Friday: Eddie Palmieri at the Library of Congress

South Bronx-raised pianist Eddie Palmieri established his musical reputation decades ago by innovatively combining the Afro Caribbean dance music he heard growing up in the 1950s with African American jazz. Now 87, Palmieri continues to love performing live where he often enthusiastically shakes his head and smiles while energetically pounding his fingers and sometimes his forearms and elbows on the keys. Although Palmieri has sometimes worked with vocalists, and emphasized more straight-ahead rhythms, he often, as he will be doing at the Library of Congress, digs into his Latin jazz songbook that highlights his ability to solo and improvise with his band. It’s this technique that led the National Endowment of the Arts to award him a Jazz Master in 2013, and he has won various Grammys over the years. Palmieri’s acclaimed skills also draw from the classical piano lessons he took as a youngster and the brief period as a teenager where he played timbales in his uncle’s Latin dance music orchestra. His work has been fueled by his own social justice values. Thus, Palmieri can play sweet and touching chords as he did solo on a song for his late wife Iraida Palmieri in a 2016 NPR Tiny Desk appearance, get noisy with his combo and use unusual time signatures, or combine all these different aspects as he did on his song “Justicia.” For this show Palmieri will be playing with longtime bandmates Luques Curtis on bass, Louis Fouche on alto saxophone, and Camilo Molina on drums. They’ll help provide the mix of dissonance and funky polyrhythms that Palmieri has become legendary for providing. The son of parents who emigrated from Puerto Rico, the charismatic Palmieri is likely to further enhance the evening with stories about his life between songs. Eddie Palmieri plays at 8 p.m. on Oct. 18 at the Library of Congress’ Coolidge Auditorium, 10 1st St. SE. loc.gov. Sold out, but Free RUSH passes will be available on site two hours before the concert. —Steve Kiviat

Opens Saturday: Mixed Up, Cut Up at Pyramid Atlantic

Pyramid Atlantic is known locally as a hub for artist studio space and workshops, but it’s also a hub for printmaking and paper arts more broadly, attracting workshop instructors and exhibitors from around the country and the globe. Its most recent guest is Houston-based artist Carlos Hernandez, showing an exhibit of his silkscreens and collages, as well as hosting an artist talk and two workshops. Hernandez creates both commercial and fine art works, creating concert posters and projects for corporations while also exhibiting widely, from small galleries all the way to the Smithsonian and Library of Congress. He’s worked collaboratively, founding the printmaking space Burning Bones Press in Houston and joining up with the group Outlaw Printmakers. Over the course of his storied career, he has racked up accolades including recognition from the Communication Arts Typography Annual for his playful and inventive lettering work and serving as artist in residence for the legendary Hatch Show Print letterpress shop. Mixed Up, Cut Up features works that are vibrant, frenetic, and jampacked with details, rewarding close looking. There is a level of planning that must go into making multicolored prints in order to get all the pieces to line up, and Hernandez’s work at times is meticulously planned; at other times it embraces the chaos and unpredictability of the process. His workshop on Oct. 17 (from 6 to 9 p.m.) preceding the exhibit revolves around using unconventional or mixed media in daily sketchbook use, and his own doodlings and explorations in this realm are the foundation of the finished works. Mixed Up, Cut Up runs from Oct. 19 to Nov. 24 at Pyramid Atlantic, 4318 Gallatin St., Hyattsville. Wednesday and Thursday 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. and Friday through Sunday 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. An artist talk and opening reception start at 5 p.m. on Oct. 19. pyramidatlanticartcenter.org. Free. —Stephanie Rudig

Closes Oct. 26: Gary Anthes at Studio Gallery

A photographer’s road trip through the sparsely populated west is, at this point, something of an American cliche. Gary Anthes’ exhibit Dust and Destiny on the Great Plains includes some of the expected subject matter—abandoned general stores, dilapidated farm buildings, boarded-up Main Street shops, dusty vintage cars, cracked and peeling grain elevators—and it offers a Dust Bowl warning about looming environmental decay. Still, the series benefits from its surprisingly sprightly mood, offering a striking contrast between the decay on view and the glorious light that illuminates it. Anthes—whose most notable prior exhibit in D.C. involved placing natural and man-made objects against the backdrop of interiors of an abandoned 200-year-old barn on his property—made his current collection of images during a 1,000-mile, back-road jaunt through seven states. Several of Anthes’ images feature facades with compellingly rhythmic wooden shingling, one of which includes an appealing arrangement of broken windows, in an echo of Minor White’s “The Three Thirds.” Another image, of a row of grain elevators alongside a receding rail line in Yuma, Colorado, conjures the Neoclassicism of Charles Sheeler’s painted depiction of Ford’s River Rouge plant. Anthes’ finest image may be one from eastern Colorado. It features a gently undulating field of grasslands under a mesmerizing sky in shades of blue; against this elemental pairing, a long piece of irrigation equipment jumps and snakes backward into the frame, providing a bracing sense of three dimensionality. Gary Anthes’ Dust and Destiny on the Great Plains runs through Oct. 26 at Studio Gallery, 2108 R St. NW. Wednesday through Friday 1 to 6 p.m., Saturday 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. studiogallerydc.com. Free. —Louis Jacobson

Closes Oct. 26: Perspectives, a Morton Fine Arts’ *a pop-up project, at Washington Square 

Morton Fine Arts brings another installment of its trademarked *a pop-up project, titled Perspectives, to Washington Square. In a press release, Morton promises that this free exhibit of “’nature-based abstraction” will “communicate elements from nature directly” as experienced by the featured artists, who have been “[f]reed from the limitations of traditional representation.” Earlier this year, Morton Fine Arts staged another pop-up exhibit at Gallery B in Bethesda: Creating in Abstraction: A Pop-up Project Group Exhibition of 11 Global Contemporary Artists. Two of the highest-profile artists featured in that exhibit, Morton heavyweights Rosemary Feit Covey and Katherine Tzu-Lan Mann, return for Perspectives. The other artists featured in Perspectives are Natalie Cheung, Hannelie Coetzee, Maya Freelon, Hiromitsu Kuroo, Eto Otitigbe, Andrei Petrov, and Jenny Wu. In interpreting the theme, the artists’ imaginations have varied widely: from Tzu-Lan Mann’s signature blending of Eastern and Western brushwork to Otitigbe’s blue-toned aluminum plate engravings; and from Freelon’s neon tissue ink monoprint Eclipse series to Wu’s latex-and-resin wood panel pieces. Wu’s panels, notably, feature titles that would not be out of place on a Fall Out Boy album, such as “DMV Still Does Not Default to Department of Motor Vehicles For Me,” “This Is Almost As Exciting As the Bylaw Review,” and “I Checked the Tag But I Don’t Understand the Tag.” With the unbeatable price of free and a wide variety of styles to survey, Perspectives is an opportunity for anyone who is modern art-curious but has been afraid to commit. Perspectives runs through Oct. 26 at Washington Square, 1050 Connecticut Ave. NW. Wednesday through Saturday, noon to 5 p.m. mortonfineart.com. Free. —Allison R. Shely

