Displaying items by tag: Seven Guitars

August Wilson stipulated only Black directors should direct his plays. It stemmed from his deep commitment to authentic representation and cultural integrity. He argued Black directors could interpret and present certain themes with the depth, empathy, and insight needed to convey them most authentically. Wilson believed the lived experiences, cultural nuances, and historical context present in his plays could best be brought to life, understood and respected by Black directors who shared a similar cultural heritage. In essence, he expected people who directed his plays to love the characters they were directing as much as he loved writing about them.

Well Mr. Wilson, All skin folk ain’t kin folk.

Seven Guitars is a play starting at the end and going back in time. It follows a group of friends coping with the untimely death of blues musician Floyd Barton while wrestling with the limits and dreams imposed on Black lives in 1940s America. The ensemble cast is central to the show’s success, with each character embodying layers of longing, loyalty, and love that add depth to Wilson’s poetic language.

In this production, however, some casting choices felt mismatched with the characters’ intended ages, energies, and complexities. Certain portrayals lacked the weight and authenticity needed to embody the nuanced lives that Wilson’s script demands. The performances are inconsistent—some actors appear lost in their roles, while others deliver exaggerated, almost cartoonish portrayals. (looking at you, Louise)

City Lit Theatre’s production of Seven Guitars lacks the intensity and passion that August Wilson’s powerful exploration of life, death, and legacy deserves. Director Manny Buckley’s approach feels disengaged from the depth of Wilson’s themes, as though he hasn’t fully connected with the material. While Wilson’s script is rich in emotion, humor, and cultural resonance, this staging fails to convey its urgency.

Buckley’s pacing choices drain the tension from key scenes, glossing over the simmering conflicts and moments of introspection that make Seven Guitars so compelling. Wilson’s language has a rhythm and weight that demands careful attention to pauses, silences, and crescendos, yet here, the emotional beats feel rushed or muted, leaving pivotal moments flat. Some scenes even verge on the absurd—such as when Buckley directs Hedley to violently cough over chicken he plans to sell to mourners in the Hill District, seemingly for laughs. This choice feels not only out of place but shockingly inappropriate.

Amid the muddled direction, Jordan Gleaves, fresh from a stirring performance in Remy Bumppo’s Blues for an Alabama Sky, and Maureen Azzun, who shone in Lifeline’s Native Son, brought life and electricity to the stage. Their powerful performances cut through the otherwise lackluster production, offering moments of raw emotion and intensity that felt like glimpses of what Seven Guitars could have been in more capable hands.

The set was a highlight, beautifully capturing the close-knit, intimate feel that brings Wilson’s work to life. Its small-scale design made the Hill District feel raw and authentic, pulling the audience right into the characters’ world, where every word and glance felt personal. While the production itself fell short, the set worked hard to bring out the emotional intensity that Seven Guitars deserves.

In the end, this production misses the mark, offering a rendition that feels more like a going-through-the-motions approach rather than a tribute to one of America’s greatest playwrights. Seven Guitars deserves to be a gut-wrenching, heart-stirring experience—yet at City Lit, it struggles to rise beyond a mere recital of lines, falling short of Wilson’s powerful exploration of the human spirit.

Well Mr. Wilson, All skin folk ain’t kin folk.

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When: Through Dec. 1

Where: City Lit Theater 1020 W. Bryn Mawr Avenue Chicago

Tickets: $12 - $35

www.citylit.org