Pass Over
26 Oct 2019

by Drew Rowsome - Photos by Cesar Ghisilieri

Pass Over uses Waiting for Godot as a framing device, then upends the familiar by giving us a contemporary scenario that is, sadly, even more familiar. Playwright Antoinette Nwandu uses Beckett's symbols, comedy, and even language patterns, to frame her own concerns. The first difference is the setting, while scenically similar there is a visceral difference between a surreal wasteland purgatory, and a rundown city street corner. Neither can be escaped, but for quite different reasons.

The other difference is that the two trapped men are black. And yes, it is a crucial distinction: Nwandu reframes a philosophical tragicomedy into a searing indictment of systematic racism, the epidemic of police shootings of black men, and our inability to even talk about racism effectively let alone transcend it. Nwandu fills Pass Over with biblical references, from the title to the naming of the character Moses, to an awkwardly shoed-in miracle. Despite that freighted amount of metaphors and allusions, director Philip Akin and a remarkable cast pare Pass Over down to a lean, incisive and grounded piece of theatre. 

Kaleb Alexander (All's Well That Ends Well, The Marquise of O, Delicacy, Family Story) and Mazin Elsadig are the two men, and they dream of escaping, of passing over, to a better life. Alexander's Moses is the alpha, but his command of the stage is mixed with a barely repressed vulnerability. Elsadig's Kitch is a restless disciple with devious survival instincts. Both performances are naturalistically intense, creating magic out of slang, bravado and physical posturing. They compile lists of the top 10 things they will acquire and/or do in the "promised land" when they get there. They banter, brag, argue, and egg each other on against the bleakness of their existence and their very realistic fears: their dialogue is interrupted by blinding "po-po" lights and they must raise their hands or drop to their knees to avoid being shot.   

The two are also interrupted by the arrival of an apparently lost, and seemingly affable, white man, Mister, played with unnerving charm by Alex McCooeye (Little Menace, Orlando, Lear). When the "po-po" lights strike the trio, the effect is not the same as it is for the duo. It is comic but the laughs stick in one's throat and it is laughter fuelled by anger and frustration. McCooeye also gets a wonderful sight gag culled from Mary Poppins, and returns in another role that is a mirror opposite but a literal reflection. The interactions between the three are so awkward and painful that they are, again, comical. But again the laughs are in reality knives.

Moses and Kitch punctuate their patter with "Yo, nigger damn," while Mister uses, "Gosh golly." A theme illustrated with deft economy. It is a wonder to see the various inflections, the poetic profane beauty that Alexander and Elsadig wring out of the two syllables of the n-word. It is affectionate, a curse, a slur. an honorific, or just a casual placeholder. And then when McCooeye uses it, all is stood on its head and we see the terrible damage that language can do, both as a weapon and as a foundation for supporting the insupportable. It is an extraordinary use of text emphasized by the duo co-opting Mister's mannerisms and words in a futile attempt to be accepted by the "po-po."  

Which makes it all the odder that, the one moment that pushed me out of Pass Over's grip, the f-word referring to gay men is used only once. Is it to contrast with the n-word? Or suggest an equivalence? Or is it to suggest a subtext that the rest of the play doesn't seem to support? Which of course brings up the question of the choice of venue. Have no doubts, this production of Pass Over is powerful and deserves to be seen by a wide audience across all the spectrums, but one wonders why it is at Buddies. The moment did startle me, by triggering my particulars, into a universal application towards all oppressions, but Pass Over's strength is in its horrific specifity. 

Towards the end Pass Over veers off course. Having presented its themes in a harrowing manner, Nwandu takes a leap into the fantastical and then a climactic action that is meant to shock. It is nowhere near as shocking as the everyday humiliations that have come before, those we are all culpable of. Moses's solution is far more horrible than the actual finale's attempt at grisly catharsis and word play. But getting there is a journey that is theatrical dark comedy at its most satirical, vicious and revelatory.