Adrianna Hicks (top) and the cast of “The Color Purple.” (Photo by Matthew Murphy)
“Come on, church, and make a joyful noise!” So sings a preacher during the first few minutes of The Color Purple. That call stirs up a soulful, full-throated response from the ensemble onstage. But it also doubles as an opening salvo, a statement of purpose, for this heavenly staging of Alice Walker’s classic novel. With a single command, the Kennedy Center’s stuffy Eisenhower Theater is transformed into a place of open, exuberant worship.
Strictly speaking, The Color Purple is a “comedy,” the kind Dante would’ve called divine. Laughter comes often, always coupled with catharsis. But the term better describes the dramatic and emotional trajectory the show traces, a straight line from the depths of personal hell to a paradise that’s inseparably human and spiritual.
On paper, The Color Purple’s narrative, which unfolds mostly in Georgia during the first half of the 20th century, is punishing. Our protagonist Celie (the luminous Adrianna Hicks) is raped as an adolescent and impregnated twice by a father figure (J.D. Webster). Her children are ripped away. So is her beloved sister Nettie (N’Jameh Camara), shortly after Celie is sold to Mister (Gavin Gregory) as his indentured servant and wife (by title only).
Enter the dynamic duo of Sofia (Carrie Compere, ferocious) and Shug Avery (the brassy Carla R. Stewart). In their own way, these two women shake Celie by the shoulders. This woeful tale suddenly turns on its heel and becomes a celebration of sisterhood, individuality, and grace.
The story then reaches a glorious culmination. The same can be said of this production. First staged on Broadway in 2005, The Color Purple was a bloated commercial success that left critics underwhelmed. Director John Doyle stripped the show down to muscle and sinew for a London revival that crossed the Atlantic in 2015 to a chorus of hosannas, scooping up the Tony Award for Best Revival of a Musical. A brief—and final—residency in D.C. is its exclamation point. The long-winding journey ends here. At least for now.
Doyle’s take on The Color Purple soars so high because his source material is, in essence, rocket fuel. Marsha Norman’s book navigates thorny thematic ground with an equal amount of pathos and buoyancy. These songs—the handiwork of Stephen Bray, Brenda Russell, and Allee Willis—are tuneful and ebullient. A syncopated slink connects this collection of jazz and blues gems.
Get on your feet. Put your palms up. Sing joyful noise for The Color Purple. This musical earns its final line, a single word delivered in splendid, three-part harmony. “Amen,” indeed.
The Color Purple runs through August 26 at the Kennedy Center. various times, $79-$149.
