Being Alive

The cast of Billy Porter's "Being Alive"

Today I bundled up to the arts avenue of South Broad Street to see the final performance of Being Alive at the beautiful Suzanne Roberts Theatre. The five blocks I ran to the theatre while bearing the grit of the freezing rain and the city’s first snowfall, became a distant memory as I was amazed by the seven-cast, all African-American production which opened to the well-known Shakespeare quote, “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players.” Creator and director Billy Porter borrowed the English playwright’s poetry to piece together a story that walked the audience through the stages of life.

Using vibrant colors and fusing the music of jazz, gospel, hip-hop and R&B — most notably a rousing scene with a live band version of Beyonce’s Crazy In Love — the musical was an entertaining fusion of song and dance. The cast, ranging in ages to reflect the coming of age plot, sang in perfect pitch and harmony. Seriously. There was not a flat note belted nor an overindulgent run heard from either cast member. The play explored the complexities of “Being Alive” revealing the fears of a young child; a daughter’s feeling of protection in her father’s arms; love sealed with wedding vows; discovering your own voice; losing love and finding life after death.

Although some of Shakespeare’s prose used in the musical got lost in translation and the critics were less than kind in rendering their verdict of the production, I still respected Porter for tackling issues that are prevalent in Black families but don’t make it to the dinner table discussions. A young man’s struggle with homosexuality, the newlywed who receive the news of her husband’s death while at war, the orchestrators of war who are profiting from those casualties, the pressures of expectations mounted on the shoulders of youth; these conversations were exposed on stage. I admire Porter for his bravery and was honored to be sitting in the same row as him, just the two of us in the last row of orchestra center.

I was pleased to hear, before the show began, that this performance would be the last run of the musical. Not because I wanted it to be over, but because I knew each person would give their all, more so than on open night. After the curtain goes down for the last time and standing ovations end, these men and women like all others in the world of theater would return to a place of uncertainty. The “players” of acting, hustle for roles and give their all not knowing how long the gap will be until they return to the stage.

I watched the director enjoying the musical with ease, which I’m sure was a stark contrast from his demeanor opening night. He was paying such close attention to every expression, note, motion, and gesture as if he were photographing each moment. When the cast took their final bow, he applauded vehemently then burst into tears. Comforted by a friend who sat across the room, the director walked out of the theatre wiping his eyes. This was a moment of celebration, why the tears, I thought. But, just as the curtain call fell on the aspiring cast one last time, the same was true for Porter.

Walking, or should I say sauntering out of the theatre, I had to admit that I felt a little more “Alive.” Now, I could thank one of the leading men, who resembled Columbus Short, sang like an angel and looked right into my eyes during every song (it doesn’t matter that I was sitting center view in front of the sound man) for my surge of youthful glee. But it was the whole night, though him especially, that gave me a new set of eyes to look at my present and my future. Lately, I’ve been struggling with a God-given lesson: life is a process, not an event. I can’t fast-forward past the parts that suck or the act that seems too long (though I may want to). Nor can I pause a favored frame. I have to enjoy every “Being Alive” until the final curtain call.