Early on in the dramatically rich, musically irresistible “Marie and Rosetta,” actor Bethany Thomas — playing “godmother of rock ’n’ roll” Sister Rosetta Tharpe — unleashes a pile-driving rendition of the bluesy, soulful “This Train.”
It’s a finale-intense showstopper, but after the last, clarion call chorus, Rosetta insists she’s just getting warmed up. And so she is.
Directed by E. Faye Butler, playwright George Brant’s two-hander features one powerhouse number after another, each one building on the previous until the Northlight Theatre production seems to be vibrating with a joyful noise.
Until a gut-punching, never-saw-that-coming plot twist in the final scenes, the plot to “Rosetta and Marie” is deceptively simple.
In 1946, Sister Rosetta Tharpe and protege Marie Knight (a magnificent Alexis J. Roston) are having something of a get-to-know-you session in the funeral parlor where they’ll be bunking on their latest tour stop. Over the next hour and 45 minutes, we’re in the casket showroom, watching as the women form the relationship that will cement their success as a duo.
Brant’s final scenes address the end of Rosetta’s life, and the enduring impact she made on rock ’n’ roll. But before we get to the bittersweet end, “Rosetta and Marie” is packed with a jukebox worth of music.
Both women will go on to become indelible influences on Elvis Presley and Jimi Hendrix, but “Marie and Rosetta” takes place long before either man rose to stardom. Instead, we get something of a origin story between Marie and Rosetta, with Brant crafting a musical that reveals the nascent roots of rock ’n’ roll.
Marie has just joined the tour, plucked by Sister Tharpe from her gig as a nameless backup singer. For much of the show, the dramatic tension comes from the women’s clashing personalities and musical styles.
Rosetta performs music with her entire body, making raucous, hip-swiveling numbers like “Four or Five Times” a unmistakable celebration of carnality and a harbinger of the rock’s bump-and-grind future. Before singing a note, Marie proclaims that she is righteous and sanctified while smugly, resolutely insisting that she’ll have no part in Rosetta’s suggestive, full-body soulfulness. Marie’s voice is pure “high church.” Rosetta grounds even gospel numbers with raw earthiness that comes from the heart while celebrating the joys of the flesh.
It falls to Rosetta to teach the much younger Marie how to make a joyful noise using the entire body.
The harsh realities of racism loom large throughout: They’re sleeping in the funeral parlor because hotels won’t admit people of color. They depend on their white bus driver to procure their food for them, and — crucially — to talk to the cops if (or “when,” as Rosetta says drily) the bus gets pulled over.
In one chilling exchange, Rosetta tells the ghost-fearing Marie she can sleep on the bus if she prefers, but to bear in mind the security issues facing a lone young woman of color alone in a bus on the far outskirts of town in the heart of the Jim Crow South.
Marie is deeply conflicted about leaving behind two children in order to tour, leading Rosetta to paint her choices in stark detail: She can stay home, singing on Sundays for a grateful congregation and working the rest of the week cleaning houses. Or, she can join Rosetta and become a star who makes enough money to support her children in a manner she could never have imagined.
Their brief, intense discussions of spirituality, family and racism could seem didactic, perfunctory or artificial in lesser hands; there are a lot of heavy, complex topics packed into “Marie and Rosetta’s” hour and 45 minutes. But Roston and Thomas are well-paired, and both bring stone-truth to dialogue they make sound utterly spontaneous.
Every musical number is a highlight. Roston’s take on “Were You There When They Crucified My Lord” remains somehow grounded deep in the earth while souring to the heavens. When Thomas whips out an electric guitar for “Sit Down,” she performs with contagious, hip-swinging flair. And when the two of them have a vocal showdown in the duet “Didn’t It Rain,” it feels positively electric.
Throughout, pianist-conductor Morgan E. Stevenson and guitarist Larry Brown Jr. keep the instrumentals rocking. (The women on stage aren’t playing their own instruments, but you’d never know it, thanks to the ingenious sound design by Rick Sims).
Set designer John Culbert has crafted a believable funeral home for Northlight’s stage, right down to the portrait of the Last Supper hanging next to a rack of brochures. McKinley Johnson’s costume design is subtle and effective, with Rosetta in silver pumps and a sparkly, elegant floor-length gown befitting a star; Marie in a demure, blush-colored brocade.
Marie Knight and Rosetta Tharpe provided the foundation for rock ’n’ roll. They also gifted the world with the foundation for this can’t-miss show.
