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Yes, it's notable that it also manages to do all this without preaching per se. But its most dynamic characteristic, of many, is its willingness to put—and keep—its audience on edge. Not only will you rarely be certain which, if any, of the four characters (three are white, one is black) is in the right, you'll be washed over by waves of jokes you're not sure it's okay to find funny. This is one of the most adventurous race plays to hit New York since David Mamet's Race opened on Broadway in 2009. Not that it even appears unusual at first. When the lights go up on Allen Moyer's fine set depicting a doctor's office reception area, Dr. Williams (Darren Goldstein) and his long-time receptionist, Ileen (Dianne Wiest), are having what sounds like a rational discussion. Their coworker of six months, Jaclyn, has been out of the office for a week following an anxiety attack, and is scheduled back today. The doctor doesn't like her work, and thinks she doesn't like him at all, and wants Ileen to keep an eye on her and write down any strange or disruptive behavior so that it may be reported and Jaclyn transferred, if necessary. "It's hard to get rid of people today," Dr. Williams explains, "with all the tricks that Human Resources can pull out of their hat and those superficial laws about harassment. And with all that resentment she has built up inside her, wow, there's going to be a lot of tricks pulled from that particular hat—" "The race card, you mean?", Ileen asks. "That's not what I'm about," the doctor insists, and once Jaclyn (Tonya Pinkins) arrives a few minutes later, you have some reason to believe him. She complains about her desk and the plants left to wilt, and even how the others shorten her name to Jackie, outwardly seems to distrust the doctor, and is more than a little short with both Ileen and an elderly patient named Rose Saunders (Patricia Conolly) who doesn't follow their precise check-in instructions.
When Jaclyn discovers Ileen's charge to watch her, their relationship shifts, too; and Jaclyn is both more willing to take chances (by switching around the contents of Ileen's desk drawers, and then lying about it), and play along to be the kind of coworker and, it's implied on some level, black woman she thinks they want her to be. Later, even Rose reveals her own tangled views: "My son thinks it's in your culture to act the way you did," she coos sweetly. "Something about your way to get revenge for slavery." Cue the uncomfortable laughter! There's plenty of that here, and neither Nixon nor her performers ever telegraphs it too broadly, something that only makes it more unsettling. The fabric of the various characters' evolving beliefs, about race and each other, is woven well, and straight through until the final lines of dialogue you're left stymied about the exact nature of who dislikes whom, and why. If Jaclyn is the most detailed narratively—the title derives from a derogatory code word she encountered while riding the bus to work—she's also the biggest cipher. No single person can define who she is or explain her behavior. That makes Jaclyn the perfect dramatic catalyst, yet Johnson hasn't written her as erratic or impenetrable; each stage of her development makes sense within the broader context of what she's trying to achieve and what the obstacles are in her way. Whether the changes are self-imposed or strictly environmental is less obvious, but she's neither ignorant of nor immune to the world she's in, and Johnson makes sure we see how alternately triumphant and terrifying such knowledge, properly applied, can be. Pinkins is superb as Jaclyn, too, letting us see both her bruised, brusque exterior and the deeper fear beneath it; she's a complex woman that no one tries to simplify, and the play is all the better for it. Also excellent is Wiest, whose brittle, neurotic take on Ileen is just unsteady enough to leave you wondering how innocent she really is in the controversy that unfolds. Goldstein's essential niceness conflicts beautifully with the nastiness of which Dr. Williams is accused, and Conolly's wryly detached, old-school spin on baked-in prejudice serves as a solid control for the more active hate around her. Nixon's taut direction elicits every imaginable nuance from the performers as well as the writing, and does so briskly. (The evening runs 100 minutes, but feels much shorter.) If there's a flaw to be found with the play as presently constituted, it's on Johnson: Jaclyn suffers from exposure to "toxins" in the office air, which are pretty convenient (and rather tired) stand-ins for the unspoken tensions between her and her office mates. Given how much else is going on, this addition plays as highly unnecessary; there's more than enough here that's insightful, and damning, on its own. If Johnson doesn't have much good to say about how we speak to, behave toward, and ultimately use each other, regardless of skin color, in his writing he evinces—and encourages—awareness of what the stakes and risks are of not taking the matter seriously. The last few years may leave you thinking nothing about this subject can shock you anymore, but don't be surprised if the electric Rasheeda Speaking proves you wrong.
Rasheeda Speaking
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