January 30–February 6, 1997

critical mass

Bare-Knuckle

Philadelphia Festival Theatre for New Plays at Annenberg Center's Harold Prince Theatre, 3680 Walnut St., through Feb. 9, 898-6791.

Bare-Knuckle never takes off the gloves. It's a tame, unfocused play which wanders away from a potentially powerful subject; Art Becker doesn't seem to know what his script is about. Life provided more than enough: in 1901, professional boxing was illegal in Texas. Jack Johnson, a black man known as Li'l Arthur, was knocked out in the third round by Joe Choynski, a Southern white supremacist. Seven years later, Johnson would become the first black heavyweight champion of the world.

The play begins after the match in Galveston when they were both thrown in jail — in the same cell — for 24 days. This would seem to be more symbolism than any playwright needs to work with. They pass the time sparring — verbally (on stage) and physically (off stage) during which Joe (Chance Kelly) teaches Johnson (Michael Broughton) boxing technique he lacks. Johnson wants to be champion of the world. Joe says no black man will ever be champion of the world. Li'l Arthur falls into despair. Then, without explanation, Joe changes his mind. Li'l Arthur cheers up.

Add a craven creep named Chicken Thief (Steve Zettler) who tries to play the race game every which way he can to keep from getting bashed around by two heavyweight prize fighters. For reasons unclear, when Chicken Thief is released from jail, he rounds up a lynch mob waiting for Johnson to emerge. For reasons unclear, the guard (David Sitler) lets him out — a set-up for murder? a compassionate escape? merely the end of his sentence? We never find out what happens, although the play assumes we know enough history to know that Johnson wasn't killed by the mob. But why not? How not? Nobody's motivation makes any sense.

Events seem unaccounted for: Joe seems to suffer from DT's (insects, etc.) but we have no idea why nor do we ever see him drunk. He is the more polished fighter, but Johnson injures him so that his arm is hurt at the end. When did this happen? Joe makes a speech about being haunted by the memory of a whore with beautiful eyes he cheated out of payment, but nothing ever comes of that story. Li'l Arthur makes many Symbolic Speeches — ("I want what you got, Boss, a dream") — about a hurricane, about a tidal wave, about heroism, about jumping a boxcar in a train that never left Galveston, about being a pebble in the white man's shoe, about a giant white shark (gimme a break) — but none of these go anywhere or finally mean anything.

Even the attitude toward boxing is confused. Joe says, "Boxing is primitive but pure" (yikes!) although he acknowledges that the people outside the ring use the fighters to "let their animal meanness out — and nobody gets hurt.""Except us," Johnson replies. What does this add up to? Is boxing a noble sport or a fool's game? The dialogue gets slower and emptier and in Act Two the play simply stops. The audience was nonplused to discover the play was over.

Both Michael Broughton and Chance Kelly are mighty fine to look at, and since both are boxers in real life, their physical presence seems authentic and impressive — the slo-mo fight which opens the play is a thing of beauty. Their Southern accents occasionally chew up some lines, but generally they do the best they can with the material, as does Steve Zettler as the filthy racist twerp. If director Eugene Nesmith's pacing is often too slow to keep the show together, and the slides which book-end the stage seem an unnecessary gimmick, the real flaws are in the script.

— Toby Zinman