Revolutions leave deep scars, the deepest from when they don't achieve all their expectations. Same for relationships.
Kenyatta, the central character in Dominique Morisseau's searing "Sunset Baby," receiving its Baltimore/Washington debut at Rep Stage, won a kind of fame as a major figure in an underground branch of the black power movement. He spent time in prison for his role in a robbery on behalf of the cause.
Years later, Kenyatta wants to make a kind of peace with a casualty of those revolutionary days -- his only child, Nina, who he has not seen since she was a kid.
The death of her mother, Ashanti X, another well-known revolutionary force, prompts Kenyatta to seek out Nina again. But there are complications, layers of complications, and these give Morisseau's one-act drama its tension, its persistent bite.
The play takes place in Nina's Brooklyn apartment, which she shares, more or less, with her boyfriend Damon. These two have a touch of Bonnie and Clyde in them, but the victims of their crime spree are fellow African Americans -- one more twist in this edgy tale.
When Kenyatta shows up, it's not just to reconnect with his daughter. There is the matter of some never-mailed letters Nina's mother wrote to Kenyatta when he was in prison. He wants to see them; Nina considers them personal and, because of nibbles from prospective publishers, valuable property.
Those closely guarded letters provide a tangible link to a revolutionary struggle that doesn't really register with the current generation. Nina's life-choices seems to be the ultimate rebuke of visionaries like Kenyatta. When he arrives unexpectedly at her apartment, the collision of past and present is palpable.
Morisseau goes after several issues in this gritty, not always sturdy drama. One key focus is the volatile topic of parental responsibility and African American males -- in addition to Kenyatta's case, Damon has his own issues involving a young son (not by Nina).
The equally complex matter of how children deal with a missing father adds body to the work. And then there are the touchy subjects of drug use and violence -- Ashanti X was an addict; Nina and Damon make their living through drug sales and robberies.
All very heavy stuff. The play stumbles at times under that weight, but Morisseau has an effective way of creating and sustaining tension. And she writes with great vividness, with many a nuance and bits of humor slipping into the 'n'-word-peppered language. (I'm not sure, though, about having Nina drop the word "didactic" amid lots of street talk, but that's a minor matter.)
The Rep Stage production features a solid cast, directed with a fine sense of pacing and naturalness by Joseph W. Ritsch.
Jefferson A. Russell, who left a lasting mark on Everyman Theatre's premiere of David Emerson Toney's "The Soul Collector" several years ago, gives a telling performance as Kenyatta, a man trying to fit his past into an off-putting present.
The actor is especially deft at revealing the softening of this one-time firebrand in the recurring scenes where he records thoughts and feelings he wants Nina to hear ("Please don't erase," he says into the microphone).
Nina is a bundle of mixed signals. She harbors dreams of moving to London thanks to travel shows on TV, and has developed a taste for tej. But she can switch into tough, crass hustler mode at the drop of a thigh-high boot.
Valeka J. Holt delivers a mostly convincing portrayal, underlining the steel and stubbornness of a woman who resents her "broken down, pseudo-activist" of a father for a long list of reasons.
Holt also lets the suppressed warmth and need in this embittered woman emerge subtly. A prime example comes in the scene where Kenyatta produces photographs of Nina as a child; the way Holt moves her chair a fraction of an inch closer to him at that moment speaks volumes.
Manu Kumasi shines as the cocky Damon, who can't understand why the mother of his son is always "making me out to be the bad guy, when I'm only half-bad." The performance has a fire and energy that gives the production a good jolt.
The roughness of the lives led by Nina and Damon seems to call out for a grimier setting than the one Daniel Ettinger has tastefully designed.
The most affecting atmospheric touch comes from vintage records of Nina Simone (the Nina in the play was named after the great jazz singer). Hearing even a portion of the indelible Simone singing "Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair" is enough to conjure up a wealth of images and echoes from the days when Kenyatta was so sure he would change the world.