In CLYDE’S, a stirring new play from two-time Pulitzer Prize winner Lynn Nottage and her frequent collaborator, director Kate Whoriskey (Ruined, Sweat), a truck stop sandwich shop offers its formerly incarcerated kitchen staff a shot at redemption. Even as the shop’s callous owner tries to keep them under her thumb, the staff members are given purpose and permission to dream by their shared quest to create the perfect sandwich. You’ll want a seat at the table for this funny, moving, and urgent play. It’s an example of Nottage’s “genius for bringing politically charged themes to life by embodying them in ordinary characters living ordinary lives” (The Wall Street Journal).
The full creative team for Clyde’s includes scenic design by Takeshi Kata, costume design by Jennifer Moeller, lighting design by Christopher Akerlind, sound design by Justin Ellington, original compositions by Justin Hicks and casting by The Telsey Office.
Clyde’s is supported by the Art for Justice Fund, a sponsored project of Rockefeller Philanthropy Advisors and by Terry and Bob Lindsay, with additional support provided by American Express.
duba, looking snatched in Jennifer Moeller's perfect costumes-first appears in a tight denim jumpsuit and leopard boots-and wearing Cookie Jordan's hair and wig designs like a parade of crowns, is excellent in a role that is slightly underwritten. Nottage seems interested in the tension between being in-charge and being plain rude, especially as perceived in women, but indulges Clyde's penchant for insults too much to remember to balance her out with much motivation. Perhaps Aduba's exacting performance, in which the venom pours deliciously from her lips, hints at a richer character than Nottage intended, but the result leaves a major gap where there should be a knowing reason.
What melts away as you get to know the characters are the monumental stigmas attached to jail time. Donovan's Jason is inked to the max with prison tats, some of them racist symbols, but the story behind them reveals something unexpected. Letitia, here called Tish, in Young's smashingly vibrant turn, is all adolescent energy and adult anxiety, the latter brought on as a single mother caring for a sick child. Salazar's hyper Rafael needs an emotional home for his nurturing instincts, as an alternative to his weakness for drugs.
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