Ongoing: Mari Calai’s GENESIS at Photoworks

You can’t accuse photographer Mari Calai of lacking inspiration. Calai, in her capacity as artist in residence at Photoworks, has assembled a collection of works of unusual breadth. In one series, Calai—a native of Bucharest, Romania, who now lives in Falls Church—photographs doilies, but with a fuzzed approach that softens their fine, lacy details into near ethereality. In another series, Calai produces “chemigrams,” cameraless images made in the darkroom using light and chemicals, which she prints and attaches directly, without fuss, to the wall. The patterns in these chemigrams range from Japanese-style filigrees to abstract expressionist blobs; their toning ranges from mocha to an unexpected shade of pink. Other works teeter on the edge between realism and abstraction; some images suggest a raging fire, others like astronomical orbs, while others could pass for a foggy mountain valley—often printed on paper with subtle textures. The most impressive images veer a little closer to realism, notably a scene that appears to be sand dunes, a look upward into leaves and branches, and a spiral shell, highlighted with gold leaf. Mari Calai’s GENESIS runs through Nov. 10 at Photoworks at Glen Echo Park, 7300 MacArthur Blvd., Glen Echo. Saturday and Sunday, 1 to 4 p.m. glenechophotoworks.org. Free. —Louis Jacobson

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The theater lights dim. From the darkness, in voice-over, Dwight D. Eisenhower (John Rubinstein) recites the lofty words of his 1953 inaugural address:

“My friends, before I begin, would you permit me the privilege of uttering a little private prayer of my own … Give us the power to discern clearly right from wrong … The strength of free people lies in unity; their danger, in discord … For this truth must be clear before us: Whatever America hopes to bring to pass in the world must first come to pass in the heart of America.”

Then, from just offstage, Eisenhower himself breaks the reverie with a cry of “What in the hell?” 

So begins Olney Theatre Center’s production of Eisenhower: This Piece of Ground, written by Richard Hellesen and directed by Peter Ellenstein. Ike may at first seem like an unlikely character to give the Hamilton treatment—in the minds of many Americans, his presidency likely seems like the bland, conformist filling sandwiched between the drama of the Second World War and the transformation of the 1960s. It is just that assumption that Eisenhower himself would like to challenge, beginning with a chorus of “hells” and “damnations” that contradicts his staid, “boring” historical image. 

It’s 1962. Out of office for less than two years, Eisenhower stews in the study of his Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, farmhouse. His restful retirement has been interrupted by a New York Times Magazine ranking of presidents, which has placed him as a solidly mediocre No. 22 out of 31 leaders. Furious, he turns to his tape recorder to convince historians—and himself—that he is not a failure.

What follows in the next two hours is an engrossing tour through the 20th century by one of its shapers—a man of humble origins who rose, almost by accident, to leadership of the free world. Rubinstein, who as a young boy met Eisenhower, brings the president to life as someone who is both wise elder statesman and irascible older man holding forth at the senior center, full of piss and vinegar. With a raise of his eyebrow, or a twist of his wrists, Rubinstein provokes raucous laughter from the audience, before composing himself in a breath and convincingly philosophizing on the nature of history, human ambition, or prejudice. 

From establishing NASA to passing the first civil rights legislation in a century, Eisenhower’s presidency laid the foundations for the more-vaunted successes of the Kennedy and Johnson administrations. There were also failures—a weak opposition to McCarthyism, a willingness to let hearts and minds gradually soften on integration, which come out to haunt Rubinstein’s Eisenhower. There are personal regrets as well that dog him—among the most moving is the heartbreak his mother, a pacifist and an early Jehovah’s Witness, felt when her son entered the military. 

Aiding Rubinstein in his storytelling is the lived-in midcentury set by Michael Deegan, especially the picture window looking out over a field, onto which projection and sound designer Joe Huppert casts illustrations and historical images—such as troops preparing to storm the beaches of Normandy, which appear as Eisenhower recounts his conversations with these young soldiers on the evening of June 5, 1944. The picture window also enchants with the full life cycle of a summer thunderstorm: rolling in, raging, and petering out. 

Eisenhower: This Piece of Ground can best be described as getting to know your grandfather as an adult—and finding out that pops is a lot more with-it than you thought. In a Q&A session after the Sept. 28 show, in response to several questions about where Ike’s words end and his begin, playwright Hellesen affirmed that the most topical, most striking, most unexpectedly modern lines track very close to the historical Eisenhower’s words and opinions. Hellesen pointed to Eisenhower’s McCarthy-era commencement address against book-banning and book-burning, which is quoted extensively in the show, as a prime example of how fresh and startling the former president’s words still are in 2024. 

And since it is 2024, one wishes Rubinstein’s performance would be televised for streaming services in the way Hamilton has been. Until that day, City Paper readers should avail themselves of Eisenhower’s freshly extended run. In addition to a fun and instructive history lesson, it is most of all a moral, civic lesson: If being “great” means putting yourself and your ambition first, perhaps being a “boring mediocrity” in service of your country is the highest compliment of all.  

Eisenhower: This Piece of Ground runs through Oct. 27 at Olney Theater Centre. olneytheatre.org. $61–$95.

“Welcome, friend: You’re right on time.”

This is the motto of Cranberry, a small town in upstate New York, 40 miles from Rochester and worlds away from the bright lights of Manhattan. It’s a motto that seems to mock shy, single Kenneth (Julius Thomas III), who spends his evenings exclusively at Wally’s, a tiki bar, where he exclusively drinks mai tais, exclusively in the company of his one friend, Bert (Frank Britton). Life is pretty good, though. Kenneth, almost 40, takes pride in his hometown—Cranberry even has two banks, he points out with a grin. His mother worked at one of them prior to her sudden death, when Kenneth was just 10.

Since his exit from the foster care system at 18, Kenneth has lived an unchanging life for 20 years: days working at the town’s used bookstore, nights at Wally’s with Bert. But the march of time intrudes on Kenneth’s static world when his chain-smoking, hard-swearing boss, Sam (Craig Wallace), announces he’s selling the shop and retiring to Arizona. 

From almost the first scene, it is clear why playwright Eboni Booth’s Primary Trust won the 2024 Pulitzer Prize. A reflection of our own lonely, atomized time, it proves that drama need not be loud, set in extreme circumstances, or overwrought to be truly moving. The plot is simple: man loses job, man gets new job. The theme is even simpler, and in that simplicity Primary Trust finds its power—the staunch belief that kindness makes the world go round. And, sometimes, good things can happen too.

