Elaine Del Valle begins her autobiographical solo show with Wikipedia’s definition of Brownsville which includes: wasteland, a footprint of one square mile, and, according to the 2008 Census, a population of 116,579 whose median income is $17,967.00. All this is projected, along with images of the neighborhood in which she was raised, onto a hanging bed sheet. “But this is my story, and I will not be defined.”
It’s the mid 1970s/1980s. Steeped in vernacular and expressive body language which clearly places her, Elaine describes her life growing up as a Puerto Rican in a predominantly black war zone. She compares the size of available crack vials to the specific ballistics of bullets, waves out the window to local denizen, Crackhead Wanda (whom all the girls had praised for looking so fine=thin), and literally hears a neighbor get murdered. Most of this is recounted in matter of fact language. It’s simply a way of life. This is a happy little girl.
When poppie isn’t doing his job as a school custodian (Elaine’s valise record player bears the stamp: Property of the Board of Education), he’s “all polyester downed” = a dandy, and a drummer. Salsa courses through the household. Unfortunately, music in the projects comes with a side of drugs. Her parents decide poppie must return to Puerto Rico and get clean. Mommie talks a mile a minute Spanish and is so proud of her daughter’s becoming a woman, getting her period, she leaves the frightened Elaine waiting in the bathroom to proudly call several neighbors before returning with Kotex pads. When Elaine’s father leaves, mommie gets a job first as a cleaning lady and then a translator at a fish-out-of-water Jewish law firm. Portraying both herself as a child, and each of her parents, as the fourth wall fades and returns, Del Valle offers something of a John Leguizamo evening without the edge.
Bad things happen, of course, providing some of the most credible and dramatic moments on stage. I’d be curious to see the performer play a more consistently serious character. During these, you’d swear there were other actors present. There are also growing pains and ingenuously joyful memories to share.
This is a small, sincere story, a slice of life, deftly enacted by a personable woman. It won’t change your world or provide revelations, but it’s warm and entertaining. An epilogue provides updates on the family, all of whom are doing just fine, thank you. A nice touch.
Elaine Del Valle (playwright/performer) is an actress with some chops. Though I find her portrayal of the little girl overly animated, which may come from a long tenure on Nickelodeon’s Dora the Explorer, there is also solid, moving work. A close call on bad streets, an incident at Madison Square Garden, and visiting her father are respectively tense, empathetically frightening, and sweetly lovely. Receiving her high school admission responses is wildly expansive, yet still believable. Shifting back and forth from interacting characters is well handled as is the role of her mother—though I wish I’d understood the Spanish. The story flows nicely.
Director Pamela Moller Kareman does an excellent job utilizing both the stage and her star’s loosey goosey and rhythmic capabilities. All of what I credit to Del Valle above is Kareman’s handiwork as well. Decisions about when to turn to the audience or react to an invisible character are effective. Pacing is artful.
Scenic Designer Jason Bolen has created a decorative tenement alley instead of a background that might conceptually serve for all the locations depicted. The latter would’ve been more successful.
Sound Designer Matt Stine did a terrific job with music so expertly chosen, I would call it illustrative rather than just appropriate. The music became a contributing character coming and going with humor, gravitas, and precision.
Brownsville Bred was developed under Wynn Handman (founder and Artistic Director of The American Place Theater) and the Nuyorican Poets Café. This is a new, expanded version.
Photos by Ron Marotta
Brownsville Bred
Written and performed by Elaine Del Valle
Directed by Pamela Moller Kareman
59E59 Theaters
59 East 59th Street
212-279-4200
Through July 31, 2011
