70. NDBELE FUNERAL
The word
“Ndbele,” which appears nowhere in the play called NDBELE FUNERAL, on view at
59E59 Theaters, refers to one of two African ethnic groups, the Southern
Ndebele people of South Africa, where the play takes place, and the Northern
Ndbele people of Zimbabwe and Botswana. NDBELE FUNERAL, refers to the former.
It is written by American playwright Zoey Martinson, who also stars in it; is a
creation of Smoke and Mirrors Collaborative, of which Ms. Martinson is a co-director;
won the Overall Excellence Award for Best Play at FringeNYC 2013; and was also
a Time Out Critic’s Pick. The director is Awoye Timpo.
Set in a dilapidated
shack, lacking water and power, in Soweto Township, South Africa, NDBELE
FUNERAL focuses on Daweti (Ms. Martinson), a 30ish woman dying of AIDS, whose
sores mark her once-pretty face. The audience of around 50 sits on three sides
of the filthy hovel (designed by Jason Sherwood and lit by Justin W King), whose
corrugated tin door is held in place by the flimsiest of means. If they stretch
their legs, those in the front row of 59E59’s miniscule Theater C can
practically put their feet on the shabby cardboard flooring. An oblong box—a coffin,
actually—whose sides are decorated with colorful African motifs, sits against
one wall, and the place is littered with paper, plastic bags, and other refuse.
There’s a mat on the floor that serves as a bed, and the seating is limited to
plastic milk boxes. For all its decrepitude, though, Daweti insists that the trash
is part of the room’s feng shui harmony.
Daweti, a university-educated coloured (mixed-race) woman who has fallen to this repellent state in the wake of her illness, including being disowned by her parents, has built the coffin for herself from the wood freely supplied by the African National Congress government to local homeowners in the wake of a flood. The wood was supposed to be used to rebuild their homes but many people instead have been selling it to make money. Jan (Jonathan David Martin), a white man working for the Department of Housing, is going around the township investigating how people have used their government supplies. When he comes to Daweti’s place, she pretends not to be who he’s seeking and sends him on a wild goose chase. Ultimately, however, he returns and things get edgy.
Before that happens, however, Daweti is visited by her dearest friend, a married-with-kids, middle-class black man named Thabo (Yusuf Miller), who has known her since meeting her at a dance when they were at university, and who periodically checks on her well-being, something he intimates he’ll no longer be able to do. Thabo is beaming, energetic, and friendly, a deeply religious Christian, in contrast to the skeptical Daweti who has lost her faith in everything and rails against the universe for her condition. Thabo also possesses a poetic streak, which justifies his sometimes lyrical way of expressing himself. The pistol shoved into the back of his slacks, however, like all those pistols in desk drawers we see in movies, doesn’t augur well. He’s appalled by Daweti’s decision to build a coffin instead of repairing her crummy abode. Jan, who doesn’t participate much until the play’s latter third, may seem an officious bureaucrat, but he eventually gets a monologue that reveals his frustration not only with the obstinate people he must investigate but the unsatisfactory job he, as an educated student of humanist philosophy, must labor at in order to make a living. Each character somehow represents an aspect of post-Apartheid life, little of which, from this snapshot’s point of view, seems very pretty. You don’t hear the words “99 percent” and “one percent” but the air is thick with hatred of a world ruled by unfeeling capitalists who know nothing of the lives of the needy.
At various points, South African song and dance intrude (the excellent original music is by Spirits Indigenous and Tuelo Minah), with the actors performing routines in Gumboot style, using lots of rhythmic stamping and complex hand clapping; the enthusiastic choreography is by Sduduzo-Ka Mbili and Cuereston Burge. Otherwise naturalistic, NDBELE FUNERAL also includes direct address monologues, performed in South African township theatre style, where the action stops as actors deliver emotion-driven narrations. Based on what I’d read, I assumed the production bordered on being a musical, but the number of music-based scenes is rather minimal and occupies perhaps 10 percent of the 70-minute, intermissionless performance.
All performances are well done, but, in the venue’s cramped quarters, the actors sometimes overdo it. I liked Mr. Miller’s ingratiating charm and affability, and it’s easy to believe his affection and concern for Daweti, but he comes on too strong from the start, and you can see how hard he’s working as he quickly becomes drenched in sweat and has to keep mopping his shaved, perspiring head. His occasionally overheated performance seems even more so when you see the nearly as aggressive acting of Ms. Martinson, who wears a heavy wool sweater and wool cap. Daweti is written and played with such unrelenting bitterness that, except for the stylized breaks, it’s hard to sympathize with her. Mr. Martin, playing the heavy, so to speak, does his best to humanize Jan. The actors, of course, all speak in South African accents; their level of success varies.