From the moment he takes the stage, Thomas commands it—no shock coming from the performer who played Hamilton in the eponymous musical’s 2022 national tour. Showcasing his range, Thomas commands it as Kenneth would—not Hamilton—with a quiet, anxious energy coupled with a genuine love for life, despite all its troubles. At its most raw, when Kenneth is at his lowest, Thomas’ performance inspires an anxious physical response—a churning stomach, a racing heart.

Concerning Britton’s avuncular Bert—to say too much would be to give away the show. Suffice to say that together, Britton and Thomas will draw tears from the audience.

Wallace, whose lovably curmudgeonly Sam reminded this reviewer of a former, late employer, also plays Kenneth’s new boss: grinning, ex-football player Clay, whose brimming corporate-jargon enthusiasm is undergirded by a tenderness for the vulnerable.

Yesenia Iglesias is a delight not only as Corrina, a waiter at Wally’s who becomes Kenneth’s second-ever friend, but as a bevy of other characters, which she rotates through at the cue of the offstage bell. Early on in the play, within the span of a minute or two, using only her voice and posture, Iglesias rotates through at least half a dozen different members of the Wally’s waitstaff, each with their own unique rendition of “Welcome to Wally’s!” Talk about high worker turnover!

About that bell, though—it punctuates the play, often several times in one scene. There are times when the purposes are clear—to show the passage of seasons, or, as mentioned above, to indicate a character change. Occasionally though, the bell seems to serve no purpose. What starts as a very effective device quickly loses its sheen. On the whole, though, the sound design and original music by Frederick Kennedy succeed. The inclusion of Tears for Fears’ “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” is unexpected, but it works. 

Scenic designer Misha Kachman has surrounded the performance space with storefront facades that light up as Kenneth mentions or visits them. One particularly affecting moment is when Kenneth, walking along the river and reflecting on his life, appears on the town’s map as a single point of light within the grid. 

Primary Trust is well worth seeing. But, for the record, this critic would like to leave a Signature Theatre performance with her mascara intact for once.

Primary Trust, written by Eboni Booth and directed by Taylor Reynolds, runs through Oct. 20 at Signature Theatre. Fall Arts Guide Rating: 4 out of 5 stars. sigtheatre.org. $40–$90.

In a world chock-full of expanded cinematic universes, reboots (gritty or otherwise), and spin-offs, an original premise is hard to find. Soft Power is nothing if not original—but it is also so much more. 

With Tony-winning team of David Henry Hwang (Yellow Face, M. Butterfly) , who wrote the book and lyrics, and Jeanine Tesori (Fun Home, Kimberly Akimbo), providing music and additional lyrics, this surrealist musical was originally conceived of before the 2016 election “as The King and I in reverse,” according to the show’s program. Hillary Clinton’s loss, combined with Hwang’s near-death as the victim of a 2015 hate crime, would transform the show. Appropriately for a play that questions what it means to be Chinese, to be American, and to be Chinese American, the cast is overwhelmingly of Asian descent.

Hwang writes himself into the play, abbreviated in the program as DHH and played by Steven Eng. When DHH is stabbed on Election Day 2016, he hallucinates the musical he has been struggling to write: a tribute to Broadway’s golden age, complete with chorus lines, in which the Chinese theater producer who commissioned the piece, Xūe Xíng (Daniel May), falls in love with both America and Hillary Clinton (Grace Yoo). 

Not since The Gonzales Cantata, an operatic, gender-bent performance of Alberto Gonzales’ congressional testimony, has there been such a combination of surrealism and American politics. Best of all, Soft Power is very, very funny. 

Eng’s DHH and May’s Xíng form a formidable funny man-straight man duo, right down to May being the taller of the pair. Yoo’s portrayal of Clinton is a combination of the familiar—a convincing impersonation of the politician’s voice and smile—and the strange—such as when the candidate slides down a fire pole to dance a musical number (“I’m With Her”) in a star-spangled sequined leotard and pumps. 

Notably, the candidate who would defeat Clinton is never named in the show. On oversize prop ballots, the candidates are listed as “Hillary Clinton” and “The Other Guy.” As such, this review will not name him either.

Despite being a farce, Soft Power has true feeling. The musical number “Fuxing Park,” in which DHH reflects on his father’s childhood in China and his own alienation from his ethnic roots, is beautiful. The romance between Xing and Clinton is convincing and moving in both its writing and acting. The last 10 minutes of Soft Power will leave audience members glowing with patriotism on their way out. The show program even features a selection of AAPI-affirming resources and voter registration resources.

Chika Shimizu’s set design evokes the stereotypical New York of movies—dirty, dangerous, and covered with stickers. (Which, honestly, is a description of the real New York.) The best feature of the set is a mirror against the back wall that forces the audience to look at themselves as they face America’s flaws. Helen Q. Huang’s costumes conjure up a full panoply of hysterically funny American stereotypes—redneck, MAGA rioter, athleisure wear woman, the much-maligned childless cat lady, a hippie in what one suspects are hand-me-downs from last season’s Hair. 

Will Soft Power become a comedy classic? Will it be performed hundreds of years from now, worked and reworked in every new generation, the way The Importance of Being Earnest or The Taming of the Shrew have been? I doubt it, given how incredibly specific it is to our very bounded time, the lead-up to yet another election in which “Dear Leader” (as his acolytes refer to him within the show) is on the ballot. 

Soft Power, then, is like a fresh bouquet of flowers—enjoy it heartily while you can. Just like democracy.

Soft Power, book and lyrics by David Henry Hwang, music and additional lyrics by Jeanine Tesori, and directed by Ethan Heard, runs through Sept. 15 at Signature Theatre. $40–$105.

