|
Thursday, February 12 @ 7:30
Friday, February 13 @ 7:30 Saturday, February 14 @ 7:30 Sunday, February 15 @ 2:00 WELCOME MESSAGEGood evening, and welcome.
On behalf of Face Off Theatre Company, thank you for being here for Freedom Isn’t Finished: A Black Midwest Voices Project. When we began dreaming about Season 11, we knew we wanted to return to our roots. Face Off was built on new work—on creating space for stories that don’t always get produced, for voices that don’t always get amplified, and for conversations that don’t always feel easy. We wanted to begin this season during Black History Month not only to honor the past, but to actively participate in shaping the present. The question we posed to playwrights across the Midwest was simple, but layered: Is freedom finished? The responses we received were bold, tender, complex, and urgent. These six brand-new plays are not polished monuments—they are living, breathing works in progress. And that is intentional. At Face Off, we believe in what we call our Living Stage Philosophy. Theatre is not a one-way performance—it is a shared experience. Tonight, you are not just audience members. You are collaborators in development. After the reading, we’ll invite your reflections so these playwrights can continue refining their work. Your presence, your listening, and your feedback matter. Because historically, when the world feels uncertain or unkind to marginalized communities, we gather. We tell stories. We process. We imagine. We resist. We heal. This project has been a return home—for our playwrights, for our actors, for our directing cohort, and for me personally. And we’re grateful you’ve chosen to be in the room with us. Freedom is not a finished conversation. It is not a completed project. It is an ongoing practice. Thank you for being part of it tonight. Let’s begin. Marissa Harrington |
The Carver Center @ The Kalamazoo Civic Theatre
419 S. Park Street Kalamazoo, MI 49007 Freedom Isn’t Finished includes presence of a gun, flashing lights, strong language, and themes related to mental health, including suicide.
Audience members are welcome to step out at any time. Support resources are available through Gryphon Place -211 |
|
HattieMy approach to this story begins with my interest in Black American entertainment heroes, icons who shaped American culture while carrying the cost of being first. I am drawn not only to their achievements, but to the emotional weight that often accompanies recognition that is conditional.
That weight became personal to me while watching my daughter accept an award for a poetry contest she had won and been published for. Surrounded by a room filled almost entirely with white families, the applause following her acceptance speech was noticeably quieter than that given to her white counterparts. In that moment, I witnessed how success does not always guarantee belonging. Hattie McDaniel’s legacy exists within a similar contradiction. Though she made history as the first Black actor to win an Academy Award, she left no personal account of that night. What remains is silence, an absence that invites us to imagine not the celebration itself, but the emotional cost of standing alone within it. There is a particular burden that comes with being the first, especially at the intersection of race and gender in a country that has long othered both. That burden is shaped by hope, fear, and uncertainty, even in moments meant to signify triumph. American literature has long asked what happens to a dream deferred. Hattie poses a different question. How do you reconcile with a dream fulfilled when its fulfillment is marked by limitation and isolation? This play centers the moment before history is made, capturing Hattie suspended between hope for a changing Hollywood and the reality of its resistance. By focusing on this space, I aim to invite the audience into the complexity of a victory that is both monumental and incomplete. Hattie asks us to sit with that tension and to consider what it truly means to be first and what it costs to be remembered as such. Black White and GrayBlack men are rarely allowed to see themselves reflected as heroes within the laws of this country. Too often, heroism is defined by who the system chooses to forgive, while those who challenge unjust rules are labeled criminals. Bernard is a hero to me because he dares to name his injustice aloud. Always one step ahead of the room, he chooses to face the consequences on his own terms. This play speaks to the small but exhausting battles that marginalized people continue to fight. In workplaces that refuse to value their voices. In school systems that fail to nurture young creative minds. In media spaces that often neglect their responsibility in shaping how marginalized communities are seen and understood. These moments may appear ordinary, but they accumulate into a constant negotiation of dignity. Less than a week before reading this script, I found myself in a laundromat when a white man imposed his political views onto my presence. There was no confrontation and no triumphant response. I simply stood there with my clothes, preparing for the week ahead. What stayed with me was the realization that this ordinary moment was once denied to people who looked like me. Someone had to sit in jail. Someone had to be refused service. Someone had to demand access for me to stand there without fear. That recognition reshaped how I approached this play. My vision for Black White and Gray centers quiet resistance rather than spectacle. Bernard’s power lies not in aggression, but in his refusal to shrink. The play asks us to reconsider where heroism truly lives and to recognize the courage required simply to exist fully in spaces that were never built for us |
XAVIER BOLDEN |
|
Freedom isn’t finished because learning is afforded and happening at different rates. With these man-made gaps in the advancement of our lives, parts of the world have been sacrificed. Freedom isn’t finished because we refuse to hear others’ pain when our own pain rings in our ears. Freedom isn’t finished because to be free, we need to have the courage to see who is not free and admit what keeps us from living free. The pieces in this project are weaved together based on their own take on what it means to march for not only one’s life but for everyone else’s. For the audience, I want you to walk away thinking what your own role would be in this world to join the march alongside others.
|
MAY TUN |
|
Sad and Low by Brandon Foxworth: Sad and Low is a visceral examination of Black masculinity, mental health, and survival in a world that too often teaches Black men to endure pain in silence. In directing this piece, I am most compelled by its insistence that despair is not an individual failure but a collective condition—shaped by loss, isolation, generational trauma, and systems that deny tenderness to Black men.
This work refuses to look away. It asks us to sit inside the mental space where jokes, music, bravado, and numbness coexist with grief and fear. Within Freedom Isn’t Finished, Sad and Low reminds us that our stories are not just about resistance—but about care, interruption, and choosing life in community. We Are The Story here means that survival is not solitary; it is witnessed, spoken aloud, and shared. What Would Fannie Do? by Krystle DellihueWhat Would Fannie Do? collapses time to remind us that the fight for voting rights is not history—it is inheritance. By placing a contemporary young voter face-to-face with Fannie Lou Hamer, this play challenges apathy, fatigue, and the dangerous myth that participation doesn’t matter. In directing this piece, I am drawn to its clarity: freedom has always required courage, action, and sacrifice—and those costs have been disproportionately borne by Black women. This story demands that we remember whose bodies made democracy possible and asks what responsibility we carry now. Within Freedom Isn’t Finished, this play affirms that We Are The Story means our choices today are chapters still being written. The question is not only what Fannie would do—but what we are willing to do with the rights she secured. |
MARISSA HARRINGTON |