What happened to the profoundly influential blues musician Robert Johnson at a crossroads near Dockery Farms, Mississippi, when he was on his way to seek opportunity in Memphis? Blues legend has it that the young man met the devil, handed him his guitar, made a Faustian bargain and received a super-powered instrument in return.
Johnson, one of the greatest young talents ever to sing and play the blues, was dead by age 27; the cause was unknown but some believed him to have been poisoned. Perhaps by the devil himself.
To a large extent, Ngozi Anyanwu’s new 90-minute, two-character play “Leroy and Lucy” at Steppenwolf Theatre feels like an attempt to reclaim that dubious legend, feminize it and make it more palatable for how we now prefer to look at great blues musicians, which is as formidable talents who invented their own music in the face of the systemic racism that caused the profound streaks of angst and melancholy that join with a sense of rebellious joy to make up the form.
Instead of the devil, Leroy (Johnson’s middle name) meets a young and seemingly seductive woman named Lucy, who, instead of demanding his soul in return for musical excellence, empowers him to achieve what lies within his soul. A pox on that racist old devil business, the play is saying. There should be a more positive mythical story about Johnson that gives him credit for his own talent.
Fair enough. The bogus devil at the crossroads business has also been attributed to other blues musicians and, in Johnson’s case, most likely was a consequence of him performing a song called “Cross Road Blues” and also an attempt to explain how so young a man could have managed such mastery of his instrument.
On the other hand, the idea of the blues as some kind of devil’s music goes well beyond Johnson and, however out of synch with today’s feelings, still remains part of the form’s history. Most Chicago blues musicians I’ve known have had a formidable sense of humor born of resilience and, not infrequently, a basket of superstitions, not uncommon with artists of all forms. “Leroy and Lucy” is a piece with a lot of moral earnestness, which is fine as far as it goes. But, unlike a couple of the other plays about this incident that I have seen, it does not come with a great deal of irony. You can quickly see where the show is going.
At Steppenwolf, the work stars the highly sophisticated actor Jon Michael Hill who, with all due respect, is a little long in the tooth to play a guy in his early 20s, although he gives the character his best. Brittany Bradford, an enigmatic New York-based performer, is asked to do a very heavy lift here with a character that’s part affirmative and part akin to Amiri Baraka’s Lula in “Dutchman.”
The dialog is very freighted with symbolism — sexual, Biblical and otherwise — and it’s a potent listen. That said, I struggled with how the structure of the piece requires the very critical Lucy to harangue and cajole Leroy when, in fact, he is trying to tell her that he has lost both his wife and child. She’s not especially sympathetic and, indeed, their relationship seems to wax and wane without total clarity.
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The in-the-round production from Awoye Timpo, a New York-based director, also currently has a false ending and, in general, “Lucy and Leroy” strikes me a show needing a lot more development. The most important question here is how realistic the writer and director want to the show to be, moment by moment. Right now, it veers back and forth and it’s not always clear why. I also wondered if the very different final scene, which seemed to confuse many in the opening night audience, might have worked better at the beginning. Either way, it needs attention.
There are some live blues sung and played in this piece (both actors are decent singers) and, overall, I think it would work better with more of Johnson’s music, more room for unanswered mystery and a richer sense of humor.
Chris Jones is a Tribune critic.
cjones5@chicagotribune.com
Review: “Leroy and Lucy” (2.5 stars)
When: Through Dec. 15
Where: Steppenwolf’s Ensemble Theater, 1646 N. Halsted St.
Running time: 1 hour, 30 mins.
Tickets: $20-$92 at 312-335-1650 and www.steppenwolf.org
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