The age of Zoom has created a split-screen metaphor for the changes in our private and public lives. We’re separated physically, but the world is invited into our personal spaces in a way that never happened in Cube Farmlandia. For theater pieces created at a distance and for online consumption, the dichotomy feels even more keen.
It concludes with Marguerite Mariama, a longtime artist and activist who notes that her political organizing began as a student protesting the “Willis Wagons”—portable classrooms that maintained de facto segregation in Chicago schools. Mariama’s recounting of her personal involvement in politics is set against a backdrop of imagery from the civil rights movement and graphic photos of lynchings. (BoHo has a content warning on the site for a reason.) Her rendition of “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child” reminds us that the notion of “home” as a sanctuary has never been respected for Black people in this nation (the police killings of Breonna Taylor and Botham Jean made that all too clear), while her exhortation to “Stand Up” suggests that getting out of our homes and into the streets is a moral imperative.
There are few attempts at costuming (save some plastic tiaras donned during various balls), and no attempts at creating a simulacrum of Austen’s world in the homes of the performers (though Caroline Andres’s period violin music adds resonant aural texture). But the story of Elizabeth Bennet (Samantha Newcomb) and Mr. Darcy (Andrés Enriquez) unfurls with all the wit and fire you could ask for. A moment when Newcomb’s Lizzy breaks away from the on-camera world to stride down the sidewalk (the only exterior shot in the piece), intent on visiting her sick sister Jane (Kristina Loy) not only shows us the forthright bull-by-the-horns candor underneath Lizzy’s careful exterior, but adds an extra layer of meaning in a time of pandemic and panic.
The Pursuit of Happiness, available anytime through bohotheatre.com, F.Pride and Prejudice, through 10/4, available Thu-Sun anytime during the weekend of purchase, lifelinetheatre.com, $20.
