I recently got into a discussion with a few of my friends about the focus and purpose of theatre. I expressed intense dissatisfaction with shows that use a political movement as a backdrop for a love story. I critiqued musicals like Hairspray, Aida, and Miss Saigon for this reason. I believe that shows like these should treat their political settings with more care, but I recognize that audiences gleam onto a love story and need it to be invested. No one wants to be lectured at. However, I am still conflicted because I think that so many commercial productions prioritize the love story over the very real political settings, and that doesn’t sit right with me.
Newly appointed Associate Director at The Public (and Columbia MFA grad) Saheem Ali came to speak to my class. In preparing for his visit, I was introduced to The Rolling Stone by Chris Urch which Ali directed at the Lincoln Center Theater. The Rolling Stone takes place in Uganda in 2010 when a magazine called “The Rolling Stone” decided to publish lists of suspected homosexuals with their pictures and addresses under the headline “Hang Them.” While the setting is real, the characters are fictional. Urch centers his story on a forbidden love story between a young, African man Dembe and a mixed-race aid worker named Sam. Audiences watch as the homophobia that runs rampant in Uganda places insurmountable tension between Dembe, his lover, and his very religious family.
Director, Saheem Ali (left) with Playwright Chris Urch (right)
Reading this play, I was engrossed. I learned about the political environment of Uganda. Mostly, I was invested in the story of this family. My heart broke for them as I watched them juggle their faith with the love for their brother and swelled when Sam and Dembe found moments of intimacy when
they’re alone together. By the end of my reading, I realized just how invested in the love story I was, and I was brought back to my critiques of other shows that put significant weight into love stories in turbulent political times. Why did the focus on the love story in Miss Saigon make me uncomfortable while the love story in The Rolling Stone made me feel lovely? Of course, there are major differences between these shows (musical vs play, Broadway smash vs workshopped smaller-scale play, heterosexual vs homosexual relationship,) but there are also huge structural differences in how these shows handle the political events on which they are based.
THIS IS NOT A MISS SAIGON HATE BLOG.
In an essay written by Brendan Lemon, Chris Urch gives audience members a look into his inspiration. “In 2011, the British writer Chris Urch read a story in The Guardian about a “Kill the Gays” bill up for discussion in the Parliament of Uganda.” Urch goes on to say that seeing this headline inspired him to do more research into the LGBT experience in Uganda which led him to the Rolling Stone and the documentary Call Me Kuchu (a documentary about the killing of Ugandan LGBT activist David Kato.) The culmination of all of this knowledge inspired Urch to write The Rolling Stone. He decided that a specific look at a singular, fictional family would be the best theatrical tactic to shed light on this national event. “I wanted to highlight a political issue through a love story between two men and through the conflicting loyalties in a family when one of the members is gay.” This approach is what sets The Rolling Stone apart from other shows that feature a love story and an oppressive regime. Urch uses the love story to give us a way into the world and provide us an opportunity to better understand the larger political actions at play; the audience isn’t meant to focus their attention on the love story as separate from the political reality. Urch “makes the political personal,” as Lemon writes. The politics come first.
Ato Blankson-Wood and Robert Gilbert in The Rolling Stone
There’s also something very specific about homosexuality in this case. In Miss Saigon, the main love story is not a political act in and of itself, so it’s possible to separate the “love” between Kim and Christopher from the reasons of the war or the poverty that perpetuates Kim’s misfortune. In Hairspray, the main love story (the affection between Tracy and Link) has absolutely nothing to do with the larger political movement, so it’s even easier to separate the love story from the political act. The audience has no such luxury in The Rolling Stone. Because the play is centered on an anti-LGBT movement, the love story between Dembe and Sam is a political act. Every time they steal a kiss or can make love, the audience is reminded that their affection is illegal. Urch doesn’t let us forget. As the audience roots for the resolution of the love story, we are inherently rooting for the resolution of the larger LGBT movement: a statement that cannot be said in the aforementioned musicals. If Aida and Radames end up together at the end of Aida, the Nubians will still be enslaved to the Egyptians. Tracy and Link finding their happy ending has nothing to do with the resolution of the Civil Rights Movement or even the integration of the Corny Collins Show. But if Dembe and Sam can somehow find a way to effectively love each other in the faces of Dembe’s family and the Ugandan community, that marks a turning point in the larger fight for LGBT liberation.
Urch also keeps our minds focused on the historical setting as we leave the theater. In Hairspray, the Corny Collins Show is suddenly integrated, but the final moment with which the audience is left is Tracy and Link embracing: the focal point of the show. Urch doesn’t leave his audience with that kind of image. Before the final scene, we’re given a beautiful reconciliation between our lovers in which they unapologetically confess their love for each other, and we’re teased with the possibility of a relatively happy future for them. If the show ended here, it could be argued that this love story was the main engine for the play, but that’s not where Urch ends his piece. We watch as Dembe comes out to his family…well, it’s forced out of him, as his name and picture are published in The Rolling Stone. The family is forced to reckon with this truth and what it means for their future as a collective. Then, as homophobic congregants close in on the Church, Dembe decides to stay and face the crowds with his family. “What do we do now,” his sister Wummie asks. “We do what we always do,” Dembe answers, “we pray.” In this final moment, Urch brings us back to his main focus: how this political event attempts (and almost succeeds) to tear apart this family. We’re forced to imagine how the family will continue to survive living in this reality in which love is a crime punishable by death.
image on the cover of The Rolling Stone
In an interview, Saheem Ali said, “We don’t care about ideas. We care about people.” This is a sentiment with which I agree. Though I think plays are meant to impart some sort of truth to their audience, people don’t want to be taught. They don’t want to sit and explicitly be informed of their implicit bias or be taught about the political systems that oppress minorities around the globe. We need something to tug at our heartstrings. We need an empathetic tie to the material to care. Whereas I think the aforementioned musicals sacrifice the validity of the political movements during which they are set to create tension for a love story, Urch, in The Rolling Stone, uses the love story to breathe life into the political movement. He helps us attach a face and a personality to the headline. THAT is how it’s done.
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