By Samuel L. Leiter . . . 

The key figure in Tori Sampson’s (If Pretty Hurts Ugly Must be a Muhfucka) promising, well-acted, but less than satisfying play, This Land Was Made, at Off-Broadway’s Vineyard Theatre, is Huey P. Newton (1942-1989), one of the most remarkable figures associated with the Black Power movement of the 1960s and 1970s. Cofounder in 1966, with Bobby Seal, of the Black Panther Party—an explosively controversial, revolutionary political group with a Marxist-Leninist ideology created in Oakland, CA—his life was filled with contradictions. 

Closely associated with acts of violence (often theorized as self-defense in opposition to police oppression), he was also responsible for highly positive social programs, such as Free Breakfast for Children. Newton’s existence was filled with notorious incidents, including—among numerous others—his 1968 conviction for involuntary manslaughter in the shooting of two police officers, one of whom died (Newton’s conviction was overturned two years later), and his own murder in 1989. 

Julian Elijah Martinez and Matthew Griffin

This Land Was Made covers events of 1967 and 1968 in two acts, running an hour and 50 minutes; while Newton—who deserves a more expansive theatrical (or filmic) treatment—plays an important, sympathetically treated role, it’s not a biodrama. Newton, instead, is present more as a catalyst for the expression of ideas and the development of other characters than as an entity unto himself. None of those others, fictional, is as memorable, of course; but, through his presence, Sampson, who says her own mother “was nurtured and loved by Black Panthers,” gets to examine racial attitudes of the turbulent 1960s, many as alive today (see the large Black Lives Matter mural down the block from the Vineyard) as they were back in the day. 

As so often in plays seeking to focus on diverse ways of looking at a central issue, Sampson plops her people down in the ultra-conventional environment of a working-class bar, Miss Trish’s (designed by Wilson Chin), in 1967 Oakland. The place is run by the eponymous owner (Libya V. Pugh), a Creole transplant from Louisiana, whose grits are a local favorite, and her daughter, Sassy (Antoinette Crowe-Legacy), in her early 20s. Sassy has her own barbering setup in the saloon, where she clips her male clientele’s Afros, the coiffure du jour. (I couldn’t figure out, though, what she’s supposed to be doing with the shiny cranium of a bald customer.) 

Yasha Jackson and Antoinette Crowe-Legacy

The boldly outspoken Sassy, ambitious for a way out of her limited world, is also a would-be writer, taking notes for a book about the everyday people who are the heart of Oakland. Known also by her birth name, Karen (an odd choice nowadays), she serves as the play’s storyteller, in the manner—as she directly informs us—of a West African griot, occasionally snapping her fingers to effect instant lighting and atmospheric changes. The play, then, is her memories, and, as per the convention for such familiar dramatic structures, she not only introduces it—as a survivor—but concludes it with a summing up of what came after (hint: you can go home again). Her aim: to set “the muthafuckin’ record straight.” The problem: she doesn’t make clear what needs straightening out.

Again, as per the formula, Miss Trish’s is frequented by a handful of sharply differentiated regulars; unfamiliar customers rarely walk through its door, making us wonder how such joints manage to stay in business. The regulars are Drew (Leland Fowler), in his early 20s, a rootless admirer of the Panthers who refuses to work for white folks; Sassy’s boyfriend, Troy (Matthew Griffin), a well-spoken, polite law student who, wishing to assimilate into white society, holds conservative views toward law enforcement that clash with the radical ones of Newton; Gail (Yasha Jackson), a flashily flirtatious young woman looking for a good time but still grieving the loss of her lover, Trish’s son and Sassy’s brother, Jonathan, killed in Viet Nam; and the middle-aged Mr. Far (Ezra Knight), he of the shaved head, a father figure to Sassy who runs an auto repair shop and has reservations about Newtonian ideology. 

Only when Newton (Julian Elijah Martinez), spreading his word about the liberation of Black people, walks in, a bandolier of bullets slashed across his torso, accompanied by acolyte Gene (Curtis Morlaye), does the outside world intrude. 

Leland Fowler and Antoinette Crowe-Legacy

Peppering the dialogue with occasional laugh lines, Sampson interrogates the relative positions of the characters vis à vis the position of the Black Panthers. The feisty Trish, for example, prefers to preserve the status quo, where each race minds its own business rather than engaging in constant power plays. Central is the contrast between Troy and Huey, Troy considering Huey a narcissistic martyr for being willing to let his loved ones suffer while sacrificing himself for his cause. Troy, whom Huey strives to convert, will begin evolving politically after he pays a price for his color. Newton’s rhetoric rings a bell when he delivers a fiery address at San Francisco State. However, the play introduces too many interpersonal emotional and romantic conflicts that muddle the focus and weaken the dynamic of its political core. 

The mix of Black Panther politics, concentrated on issues such as the need for Black people to be armed for self-defense against cops who can kill at will, or the imperative for Blacks to take advantage of their numbers by rising up, is supplemented by topics like the background to Black participation in the VietNam War. This latter is made especially pertinent by boxing champ Muhammed Ali’s punishment for his conscientious objection. Among other well-trod paths are the role of skin color (lighter vs. darker) in the acceptance by whites of African Americans. Sampson sometimes seems to be checking the boxes of Black grievance, other times creating an ambience—as well as characters—bordering on cliché. 

Yasha Jackson, Leland Fowler, Antoinette Crowe-Legacy, Matthew Griffin, Ezra Knight and Libya V. Pugh

The encounter during which Newton allegedly shot two cops—killing one—is physically dramatized by being shown in alternate versions, but nonetheless suggests that someone—no spoilers here—other than he pulled the trigger. The details of that incident have been examined in great detail, of course, so we’re forced to wonder why we should accept Sampson’s radical interpretation. What makes hers the “muthafuckin’” truth? 

Taylor Reynolds’s staging is efficient, although she could have her actors cut back somewhat on the shouting. Lighting designer Adam Honoré gets to play with surrealistic effects in a few sequences, and Fan Zhang offers a creative sound and music score; but co-costumers Dominique Fawn Hill and Deshon Elem might have used a bit more pizzazz in their period recreations. This Land Was Made—a title lifted from Woody Guthrie, perhaps as an ironic commentary on who exactly it was made for—has its heart in the right place but, apart from giving some of Huey Newton’s thoughts a platform, leaves much to be desired.

This Land Was Made. Through June 25 at the Vineyard Theatre (108 East 15th Street, between Irving and Union Square East). www.vineyardtheatre.org 

Photos: Carol Rosegg

Cover Photo: Libya V. Pugh, Leland Fowler Julian Elijah Martinez, Ezra Knight