A woman tries to feed her husband a fried drumstick. Dragons roam a flat earth. The last Black man in the whole entire world dies again. And again. Careening through memory and language, Parks explores and explodes archetypes of Black America with piercing insight and raucous comedy. A riotous theatrical event, The Death of the Last Black Man in the Whole Entire World hums with the heartbeat of improvisational jazz.
Suzan-Lori Parks is an award-winning American playwright and screenwriter. She was a recipient of the MacArthur Foundation "Genius" Grant in 2001, and received the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 2002. She is married to blues musician Paul Oscher.
I think there is something—perhaps “somethins turnin”— in the ideas of death and remembering. Through her characters, Parks is insistent that we write things down, lest they be forgotten, lest we be forgotten. I was struck—but maybe struck isn’t the right word—I was warmed—somewhere between struck and warmed, at the rep and rev of “Remember me” between the Black Man and Black Woman. “Re-member me.” It sounds slow and intentional. I “hear” it monosyllabically, like a bunch of little words. It feels important. Parks’ unconventional postmodern style is less theory, more art. Less sensical, more musical. Less conforming, more individual. Parks carves history into a rock before it can be burned or rewritten. This is a history that will not be forgotten.
On the level of sound, I’m in awe of how much there is to consider in writing for the stage: the multiplicity of characters, the difference in actors’ tonal registers, the way a space holds and releases sound (a theatre vs. a small room vs. an open field), and much more.
What I find striking about Parks’ work—among so many things—is its foresight and ongoing echo. In page 89, I see her reaching through time and speaking powerfully to our contemporary moment, crossing, mingling, and metamorphosing (with) the utterances of Eric Garner and George Floyd, thirty years after this play was written. To this list of verbs, I would add that Parks is also honouring, remembering, holding. Holding it. Holding it.
"Black Man. Gaw. Cant breathe you. Black Woman: You don’t need to. No need for breathin for you no more, huh? […] Black Man: Gaw. Gaw loosen my collar. No air in here."
The only reason I give this three stars is almost certainly more a reflection on me. Parks has a style and language I am not yet accustomed to. What this play does for me is make me wish I could be a fly on the wall during a rehearsal process. It also makes me want to spend more time reading her words and thoughts because, just as when I’ve seen three excellent productions of her plays, I experience fleeting blurred moments of understanding. I will continue to read Parks to expand my scope.
this is really cool, the style is like nonlinear (so i'm assuming its easier to follow via a performance than reading it lol, i do not envy the cast learning it) and it like, utilizes elements of jazz for plot structure and like traditional Black forms of call and response, and also satire of stereotypes of specifically african-americans. also? a lot funnier than i imagined.
This went over my head greatly, but it was still fascinating and well crafted, hence 3 stars. I'd like to think one day I can understand it more but until then I still admire the experimentation and creativity.
The 2 star rating is simply from the experience of reading the script. I imagine this is a very moving and interesting show in performance and would love to see it live.
Quite mind-bending to read without seeing the play. Luckily we were allowed to view the first 20 minutes or so of a recording through uni, so that made it MUCH easier to visualise the rest (obviously tinted by that particular direction). Very cool production. I’d love to see it even thought I’m not really in a position to fully understand all the nuances.