*** 3/ 5 stars
In the latter half of the 20th century many American playwrights seemed to have an obsession with white, rural, working-class families. Their stories were, ostensibly, instructive insights into failures of the American Dream. Writers like Sam Shepard took their cues from writers like Tennessee Williams, who wrote about rugged, white, inner-city working-class people in the 1930s, 40s and 50s—people who worked on railroads, and shipyards and so on.
Lately there has again been a shift with American scribes, away from the rural cowboy-wannabe archetype. More and more often we are seeing plays about inner-city people of color and their work and life struggles in vast American factories (e.g. the auto industry) which are increasingly closing, sending the work overseas and abandoning the American worker. All of these various theatrical archetypes have one thing in common: class struggle. The latest in the pantheon, Dominique Morisseau’s Skeleton Crew (playing at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre through February 20) is about a group of workers forced to take on more responsibilities in an ever-shrinking factory while simultaneously in peril of losing their jobs for petty acts of insubordination.
Set in a Detroit metal stamping plant around 2008, Skeleton Crew follows five employees: a foreman, a company veteran near retirement and two young workers, one of whom is smitten with the other, and both fearing for their futures and their career at the plant. Rumors abound that their plant is on the verge of closure, like the company’s other facilities which have already shuttered. With catastrophic unemployment rates and a looming housing crisis, tensions in the break room, where the action takes place, are high.
The story of every worker is pivotal, particularly to each individual, as it’s a fight for survival amongst co-workers who genuinely care about one another. Brandon J. Diden (a fantastic Brutus in TFANA’s 2019 Julius Caesar) is powerful and sympathetic as Reggie, the foreman. He’s the only technically “white collar” character, because he represents management; but his roots are working class just like the others—he’s merely striving to rise to the next level. He’s management’s pawn, doing their dirty work by firing employees for petty offenses (like late arrival, smoking in the break room, etc.) so the company will not be on the hook for paying severance when the plant closes.
The ugly reality of this sort of corporate life is that under the guise of “promoting from within” they pit employees against one another. When Reggie is faced with Faye’s pitifully minor and meaningless offenses, he’s faced with an awful Hobson’s choice of destroying her life by depriving her of reaching 30 years with the company and a sustainable pension; or, he can tank his own career. Worse yet, Faye was family: she had been his deceased mother’s lover for many years. Diden’s anxiety is palpable as Reggie, and we, empathize deeply. Sadly, his performance is not matched by Phylicia Rashad, who approaches her role with an almost blasé air that makes little sense for a person who is on the verge of financial ruin. Unlike the other actors, Rashad—a product of an upper class, professional upbringing—appears to have neither the experience nor the understanding of what it means to be working class on the perilous and violent streets of Detroit.
The other pairing in the play is Dez (Joshua Boone) and Shanita. He’s a young man full of heart who feigns toughness because it is the only way to survive. His tender side shines through when he’s in the presence of Shanita (Chanté Adams) a very pretty, young, strong and serious woman who’s perhaps eight or nine months pregnant. Dez is clearly in love with her and is ready to step in for the absentee baby daddy. But Shanita is cautious and slow to trust. She’s been burned before and is only concerned about solidifying her future, hopefully as a union worker at the plant. Adams and Boone play their complex roles so beautifully that we find ourselves rooting for them to get together, holding our breath to the last scene, as they navigate incredibly tense moments.
Though Morisseau’s script appears to avoid a deep dive into the problems and lives of these compelling characters, Director Ruben Santiago-Hudson’s (Lackawanna Blues) ably mines the story’s pathos. Punctuating scenes with a “Performer” (Adesola Osakalumi) dancing in the shadows or up stage in moves that slowly begin to resemble the robots that will ultimately replace the workers, Santiago-Hudson manages put some meat on the bones and tell a compelling story (set in Michael Carnahan’s very convincing industrial break room). Skeleton Crew is a compelling story that doesn’t disappoint, but neither does it set the audience on fire.
Skeleton Crew. Through February 20 at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre (261 West 47th Street, between Broadway and Eighth Avenue). 110 minutes, with a 15-minute intermission. www.manhattantheatreclub.com
