'In Old Age"

In Old Age

Mfoniso Udofia

Magic Theatre

Steven Anthony Jones & Nancy Moricette

For those of us who first met Nigerian immigrant Abasiama Ekpeyoung as a young woman in Houston and have watched her through the happy and troubled times of her long life by seeing some or all of the four prior plays of Mfoniso Udofia’s “Ufot Family Cycle,” seeing her now as an old woman in the playwright’s latest In Old Age and knowing it is probably her farewell to us as a living being is both bittersweet and sad.  For those attending the Magic Theatre world premiere and meeting Abasiama for the first time, the experience is still a deeply affecting, mysteriously magical, and joyously honoring look at a time in a person’s life when confronting and coming to terms with old demons is the necessary precursor for a well-deserved period of peaceful satisfaction with one’s remaining days.

On a battered couch curiously with no legs, we find the elderly Abasiama curled under various quilts and wraps in a house that is clearly in disrepair.  One would never know it is spring outside as we see the old lady clothed in heavy sweater, scarf, and a knitted cap from which her disheveled, white hair peeks through in wild, knotted strands.  Gospel music plays from a large, console TV whose screen is invisible to us, interrupted by a persistently louder knocking coming from her front door.

Steven Anthony Jones & Nancy Moricette

Only with reluctance and much strained movement speaking probably of old age’s arthritis and stiff joints, Abasiama slowly makes her way to open the door to an elderly African-American man in worker’s boots; with big, toothy smile; and full of eagerness to talk – none of which the silent, sullen Abasiama appears to like at all.  At first not seeming to notice and then trying to ignore her unwelcoming stare, Azell Abernathy explains that he has been sent by Abasiama’s children to repair her house, beginning with her floor (which obviously to him and to us is in deep need of fixing).  No matter how much he tries to elaborate, her silence and blank stares only grow louder until she finally asks, “What kind of ... What sort of man are you?”

And thus begins a relationship between these two that pits two old souls stubborn and often stuck in the idiosyncracies they have built over a long life as well as in histories with some still-secret chapters dark and troubling.  She has no tolerance for work boots in her house; he refuses to work barefoot or in a lady’s slippers.  She wants the job he is to do done in two weeks; he knows it will take a month.  He likes to start work at 10; her demands leave him no choice but to be there at 6.  He arrives at 6; she sleeps so sound that his pounding takes her a half hour to hear, leaving him furious.  He gets mad; she looks with cocked head at him and says little to anything.  She then gets mad with sudden shouting and ranting; he says a prayer, “Lord ... if you got one ounce of love still reserved for me, you’ll get me out of here sooner rather than later.”  And all along the way, she keeps asking him, “What kind of man are you?”

But when he lays the first few panel of red, cherry planks on her floor, something happens that Azell nor we have not yet seen from Abasiama:  A smile.  Not the big, face-filling kind that Azell flashes, but one barely noticeable yet so revealing.  As she plays “peek-a-boo” with the new cherry corner of the room, Abasiama slips out, “Maybe this can be good” – a hope with several levels of meaning that the amazed and obviously pleased Azell cannot yet understand.

But what we in the audience already know is that there is a third character in Mfoniso Udofia’s play that is unseen and unheard by Azell but very much present for her – and for us.  From the other side of the kitchen’s basement door – a door that forebodingly locks from the inside – come knocks and pounds that are like a Morse Code of warning messages to the old woman.  When she hears them, her manner goes from a disturbing disquiet to one where her whole being shakes with dreaded terror.  The house itself seems to be an entity with secrets of a past that haunt her daily – and especially nightly – with the TV’s gospel music seemingly her only solace.  But in those few panels of cherry wood and maybe in this man who is here to lay them, she seems to have some slight hope that “it will stop and I will have ...”

Nancy Moricette

Nancy Moricette is astonishingly uncanny in her abilities to portray volumes about Abasiama – her present and her past, her aches and her hopes, her moments of peace and her moments of horror – all often without uttering a word.  When she does speak aloud, the range of volume, tone, and intensity is mind-boggling that she uses to project her Nigerian accent – still heavy after many decades in the U.S.  Her deeply hollowed eyes, her age-bent body, her struggled but fast-paced steps, and that ability to make silence so comprehensible are just a few of the many masterful touches that Ms. Moricette employs to create an Abasiama so worthy of all the ones who have preceded her in the Ufot Cycle.

Likewise, Steven Anthony Jones – a face and voice so familiar and beloved by Bay Area theatre audiences – may be giving us a performance of a lifetime as he chuckles, grunts, growls, and explodes his way through the various sides of Azell that we meet.  Through it all, a heart bigger than his giant, lumbering self emerges but one that also weighs with evident heaviness over a past that has left its deep scars on him.  While he may not hear pounding from the basement as does Abasiama, her question of “What kind of man are you?” clearly begins to have its intended, come-to-the-altar effect on him.

Steven Anthony Jones & Nancy Moricette

Together, this couple becomes a beautiful portrait of what it means to be in the latter days of one’s life with someone who has come to understand you to the core, especially the inner darkness that you for too long have faced alone during sleepless nights.  Together, they also remind us what it is like to be with someone where words are often not at all necessary and yet where so much continues to be said.  The power of Mfoniso Udofia’s script is so often in the penned words we do not hear spoken but we still are privileged to listen as they are being so clearly expressed.

Along with playwright and actors, Victor Malana Maog as director deserves tons of credit for orchestrating this beautifully moving story through its many ups and downs of emotions and energies, through surreal moments that feel so real as to catch our breathes, and through major transitions that are surprising without ever being too startling.  The set by Andrew Boyce gives us just enough detail of this long-neglected house and its wooded setting but still leave enough to our imaginations to let the characters and script fill in the rest.  One of the major transformations of the story occur during a final, visible scene change, and here the set designer pulls a rabbit out of the hat that draws gasps from an amazed audience.

Much of the story’s mystery, edginess, and bone-chilling effects are due to the sound design of Sara Huddleston, who in fact is the voice of the play’s third character, the house itself.  When partnered with the incredible effects of lighting designer York Kennedy, the dread of a flashing electric storm and its torrents of rain and the redeeming joy of a dawn with its bright sun in a sky filled with the sounds of birds both take their places in making this Magic Theatre production a show to live up to the company’s given name.  The magnificently designed props of Randy Wong-Westbrooke take the center stage at a major turning point in Abasiama’s coming to grips with her past while the costumes designed by Courtney Flores helping us to get to know this old man and woman and for them equally to learn much about each other at their first glances.

A world premiere is not often already as near a state of perfection as is this Magic Theatre unveiling of the next chapter of Mfoniso Udofia’s “Ufot Family Cycle.”  Every written word, silent moment, actor’s intent, and production element of Magic’s In Old Age join together to inspire us all to do whatever is necessary in our own lives – no matter how scary and painful – to face and cleanse the ugly parts of our past in order make room for the healing of another’s love.

Rating: 5 E

In Old Age continues through April 21, 2019 at Fort Mason Center, San Francisco.  Tickets are available online www.magictheatre.org or by calling the box office at (415) 441-8822.

Photos by Jennifer Reiley