Megan Rippey, Jasmine Hughes and Joetta Wright in Pussy Valley. Photo by Rich Ryan.
Katori Hall, to her credit, does not, in Pussy Valley (Mixed Blood Theatre, though May 10) have an agenda. No authorial condescension is in evidence. As a straight forward portrait of the denizens of the Pink Pony, a gritty titty bar in the over-heated Mississippi Delta, Pussy Valley works beautifully. We get the desperate dancers; Uncle Clifford, the large-as-the-great-outdoors bouncer/bar runner/drag queen (a brilliant turn by Nicco Annan); the pathetic customers; the employees.
That Pussy Valley develops breath-taking power is undeniable. There is also a grimy hopelessness in evidence: greasy poles, angry boyfriends, impersonal sex. The play is also, imo, problematically episodic: homosexual rape, greedy preachers, drug addiction are introduced but never developed. PV lurches and wobbles. Then suddenly grabs you by the throat.
Pussy Valley: a provocative title. “Valley” implies shelter and focus. Isolation. And “pussy,” to me, suggests raw raunch and sexlessness. Indeed, though the lithe dancers spend an inordinate amount of time writhing on the stainless steel poles, there is no eroticism on display (or am I revealing my age?) Instead, we get bleak loneliness. Hopelessness sharpened by the characters’ tendency to rely on poses and offensive language – “Niggah,” “Bitch,” “Mississippi pussy is the best pussy in the world.”
(Lest you think that Pussy Valley is all offensiveness and drivel, know that Hall attempts, and often manages, flights of poetic marvel: “OG rule number 5: always keep something for yourself.” This one kept me up: what are the other rules?)
Hall takes her time. Pussy Valley, lugubrious and gloomy, moves slowly, clocking in at a solid three hours. Be prepared. Director Nataki Garrett and her team of designers handle the play well, but they doesn’t much help the length problem. If it is a problem; I thought so. You might not.
I’ve mentioned the extreme wonderfulness of Nicco Annan. You are unlikely to see a more play-energizing performance anywhere. The dancers – Miss Mississippi (Joetta Wright), Autumn Night (Tatiana Williams), Gidget (Megan Rippey) and Mercedes (Jasmine Hughes) – person the poles and manage to be compelling without being overtly (or distractingly) sexy. This is a real achievement; it’s not a criticism. As a portrait of loneliness and bleak desperation Pussy Valley will live in your memory for a long time.
Local A-Listers Ansa Akyea, James Craven and Mikell Sapp (beautiful as Lil’ Murder the Rapper) acquit themselves well. Ditto Dustin Bronson and Darrick Mosley.
Katori Hall is the author of the gorgeous and unusual The Mountaintop, produced last year by Penumbra in collaboration with the Guthrie. I wish Pussy Valley had this play’s discipline and taut focus. I can’t help but think that PV needs another pass-through. Or perhaps it wants to be a screenplay.
John Olive is a playwright, a screenwriter and a fictionist living in Minneapolis. His book Tell Me A Story In The Dark was recently issued by Familius, Inc. For more info visit www.johnolive.net.
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