Potus by Selina Fillinger, and: For Colored Girls … by Ntozake Shange (review)

Abstract

Reviewed by: Potus by Selina Fillinger, and: For Colored Girls … by Ntozake Shange Sonja Arsham Kuftinec POTUS. By Selina Fillinger. Directed by Susan Stroman. Shubert Theatre, New York. May 7, 2022. for COLORED GIRLS… By Ntozake Shange. Directed and Choreographed by Camille A. Brown. Booth Theatre, New York. May 8, 2022. How does feminism perform on Broadway in the wake of Covid cautions, Supreme Court throw-downs, and challenges to “White American Theatre?” Two plays staged in neighboring theatres [End Page 89] offer some insights: the premiere of 28-year-old Selina Fillinger’s comedy POTUS, or Behind Every Great Dumbass Are Seven Women Trying to Keep Him Alive, and a revival of Ntozake Shange’s 1976 choreopoem for colored girls who have considered suicide / when the rainbow is enuf. Both productions featured seven-woman ensembles helmed by Tony-nominated director-choreographers. But where POTUS worked within the conventions of farce to critique the narcissistic and obtuse dimensions of presidential power and illuminate its less visible networks of female support, for colored girls reanimated a radical-spirituality-infused poetics that centered Black and brown women’s bodies supporting each other. Click for larger view View full resolution POTUS cast featuring (left to right) Vanessa Williams (Margaret), (Chris) Lili Cooper, Rachel Dratch (Stephanie), Julie White (Harriet), Julianna Hough (Dusty), and Suzy Nakamura (Jean). Photo: Paul Kolnik. The Shubert production of POTUS connected to a Girl Boss energy in which “Bitch” playlists and power poses both animated and punctured the idea of empowerment. Mask requirements for audiences could not stifle the exuberance prompted by preshow pop songs featuring Annie Lennox and Pat Benatar, establishing a sonically energetic rather than visually specific orientation to the production. The curtain then rose on a White House setting (delightfully designed by Beowulf Boritt) that felt masculine and patriarchal: heavy wooden furniture and gold drapes flanked by portraits of a uniformed General Eisenhower and Roosevelt Rough Riders on dusty horseback. Executive power represented as sturdy warrior energy. Press Secretary Jean (Suzy Nakamura) punctured that energy linguistically with a four-letter word for female anatomy—launching the play’s action through a high-stakes exchange with harried Chief of Staff Harriet (a sneaker-clad Julie White). The linguistic transgression also set in motion one of many crisis-driven plot points. In this case, the President had publicly used the derogatory term to reference First Lady Margaret (a gutsy stiletto-Croc-clad Vanessa Williams). Opening the play with a shocking slur also launched a dynamic of rule-bending within the rule-keeping conventions of farce: bawdy bodies breaking boundaries of restraint while ultimately sustaining the status quo. And Fillinger’s script crafts these women’s bodies as excessive. They leak breast milk in the Press Room (Lilli Cooper’s Chris, a journalist hunting for a scoop), smuggle drugs into the White House (Lea Delaria’s deliciously grungy Bernadette, the President’s sister), and vomit blue slushies into a vase (Julianne Hough’s Dusty, the President’s pregnant girlfriend). In the most memorable sustained performance of excess, former SNL star Rachel Dratch’s buttoned-up secretary character, Stephanie, lets loose after consuming hallucinogenic pills she [End Page 90] thought were Tums. The accidental ingestion led to a second act unraveling that concluded with a bloodied Stephanie surfing scenes in a pink plastic pool ring, clad only in granny panties, silken tank top, and Post-It notes. This liberatory energy of excess pressed against a dramaturgy of containment—of crises, secrets and gaffes, as well as pregnant, criminal, and possibly dead bodies. The plot also details the daily labor of propping up this unnamed POTUS “dumbass.” As Harriet intones, “Today began with calling his wife ‘cunty’ while in the Diplomatic Room.” Indeed, as the women’s capacity for problem-solving unfolded several characters remarked to others, “You should be president!” An intriguing dynamic emerged with the production illuminating the hidden details of manipulated narratives required to prop up this problematic president. The private becomes public and support figures take center stage. At the same time, even characters who function as agents of chaos emerge as savvier than they at first appeared. Defined initially by her status as the pregnant, rural, slushy...