David Mamet's "Race' on Broadway

"This isn't about sex, it's about race."

"What's the difference?"

This startling exchange occurs midway through David Mamet's new play about sex and race, currently receiving a vigorous Broadway premiere under the author's direction.

Just as Mamet's provocative Oleanna closed at one Broadway theater, this new provocation opened at another. If your old gender war wounds have scarred over, go get yourself some new ones at this knockout of a production of what is likely to join the growing list of Mamet's underappreciated plays. (How else are we to defend ourselves than by saying that the play is too thin, too short, too schematic, etc., etc.?)

Stepping into the national conversation about race— the most difficult conversation Americans can hold— Mamet expresses equal-opportunity cynicism. In the words of the riveting James Spader, playing a smart, slick, blindingly articulate lawyer (shades of "Boston Legal"), "I think all people are stupid. I don't think black people are exempt." And we're off.

Rooting for the bad guys

The plot revolves around a law firm and a volatile case: a rich white man (Richard Thomas) is accused of raping a young black woman in a hotel room. His innocence or guilt becomes one of several debates within the play— Mamet is an old hand at making us root for the bad guys. Thomas's skillful naiveté is both convincing and suspect in a subtle and shaded performance.

Spader and his black law partner (David Alan Grier, wearing some nifty smugness) concoct a shrewd defense, only to discover that they have been betrayed by their firm's youngest member, a black woman (Kerry Washington— even stern legalized shirts and skirts can't disguise her great looks). Although we can see what's coming too far in advance, the point is, nevertheless, driven home with ferocity. "Hatred, fear and envy: the trifecta of all law cases," plays itself out with grim inevitability.

And Mamet tosses in another grim inevitability: In his view, it's always the young woman who, for various ambiguous reasons, undermines the men. Consider Karen, the temp secretary in Speed-the-Plow; or Glenna, the actress/waitress in Edmond; or Carol, the student in Oleanna; or even the unseen "Fuckin' Ruthie, fuckin' Ruthie, fuckin' Ruthie, fuckin' Ruthie, fuckin' Ruthie" in American Buffalo.

Guilt vs. shame

"Guilt," Mamet pints out, through Spader's character, "is a legal term. Shame is a feeling"— which, he maintains, is common to all humanity. And the audience— the surrogate jury— is swayed and shoved from one side to the other in this Shavian dialectic.

As the lawyer tells us, people conjoin into groups, and which way we sway or which way we shove back depends, in part, on which group we feel part of— black or white, male or female, young or old. As Grier's character resignedly remarks, "We all have to put up with a lot from each other."

Mamet's talent for aphoristic dialogue rides high in Race, and we hear quotable line after quotable line, each delivered with breathtaking precision, speed and Mametude. The impressive cast has done the playwright justice, so to speak: "It's a complicated world. That's why we have lawyers."

Miller's faith, Mamet's cynicism

With the death of Arthur Miller, Mamet became America's foremost theatrical culture critic. But unlike Miller, who believed that we "could be better," as Chris tells his father in All My Sons, Mamet conveys no such hope. In his best plays, Mamet reveals again and again his opinion of human beings who, motivated by greed for money and lust for power, willingly lie, cheat, manipulate and, when that doesn't work, resort to violence.

The name of the Mamet game is betrayal: Everyone betrays everyone— individually or collectively. And the feeling of betrayal— individually or collectively— creates rage. And rage…. Thus the body politic.♦


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