Friday: Yesterday & Today: DC Does Dischord Release Party at the Black Cat

D.C.-based label For the Love of Records is putting on a show to celebrate the release of their new compilation album. Entitled Yesterday & Today: DC Does Dischord, the LP is a tribute to the area’s hardcore punk heritage by some of the DMV’s most exciting artists. In case you’re new in town: Part of the reason D.C. occupies such a prominent place in punk history is Dischord Records. Started by former members of the band Teen Idles in the early ’80s, Dischord was initially run out of bassist Ian MacKaye’s parents’ house in Arlington. At Dischord, record sleeves were glued together by hand, and DIY was simultaneously a necessity and a quasi-religion. The label exploded into prominence with the founding of MacKaye’s next band Minor Threat, which released their first album in 1981. Inspired by another D.C. band, Bad Brains, Minor Threat are perhaps as iconic to D.C. as the Clash are to London and Black Flag are to Los Angeles. But Minor Threat and other Dischord bands were different beasts entirely, punk boiled down to its austere core, virulently opposed to all “rock ’n’ roll bullshit” as Dischord band Government Issue once put it. Thanks to the scene centered around Dischord, the District became a hive of iconoclastic experimentation. D.C. hardcore became a genre unto itself, and later Fugazi (a sort of Dischord supergroup composed of members from Deadline, One Last Wish, and Minor Threat) blended punk with reggae and funk to establish post-hardcore. Dischord bands like Beefeater and Embrace have even been credited as progenitors of “emo,” though that genre’s genealogy remains hotly debated. It’s no wonder For the Love of Records had to pull from such a variety of styles to properly pay tribute. On Yesterday & Today, a project conceptualized and organized by Celebration Summer bassist Greg Raelson, you’ve got everything from throwback punk in the vein of the Jam (Dot Dash) and hyper-caffeinated pop punk (Brace Face) to hardcore (Supreme Commander) and hip-hop (Breezy Supreme). Celebration Summer have a track on there too. When talking about his own music, local rapper Breezy Supreme practically sounds like he could be a Dischord artist straight out of the summer of 1985. “Everybody wants to be a trap rapper and talk about the same stuff as the next person,” Breezy said in an interview with Hip-Hop Junction. “I want to be myself and stand out and not sound like everybody else just to fit in.” The release party will, of course, include performances from many of the aforementioned acts. It’s all ages, and the proceeds will go to We Are Family D.C., a grassroots organization that provides services and advocacy to underserved seniors. Yesterday & Today: DC Does Dischord release party starts at 7 p.m. on July 5 at the Black Cat, 1811 14th St. NW. blackcatdc.com. $20. —Will Lennon

Friday: The Sixth Sense at Congressional Cemetery 

There’s no shortage of outdoor film screenings in the DMV, but not nearly enough in cemeteries. Thankfully, we have one: Cinematery at the Congressional Cemetery. After its 2023 series featuring the films of Tim Burton, the 2024 Cinematery series is somehow even better this year with its Summer of Spirits lineup. Of the four films screening (Beetlejuice played in May, The Haunted Mansion screens in August, and Casper in September), The Sixth Sense is the most appropriate to be seen where you might just see dead people. While the film introduced the world to M. Night Shyamalan and his signature twist endings, it is a flick that’s just as enjoyable when you know the twist. It’s not the easiest sell to convince someone to see a movie that seemingly everyone in the world has seen, but sometimes the setting is just as important as the feature and there’s no better setting to see this movie. Bonus, you too can also see dead people. Kind of. Finally, Independence Day is entirely too loud. Fireworks are a public nuisance. You may want to be in a quiet place watching a quiet film the day after July 4. The Sixth Sense will screen at 8:45 or 9 p.m. on July 5 at the Congressional Cemetery, 1801 E St. SE. congressionalcemetery.org. $10. —Brandon Wetherbee

Opens Saturday: Multiplicity: Blackness in Contemporary American Collage at the Phillips Collection

Intersectionality is more than a buzzword for the Phillips Collection, where the exhibit Multiplicity: Blackness in Contemporary American Collage opens this Saturday, July 6. Organized by the Frist Art Museum in Nashville and described as “monumental,” the exhibition showcases more than 50 pieces across three floors and two buildings. Themes span the human and Black experiences—particularly how history, memory, and beauty are constructed, like collages, in the mind—as evidenced by the exhibit’s strong structure, divided into six sequenced sections: “Fragmentation and Reconstruction,” “Excavating  History and Memory,” “Cultural Hybridity,” “Notions of Beauty and Power,” “Gender Fluidity and Queer Spaces,” and, finally, “Toward Abstraction.” Kat Delmez, curator of Multiplicity and senior curator at the Frist, says in the press release that 21st-century “collage is an arguably understudied and undervalued medium, especially in museum exhibitions.” Seeking to portray the diversity of the Black American experience, the 49 Black American artists whose pieces are on display range from emerging creatives to leaders in the field, including Mark Bradford, Lauren Halsey, Wangechi Mutu, Deborah Roberts, Mickalene Thomas, and Kara Walker. Explaining and exploring collage techniques to visitors is a main goal of Multiplicity, with the first exhibit section and film interviews with 11 of the artists focused on the topic. The Phillips Collection has a number of community programs built out around the exhibit, evincing an all-in dedication to the concept, including artist-led conversations and artist-guided, hands-on collage-making sessions. Multiplicity opens July 6 and runs through September 22 at the Phillips Collection, 1600 21st St. NW. phillipscollection.org. $10–$20. —Allison R. Shely

Tuesday: Daphne Eckman at Alethia Tanner Park

There has been growing and long-overdue acknowledgment for the artistic merit of the genre of “sad girl indie rock” in recent years, thanks in no small part to the rise of Phoebe Bridgers and boygenius. Locally, our music scene is all the richer for Daphne Eckman’s arrival. Eckman’s music feels ready-made for an outdoor summer concert. It’s emotional without being oppressive, substantive while also melodic, and, most importantly, its composition of country, folk, and rock goes well with sitting on a beach towel and drinking from a plastic cup. The Annapolis-based “professional over-feeler” has opened for Vanessa Carlton and Nancy Wilson of Heart. In January, she and her four-piece band, informally known as “the ladies,” released their first album, Where You Left Me, mixed exquisitely at Sweetfoot Studios in Easton, Maryland. The album is built around “Story” (which Eckman says was inspired in part by Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees”), a song about unrequited infatuation. That said, a better starting point is the instantly infectious “Jackson Pollock,” which sounds a bit like the more upbeat work from Laura Stevenson’s catalog. Acolytes of Bridgers, Waxahatchee, and early Angel Olsen are facing no shortage of content these days, but they (we) should still make time to check out Where You Left Me (bonus: that sax riff on “Acupuncture” is pretty sweet) and see Eckman live. If all that’s not enough to sell you, she sometimes encores with a cover of Metric’s “Black Sheep,” the best song from Scott Pilgrim vs. The World … at least according to people with good taste, aka fans of “sad girl indie rock.” Daphne Eckman plays at 6:30 p.m. on June 9 at Alethia Tanner Park, 227 Harry Thomas Way NE. eventbrite.com. Free. —Will Lennon

