FENCES AT THE PERFORMANCE NETWORK: A FIRST-CLASS PRODUCTION

When Troy Maxson (the excellent Lynch Travis) began talking about his past in Performance Network’s first-rate production of August Wilson’s Fences he pulled me firmly into his narrative and never let go. Fences is really two plays: a lesson in the black history of America, and a moving family drama. Maxson has a lot of personal baggage, enough to make a pretty good play on its own, and a lot of racial baggage, so his load is heavier than, say, Jamie Tyrone’s or Jack Jerome’s.

He coped by building an armor to protect him from himself, a suppression of urges and feelings that keeps him distant from his loved ones but frees him to live his life against the odds as his principles required. He loves his wife, his children, and his long-time friend Bono (the excellent James Bowen) but keeps his distance by insisting rigidly on his notions of a proper life.

Maxson found discipline late in life. In prison as a young man, he emerged a stiff-necked moralist and behaved as if the smallest defection from discipline would lead him to ruin. He gave his entire paycheck to his wife, carefully limited his drinking to precisely one pint of gin that he shared with Bono every payday, and demanded absolute obedience from his sons. Ironically, a single small defection finally did him in.

Maxson is a lot like my late father, who tried hard to get close to his sons but couldn’t quite get there. He gave himself to his job and helping with housework. I cried his funeral because it meant I had lost the opportunity to know the man who raised me. That was the story of many twentieth century fathers and sons, but Wilson’s masterly script tells you that Troy Maxson did his best for the best reasons. And, by his own lights, succeeded. He kept his balance on the log when the currents threatened. That took every ounce of his will and energy, but Lynch Travis’s nuanced performance gives us the unspoken vulnerability and ambivalence as well.

In the last scene Maxson’s mentally ill brother, Gabe (Michael Joseph, a very convincing and appealing psychotic), does a crazy dance of frustration, as if struggling to let out all the terrors he had kept to himself. It seemed to be a physical rendering of the emotional struggle that never let Troy Maxson relax.

When a play is as well-acted (all the performances were very good) and gracefully and briskly staged as this Fences you know you are in the presence of superior direction for which we have Tim Edward Rhoze to thank.

The set deserves its own paragraph. When you take your seat at Fences you find yourself in an urban neighborhood of the mid-twentieth century: there is the back corner of an apartment house bounded by two alleys, one of which separates it from a small single-family home. Both lead to the larger world of Pittsburgh. This set bears a startling resemblance to the Brooklyn apartment house in which I was I was raised and its environs. This marvel created by Monika Essen gives you an immediate sense of time and place before the actors show up. It is a spectacular recreation of the ordinary.

In all, this is the most engaging and affecting play I've seen this year, and maybe many others.

Last election day I worked fourteen hours in a polling place in Detroit. I was an invited guest at the party. I bathed in the rampant joy of election workers and voters. I wonder what Troy Maxson would have said if he were there. If he could have stood to miss a day off from work.