It always puzzles me when fellow critics take notes during a performance. I’ll notice them scribbling away on their note pads or in the margins of the press kit – sometimes sedately, sometimes madly – and wonder how they can possibly foster an osmotic relationship with the performance. Imagine my bafflement, then, on learning that the performance of A Raisin in the Sun I attended also happened to be an evening of experimentation by the Centre Theatre Group. Billed as a “Tweet Seat Event,” CTG invited a select number of Tweeting theatre goers and “social media enthusiasts” with sufficiently large followings to sit in the back row and tweet away from both the Kirk Douglas Theatre and the Mark Taper Forum’s companion production of Clybourne Park. If dividing one’s attention between notepad and performance seems counter to the idea of theatre as an immersive experience, what should we think about people glued to their smartphones, attempting to share their experience in the mangled English of thoughts expressed in 140 characters or less? Looking over the tweets, the end results fall in various categories: Reactions to individual lines (“That’s the way the crackers crumble. Lol” writes tweeter KaylaCagan), reactions to particular situations, and descriptions of audience reactions (including when the uncouth allow their cell phones to ring). Forgive me, but is any of this supposed to be insightful? Informative? Reading through the various tweets (http://twitter.com/#!/search?q=%23WhereWeLive), it’s not clear what to extract from the stream: A supplement, a proxy, a cheer? All three, I suppose. But given tweeter anxiastudio’s admission – “yeah I think I’d need two viewings! One to absorb and one to tweet and promote” – the experiment isn’t very encouraging. I’m all for innovation within reason, but to voluntarily sacrifice the immediacy of a live theatrical experience in favor of an experience mediated and, dare I suggest, diluted by technology, strikes me as a step backwards for theatre. I suppose, however, that it’s a step, forward or not, for marketing.

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From left, Deidrie Henry, Kevin T. Carroll, Kim Staunton, Kenya Alexander and Brandon David Brown

While we’re on the topic of the generation gap, since social media is at the blurry boundaries between generations, it seems like a good place to enter the fray and what the fuss is all about: The excellent revival of a seminal play in American theatre. Defined by the black experience of America prior to and including the 1950s, we find two generational outlooks in friction. The older generation, intimately connected with slavery and overt racism, has settled into relief at finally obtaining emancipation. As products of that emancipation, the younger generation comes laden with ambition for more, articulating the view that it’s not to be free of legal and physical shackles; culture and economy count for as much toward achieving a dignified human life. Youth, of course, isn’t necessarily consistent, and Younger family matriarch Lena, content with settling into her generation’s victories, is confronted with her children’s conflicting perspectives on what to do next. The older brother, Walter Lee, looks towards the future where blacks own businesses and property, as prosperous and worthy as any white. Beneatha, Walter’s fiercely intellectual younger sister, prefers to repudiate what she calls assimilation into white America, turning instead to Africa for identity – the future through the past, in a sense. On the outside is Walter’s wife, Ruth, who shares Lena’s vision of staking out a quiet home and disengaging, finding comfort in life’s simple domesticity.

Testament to Lorraine Hansberry’s shining acumen as a playwright and her own family’s experiences, the generation gap proves a roiling cauldron. One finds themes both philosophical and emotional: Feminism in the form of Benethea’s struggle for intellection liberation and self-determination; class mobility as expressed in the tug-of-war between poverty and luxury; the struggle to offer children a better future; the effects and legacy of racism cloaked, not in the white hoods of the KKK, but in gentility; and more, in a play that is rich in humanity.

Phylicia Rashad offers tight, focused direction that builds suspense and heart-wrenching drama as we wonder what the characters will do with the $10,000 in life insurance money left behind by the family’s deceased patriarch, and what effect reaching a decision will have on seemingly frail family ties. Picking a standout performance is a thankless task, and rather pointless, as the cast is universally able to draw on that deep well of human emotion to deliver the play’s complex characters. We can take sides in the various character disputes, but ultimately find relief when the characters earn their hopeful convergence, as a family, however tentative. The set by Michael Ganio is architectural in its accomplishment, a character on its own merits with its depiction of a battered but cozy apartment in a worn brick building.

I can’t speak for the tweeters in the back row, but the impression that comes to me from the intersection of setting, character, and play – without smartphone in hand – is that of the full-body immersion one hopes for from a theatrical production. As usual, Kirk Douglas audiences lavished the production with a standing ovation, something they do with alarming consistency. While I don’t quite share in this mania and firmly believe ovations should be parceled out with all the parsimony Michelin uses to hand out stars to worthy restaurants, I’ll say this much: A Raisin in the Sun is one of the best productions put on by the Kirk Douglas Theatre since its inception, and a must-see for lovers of theatre.

A Raisin in the Sun, by Lorraine Hansberry. Directed by Phylicia Rashad. Performances by Kenya Alexander, Keith Arthur Bolden, Brandon David Brown, Kevin T. Carroll, Jason Dirden, Deidrie Henry, Amad Jackson, Scott Mosenson, Kem Saunders, Kim Staunton, and Ellis E. Williams. On stage at the Kirk Douglas Theatre until Sunday, Feb. 19. For tickets and information, visit http://www.centertheatregroup.org/tickets/reserve.aspx?performanceNumber=8547

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