Tuesday: Emily Nussbaum at Politics and Prose 

Emily Nussbaum has been one of the most thoughtful voices on reality television, and TV in general, in the past few decades. Her first book, I Like To Watch: Arguing My Way Through the TV Revolution, published in 2019, is a must-read for any Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Sopranos fan. Her newest book, the just-published Cue the Sun! The Invention of Reality TV, tackles the less prestigious programming on your television (or computer or phone screen). Her regular work in The New Yorker tends to go viral for good reason. Her May 20 piece, “Is ‘Love Is Blind’ a Toxic Workplace?,” answered the question most every viewer of the extremely popular Netflix series has asked themselves and led to her recent appearance on NPR’s Fresh Air. Nussbaum’s essays and original reporting are both top-notch. Whether she’s writing about the show that helped usher in our current reality such as The Real World or the best of the best scripted programs, she puts an immense amount of thought and consideration into each subject. That goes for the trashy stuff too. Really, there’s no reason the trashy content doesn’t deserve as much thought as the prestige TV that dominated screens during the first decades of this century. Nussbaum is one of the few remaining must-read critics for good reason and if you’ve ever wanted to ask her opinion on your current favorite bingeable show, here’s your best opportunity. Emily Nussbaum speaks at 7 p.m. on July 9 at Politics and Prose, 5015 Connecticut Ave. NW. politics-prose.com  Free with first come, first serve seating, copies of the book are $30. —Brandon Wetherbee

Ongoing: Good Sports at Photoworks

More than most types of photography, sports photography relies on luck. Not that good sports photographers can’t perfect their skills to the point where they increase the likelihood of capturing a great image when it presents itself, but this still means their work is dependent on lots of things beyond their control: How close they are to a photogenic play; whether another player gets in the way during the wrong split second; how the light hits at a given hour; what kind of reaction an athlete makes. The exhibit Good Sports at Photoworks is consistently strong, but the photographers surely know that in none of these images were they entirely in control of their destiny. In this exhibit juried by John McDonnell, a recently retired 45-year veteran of the Washington Post’s photography staff, the first place image by Phil Fabrizio captures women’s volleyballers mid-celebration. In this case, no celebration, no photograph. In the third place image, of a rodeo participant trying to control his animal, Ayln Brereton likely would have gotten a worthwhile image just by showing up at the rodeo, but the glorious eruption of mud that almost obscures the subject’s body depends entirely on the rain that doused the ring before the event, while Soufiane Laamine’s image of a surfer under a towering blue wave wouldn’t exist were it not for the precise timing of a primal force of nature. A few other contributors are able to shape their work to a greater degree than others, such as Nicolas Polo, whose rodeo images are notable for their mood, which stems from his wise use of black-and-white film. But the finest work is by second place finisher Elizabeth Billman, who contributed two images, one of football action and the other of a runner racing with a baton. Both are composed with dreamy, relentlessly sideways motion. Used constantly, this approach could become cliche. Here, it enables Billman to stand out from the pack. Good Sports runs through July 21 at Photoworks, 7300 MacArthur Blvd., Glen Echo. Saturdays, 1 to 4 p.m.; Sundays, 1 to 7 p.m. glenechophotoworks.org. Free. — Louis Jacobson

Where the Mountain Meets the Sea is in many respects the opposite of Signature Theatre’s other ongoing show, Hair. 

Hair is maximalist in costuming, number of cast members, set design, and in the number and volume of songs. Where the Mountain Meets the Sea, described in the program as a “play with music” rather than a musical, has two named characters, two supporting musicians, five songs, and almost no set or props. Yet all this serves only to make the D.C. premiere of Where the Mountain Meets the Sea a testament to the miracle of theater—the willing suspension of disbelief by an audience. 

Composed of dueling—and dueting—monologues, the play begins with its father and son protagonists separated by a continent, misunderstandings, and decades. Starting in Los Angeles is Jonah (Isaac “Deacon Izzy” Bell), the thoroughly assimilated child of Haitian immigrants pursuing a doctorate in linguistics, who has never come out to his father as gay. When that father, Jean (Robert Cornelius), dies in Miami, Jonah sets out on a cross-country journey to claim his father’s ashes and return them to Haiti, attempting to trace, as he goes, the East-to-West journey his parents took across their new country before Jonah’s birth. The deceased Jean, meanwhile, narrates his own journeys, both physical—from Haiti to the U.S.; from Miami to L.A.—and metaphorical: from respected teacher in his homeland to airport baggage handler who falls in and out of love, all while growing further and further away from his son. Jonah and Jean are assisted in storytelling by two musicians (Rob Morrison, who is also the show’s music director, and Awa Sal Secka) equipped with various instruments, many of them percussion.

Where the Mountain Meets the Sea, which premiered in 2020 at the Humana Festival of New American Plays in Louisville, Kentucky, draws on the lived experience of Haitian American playwright and television writer Jeff Augustin. He explains the Haitian oral storytelling tradition that his family preserved in their move to the U.S. in an interview featured in the show’s program. In Haitian folklore, “characters constantly run away from their family and their homeland in search of a new identity” but, pursued by divine forces, “[they]cannot outrun their destinies.” Augustin’s stated intention to use folk music—specifically Haitian folk and Americana, both of which, the program reminds showgoers, “have roots in Africa”—to bridge seemingly irreconcilable distances comes through clearly in Where the Mountain Meets the Sea without being too obvious or cloying.

The folk songs written by the Bengsons for the show advance the story and, more importantly, could stand on their own as an EP. The first number in particular, the Haitian lament “Sonjé M (Remember Me)” will haunt audience members for days afterward. More specifically, it is Cornelius’s sad, lilting rendition of “Sonjé M” that will especially linger.

Cornelius is the absolute standout of Where the Mountain Meets the Sea. Opening the show spotlit on a bare stage, he commands the attention and belief of the audience at once with his rich, warm voice—which is even more impressive considering his first lines are in French, part of a grammar lesson he remembers giving on his last day in Haiti. To hear Augustin’s script delivered by Cornelius’s voice is a delight.

The unfortunate downside of Cornelius’s superb performance is that the very good performance of Bell suffers by the comparison. Bell’s Jonah is funny and engages easily with the audience, but there were several noticeable times in which Bell stumbled over the first few words of lines and had to begin again. Hopefully, this was a hiccup of opening night; Bell ought to take his time in delivery, confident that the audience is rooting for both him and for Jonah. 

Where the Mountain Meets the Sea is 90 minutes without intermission, packed full of as much emotion and as many symbols as an hour and a half can hold, without ever feeling overstuffed, exploitative, or cheap. This father-son journey is definitely worth the ‘trip’ to Signature Theatre.

Where the Mountain Meets the Sea, written by Jeff Augustin with music by the Bengsons, choreographed by Dane Figueroa Edidi and directed by Timothy Douglas, runs through July 7 at Signature Theatre. sigtheatre.org. $40–$89.

A hero’s descent to the underworld, katabasis in Greek mythology, is a trope common to many mythologies around the world. But Long Way Down, the hip-hop musical making its world premiere at Olney Theatre, puts a new spin on katabasis. Based on local author Jason Reynolds’ 2017 YA novel of the same title, the Ken–Matt Martin–directed musical translates the hero’s journey into the dark underbelly of American self-mythology: poverty, racism, and ever-present gun violence. 

