Plenty of Time @ Jubilee Theatre
Photo by Na’Tori Harris-Jackson
—Review by Jan Farrington
Jubilee Theatre’s production of John Shévin Foster’s Plenty of Time gives itself a whole 90 minutes to sprint through more than four decades of a “once a year” romance between a young Black man and woman (a girl, really, at the start). Yes, it’s very much an African American riff on Same Time, Next Year—playwright Foster said so. But the background music and snippets of TV/radio that tell us of time passing are tuned in to the particular and fraught vibe of the Black experience of America…and that’s an enormous difference.
Under the direction of Calvin Walker, this two-actor show features a pair of engaging actors new to Jubilee. Mikaela Baker plays Christina, the willful daughter of an affluent Black family on Martha’s Vineyard. At a summer party, she crooks a finger and takes one of the busboys home for fun. Kyle Gardner plays the busboy, who says he’s a Black Panther—but turns out to be Corey from Columbus. (Spoiler, sorry.)
They make love, bicker, trade political jabs, and make love. She’s younger than she told him. He’s a guy from Ohio, not a revolutionary (though he’s educating himself in that direction). Also, she’s engaged to a nice “pre-law”—and he’s got a girl back home.
It’s not entirely convincing that they decide to meet again next year at her parents’ Vineyard cottage—and every year after that until Barack Obama is president. But who are we to second-guess love? Between them, there’s something, and we see it more clearly with each new scene. (For us, time moves in jumps of around 5-10 years.) Christina, a blooming feminist, leaves her soulless marriage and goes to Berkeley; Corey is a struggling young father (soon divorced) with two sons. Christina wants to write novels, but veers onto another course. Corey’s path is as twisting as many young men of the ‘60s and ‘70s, with setbacks and successes.
They both eventually have children and other lovers. They struggle with issues personal and political. Corey faces his own biases during the AIDS epidemic of the ‘80s. Christina admits her second marriage is in trouble. “I know you better than my own husband,” she tells Corey.
So…why can’t these two get together, at some point when neither of them is married or otherwise occupied? Maybe it’s for the best. (They do seem to quarrel a lot, in-between snuggles.) But maybe not: “There’s never been an ‘us’ outside this room,” says Christina—and she doesn’t sound happy about it.
The two actors add age with a light hand—still plenty spry and full of plans in their sixties. (Is that really so old?) And perhaps Foster’s intention is to show the many mysterious ways love (even part-time love) can be at work in our lives. Christina and Corey support one another in ways no one else even tries—and it gives their stories a different shape.
Kudos to sound designer David Lanza for great music and “newsroom” picks (one sound note: the actors’ intimate conversations need a subtle uptick in volume); to set designer Jeremy Davis and scenic artist Jennye James for the soft tones of the beachside bedroom; to costumer Hope Cox for miniskirts and velour bell bottoms; to deft scene-change lighting from Holli Price; and to the props people, who kept changing the phones with the times—but let the record player stay right where it was. Long live vinyl!
WHEN: Through October 30
WHERE: Jubilee Theatre, Fort Worth (a half-block off Sundance Square)
WEB: jubileetheatre.org
