THEATER REVIEW
“How I Learned What I Learned”
Grade: A
8 p.m. Wednesdays-Saturdays; 2:30 p.m. Saturdays-Sundays. Also, 11 a.m. Oct. 15 and Oct. 30. Through Nov. 2. $15-$60. Southwest Arts Center, 915 New Hope Road, Atlanta. 1-877-725-8849, truecolorstheatre.org.
Bottom line: A great poet bares his soul.
It was just an envelope. That’s all he wanted.
But as the playwright August Wilson recounts in his autobiographical one-man show, “How I Learned What I Learned,” his small request turned into an act of pure racism.
On his way to turning himself into August Wilson the playwright, August Wilson the man learned a few things about life, about women, about pride, about respect, about poetry, about music, about his ancestors. And in this remarkable True Colors Theatre production starring the powerhouse American actor Eugene Lee, you hear it all — untamed and uncensored.
In the play, Wilson, a high-school dropout who worked (and quit) any number of odd jobs before he became one of the most formidable playwrights of our time, recounts the comic foibles, social slights and romantic capers that forged his moral identity.
Some of the experiences made him strong. Others just made him angry.
Like the Los Angeles bank teller who put him through a veritable in-house background check, begrudgingly cashed his $750 check, then refused him an envelope to put his cash in.
He told her what she could do, too.
Like many a great artist, Wilson was motivated by passion, hurt, anger, contempt. But in order to survive, he also learned the importance of remaining circumspect. Most of the time, that is. One thing he would not tolerate, however, was disrespect.
Directed and co-conceived by Wilson protege Todd Kreidler, “How I Learned What I Learned” chronicles the gritty education Wilson obtained on the streets of his native Pittsburgh and the various heroes, angels and Judases with whom he collided, often dangerously.
From his hallowed mother, Daisy Wilson, he learned the meaning of pride. From a married girlfriend named Snookie, he learned the importance of timing, trust and instinct — what it feels like to be set up.
From the charismatic poet and heroin addict Chawley Williams, who detected Wilson’s gift early on, he learned not only the importance of mentoring and believing in someone, but powerful lessons about self-destruction and the curse of being an artist. From a crazy cat named Cy Morocco and the jazz great John Coltrane, he learned the fine line between madness and genius.
The show is beautifully designed by a first-class team with Broadway credentials. David Gallo constructs a set out of sheets of paper and places Wilson’s desk off to one side of a skewed stage, thereby achieving the impossible feat of making this theater’s expansive stage feel intimate. Constanza Romero, Wilson’s widow, designs the costumes: the playwright’s signature hat, a jacket and overcoat, khakis and a black shirt.
But a Wilson autobiography would be nothing without a strong performer. And Lee captures the playwright’s intellectual vigor, his irony and sarcasm, his physicality and movement in sharp and telling detail. It’s a very fine performance — smart without being imitative.
By digging deep into the raw edges and imperfections of his complex persona, by describing the accumulation of flaws and challenges that made him a man, Wilson imbues “How I Learned What I Learned” with great power. August Wilson describes what it takes to be a big person in a small world: I can’t think of a more fascinating, more moving topic.
