Sally & Tom Off-Broadway Reviews

Director Steve H. Broadmax III keeps the action bubbling, the parallel story lines clear and swift. Set designer Riccardo Hernández even manages to endow the boxy Martinson stage with a bit of mystery and depth. Partway through, a pentimento emerges from a splotchy, black-and-white background wash of … what? Foliage? Dirt? Blood? The story of Sally and Tom will haunt you – as it should.

The subtlety, cleverness and humanity with which “Sally & Tom” approaches the story of Hemings and Jefferson, dazzlingly doubled in the story of the troupe putting it on, come as no surprise at all. They are the hallmarks of an author incapable of writing a line unfilled with the bewildering burden — or is it the treasure? — of human contradiction. Indeed, Parks begins with an unprovable yet also undisprovable thesis. She has Luce, the author and star of “The Pursuit of Happiness,” decree: “This is not a love story.”

Sally & Tom—now at the Public under the direction of Steve H. Broadnax III after its premiere at the Guthrie Theater in the fall of 2022—is as concerned as Parks has ever been with bones and graves. But this time, there’s a good deal of padding to cushion our drop into the pit — too much padding, perhaps. It’s not just the damask and lace of Rodrigo Muñoz’s late-18th-century costumes, or the well-mannered minuets and sprightly fiddle tunes that score much of the piece (Parks also co-composed the music with Dan Moses Schreier): There’s something soft about the play, a little ingenuous and underbrewed. I kept waiting for the turn, the slap in the face.

Parks manages to locate touch points between the 18th and 21st centuries in ways that audiences should find provocative and even thrilling. Gently chiding TJ for hiding his intentions, Sally reminds him, “We build our castle on a foundation of your promises.” Well, isn’t that the foundation of the nation? The structure Jefferson et al so hopefully wrought has lived up to its potential for few if any of its citizens, just as Mike and Luce are far from firmly establishing their personal and professional relationship as a Good Company. The promise of full freedom is always just out of reach, yet the attempt to shape our reality to the ideal must be never-ending. We hold that truth to be self-evident.

Ms. Parks knows what you’re thinking: Oy, another play (it could just as well be a movie, or a book) reducing a dead white man who did undeniably great things to his worst transgressions and judging him by standards vastly different than our current ones. “Sally & Tom” acknowledges this dilemma, openly and cleverly, by studying its central duo in a transparently modern context, thus allowing its playwright to nod to — and even have fun with — contemporary mores and hangups without letting historical demons off the hook.

The eight members of the cast give their most absorbing performances as the 18th century characters. Rodrigo Muñoz’s authentic-looking costumes – surely better than Good Company could afford – help make the scenes at Monticello feel you-are-there real, not a rehearsal. The performers’ many interactions as the present-day members of the troupe (too minor to be considered full-fledged subplots) are less interesting as a whole.

Despite this clever self-reflexive streak – who doesn’t love a play within a play? – Parks may have bitten off a little more than we can chew. There are bursts of her usual brilliance: Sally & Tom's beautiful language, its grasp on the contradictions of history and emotion, its exploration of the often inadequate platforms Black people are given (if at all) to reckon with the past and hope for the future. But the meta-theatrical play stuffs in too many numerous character threads as Sally & Tom toggles between onstage and backstage at Good Company, where the character’s insights and anxieties come out.

There’s another thing going on, not around the edges of “The Pursuit of Happiness,” but of “Sally & Tom.” At times, the plays recalls one of those vintage Hollywood movies where the wealthy couple upstairs carries the moral weight of the story and the domestics downstairs are there for comic relief or merely to comment on what the lead characters are doing. Whether Irving and Ebert are playing Sally and Tom or Luce and Mike, they are meant to be taken seriously, which is more than can be said for the gay couple, played by Fowler and Petzold, who just happen to be the two worst actors in the Good Company.

Parks has described herself as a “myth head” who likes to color outside of history’s lines; paradoxically, the most variegated moments in her latest effort are not the historically inspired ones or the ones thinly disguised as essays, but the processual ones evoking the hurly-burly of dress rehearsals. Changing costumes, applying makeup, practicing swings and punches, the actors make us care about their unplanned pregnancy, their run-in with cops, their terror of being off-book, their prospects of getting cast in an indie film.