Will (Tyrese Shawn Avery), a teenager with a love for anagrams and other word games, has learned three important rules from his big brother, Shawn (Victor Musoni). If a loved one is shot, Will must remember: Don’t cry; don’t snitch; get revenge. When Shawn is murdered, Will sets out on a quest for revenge. As he rides the elevator down from his top-floor apartment, his trip takes a turn as the elevator stops at each floor to admit a ghost—all victims of gun violence, some of them perpetrators as well. Except for the introductory scenes in which Shawn is killed, the action of the 90-minute show is supposed to occur within the confines of an apartment elevator and the span of only 60 seconds. 

There is nothing claustrophobic or distorted about the experience, however. The ‘elevator’ is a rolling cage in which, and on which, Will and the ghostly interlopers sing, swing, dance, and play across the stage. In the intimate space of Olney’s Mulitz-Gudelsky Theatre Lab, the performers’ willingness to come within inches of the front row—with spinning elevator in tow—adds an element of thrill. Simean Carpenter’s set is comprised almost entirely of vertical bars that suggest a prison. Carpenter also designed the lighting, which has its most spectacular moment when the ghosts first appear behind translucent doors as writhing shadows. 

The ghosts’ entrance, a frenzied dance phantasmagoria that clearly marks Will’s descent from the land of the living into the underworld, makes a good jumping-off point for discussing the choreography by director Martin and Musoni. Musoni’s dancing is, appropriately, some of the production’s best, such as his early show duo alongside Avery’s Will for the number “In Three,” which introduces the ironclad rules that govern the characters’ actions. Following Shawn’s death, Musoni seems to float across the stage as the young man’s spirit struggles to adapt to disembodiment, silently screaming after loved ones who cannot hear him. It is chilling to watch. 

It’s unfortunate that the sound design (Kevin Lee Alexander) sometimes allows the instrumental music to overwhelm the vocals. Regrettable in any show, it is especially so as Long Way Down draws on hip-hop’s rich wordplay tradition and has, as one of its themes, the power of words. Yet, the music is enjoyable and effective, even if the lyrics are sometimes not entirely discernable. One of the most affecting numbers has no words at all. “The Cry #1” is the musical reaction of Shari (Io Browne), the mother of the two boys, to the news of her child’s death. Part vocalization, part scream, Browne conveys a meaning beyond words. At another scene, this critic will admit to getting a little teary-eyed during Will’s reunion with his childhood friend—and first love—Dani (Cheryse Dyllan) in the balladic “Somebody I Used to Know/Men Who Came Before You.”

Avery and Musoni make a believable set of brothers, alternately bantering and bickering, sometimes requiring mediation from their mother. Avery, who at 22 is not too far removed from the adolescent experience, portrays Will as deeply sensitive, yet insecure about that sensitivity—a talented, thoughtful young mind who also takes impish delight in needling his older brother. Among the ghosts, Parris Lewis shines as Buck, the first apparition Will meets. Buck provides much-needed comic relief after the heavy themes of the opening scenes, urging Will not to ask ‘stupid’ questions about life after death, but instead something useful like:

“Did the government kill MLK? Do Black lives really matter to White people? Does that vaccine give you cancer?”

By relishing in questions—such as the extent of personal responsibility within unjust systems, or how an individual might perpetuate cycles of violence—Long Way Down avoids being preachy, confident that an enraptured audience is an audience that remembers best. 

Long Way Down, book, music, and lyrics by Dahlak Brathwaite with additional writing by Khiyon Hursey, based on Jason Reynolds’ novel, and directed by Ken–Matt Martin, runs through June 23 at Olney Theatre Center. olneytheatre.org. $55-$96.

Saturday: Boulet Brothers’ Dragula: Season 5 Tour at Fillmore Silver Spring

Unless you’re a Ministry devotee, you may not realize every day is Halloween. Unless you’re a drag aficionado over the age of 30, you may not realize there’s an entire drag ecosystem outside of RuPaul’s World of Wonder. If the Venn diagram of your interests of all things spooky and all things drag has a lot of overlap, boy, do we have a show to tell you about! The Boulet Brothers’ Dragula has been existing outside the mainstreamification of drag since premiering in 2016. With five seasons of the main show, and two spinoffs—currently streaming, first on YouTube, then Amazon Prime and Netflix, now Shudder—the most recent cast is taking the show on the road for a summer tour. Lucky for them, and you, one stop includes the Fillmore Silver Spring, a venue with excellent air-conditioning. (It gets hot in tiny clubs and it gets really hot in intricate costumes!) Also, this live show is all ages, so if you are pals with a drag fan too young for clubs, this is an excellent opportunity for some spooky, in-person drag exposure. Related, if you are a Ru diehard and can’t envision yourself supporting non-Ru queens, this tour is produced by Obsessed, the same folks that produce the Trixie and Kayta, Monét X Change, Bob the Drag Queen, Sasha Velour, Adore Delano, Ginger Minj, Miz Cracker, and other Drag Race alum road shows. Once again, every day is Halloween. Embrace the season. Boulet  Brothers’ Dragula: Season 5 Tour stars at 8 p.m. on May 25 at Fillmore Silver Spring, 8656 Colesville Rd., Silver Spring. livenation.com $46–$101. —Brandon Wetherbee

Starts Tuesday: DanceAfrica DC 2024 at Dance Place

The 37th annual DanceAfrica DC festival offers a mix of outdoor and indoor, free and ticketed events, including the promise of “live performances, an African market buzzing with excitement, and captivating oral histories.” This year’s theme is “Both Sides of the Water: A Celebration of African and Native American Culture.” Organized by dance nonprofit Dance Place, many of the festival’s events are located at the organization’s headquarters in Northeast or at the adjacent Arts Park. Griot Mama Sylvia Soumah, founder of D.C.’s Coyaba Dance Theater, presides over the festival. Friday, May 31, and Saturday, June 1, form the high point of festival activity, with free outdoor performances, and a fete or two. Dance Master Classes, which require registration, run Tuesday to Saturday. Full performance lineup and scheduling details are available online, as are marketplace and food vendor information. DanceAfrica DC 2024 runs May 28 through June 1 at Dance Place, 3225 8th St. NE. danceplace.org. —Allison R. Shely

