting up the fight; Jay wants it so badly that he even agrees to Bixby's demands for 90% of the gate, win or lose. As Max insists, "This country's been waiting for this fight -- whether they like it or not."

And as interest in the match rises to a fever pitch, so do the dangers. Jay is dismayed to learn that four armed men were taken out of a pre-fight press conference, igniting a furious dispute with Max about the advisability of bodyguards. But nothing proves as destabilizing as the appearance of Nina, his sister. (Until this moment, Jay has carefully sidestepped questions about his past, so her appearance is a total surprise.) Nina is pretty, poised, and prepared to take no prisoners. Taking in the news of his fame -- he is to be treated to a victory parade featuring "Jay Jackson fritters" -- she says, "They got you sayin' your own name like it's merchandise/Like it's some kinda shoes."

Nina delivers a powerful emotional uppercut, showing Jay a book belonging to one of her sons, into which someone has written a racial slur, then, pressing her case against the distraught boxer. When he protests that the arena is safe, protected by checkpoints, she raises the stakes, invoking the specter of violence around the country: "Where's the checkpoint in Harlem, Jay? Where's the checkpoint in Memphis, New Orleans? 'Cause you know as well as I do what happens when you knock that bastard out." But victory is so close, he asserts. "Ain't nobody appointed you the spokesperson for Colored People Incorporated," she coolly replies.

Nina's arguments are so stark and forcefully articulated that they constitute an anti-pep talk, the worst thing that could happen to Jay before a fight, and Glover nails her accusations, leaving her beloved brother psychologically stripped bare; it's a quietly stunning performance. Nina returns a little later, in a climax that bends time, space, and perception, while serving as Jay's furious response to his sister's line of thought. Still, whichever side you come down on, the argument continues to cut like a knife: For every advance made by the members of a minority -- especially in cases of a significant personal achievement -- there's almost certainly a price to be paid to the forces of reaction. And yet, if no one ever takes a risk and challenges the status quo, no change is possible. The dimensions of this dilemma become clear in the climax, which is marked by a shocking twist that lays bare the terrible, unintended cost of Jay's ambitions.

There's a lot more to like in The Royale, including the novel staging of the fight scenes as interior monologues punctuated by sound effects representing the landing of blows. All five members of Rachel Chavkin's cast are first-rate. Khris Davis makes palpable Jay's driven nature, but, when his tremendous self-possession begins to slip, his confusion and fury are painful to behold. At first, the role of Wynton, Jay's trainer, comes across as a standard tower of strength right out of a Rocky film, but Clarke Peters adds many shadings, culminating in a riveting aria describing the squalid conditions in which he fought as a young man (blindfolded and made to scrounge for coins). McKinley Belcher III makes a strong impression as a green young challenger who signs on as Jay's sparring partner and becomes his biggest fan. John Lavelle puts his oratorical skills to work as Max, especially when announcing each fight. He also holds his own in Max's complex relationship with Jay, a white man working for a black man in a time when that is simply unthinkable. And, as mentioned above, Glover is superb, pursuing the line of her argument to its devastating conclusion, knowing that she runs the risk of cutting her beloved brother off at the knees.

Then again, The Royale is constructed like Nina's argument, starting a bit slowly and gradually gathering force until you realize that the sibling bout is the main event, the conflict for which we have been waiting all night long. The Royale benefits from an elegance of construction that not many young playwrights can claim.

Chavkin's production also benefits from a simple, straightforward, yet powerful design. Nick Vaughan's rough wood set features a central playing area that converts into a boxing ring à vista; the theatre is also covered with muslin panels depicting white silhouettes of boxers in action. Austin R. Smith's lighting provides a warm-white look for the prizefights and cool-white washes for everything else, adding strong splashes of color at key moments; the big bout is marked by the sudden appearance of an upstage wall of lights that adds to the tension of the scene. Dede M. Ayite's costumes include some fine examples of period men's tailoring and a gorgeous periwinkle traveling suit (with matching hat) for Nina. Matt Hubbs' sound effects include band music and the roar of the crowd.

It's interesting how every so often a powerfully wrought play seems to resonate far beyond its own borders. On the very weekend that Donald Trump's political rallies started to resemble beer hall putsches, Jay's struggle with powerfully opposed forces of personal ambition and social repression took on a most peculiar resonance. Then again, we live in a country where a significant percentage of voters believe the basest lies about their black president. There are many moments when The Royale doesn't feel like a historical drama at all. -- David Barbour