“Southern trees bear a strange fruit / Blood on the leaves and blood at the root…”
“Strange Fruit” – Abel Meeropol, recorded by Billie Holiday (1939)
Dominique Morisseau’s 2014 play Blood at the Root takes the song’s lyrical allusion and runs with it, flinging aside the flimsy everyday fabric that masks the insidious nature of cultural racism. The play, referred to as a “choreopoem” by Morisseau, was commissioned by Penn State University as a development exercise for acting students.
Now in an intensely absorbing production directed by Tracey Copeland Halter at the Clarence Brown Theatre’s Lab Theatre, Blood at the Root is based on a real life event at a high school in Jena, Louisiana in 2006. Illustrating the inanity of racial disparity and double standards, a certain tree on the high school campus that had been considered a “whites-only” shade spot was later spotted with nooses hanging from it after black students sat under it. Subsequently, school fights broke out and six black students were charged with attempted murder.
Morisseau has taken the basic facts of the incident and allowed the reality of it to shape a symbolic retelling that is poetic and harshly truthful at the same time—one that intentionally toys with dramatic ambiguity leaving many questions of responsibility with the audience. The playwright’s cast of six named actors and additional ensemble members act as a relevant cross-section of students at Cedar High School, an otherwise typical high school world of cliques and clubs, friendships and break-ups, identity statements and sexual confusions, and the facts and rumors of a teenage social world.
Leading the way through the storyline is the character of Raylynn (a dynamic Jasmine R. Handy), a girl convinced of her duty—and determined to follow her conscience—to right the wrongs of racial disparity and injustice. It is her decision to sit under the tree that launches the reaction of hate that eventually envelops her school, her friends, classmates, and even her brother De’Andre (LoRen Seagrave).
Setting up a personal controversy is Asha (Bethany Moon), Raylynn’s best friend at school. Asha is white, but enjoys claiming she is “black by association” through her friendship with Raylynn and others. However, Asha lacks the strength of character and ability to second guess her motivations that Raylynn has, a fact that eventually leads to their friendship being tested.
On a separate plot track, the school incident and controversy has created an opportunity for the wannabe investigative student journalist, Toria (Abigail McCarter), who is trying to make headway in getting serious articles published by the school newspaper and its editor, Justin (Alan Toney). Justin, regularly refusing Toria’s articles because of their semi-controversial content, has accepted his role as a conformist in the safe, middle ground of non-controversial topics. In contrast, Toria sees her responsibility as just the opposite. Their debate leads to a serious, explosive confrontation that highlights the issue of how different characters adapt to their visibility—or lack thereof—in the school community and in life. Ultimately, it comes down to whether they accept or deny responsibilities in the face of challenges.
New student/football jock Colin (Peter Mayer Klepchick) and Raylynn find they have the basis for a friendship—until Raylynn realizes Colin is gay. In the school social world of insults and banter, acceptance and rejection, this places him in a volatile situation in which he is both the subject and predicate of the school controversy.
Along with additional cast members Guthrie Butler and Nevaeh Daniel, the ensemble is moved about on the Lab Theatre stage by director Copeland with an angular, geometric rhythm that transforms the group from individuals to a representation of the school community. Visually, Copeland opted for a minimal, unostentatious production through scenic designer Kirsten Jolly: a brick wall backing the acting area with just a few chairs for props—and, of course, a beautifully done symbolic tree reaches out, its gnarled tentacle-like branches reminding us that even the innocent can be turned against humanity. Costume designer Katie Carrillo nailed the characters’ personality with wardrobe choices; lighting designer Kaylin Gess expanded and contracted the playing space as the characters faced personal isolation. Both in-your-face music and some brilliant ambient sounds came from sound designer Amoirie Perteet.