Milwaukee Rep presents "American Song"

Reflections on fatherhood in a fractured America

I've seen some incredible theater at the Milwaukee Rep this season, but no show has humbled me so much as American Song. This world-premiere one-man play by Joanna Murray-Smith is truly a modern masterpiece, poetically addressing painful, poignant themes. It doesn't hurt that the solo talent in this Milwaukee Rep production is James DeVita, hailed by the Wall Street Journal as "America's finest classical actor." A bold statement to be sure, but seeing DeVita's performance in American Song made a believer out of me.

So what's the play about? The action is a man named Andy, a father and husband, building a wall. We watch him choose and lay stones and boulders as he tells us his life story — where he grew up, how he met his wife, how they had a baby, moved to New York, and how he landed a fancy job in sales. Andy paints a picture of a happy a life — a life that was, as he called it, "on track." 

But as he tells us about this perfect life, there's a shadow lurking. Andy frequently interrupts himself to question his life's actions: What inconsequential decisions had he made to lead to this moment? We come to find that Andy's smart, seemingly-normal, teenaged son was involved in a school shooting. In fact, he was one of the shooters, gunning down his peers before taking his own life. That was the day Andy's on-track life horrifically derailed.

His monologue, naturally, spirals into a black hole of questions: Did he do enough? Were there signs? Is the universe punishing him? Was there a flip that switched in his son's head — a chemical reaction? What happened to the little boy Andy knew? How did he get to this moment? Then there are questions about our greater American society: Access to firearms, technology, parenting, and so on. Andy doesn't have answers — just that black hole of questions. In this way, American Song resists preaching about or blaming any one evil. Rather, Andy's monologue draws all of these issues into the debate.

And debate we did. The Milwaukee Rep is doing something extraordinary with American Song, though it's much more a discussion than a debate. The play in done in one 90-minute act (Bravo James DeVita!) followed by a 5-minute response from a community leader and a 30-minute (or so) small group discussion amongst audience members. At the performance I saw, Paula Penebaker, President and CEO of the YWCA of Southeast Wisconsin, offered a 5-minute reflection (watch all the reflections here). I was also lucky enough to have Paula in my small group discussion, led by the Zeidler Center for Public Discussion.

In addition to Paula, our small group included myself, my friend Fritz, and two other women — a nurse and a 7th grade teacher. There was also our kindly discussion leader who taught us to use "I" statements and respect each other's time to speak. We were asked what resonated with us, and the dynamic perspectives amazed me.

The teacher wrestled with the idea of such atrocities happening in her own school. She voiced doubt in how to deal with students who might make the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It's a real struggle: remaining nonjudgmental vs. admitting concern for a student's odd behavior. See something, say something? She says you're "damned if you do, damned if you don't." As for the nurse, she told a story of a patient of hers with a suicide plan and a gun in his jacket pocket. She said she'd never felt that kind of crippling fear before.

Paula spoke of "otherness" and how we never think these things can happen to us, in our community — only to "other" people. As a black woman, she drew correlations to the black community — how white folks talk about the violence committed by "those people," and yet the gunmen in mass shootings are overwhelmingly young, affluent, white males. Her message was profound: That whether you're black or white, rich or poor, there's a pain and a gap that's at the root of any violent act. Can't we come together to help that pain? 

Then there was Fritz and I, the youngest of the group. What resonated the most with us was a quote from the play about being 30, which we nearly are. Andy says: "Sometimes I think the dumbest people in the world are around 30. Around 30, you are so fucking in love with yourself, you can’t see a thing. You’ve just got the hang of being a grown-up, but you’re not depressed about time ebbing. You’ve been handed the keys to the Porsche but you haven’t computed that you might possibly end up ramming it into a concrete pole. I was coming to the end of my twenties and I was a moron. I freely admit it."

That's some harsh perspective for a couple of 28-year-olds. But as Fritz said: "It's jarring, but you go forward with life and take that risk." The risk that you just might ram the Porsche into a concrete pole, despite all your best-laid plans. Andy's story shows us that you can do your darnedest to carefully build your life's wall, but cracks will form. Parts of the wall will crumble. It might bring the whole thing crashing down, or the surrounding stones might remain sturdy despite the weak spots. All we can do is our best — though, as a society, our best could most certainly be better. 

At the end of the play, Andy talks about our American Song, taken from Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. In the poem, Whitman speaks of the carpenter, the mason, the mother — each singing a song that belongs to themselves an no other. Andy questions today's songs — how we each are so focused on singing louder and stronger than the other guy, rather than singing in harmony. I don't remember how the exact quote went, but I was moved to tears. What a simple yet profound metaphor for this American life, and one that all Milwaukee theater lovers should hear, feel, and mull over for days, weeks, months, and a lifetime to come. Affected? Immensely. Humbled? Incredibly so. 

American Song is playing at the Milwaukee Rep now through April 10th. Information and tickets at milwaukeerep.com.