The plot of Our Lady of 121st Street revolves around a mystery -- specifically, the missing cadaver of Sister Rose. The real mystery of Live Arts' production, however, is why a play with such a promising premise manages to fall flat on its face.
The story line is simple enough -- the funeral of a beloved Catholic schoolteacher reunites formers students from all corners of the country in their childhood home of Harlem. The smattering of mourners ranges from a spiritually-barren DJ to a closeted gay lawyer to a rough and tumble street walker, amongst many others. Suddenly, Sister Rose's body (along with the pants of a man named Victor) goes missing.
But the play, as the viewer discovers, is not really about the case of a missing corpse -- it's about the intricate twists and turns of the former students' lives since their parochial schooldays. Or, that's how it should be.
Here is where the play misses its chance to reap the rich development of its characters. While they could learn about themselves and each other, they merely skim the surface, skating along the thin ice of simplicity, shirking the icy waters of complexity below.
In other words, when it comes to excellence, Our Lady missed the boat.
Blame lies just as much, if not more, with playwright Stephen Adly Guirgis than with Live Arts. The plot, a collection of fragmented interactions between a detective, a priest, brothers, ex-lovers, lovers, friends and enemies, never really gathers momentum. Why is Marcia, Sister Rose's niece, so neurotic? Why does Gail, Flip's lover and a struggling actor, crash the funeral? Why does that lady with the headband (only near the ending is her name, Sonia, revealed) insist on sticking around?
Such questions remain unanswered, and the plot's themes are neglected, never allowed to flourish and bloom. Moreover, the actors seem as perplexed by these creative potholes in Adly's script as the audience, and their befuddlement shows.
Certain actors play the theatrical hands that Adly deals them quite well, and they deserve commendation. As the saucy Inez, Richelle Claiborne serves up a mean slice of sassiness, yet she also reveals an underbelly of romantic vulnerability. Likewise, J. Hernandez's Edwin nimbly juggles humor and grief as he grapples to look after his mentally challenged brother, Pinky (successfully played by Christos Vangelopoulos). As Rooftop, a DJ who smokes pot during his first confession in many years, Juniee Oneida transparently seeks solace not only for his spirit but his heart.
On the other hand, other characters remain imprisoned in unidimensionality. Bill Niebel's Father Lux, a Korean War veteran, simply growls and scowls -- it's all bark and no bite. Glenn Harris' Gail fails to strike the proper balance of flamboyance and gravity.
On a positive note, the set inspires awe. Located in Live Arts' more expansive Downstage area, the space encompasses a confessional, a living room and a bar, all which encircle a funeral parlor in the middle. Skillful lighting shines upon the appropriate scene at the appropriate moments.
In effect, the play centers literally and figuratively around the funeral parlor's empty casket. Details such as the church's stained glass windows, a crucifix and candle votives add a tasteful touch.
The characters of Our Lady of 121st Street return to their childhood roots of Harlem, and they find surprises -- sad stories of death, repentant ex-lovers and nomadic strangers who attend Sister Rose's funeral.
Those who attend Live Arts expecting a satisfying and cohesive plot will be surprised by this disappointing production. Due to its neglected themes, superficial characters and hit-or-miss acting, such theatrical mediocrity is no mystery.
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