Bridge and Tunnel: The Play About The Borough

In this country populated by immigrants and their decedents, it's the Borough of Queens that holds the unofficial title as the most racially and culturally diverse place on the planet. Nowhere else on Earth are there so many languages spoken and so many nationalities represented. And it's in Queens where Sarah Jones sets Bridge and Tunnel, a play about the uneasy assimilation that often occurs when Americans deal with the thorny issue of what makes us different and what makes us the same.

 

 

During the great migrations of the late 19^th and early 20^th Centuries they proudly called America "The Melting Pot". It was a place where you tossed aside your old allegiances and blended into a homogenous citizen called Yankee Doodle. But in recent decades that concept fell out of favor and was replaced with the notion of a "Beautiful Mosaic"; a nation where people of many cultural backgrounds can celebrate what makes them unique and be unified by the ideals expressed in The Bill of Rights.

 

 

But in Bridge and Tunnel, Jones explores how ethnic pride has become, for some Americans, a red flag inviting suspicion. There's been a rising tendency for some to blend in again, for fear of stirring up misguided hatred and even detainment or deportation in the interest of national security.

 

 

It is a play, by the way. That point could be lost, what with the distraction of Ms. Jones' stunningly realistic portrayal of all of the piece's 14 characters (as directed by Tony Taccone), most of whom are participants in a poetry reading held by an organization called I.A.M.A.P.O.E.T.T.O.O. (I'll let your host for the evening explain what it stands for.) The plot may be thin, but the themes are deep, and though the text is a series of monologues they are part of a continuous time frame and I suspect they would lose much of their impact when taken out of the complete play, which could be performed by another actor, or even an ensemble of 14 actors, without changing a word.

 

 

After a frail but feisty woman, a participant in a program to give the homeless jobs as theatre ushers ("Don't feel sorry for me because I'm homeless. Feel sorry for me because I've seen Beauty and the Beast 400 times."), reminds us to turn our damn cell phones off, we meet a Pakistani man (just assume the "-American" for every nationality I mention, please) named Mohammed Ali, the host of his organization's fifth annual poetry reading. This is a group that came together through the Internet. Just like a theatre chat board, the members formed their own community over a mutual passion, often without knowing the gender, age or ethnic background of their fellow members. Five years ago this racially diverse group of men and women whose ages span at least 60 years gathered together for the first time to express their emotions through the spoken word. Then came 9/11 and the second annual event almost never was because venues were nervous about hosting a group participating in such a volatile act as free speech. And though Mohammed has reasons to believe there may be trouble tonight, he merrily emcees the festivities with good-natured humor.

 

 

The first poet of the evening is an elderly and apparently well-off Polish-Jewish woman from Long Island. Though some may see her as one of the privileged who wouldn't know of discrimination, she tells her colleagues of her childhood, when people could flaunt their bigotry against Jews without fear of repercussion. It is in the lightening-fast transition from the slick, energetic Pakistani man to the hunched-over Long Island accented women with the hand that shakes so much it seems a blur that we get the first taste of the Jones' acting brilliance.

 

 

The parade goes non-stop without an intermission. Each character is written with a point of view that reflects their specific culture and life experience and is depicted in exacting detail. In the time it takes to slip on a new jacket, Jones has completely changed her voice, her stature, her face, her body language… The changes are so quick and so complete they often exuded gasps from the audience the evening I attended.

 

 

The younger characters speak in harsh, angry voices. A young Vietnamese man, without a hint of his ancestry's accent, delivers a scathing attack on the Asian stereotypes that bombard him every day. A scorned Australian woman tells us, "I want to do a love poem. It's called Asshole." Even an adorably shy 11-year-old (of unspecified Latina heritage) combats the stage fright that is causing her leg to shake wildly, to loudly declare in verse, I Don't Want To Grow Up, listing her grievances against adulthood.

 

 

The older characters learn to adapt. A Chinese mother tells of her initial disappointment in learning that her daughter is gay, but now she is on stage to rehearse a speech she must soon make in court, pleading that her daughter's long-term partner not be deported because they do not have the right to marry. A Russian-Jewish man sees no point in re-living past tragedies. "In Russia, you're Jewish – that's enough. You don't need more story."

 

 

Everyone is sure to have their own special favorite in Bridge and Tunnel. Such as the wheelchair-bound Mexican union organizer who fights his own tears in telling why his wife cannot join him in this country. Or the lovable and funny Haitian women who dedicates her poem, God Bless America, But Not Because of You to the prejudiced real estate agent she found herself dealing with.

 

 

The design team of David Korin (set), Howell Binkley (lights) and Christopher Cronin (sound) does an excellent job of duplicating the atmosphere of a run down brick building slapped with paint and punched up with the lively music and harsh lights of a makeshift theatre.

 

 

As a Manhattanite, my friends and I sometimes grumble of "the bridge and tunnel crowd."  The expression has nothing to do with race. It's a reference to anyone who doesn't live or work in Manhattan who spends every weekend "going to the city", making our favorite hangouts unbearably crowded on Friday and Saturday nights. But aside from the minority who are native to this land, there are bridges and tunnels in all of our backgrounds, even if they're boats and planes.

 

 

I sincerely hope Ms. Jones eventually makes Bridge and Tunnel available for amateur and regional productions and allows each role to be cast individually. As remarkable as her performance is, the play may have even greater impact when you can truly see each character as an individual.

 

 

Photos of Sarah Jones by Paul Kolnik