In Samm-Art Williams’s 1979 play Home, a Black farmer in North Carolina muses on his beloved land, his time away and his odyssey back down south. The play generates moments of laughter through Williams’s specificity, even amid moments of uneven direction.
Delivered with humor and wit by a compelling Tory Kittles, Cephus Miles spins his tale, a swirling recollection of his travels northbound, from the comfort of his rocking chair. Dozens of side characters, embodied with ease by Brittany Inge and Story Ayers, slip in and out of his account, adding further texture to Cephus’s world.
In some ways, Inge and Ayers moonlight as griots, signposting Cephus’s odyssey with narration and music. More often, the pair fill in as the women in Cephus’s life, including his childhood sweetheart, Pattie Mae Wells.
Director Kenny Leon revisits a work by an underproduced Black playwright (last year, Leon directed the Broadway premiere of Adrienne Kennedy’s Ohio State Murders). In many ways, Home is worthy of a revisit. Williams, who died last month, has crafted a poetic love letter to the land and the tradition of Black farming.
“I love the land, the soft beautiful black sod crushing beneath my feet,” Cephus declares. “A fertile pungent soil. A soil to raise strong children on.” It’s an arresting description, creating an immediate admiration for Cephus’s homestead.
Home wrestles with questions around the Black experience: mass migration to the north, faith and religion, the cost of ownership. While occasionally loquacious, such investigations resist feeling pat given Williams’s enveloping humor and whimsy.
Cephus, as a character, as a hero figure, moves through the difficult aspects of his voyage with a cutting wit. He continually jokes that God must be “in Miami on vacation” as his misfortune piles on. Unfortunately, Leon’s direction doesn’t match the rafters of Cephus’s recollections or provide a clear vision for the production itself.
For a play that largely revolves around Cephus’s mythmaking, Leon’s direction has a “gather round the campfire” quality that slows down its pacing, strangely lacking in intimacy. Home is largely set against a cornfield and features a singular, wooden pallet and Cephus’s aforementioned chair. Occasional props, like a cross, drop down from the ceiling to guide the audience through locations. Such scenic design feels akin to being at a town square, a bit too bare-bones and limp against Williams’s illustrations.
Kittles, Inge and Ayers make the most of the minimalism, both aesthetically and in terms of thesis. But the pacing jerks like a tale that has gone on too long, especially as Cephus attempts to cover a mountain of memories. Inge and Ayers are often left directionless as Cephus rattles off another anecdote. Part of that hitch boils down to the play’s swirling nature, but much has to do with the lack of purpose between moments of character work.
With such a singular perspective, parts of Williams’s tale go unchallenged without consequence. For example, all the Black women in Cephus’s depiction exist as archetypes, from the derelicts he encounters in the city to the virtuous Pattie Mae Wells. A running gag involves Cephus’s ability to “speak Indian”.
The piece, as a historical venture, need not be politically correct. But, in addition to not sitting well, many of the jabs lose their rev given frequent repetition. Leon also directs Inge and Ayers with a literalness that can feel debasing, especially as the pair portray those with substance-use issues. Their portrayals can create a distance within Cephus’s stories, versus an intimacy at his retelling.
In some ways, Home is challenged by the weight of all that Cephus (and Williams) want to explore. But, despite its misfires, Home remains a humorous and mythic romp.