Ongoing: Franz Jantzen at Hemphill Artworks

Franz Jantzen has been a fixture in D.C.’s photography community for decades, from his work as the Supreme Court’s photographer and collections manager, as a freelance darkroom printer for the Library of Congress, and as visual artist documenting such locales as the C&O Canal and a county fair. But with his latest exhibition at Hemphill Artworks, Jantzen delves headlong into a new realm: abstraction. He begins with high-resolution digital images of paving stones in Pompeii or ancient architecture in the Sicilian town of Cefalù, then modifies their colors digitally, usually producing sequences of works that offer variations on a theme. Jantzen’s current approach is an extension of previous projects in which he’s taken overlapping images of a subject and then digitally stitched the pieces together. But in his new work, the object he documents is no longer the destination; rather, it’s a starting point for an intensely personal, and often obscure, journey of the mind. In one six-piece series, for instance, Jantzen traces his pacifist Mennonite ancestors’ movements from the 1880s to the 1930s. Beginning in Russia, one portion of the group ended up in central Asia and while another, which included Jantzen’s direct forebears, settled in Beatrice, Nebraska. Jantzen narrates their progress in a handout written in almost Biblical prose, and he turns his initial paving-stone image into divergent, impressionistic works. One suggests flames licking in the darkness, another suggests a haystack in the sun, while a third evokes a verdant field under wide-open skies. Works from other series suggest everything from pastel-hued watercolors to Paul Cézanne-inspired proto-cubism to boldly colored LeRoy Nieman expressionism; look closely at some pieces and you’ll notice portions of works that possess the appealing granularity of an early 20th-century autochrome photograph or the unsteady swoops of exposures made as the camera moves. For elemental simplicity, though, it’s hard to top “Blue Crepe Moon,” which depicts a pleasing, cerulean blue orb against a black background, with a texture that is somehow at once liquidy and lacy. The Franz Jantzen exhibit runs through June 29 at Hemphill Artworks, 434 K St. NW. Tuesday through Saturday, noon to 5 p.m. hemphillfinearts.com. Free. —Louis Jacobson

Ongoing: Frames Between the Pain at Leica Store D.C.

In a vacuum, Terry La Rue’s black-and-white photography comes off as creepy: an arachnid climbing over a half-submerged marble head; a praying mantis crawling across a pale mask; a man floating on his back, looking half dead; a black bird in the sky, looking as if it’s neither flying nor gliding; a hard-to-read image that could pass for a screaming gargoyle. But La Rue’s work definitely doesn’t exist in a vacuum; he has a rare and debilitating condition called complex regional pain syndrome. In his statement, La Rue, who’s based in Seattle, says he uses photography both as a distraction from his pain and as a way to externalize his experiences through art. This explains La Rue’s attention to creepy crawlies, to spindly branches that suggest neurological dendrites, and to a figure on a sidewalk being buffeted by a towering shower of water—water that, in La Rue’s portrayal, has the consistency of shattered glass. La Rue also experiments with Daliesque imagery, emphasizing the morbid over the absurd, as in the image of an eyeball surrounded by what looks like a freeze-framed milk drop, or a melting clock face that evokes pain-wracked distortion rather than the mysteries of the unconscious. Ironically, one of La Rue’s finest images doesn’t have an obvious connection to his physical condition: It’s a streetscape in which a pedestrian is seen, unexpectedly, reflected upside down in a mirrored overhang. Frames Between the Pain: Terry La Rue is up through mid-August at Leica Store D.C., 977 F St. NW. Monday through Saturday, 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.; Sunday, noon to 5 p.m. leicacamerausa.com. Free. —Louis Jacobson

Ongoing: Potomac River Shen Series and Forward: A Group Exhibition at Union Station

For most people living in and around the District, Union Station is more likely to be a means to reaching a destination than a destination in and of itself. But now, art lovers have two reasons to visit the train station: dual installations of local artists’ work as part of the Art at Amtrak program. One installation features the work of 22 mostly self-taught local artists partnered with Art Enables, an art gallery and program supporting artists with disabilities. The installation at Union Station features a series of 30 pieces, set in six thematic groups, that cover the windows near Gate G and Gate L. Above the station’s lounge is the second installation, Potomac River Shen Series by Katherine Tzu-Lan Mann. Represented by Morton Fine Art, the artist had work that recently appeared at Gallery B in Bethesda as part of the Creating in Abstraction show. Like many of her works, the Potomac River Shen Series draws on traditional Chinese landscape painting to explore “the tension between what is artificial and what is natural” and what constitutes a landscape. Tzu-Lan Mann’s three murals were originally painted on paper and then sized up to span the lobby between Gates A through L using digital techniques. Both installations will remain on display through the end of fall 2024 at Union Station, 50 Massachusetts Ave. NE. amtrak.com.  —Allison R. Shely

“Isn’t that the one where they take off their clothes?”

Such was the response of multiple people when told this reviewer would cover Signature Theatre’s production of Hair, the psychedelic rock musical from the peace and love era. 

Hair is, indeed, famous—or infamous—for its controversial nude scene. When it premiered on Broadway in 1968, nudity was only one of the play’s hot-button plot points. Other objections included its portrayals of interracial relationships, bisexuality, homosexuality, extensive use of illegal drugs, and irreverence toward religion, parents, the American flag, and every other aspect of mainstream American culture. Proving that moral panic over art—and even violent threats—is far older than the recent trend of school book bans and attacks on librarians, productions of Hair were banned by local authorities for violating ordinances on public nudity and sexual performance. Bombings and arson attacks dogged touring companies.  

Knowing all this, and being of fairly staid—even, one may say, “square”—personal preferences, what did this reviewer think of Hair?

Reader, I loved it. 

Signature Theatre’s Hair is a riot for all the senses. Following the adventures and foibles of a bohemian “tribe” living in New York under the shadow of the draft, Hair obliterates the fourth wall, calling for extensive interaction with the audience. Signature leans in to this tradition. Upon entering the haze-filled theater, audience members watch a loop of U.S. Army recruitment videos and 1950s PSAs on the dangers of unruly youth. Then enters Claude (Jordan Dobson), who watches the screen. As if by magic, the audience falls silent. Then Dionne (Amanda Lee) appears from among the audience members, heralding the dawn of “The Age of Aquarius.” The set springs to life, with the screen and the curtain vanishing to reveal the full cast, who burst into song. It is an electrifying experience. Audience members are also asked to join in antiwar chants, or are handed mimeographed handbills inviting them to “a human be-in” onstage, and are often picking silk flower petals from their hair as the cast enters chanting “Hare Krishna.”

The immersion continues outside the theater. At Ali’s Bar in the lobby, the Hair-themed specials include a vegan lentil salad and a “totally normal brownie,” which is described as a “soft, chewy brownie that satisfies your munchies without the use of any special hippie ingredients.” Well played, Signature. Well played.

Indeed, Hair is more experience than narrative, but that hardly comes to mind in the middle of the spectacle. The loose plot has newcomer Claude as its protagonist. Drawn to the freewheeling life of “the tribe,” he is reluctant to jettison all the values of his upbringing. When he receives his draft notice, Claude must decide whether to burn his draft card with the other men in the group or submit to conscription. Dobson portrays Claude as sensitive and more than a little naive, making his painful coming-of-age the emotional heart of the show. 

