Theatre:Alex Dodd
What’s the point in writing a play about racial prejudice in contemporary South Africa, about the failings of the rainbow nation project and then presenting it to an almost completely white audience? A bit like attempting to tango solo. This is what must have been stumping ad man John Hunt when he first came up with the ingenious concept behind his latest play, Stand in the Sun.
The divided infrastructure of theatre-going in South Africa would only have served as a thudding confirmation of one of the play’s central premises: that black and white South Africans are no nearer a willing embrace under the diplomatic guise of multiculturalism than they were in 1976. (Not exactly a cheery play this.) Hunt wanted to make damned sure his play did not fall on deaf ears, or more specifically hundreds and hundreds of pale pink ears.
So, being the lateral and inventive ad guru that he is, he decided that if there wasn’t a diverse and representative audience in South Africa, he’d simply create one. (A bit like the wise old man in the play who finds his own inventive way of getting the two bolshy young upstarts together.) So Stand in the Sun is currently showing simultaneously in both Alexandra and in Sandton. Audiences are being bussed between the two venues.
The idea is to allow people to get a feel for how the other half lives. The problem is black people already seem to know how white people live. On the night I went to Sandton there were hardly any black people in the audience. The Alexsan Kopano Community Centre, on the contrary, was packed with jolly middle aged white couples trying to make light of the glaring social discrepancies.
When I ask the man at the ticket booth in the township why there are hardly any Alex residents at the performance, he replies that people simply can’t afford the R15 ticket price. The woman at the tuckshop just shrugs. Whether people are attending this play or not seems to be the least of her problems.
Heartbreaking in the face of such a great effort that has had the full backing of Eastern Metropolitan Local Area Mayor Justice Ngidi. “Hands Across the Highway marks the end of clearing the rubble of the racial war that divided the communities of Alexandra and Sandton,” reads Ngidi’s endorsement in the Stand In the Sun programme. “It marks the beginning of a new road, of a new awareness of bridging the gap between these two communities, by giving hope and bringing prosperity to both communities.”
This is a start. But the open road between Sandton and Alex will not be built in a day. Old prejudices, as Hunt’s play so searingly asserts, die hard.
Hunt’s multicultural suss is deeply impressive. His grip on streetwise lingo and, more significantly, the currents of ideology that lurk beneath easy slang and quick comebacks is powerful. Likewise the performances which were (not surprisingly with a director like Barbara Rubin) passionate and full of gusto, if at times lacking in subtlety. Not so the enactment of Daniel by Owen Sejake. Sejake’s subtle mood changes and intonations lent a complexity to his character which made the circumstances of the play far more feasible. His slight openness (despite irritation) to the smart-cracking Vusi rendered the young man’s insistent presence feasible.
His injection of wise laughter into what could otherwise have come across as total depression also lent weight to his role as the elder and mediator.
The play itself is not without its problems. I wonder whether South Africans, black and white, haven’t been lambasted enough with harsh realities about the mess we’re in without having to spend a week night getting all their follies and failings rubbed in their faces. Next time round they might just choose to spend the money on a night of escapism at the movies, and I don’t know if I’d blame them.
Firstly the play is far too long and descends structurally into a ping pong match of racial slurs. You’re a white racist pig. You’re a greedy black crook. You’re a stubborn, ignorant fool insulated by suburbia. You’re a stupid uneducated thug. You take your history of privilege and entitlement for granted. You don’t deserve the liberties you’ve got. Back, forth. Back, forth.
The soul begins to ache along with the neck. Bipolarity gets you nowhere. I think humour was meant to be the antidote, but racist cracks just aren’t funny (even in a self conscious, ironic context) and I didn’t seem to be the only one in the audience who felt that way. This might well have been Hunt’s point, but it needn’t have been driven home quite so relentlessly.
Stand in the Sun is on at the Alexsan Kopano Community Theatre and Sandton’s AGFA Theatre on the Square until May 15