Playwright: Rotimi Babatunde. At: Halcyon Theatre at the Berry United Methodist. Church, 4754 N. Leavitt. Phone: 773-413-0453; $15-$20. Runs through: Oct. 3
Rotimi Babatunde appears to be an admirer of Bertolt Brecht, to judge by this tidy little diatribe on the evils of capitalism—enslavement of the masses, oppression of the human spirit, nurture of tyrannical greedheads and so forth—performed by actors frequently departing from their roles for casual asides to each other and to the audience. (Two characters even boast, “We need no doors! We break through the fourth wall!” before charging up the aisles.) But because Babatunde is Nigerian, we sensitive Americans automatically search for a deeper, more political agenda in this material.
The story opens with a pair of demons, dressed in suits very similar to those worn by the “gods” in Brecht’s Good Woman of Setzuan, who call themselves Knife and Fork and slaver in anticipation of bloodshed. We are then introduced to the kinfolk of the recently deceased Ajala—who, it turns out, is not dead, but only evading his creditors until he can harvest his drought-crippled crops and pay off his debts. When this deception is discovered, his resurrection is attributed to the holy powers of the local priest—who also runs the “plantation” on which most of the village populace is forced to toil. Ajala proceeds to expose the false prophet, throwing the community into chaos, until the cutlery duo intervenes to restore the status quo.
So is Babatunde saying that corporate exploitation is a beneficial system? That pretenders swathed in pomp and luxury, or faith in supernatural occurrences, are necessary for an orderly society? If the entire country is under a drought, why is Ajala confident of his harvest—for that matter, how does the plantation escape the devastating effects of meteorological blight (artificial irrigation, maybe?). And what does it mean that Ajala decides to abandon his tricksterly ways—the basis for countless folk tales in every culture—to allow himself to be set up as a figurehead for the domination of his fellow citizens? Is this Babatunde’s cynical assessment of the corruption inevitable in human nature?
Halcyon Theatre strives to promote opportunities for global artistic expression, but what A Shroud For Lazarus delivers is a parable operating on three separate, and not always cohesive, levels simultaneously. And while much of the execution is cleverly conceived—the pastor Poppa’s be-bop liturgy, for example—the multiple dimensions it encompasses ultimately prove too overwhelming to grasp in a single viewing.