The play rushes toward a potentially violent climax that, while dramatically tense, veers toward contrivance when Thabo, seemingly so content, makes a revelation he’s been hiding until now. This revelation, and the possibilities it opens for Daweti’s fate, may make a point about the unhappy conditions the first generation of post-Apartheid South Africans are living through, but it seems more a playwriting device than an organic development.
Imperfect as it is, I wouldn’t put any nails in this play’s coffin. While there are moments when NDBELE FUNERAL slackens, its creative touches, lively staging, and musical components clearly demonstrate that Zoey Martinson’s is a refreshing theatrical voice from whom more is to be anticipated.
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| Yusuf Miller, Zoey Martinson. Photo: Hunter Canning. |
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| From left: Yusuf Miller, Zoey Martinson, Jonathan David Martin. Photo: Hunter Canning. |
Daweti, a university-educated coloured (mixed-race) woman who has fallen to this repellent state in the wake of her illness, including being disowned by her parents, has built the coffin for herself from the wood freely supplied by the African National Congress government to local homeowners in the wake of a flood. The wood was supposed to be used to rebuild their homes but many people instead have been selling it to make money. Jan (Jonathan David Martin), a white man working for the Department of Housing, is going around the township investigating how people have used their government supplies. When he comes to Daweti’s place, she pretends not to be who he’s seeking and sends him on a wild goose chase. Ultimately, however, he returns and things get edgy.
Before that happens, however, Daweti is visited by her dearest friend, a married-with-kids, middle-class black man named Thabo (Yusuf Miller), who has known her since meeting her at a dance when they were at university, and who periodically checks on her well-being, something he intimates he’ll no longer be able to do. Thabo is beaming, energetic, and friendly, a deeply religious Christian, in contrast to the skeptical Daweti who has lost her faith in everything and rails against the universe for her condition. Thabo also possesses a poetic streak, which justifies his sometimes lyrical way of expressing himself. The pistol shoved into the back of his slacks, however, like all those pistols in desk drawers we see in movies, doesn’t augur well. He’s appalled by Daweti’s decision to build a coffin instead of repairing her crummy abode. Jan, who doesn’t participate much until the play’s latter third, may seem an officious bureaucrat, but he eventually gets a monologue that reveals his frustration not only with the obstinate people he must investigate but the unsatisfactory job he, as an educated student of humanist philosophy, must labor at in order to make a living. Each character somehow represents an aspect of post-Apartheid life, little of which, from this snapshot’s point of view, seems very pretty. You don’t hear the words “99 percent” and “one percent” but the air is thick with hatred of a world ruled by unfeeling capitalists who know nothing of the lives of the needy.
At various points, South African song and dance intrude (the excellent original music is by Spirits Indigenous and Tuelo Minah), with the actors performing routines in Gumboot style, using lots of rhythmic stamping and complex hand clapping; the enthusiastic choreography is by Sduduzo-Ka Mbili and Cuereston Burge. Otherwise naturalistic, NDBELE FUNERAL also includes direct address monologues, performed in South African township theatre style, where the action stops as actors deliver emotion-driven narrations. Based on what I’d read, I assumed the production bordered on being a musical, but the number of music-based scenes is rather minimal and occupies perhaps 10 percent of the 70-minute, intermissionless performance.
All performances are well done, but, in the venue’s cramped quarters, the actors sometimes overdo it. I liked Mr. Miller’s ingratiating charm and affability, and it’s easy to believe his affection and concern for Daweti, but he comes on too strong from the start, and you can see how hard he’s working as he quickly becomes drenched in sweat and has to keep mopping his shaved, perspiring head. His occasionally overheated performance seems even more so when you see the nearly as aggressive acting of Ms. Martinson, who wears a heavy wool sweater and wool cap. Daweti is written and played with such unrelenting bitterness that, except for the stylized breaks, it’s hard to sympathize with her. Mr. Martin, playing the heavy, so to speak, does his best to humanize Jan. The actors, of course, all speak in South African accents; their level of success varies.
The play rushes toward a potentially violent climax that, while dramatically tense, veers toward contrivance when Thabo, seemingly so content, makes a revelation he’s been hiding until now. This revelation, and the possibilities it opens for Daweti’s fate, may make a point about the unhappy conditions the first generation of post-Apartheid South Africans are living through, but it seems more a playwriting device than an organic development.
Imperfect as it is, I wouldn’t put any nails in this play’s coffin. While there are moments when NDBELE FUNERAL slackens, its creative touches, lively staging, and musical components clearly demonstrate that Zoey Martinson’s is a refreshing theatrical voice from whom more is to be anticipated.
