Seven Guitars Reviews

I know most people here care far more about musical than plays (especially off-Broadway), but nevertheless, I thought I'd post a few reviews -- this production is sensational, topping even the Broadway production of a decade ago.

Brantley gives it a rave:

"“Seven Guitars” is the first of three Wilson productions from Signature’s 15th anniversary season, plans for which had begun before he was known to be ill. So when “Seven Guitars” opens with a scene of mourning, built around the empty space left by a death, the moment feels like an overture to a stately, presumably somber wake.

The solemnity does not last long, or rather, it continues, but only as a whispered bass line in a song whose dominant strands blare, tickle, lilt and, above all, exhilarate.

Directed with the intimacy and warmth of a fraternal embrace by Ruben Santiago-Hudson — and performed by seven ensemble members whose characters you come to know as if you had been seeing them every day for years — this production could scarcely be bettered as a reminder of the life force that courses through every word Wilson wrote.

In the world Wilson created in his remarkable 10-play cycle about the African-American experience in the 20th century, living fully means knowing that death is always walking at your side. Mr. Santiago-Hudson appeared as an actor in (and won a Tony for) the original Broadway production of “Seven Guitars,” and he seems to feel the play’s life-and-death rhythm as if it were his own heartbeat.
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The marvel of “Seven Guitars,” which is always true of Wilson at his best, is how large a social portrait emerges from seeming small talk: from bickering, joking, gossiping and idle scheming. From such conversation emerges a sense of an entire economic and legal system, stacked unwinnably against the black man; a social structure in which home and relationships are rarely fixed; and a folklore of rhymes and superstitions and recipes that acquire another layer every time they are repeated.

And of course there is music, which here assumes an ineffable strength that rivals that of death. “One day you be walking along, and the music jump on you,” Floyd says. “It just grab hold of you and hang on.” And so it does, in a spontaneous jam session that bubbles up among the men, or a saucy dance (in celebration of a victory by the boxer Joe Louis) in which bubbly sensuality turns ominous.

This metabolic shift in mood — of joy and geniality shading into violence — is repeated throughout the production with subtle, skilled insistence. “Seven Guitars” is a mystery story, in that the identity of Floyd’s killer is unknown until near the end. But unlike most conventional mysteries, this one makes the point that it’s the culture that’s the culprit.

Any of the characters — or at least any of the men — in “Seven Guitars” could have been the victim or the murderer.
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At one point Louise, alone on the stage, sits down and wonderingly recaps the day’s event. “They about to drive me crazy,” she says. “Who don’t know where the other one is or went or ain’t going or is going and this one’s dead and that one’s dying and who shot who and who sung what song.”

That’s about as good a summary as I can imagine of the plot of “Seven Guitars.” Wilson’s very audacity in including such a speech shows that he knows how much more than plot “Seven Guitars” is. This play is life-size, which means it is big indeed.

By the way, you can experience all this for only $15, the price for all seats in the Signature Theater Company’s August Wilson season. Even the characters in “Seven Guitars,” who could talk for hours about the cost and value of groceries and guns, would have to admit that’s one mighty good bargain.




http://theater2.nytimes.com/2006/08/25/theater/reviews/25guit.html

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Broadway.com is Positive:

"Seven Guitars sits smack in the middle of this fertile oeuvre; it is not Wilson's masterpiece, although Santiago-Hudson—who appeared as the insinuating Canewell in play's Broadway production—makes about as strong a case for the play as can be imagined. Its mix of naturalism and the supernatural is less than surefooted, but for most of its luxuriant running time (two hours, 45 minutes), it plays so fluidly we aren't likely to notice."
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At every turn except its last one, this production highlights the subtle, shifting shape of these transactions, which play like a backbeat under the exquisite, seemingly digressive music of the dialogue. Not a word seems wasted here; every exchange is a toast, a test or a trill on the central themes of negotiation, survival and hard-won self-respect. The competitive camaraderie between Floyd and Canewell, in particular, sounds a plangent note; a penultimate scene of missed connection between Ruff's Vera, who has finally succumbed to Floyd's hopeful importunings, and Carroll's Canewell has as much impact in its quiet way as any of the hapless Floyd's noisier travails.

Richard Hoover's extraordinary dirt-yard set spills down into the audience, belying its cramped dimensions with a palpable sense of offstage life. This is also true of Wilson's work, as sensitively realized here: In its imaginative specificity, the richly drawn world of Seven Guitars invokes a universe, not to mention a whole century, of struggle and splendor. We need not miss that never-to-be-written sequel; what Wilson left behind is more than plenty."


http://www.broadway.com/gen/Buzz_Story.aspx?ci=535549

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Theatremania is Positive:

"Music meant the world to the late August Wilson. And the more you study his plays -- as you can watching Ruben Santiago-Hudson's vital revival of Wilson's 1996 Broadway play Seven Guitars at the Signature Theater -- the more you realize something specific about the playwright's music preferences. He resonated like a guitar string to the blues. It's as if the 10-work cycle to which Seven Guitars belongs -- in which he sought a universal depiction of the African-American experience through intense concentration on Pittsburgh's Hill District -- was the result of both a throbbing need to get to the roots of the blues and a need to probe the tragic depths of heart, soul, and guts from which the blues emanated. From this conviction, Wilson produces bittersweet music himself, literally and figuratively.
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While Seven Guitars is desultory, the lapse can be forgiven here. Santiago-Hudson, who snared a Tony Award for playing Canewell in the original production and wrote the acclaimed Lackawanna Blues, proves to be an inspired choice to direct the revival. The title of his own play indicates he's hip to the spell the blues are capable of casting and craftily casts that spell himself. From the opening tableaux onward -- when five of the characters are caught in mourning attire (Karen Perry's costumes, including some fine 1940s shoes, are quite effective) -- the players are neatly in synch with both the text and each other. Weldon's Hedley is addled behavior on the hoof, while Reddick's Floyd is a long drink of calculated womanizing. Henderson, an eminent Wilson interpreter, moves like a Slinky as Red. As Vera, Ruff keeps Floyd in his place with forceful aplomb. Chain-smoking Old Golds, Brenda Pressley is a backyard firecracker, and Carroll and Freeman are no less animated.

Each of the seven actors is an ambulatory guitar, and -- along with Wilson's words -- they make beautiful music together in Seven Guitars."

http://www.theatermania.com/content/news.cfm/story/8879

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