For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When The Hue Gets Too Heavy @ Apollo Theatre, London
The lighting, the bars and the beats, the billowing smoke machine! Huge atmosphere is built up before the curtain lifts. Six men, six black men, talk — openly and honestly — within the safety of a group setting. Is this a therapy group? Are they friends? Is it (as some audience members around me were saying) a series of monologues rather than a play?
Doesn’t matter — ignore the somewhat sniffy reviews and go see it! Not workaday such as going to work — demolishing everything in its path. Dynamic, moving, very funny, cheeky, thoughtful, vigorous, reasoned debate, fun. The six men have names which reflect colour, although this isn’t obvious from the staging — Onyx (Mark Akintimehin), Pitch (Emmanuel Akwafo), Jet (Nnabiko Ejimofor), Sable (Darragh Hand), Obsidian (Aruna Jalloh), Midnight (Kaine Lawrence). This bit passed me by — instead there is banter, group reactions ‘whaaat?’ debates and disagreement about what it means to be a black man, to be defined and self-defined as a man and a black man (i.e. should the ’n’ word be embraced or abhorred?) to be a lover, to be loved, to be a man, to be fathered, to be gay and heterosexual, to seek relationship, to find relationship, to be a father.
As well as an vibrant set which encourages action (and the smoke machine), the performance utilises music, movement and dance brilliantly — but most movingly for me was the group hug for a hurting man who sobs with grief and despair. Men sing to each other words of comfort — and the play isn’t afraid to go to painful areas of discussion — abuse, humiliation, shame, fear of loss of community, cultural stigma, domestic abuse, gangs, violence, ego, social challenges such as stop and search, and erectile dysfunction are in the mix too.
Never has a play zipped by so quickly — the first half was gone, flew by. I’ve never wanted a play to not stop (or not know how it was going to end) — was this therapy, a heavenly gathering, was it going to end sadly or something else? Publicly affirming life at the end (and black men), there is both black joy and acceptance in abundance.
At points it can feel like some reverse racism is going on — but I was essentially listening in on a private conversation in this play. I loved Ryan Calais Cameron’s writing, the range of voices he brought into being, the intersection between ages and character, and their vulnerability — the sheer power of their story telling; challenging our stereotypes and theirs (of themselves and each other). Not only do black and brown lives matter very much, but words, thoughts and deeds do to — and this is the revolutionary part, the words of black and brown men are on the stage, in a theatre, being dissected and disputed, considered, expressed.
Whilst it did seem to be about to go Magic Mike at one point (beware ladies in the front rows — you may get sung to!) this led unexpectedly into a celebration of sweetness, of true love. I very much loved the man trying to be himself — a skateboarding, comic loving, rocker/EMO and throwing out all the stereotypes, yet too fearful and worried to speak to a woman he’d seen and liked. His story was heartbreaking and the comforting embrace of his brothers was very moving.
I loved it — just so full of life and flourishing! Deeply charismatic ensemble — the unity between them, the talking, listening and reactions were wonderfully holistic. Looking forward to more from Ryan Calais Cameron.
