FORT WORTH — Their performances are so precisely rendered that after seeing Jonathan R. Freeman as Inside Brother and Taylor Harris as Outside Brother, it’s hard to imagine the actors switching roles in Amphibian Stage’s production of the new play Rift, or White Lies.
But that’s exactly what Freeman and Harris are doing during the rolling world premiere of Gabriel Jason Dean’s insightful drama about siblings on very different paths. Two other theater companies have created separate productions of Rift as well.
The staging by scenic designer Leah Mazur is alley-style, a two-level platform dividing seating on both of its sides. The setup is symbolic of brothers on opposite ends of the political spectrum, one a “woke” novelist, the other a white supremacist in prison for murder.
The choreography of their movements across the platform’s earth-toned tiles says as much about their relationship as Dean’s literate, naturalistic script. The role-switching from one performance to the next is meant to pose the question, How different are the characters, really?
Signs of childhood, including a bicycle and a wagon, and leaves scattered below the rim of the elevated stage evoke their shared upbringing.
Under the direction of Lily Wolff last Sunday afternoon, Freeman and Harris forged bright lines between Inside Brother and Outside Brother, even as common traits emerged over the course of their tête-à-têtes. Rift is framed as series of scattered prison visits after a 12-year estrangement, signaled by projections showing the amount of time that has passed. The actors never leave the room, changing clothes between scenes in front of the audience. It’s startlingly intimate.
Freeman’s wiry, orange jump-suited inmate is a tough, occasionally endearing liar with all manner of tattoos. The one on top of his head reads, “White Pride.” A Nazi swastika adorns his chest.
The wardrobe of Harris’ burly, tentatively ambitious academic evolves from shorts and a hoodie to a suit as he grows from struggling college student to married professor, father and best-selling author. He also may have a drinking problem, his troubles not as overt as his brother’s but still a looming threat.
They talk about everything from Outside’s first kiss to their father’s gospel group. At one point, Inside persuades his brother to sing. They argue over race as a construct, debating the kind of issues that offstage fill the air and airwaves of our divided country.
The audience gets a glimpse of prison life as a bandaged Inside Brother has been hurt in a fight as Rift opens. There’s funny business around several bags of snacks Outside Brother has brought for him. Like in other affecting dramas, Rift loosens up the audience with laughs before landing its hardest punches.
Inside’s conning Outside from the beginning even as he appears to be coming to grips with his racist views, supposedly studying for a GED and reading books recommended by his enlightened counterpart. “I’m the brawn, you’re the brains,” he says by way of deflection. They clearly care for each other.
Dean has an ear for the way people negotiate close, difficult relationships and the subtle shifts in attitude that result when the characters try to figure out what they want, how to get it and what it means. Basing the play on his relationship with his own half-brother, an incarcerated alt-right gang leader, he doesn’t pretend to have any answers, refusing to wrap up the narrative neatly.
Near the end of Rift, the platform stage parts in the middle, transforming for the one scene outside prison. It’s heart-wrenching as the choices each brother has made hit home. Whoever’s playing which role, that won’t change.
Details
Through May 11 at 120 S. Main St., Fort Worth. $7-$62. amphibianstage.com.
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