With some 40 named tracks in the program, not every song stands out, but cultural touchstones such as the opening “Aquarius” and finale “Let the Sunshine In,” along with “Good Morning Starshine,” stand the test of time. In acting, singing, and all-around charisma, the cast is superb. Lee’s Dionne is the strongest vocalist of the group, able to hold and shape long notes with tremendous lung power. It’s appropriate that in the second half, during Claude’s drug-fueled hallucination, she appears in the persona of Arethra Franklin. Other standouts in the delightful ensemble are Mason Reeves as self-described “psychedelic teddy bear” Berger and Solomon Parker III as the unflappably cool Hud. 

For a show famous for its nudity, it is perhaps ironic that the costume design is so superb. Kathleen Geldard has kitted out the cast with a variety of styles that feel authentic to the age, without a whiff of the thrift shop found among the bright colors and embroidered touches. The set designed by Paige Hathaway is always hazed over with theatrical smoke or herbal cigarettes, making it an experience so real one fears a contact high. 

Almost 60 years on from the premiere of Hair, protesters still take to the streets over issues of racial injustice, gender inequality, queer and trans rights, and endless wars in faraway places. Should we conclude then that the hopes and dreams of the 1960s were empty? Signature Theatre’s program offers hope, cautioning that the Age of Aquarius is said to last for 2,000 years, so half a century on we are only at the dawning of an age of “the mind’s true liberation” in which “peace will guide the planets/ And love will steer the stars.”

Oh, and about that nude scene—it’s 20 seconds on a dimmed stage with lights then covered to black. There is nothing salacious about it; a political statement of guilelessness rather than erotic provocation. That brief period of nudity by the cast is far from the most shocking thing in the show—and far less shocking than most contemporary prestige television.

Hair, with ​​book and lyrics by Gerome Ragni and James Rado, music by Galt MacDermot, and directed by Matthew Gardiner, runs through July 7 at Signature Theatre. Two and a half hours including a 15-minute intermission. sigtheatre.org. $40–$128.

There is nothing sentimental about a “dead revolution,” hustler Nina tells Kenyatta, her political prisoner father, early in Sunset Baby. Kenyatta intended his daughter to be the embodiment of Black liberation, a role she has rejected—even as she secretly regards herself as a disappointment. 

Revolution is the heart of Sunset Baby, written by Dominique Morisseau, which first premiered in London in 2012. Following Signature Theatre’s off-Broadway revival earlier this year in New York, Morisseau’s play has landed at Anacostia Playhouse, where it’s being directed by Deidra La Wan Starnes. (Editor’s note: On April 15, Theater Alliance, the company in residence at Anacostia Playhouse, shared in a news release that Playhouse was being evicted from the property and claimed that AP had been using the company’s rent payments not for “the intended purpose” and had locked Theater Alliance out of the building. Anacostia Playhouse has not responded to the claims; tickets to Sunset Baby are still available through the play’s full run.)

As Kenyatta (DeJeanette Horne) declares, “the man in the mirror” is the target of the greatest revolution: self-recreation. As Morisseau expressed in a February interview with Vogue, all of Sunset Baby’s characters are on the “brink of their own revolution, their own major change.” In the course of 90 minutes, each character must choose—or refuse—to confront their past to chart a new future.

Nina (Tierra Burke) has fallen a long way from the ideals of her Black Power activist parents. She ekes out a living on New York’s East Side dealing drugs and posing as a sex worker to lure in would-be johns for her boyfriend, Damon (Shawn Sebastian Naar), to rob. She is recently orphaned following the death of  her mother, who had a years-long struggle with mental illness and addiction—a struggle Nina blames on her not-for-long estranged father. Kenyatta was sentenced to prison for robbing an armored car as part of his revolutionary praxis; Nina’s mother was left to pine for him during his lengthy imprisonment.

Then Kenyatta crashes into Nina’s life, hoping to read the unsent love letters her mother wrote to him in his absence, letters which have sparked a high-stakes bidding war by academics and archivists eager to have the intimate correspondence of two Black revolutionaries for their collections. And that’s the crux of the play: Will Nina give the letters to her father, sell them to fund a future of her—or Damon’s—choosing, or keep them as her only memento of her late mother? How the letters’ existence became widespread knowledge is never fully explained—that may be the conceit of the play.

The intensity of the conversations between Nina and Damon, Damon and Kenyatta, and Kenyatta and Nina is the greatest strength of Sunset Baby, perfectly executed by Burke, Naar, and Horne. In the intimacy of Anacostia Playhouse, Burke is ground-shaking as Nina, by turns charming, vulnerable, callous, and justly enraged at these two men who use her: Damon, who steals her money and her labor; her father, who struggles to relate to her as a person, not the vessel for his ideals. Naar’s Damon is a lovable scoundrel, delivering some of the biggest laughs of the show, but whose undeniable charm takes on a more sinister quality as the story progresses. 

Horne, meanwhile, brings both gravitas and tenderness as Kenyatta. Unable or afraid to speak directly to his daughter, he prepares video letters to her, monologues to a camera that transition from purely political to deeply personal over the course of the narrative. Kenyatta, who struggles to reconcile his identities as revolutionary and father, exudes a warmth and paternal care even before the character realizes he already possesses the very qualities he desperately wants. 

The first half to two-thirds of Sunset Baby are a series of wonderfully constructed vignettes, full of fervor and tightly structured, but the script struggles to bring this tension to a satisfying resolution. Following Nina’s final scene with her father, the causality and motivation of the characters becomes obscure. 

The closing series of scenes feel a bit disconnected and discombobulated—each of which could be an end in and of itself. It feels as if Sunset Baby is toying with all the possible endings before settling on a happier one. There is nothing wrong with a happy ending, nor is it implausible even for this raw and cynical story, but it requires narrative work to make the audience believe. 

The closing scene illustrates the most unsatisfactory part of this production, and the only fault that can be laid at the feet of Anacostia Playhouse rather than the playwright. The sound design, overseen by Melanie Burwell, who is also stage manager, struggles to find balance. Nina’s strong closing monologue is drowned out by too many sounds—including Kenyatta’s voice (which in itself deserves the audience’s full focus), music, plane noises, and an incessant, grating doorbell buzzer. It is a cacophony. 

The lighting design by Jerrett Harrington, however, subtly and clearly conveys the passage of time and the change of mood. The set design is sparse and economical, but satisfactory, allowing the actors to demonstrate that their skills need no window dressing to dazzle. In all, Sunset Baby is worth a visit to Anacostia Playhouse (but they need to soften the sound of that apartment buzzer). 

Sunset Baby runs through April 28 at Anacostia Playhouse. anacostiaplayhouse.com. $35.