Ma Rainey's Black Bottom

A-One, A-Two, A-You Know What To Do...

or

When the Levee Breaks (When My Daddy Stay Out Late/He Don't Care a Thing for Me)

August Wilson died in October 2005, and is best known for his "Pittsburgh Cycle" of ten plays and there has been a concerted effort to bring the ten to the screen. Hallmark made "The Piano Lesson" in 1995, But the rest...? Part of that is that Wilson insisted that his black plays be directed by black directors ("the job requires someone who shares the specifics of the culture of black Americans") making the job more difficult. Well, bullshit. Let's just say it. Nobody wants to invest the money in a black play with black actors by a black director (unless, of course, it has the word "Hood" in the title) because they don't think they'll get their money back to which I say "Wakanda Forever!" So the effort is being made to toss out the seeds on the wind and see what takes root—Denzel Washington directed Fences in 2016 with outstanding performances by him and Viola Davis—she won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar, but I was surprised she wasn't nominated for Best Actress, as she stole the show. She does that.

And there would be that same danger with the second film to be done (of the second play in the cycle), Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, if director George C. Wolfe hadn't cast his film so perfectly, and then run away with it to make an honest-to-god film as opposed to a filmed play. Ma Rainey surges and glides and pivots and laterals, lifted aloft by the music and by Wilson's language cadences. And the acting is never short of fascinating. One hesitates to put the word "perfect" to anything but to my eye and ear, this one is perfect.

It is 1927, and Ma Rainey (Davis, almost unrecognizable—except the eyes always shine through) has interrupted her tour down South to do recordings for her manager Irvin (Jeremy Shamos) and studio executive Sturdyvant (Jonny Coyne) to meet the need for "Race Records" for those blacks who've moved to the North during the "Black Migration." In her entourage is her nephew Sylvester (Dusan Brown) and one of her dancers Dussie Mae (Taylor Paige), who will accompany her to the session. 

She'll get there in her own time, but first to arrive are the band: Cutler (Colman Domingo)-trombone, Toledo (Glynn Turman)-piano, Slow Drag (Michael Potts)-bass, and Levee (Chadwick Boseman)—trumpet. Levee is the youngest member of the troupe, and is all unbridled energy—he just bought a pair of fancy new shoes from his poker winnings the night before and his excitement for the session is for getting to do his own arrangement of the "Black Bottom" piece and sell his arrangements to Sturdyvant with an eye towards recording them and starting his own group.

The banter between band-mates escalates and falls, as the older band-mates scoff at Levee's braggadocio over his thinking that he might have some sort of control over what Ma will or won't perform for the session. It sounds good when Ma isn't there and its just the band he's angling with, but sounding good and producing are two different things. Power plays are at the heart of Ma Rainey's Black Bottom—who has it and who pretends to have it—and one can bluff all they want to, but there's a difference between a poker-hand and life, and the rules don't necessarily apply to both.

The dynamics change when Ma arrives at the studio; you play it her way or you don't play. In a studio, time is money. But that's money down the drain if you don't get product to exploit. So, things shift and drift, with the ultimate aim of a good recording from everybody—"Who this 'we?'" What you talkin' about 'we?' Come talking this 'we" stuff. Who's 'we?'"—with no solo's allowed. And Ma will push her power—punching up and down—as far as she can go because it's her voice, her material, her band, and her name on the release forms. Nobody makes any money until that happens. You want power? Watch how a diva plays it.

This would be a great solo showcase, just for the presence of Viola Davis ("No look goes uninvested," says director Wolfe) as Ma, and the participation of the late Chadwick Boseman in his last role—that's what all the publicity is about (and they are great, don't get me wrong, I've never seen either of them do anything but light up the screen)—but, everybody in it is great. Davis and Boseman are perfectly capable of blowing people away on-screen, but they are matched by Domingo, Turman, and Potts as the band-members; they are given their monologues and solo's and each are given their moments to shine, while dialoguing without any hint that what they're saying hasn't been lived and is coming straight from their minds to their lips. This is a near-perfect ensemble piece and it is thrilling watching what they do with it.

And director George C. Wolfe does a brilliant job of giving them the proscenium to perform. Even while you're hanging on every word, there are moments when his shot choices are nothing short of breath-taking, anticipating the arcs of the play and giving you something amazing to look at and contemplate, whether the action is happening in the frame, or just waiting for it to happen. Wolfe is a grand ring-master setting things up and paying them off, with three—and other minor ones—dynamics of power that come crashing together and either makes great music or explodes.

It is thrilling to watch this kind of work and one hopes against hope that Netflix makes this more available—beyond its platform—so that more people can see it and appreciate the way a stage-bound work can be opened up from within just by making inspired choices. 

This is the second of the planned "Pittsburgh Cycle" adaptations; one wishes that Wolfe will direct the remaining eight, as well. That will do justice to Wilson's legacy.

Some of George Wolfe's compositions: