In The Piano Lesson, playwright August Wilson spends his time infatuated with a precious heirloom. The piano in question has a complicated backstory that features ownership changing hands multiple times before landing in its current state. As a symbol of endurance, the family looks upon the etchings that their ancestor bestowed upon it and see a connection to the past, a reflection of growth that provides comfort. To people like Berniece (Rhyver White), it’s something that she can’t fathom getting rid of.
The story isn’t the same for Boy Willie (Landon Moss). Like the best of Wilson protagonists, he barrels into the scene with an astounding confidence that catches the audience off guard. It feels like he’s lived so much life before stepping into Berniece’s house with an alarming level of energy. The mile a minute dialogue has a kinetic energy that slowly connects everything together, especially as the aged figures of Berniece and Doaker (Keven Benbow) begrudgingly humor him over alcohol and slumped postures. They are comfortable in their ways and don’t want to be rattled by Boy Willie’s ramblings if for no other reason than he refuses to believe in the haunted house superstitions that carry throughout the show.
What makes The Piano Lesson crackle with life is the top notch cast who lean perfectly into the material with a perfect sense of pathos. While the early run is more reliant on the casual humor that comes from afternoon get togethers, the latter half becomes an intense mix of romance and suspense as the characters form emotional rifts and the piano becomes closer to a symbol of deeper resentment between the characters. Even then, the final stretch has a finely tuned sense of humor attached to the ticking clock nature of its dialogue.
So much of the story works as a personable study of what the generations do to survive. For Boy Willie, it’s working farms in the hope of one day becoming self-employed. He sees the piano less as a sentimental object and more a chance to make money. The constant discussions with Doaker reveal how much music has motivated these characters and given their lives purpose. Even as they’ve aged and struggle to keep singing the same old song, it’s a comforting connection to a personal identity. So long as they can play the boogie woogie, they will be hired. As more characters enter the frame, however, the clearer it is that there’s burnout and a sense of disillusionment around keeping that dream alive. There’s a need to break from the ghost stories and find something new.
There is a perfect balance that the cast brings to the roles. Boy Willie is especially a figure that could grow tiresome quickly in the wrong hands. However, Moss brings a magnetic touch to the role by allowing him to be so chummy with everyone around him. He’s as eager to break tensions by having others share stories that humiliate others and place them on level playing fields. As someone who has worked hard for his small success in life, he has an observant tone in his demeanor that looks for the loopholes. He’s the type to keep smiling and shaking hands so long as it will get him a little further to his goal. This is perfectly portrayed alongside the deadpan Lymon (Ben Pettis) whose slow drawl makes him an easy target for miscalculation. He may seem codependent, but Pettis reveals through the begrudging glances that he’s just as eager to get out of this mess as Willie Boy is.
Beyond just being a fantastic show, the price of admission was worth it solely for the conclusion. Even with the small scale nature of Long Beach Playhouse’s main stage, there is something thrilling about watching the final 10 minutes play out. With the audience invested in every step, the slow descent into something supernatural creates a technical feat that not only thrills on a visual level, but ties everything thematically together. Add in the small jabs of humor, and it becomes a masterful way to end a haunted house story that’s far from the conventional scares. If anything, it’s haunting less because of what’s seen, but more what Wilson is suggesting with every meticulous piece of iconography.
In a body of work that asked complicated questions about identity and history, Wilson outdoes himself with The Piano Lesson. By investing in characters who are morally ambiguous and sometimes make prescient points alongside complete foolishness, he creates a drama that is sure to make audiences laugh as well as lean back in fear. There’s something comfortable to being in the same room of these characters, allowing a familiarity to form as the story unravels into something grander. Somewhere in all of the intimacy is the parts of humanity that may be difficult to ever agree upon. Things change and somebody will be downtrodden by the results. While it may not me the most digestible of the playwright’s work, it leaves a lot to mull over.
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