THEATER REVIEWS : ‘Sisters’ Reveals the Pain Beneath the Comic Stereotypes

In Marsha A. Jackson’s “Sisters,” two women from different worlds are trapped in a high-rise office during a power failure on New Year’s Eve--a plot device that may sound painfully predictable, but consider this: The executive and the cleaning lady are black.

And they are far from being “sisters.” The only things they share at the outset are distrust and contempt for each other that stem from their class differences.

The Southeast Community Theatre, San Diego’s only black theater company, is presenting this gutsy comedy about intraracial conflict through Sunday at the Lyceum Space in Horton Plaza. An audience of about 250 packed the theater on a recent Saturday night and gave the show a standing ovation.

“Sisters” has been a crowd pleaser since 1987 when it premiered at JOMANDI, a theater in Atlanta, where Jackson is co-artistic managing director. It was a hit at the National Black Arts and National Black Theater festivals and has been performed in New York, St. Petersburg, Oakland and Philadelphia.

Yes, it’s manipulative. You know that the barbs will be followed by soul baring and tears, and that, ultimately, this odd couple will become “sisters” solving their personal and professional problems together. But Jackson keeps the journey funny and even offers some valuable insights along the way.

Sylvia M’Lafi Thompson plays the cleaning lady, Cassie Charles, with a sass that transcends class. “Slap me,” she says to the executive, Olivia (Kathi Gibbs), whose superior attitude has grated on Cassie once too often. “If this isn’t a bad dream, I want a good excuse to kill you.”

Gibbs’ wide eyes and artfully conveyed repression give Cassie ample opportunity to score jokes at Olivia’s expense.

“I went to a predominantly white college,” Olivia begins.

“Noooooo,” Cassie says.

Olivia, of course, has her own tales--and she tells them--of trying to make it in a white world: of giving her life to the company only to end up feeling that she still can’t make it to the top because of her color, of wanting to quit because--let’s face it--life isn’t fair.

Olivia does have a few things to teach Cassie about reaching her potential. But Cassie, a high school dropout and single mother, tells Olivia how selfish it is to give up in the face of unfairness. And she has even more to say on the subject of Olivia’s losing touch with her sister, her only living relative.

Floyd Gaffney’s intelligent direction keeps the focus on the humanity that drives the story. Through memory voice-overs, particularly of the taunting kids from Cassie’s street-kid past, he never lets us forget that these are real people with real pain underneath the comic stereotypes. He is never afraid to stop the laughter for a moment to remind us to take a deep breath and feel.

Jane Lamotte’s sturdy set suggests an office with minimalist flair. But the best design element is Judy Watson’s costuming--particularly Cassie’s wild floral stretch pants, gaudy earrings, gold lame shoes and frizzy blond bob.

Kudos, too, to the Southeast Community Theatre itself, a 32-year-old company on a shoestring budget that presents one new or little-known work about the black experience each summer, as well as an annual Christmas production of “Black Nativity.”

*

Years ago, SEC was the first troupe to offer the pre-Tony and Pulitzer Prize-winning plays of August Wilson. Jackson’s “Sisters” may not be in that league, but it shows another face of the black experience that is well worth seeing.

* “Sisters,” Lyceum Space, 79 Horton Plaza, San Diego. Thursday-Saturday, 8 p.m.; Sunday, 2:30 and 7 p.m. Ends Sunday. $8-$12 . (619) 235-8025. Running time: 1 hour, 57 minutes. Sylvia M’Lafi Thompson Cassie Charles

Kathi Gibbs Olivia Williams

A Southeast Community Theatre production of a play by Marsha A. Jackson, directed by Floyd Gaffney. Technical direction: David Goode. Sets: Jane Lamotte. Costumes: Judy Watson. Lights: Trevor Norton. Sound: Derek Smith. Stage manager: Joshua Coleman. Assistant stage manager: Nakissa Etemad.