Editor’s Note: Director Sarah Oguntomilade is a former Michigan in Color Columnist, but she was not involved in the creation, production or publication of this piece.
In 1976, Ntozake Shange’s choreopoem, “For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide / When The Rainbow Is Enuf,” debuted. Through poetry, music and dance, Shange shined a light on facets of Black womanhood.
Fifty years later, director Sarah Oguntomilade and choreographer Gilayah McIntosh have prepared a new interpretation of Shange’s work. Oguntomilade directs, infusing the choreopoem with modern elements such as mainstay R&B classics, humorous Black colloquium adlibs and a cast displaying a large array of Black femininity. University of Michigan community members met in U-M building Walgreen Drama Center to enjoy this new iteration.
Before each show, with infinite poise and grace, Oguntomilade prefaced, “I know a slight concern for some of you coming here tonight was whether this show was going to be just another display of Black Trauma during Black History Month. And to that, I say no — I don’t believe it is. While there is trauma, and pain, and sacrifice … this is a show about Black joy, Black community, Black sisterhood despite despite despite … Aim to understand the pain but appreciate the beauty. Because is that not what we all want? For someone to understand our pain, but still call us beautiful?”
Then enters a tsunami of performers. Goddesses bathed head to toe in monochromatic outfits forcing melanin skin to radiate. They swarm the intimate set designed by Sarah Shaw-Nichols. The couches strung across the stage floor, tables littered with liquor bottles and close seating make the auditorium feel lived in. The drum beats delivered exquisitely by Nicholas Wilkinson II and Wesley Wray harmonize with the beating inside of all of our chests. It’s as if we are not merely audience members, but integral pieces of the production.
The Lady in Yellow, played so sincerely by Iman Jamison, starts the show off with a poem detailing a young woman taking her sexuality by the reins for the first time. She saturates every moment with humor, relatability and nonstop charisma. Later, Iman portrays her character’s emotions after being cheated on and receiving an HIV diagnosis. In act one, the Lady in Yellow’s performance feels like the warm caress of sunshine. As the emotional weight of the production increases, Jamison expertly turns that warmth into something scorching hot and painful.
Jerianne Clarke is The Lady in Orange. Clarke infuses her role with an authenticity that I can only describe as “homegirl energy.” The Lady in Orange immediately feels like a childhood friend I could’ve traded secrets and niggas ain’t shit horror stories with. Clarke is a lightning rod of humor, elegance and playfulness. All eyes lock on her and the rest of the ensemble as they curve their bodies to make room for Latin beats and settle into complex formations with ease.
This movement can be tied back to choreographer McIntosh. She spoke to me about her process: “To convey emotions through movement, I relied on the text as the source of inspiration. My main goal was to illuminate Shange’s words, not overshadow them. When Sarah invited me into this process, I wanted my role to be more of a facilitator … This show and its aesthetics are all rooted in complexity, which required us to intentionally transform the space for each unique poem while letting cast personalities exist as well.”
Personality was also a key component in the portrayal of The Lady in Brown. Brendan Johnson wraps themselves in this role. Johnson permeates their monologues with a fun and almost flirtatious energy. In later acts, Johnson’s lighthearted and energetic approach turns cold and hard as they convey an abusive and closeted partner. I had the pleasure of asking them how they took us to these juxtaposing places so skillfully.
“What I loved about this show was the freedom it bestowed upon each cast member. This left a lot of room for the actors to bring themselves to the role … A lot of the comedic beats I found in the show stemmed from how I would have delivered them to my homegirls. That casual and supportive vibe fueled all of the humor because it was rooted in our own identities and the community we created … Live theatre has a way of cracking people open when done correctly … switching quickly between humor and heaviness was exciting for me because I knew I was inciting discoveries within the audience … If I made one audience member more empathetic, then I did my job.”
The Daily asked Johnson about their thoughts on navigating a role that’s been historically filled by cisgender performers as someone who identifies as nonbinary:
“I was TERRIFIED to step into this role. I am just now beginning my journey of unraveling my gender … This was the first time I was presenting myself to a group of people in a way that was closer to my fullness. That is an incredibly vulnerable feeling. … I decided that my goal would be to serve as representation for any Black trans women or genderqueer folk in the audience. I strove to make this role a voice for people who are historically silenced in the theatrical cannon.”
The Lady in Blue is at the center of some of the choreopoem’s heaviest pieces. Arin Francis portrays this complex character. Francis is art and emotion personified. She forces the audience to hang on to every word that leaves her mouth as she brings poems about abortion, lost love and losing yourself to life. Every line she utters becomes an incantation, and we have no choice but to be swept up in her magic. The Daily asked Frances how she performs with such accuracy and doesn’t lose herself to the trauma she depicts.
“For ‘Abortion Cycle #1’ I had to make sure I separated my feelings about the poem from the character’s experience. This poem is a lament of the pain she had to endure alone … she reflects on the moment and finds herself back there at times. I’m a very visual person so I spent a lot of time fleshing out what these memories were for her — what they all looked like, felt like and smelled like. In creating such distinct memories, it was easy for me to identify that these aren’t feelings I’m carrying because these aren’t my memories.”
“You can’t have me unless I give me away”, leaves the mouth of Lauren Horne as she becomes the Lady in Green. She delivers an impassioned speech about the harm loving a man can do, and how much it can rob you of. Horne is frequently on the stage alone. Holding the hearts of an entire room with nothing but your presence is not an easy task, but damn she makes it look as effortless.
The Lady in Purple frequently takes on the role of a narrator. Sasha Bacon’s performance is grounded in quiet strength. She imbues scenes of infidelity, sisterhood and sexual assault with a soft and underlying power. When given the space, she bathes in the spotlight, divinely brandishing her humor and sexuality.
After the show, I approached the cast to sing their praises. I walked up to Sophia Lane, who plays the Lady in Red. She carried the back end of the choereopoem on her shoulders, delivering a gut-wrenching monologue surrounding child abuse, domestic violence and murder. She was a walking earthquake. I gave her her 10s before asking if she was okay. I imagined masterfully evoking such agonizing moments couldn’t be easy. Lane responded, “I’m okay, but I don’t feel much. I’m numb.” This is ironic considering her performance forced me to feel far more than I’ve felt in such a long time. She has wrung herself dry to act as a vessel for heartbreaking beauty. And in a way, ain’t that life imitating the art we all witnessed in that Drama Center? In a way, ain’t that the dilemma of a Colored Girl? To give your entire being, make yourself numb, so the people around you can feel something.
And we did feel something. We laughed. The kind of laughter that reminds you what the meaning of life is. We cried. The kind of tears that expose how fragile a soul can be. We sat in silence. The kind of silence that can only exist when everyone is screaming on the inside.
Sarah Oguntomilade’s version of “For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide / When the Rainbow Is Enuf” is not merely a production. It is a journey. It is a phone call to your sister to tell her how much you love her. It is the wordless companionship of the dear friends in the seats next to you. It is a ferocious ode to Black womanhood. It is a lesson in losing and loving fiercely.
MiC Assistant Editor James Scarborough can be reached at jscar@umich.edu.