A poetic conversation  by Clara Cassan

In October 2011, as part of the White Light Festival,  Peter Sellars’ Desdemona showed at The Rose Theater at Lincoln Center. The show, written by the acclaimed author Toni Morrison, tells the story of Othello’s characters—particularly Desdemona and her African maid Barbary—reuniting after death.

I was intrigued by the performance; I have often wondered what happens to our literary heroes after they are gone. In Shakespeare’s Othello, the main character kills himself after murdering his lover Desdemona. So what was it like for the spouses to meet after death?

The reviews introduce Desdemona as a play, though when I spoke to Morrison she insisted, “there’s nothing theatrical about it.” Instead, “Desdemona” is a poetic conversation, half sung in Malian by the African singer Rokia Traoré, who interprets the old servant Barbary, and half recounted by Tina Benko who portrays both Desdemona and the Moor. Rokia Traore’s voice is accompanied by two male musicians, one on a tom-tom and the other on the guitar.  The beat is similar to reggae: slow and repetitive.

Peter Sellars creates a minimalist scenery; the two women, barefoot and dressed in white, sat amidst glass bottles and floating light bulbs. They remained close to the floor throughout the entire length of the show, leaving most of the stage empty.  A sense of intimacy and closeness is achieved by this restrictive use of space.  I felt as if I was both part of the women’s reunion, because they seemed so approachable and inclusive, and yet I also felt kept at a distance and reminded of my place as a spectator. Indeed, the slow and monotonous tone of their exchange at times gave me the impression I was listening in on a heart-to-heart. The performance catches their conversation mid way, which makes it difficult to understand at first.  However, after a few minutes, Desdemona retells the story of herself and Othello, which bring us back into the loop.

The show is about the reunion of two cultures after they have been freed from social expectations by death. Indeed, in Shakespeare’s Othello there is a clear separation between white and black but the divide remains implicit. Racism is a given but it is never discussed openly. In Morrison’s version though, the ones who have been persecuted, especially Barbary, are able to stand up for themselves. During the conversation between the two women, Desdemona calls her maid ” her oldest friend.” After a short silence, Barbary corrects her and coldly replies,”I was your slave.” Most of Sellars’ show is about redefining misunderstandings and about Africa finding its voice. Yet, though the continent comes off as strong and independent, it also has its flaws. Othello represents the violent side of Africa. When Benko portrays him, her voice deepens and her tone becomes aggressive. She brings forth his violent nature, which is even more noticeable in contrast to the women’s poise.  While in the Elizabethan play the Moor nearly looses his noble reputation after killing his lover, in Morrison’s version there is the possibility of redemption.

The actresses’ words unravel as elegant prose, a fusion of imagery and truth, which we are invited to read on the screen behind them. After the show I heard members of the audience mistaking Morrison’s text for Shakespeare’s, and though Morrison assures us she was “not competing against” the playwright, the confusion is understandable. Her narrative creates a delicate universe. It reflects on love and pays homage to death through the mournful Willow Song, which concludes the performance. Though the play lingers a bit and the rhythm becomes repetitive, the poetic quality of the exchange and the intimate songs brought me into a trance that lingered after the show was over.

“I am writing for the blog Happening Africa,” I told Mrs. Morrison when I introduced myself to talk to her for this review. “Happening Africa?” She replied, “You’ll like the show, then.”