Just before the 75th anniversary of John Steinbeck’s 1939 novel The Grapes of Wrath, playwright Octavio Solis joined an 11-day road trip that marked the occasion. In the book, set during the Great Depression, the Joad family journeys from drought-stricken Oklahoma to California, in pursuit of work and a better life. Solis and a group of fellow artists retraced the Joads’ path along Route 66, which Steinbeck called “the Mother Road.” The playwright’s conversations along the way inspired a theatrical sequel to the book.
It’s rare for a classic like The Grapes of Wrath to get new life decades later—and especially a re-imagining that’s both satisfying and provocative. But Solis accomplishes exactly that in Mother Road, which premiered at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival last year and is playing at Arena Stage’s 680-seat theater in the round, the Fichandler Stage.
The play, which is set in the present, opens as William Joad (Mark Murphey) arrives in California to meet his only living descendant, who he discovers is a Mexican-American migrant worker named Martín Jodes (a tattooed, convincing Tony Sancho). The family reunion doesn’t go particularly well: “Are you a Joad, or aren’t you? And I want you to answer in English,” William instructs. “Depends!” Martín retorts. “Are all you Joads this racist?”
Eventually, we learn that William is dying, and he’s come to give Martín the deed to his farm in Oklahoma. The land must stay in the family, he insists. The two make an odd couple as they trek from California to Oklahoma—the reverse of the original Joad journey. Along the way, they pick up Martín’s rowdy cousin, Mo (the brilliant Amy Lizardo), plus a motley crew of additional passengers who create a modern version of the American family. Tension seeps through every scene, especially as William is forced to grapple with how Martín is treated based on his skin color—and figure out how much of a stand he’s willing to take against the injustice (and if that’s what it is).
Five of the nine cast members appear as a stunning Greek chorus, chanting and singing: “Mile marker, mile marker, mile marker.” They’re migrant workers; they’re diner staff in tiny towns. They’re police offers and ranch hands. One woman is Martín’s lost love. The entire production is beautifully executed, from the choreography to the set and the emotive dialogue.
It’s an ambitious show, with a lot to unpack: what family means, what kind of assumptions people make based on skin color, what the American Dream signified then and now. How ignorance changes to awareness. On the Mother Road, the past and present intersect, and plenty of demons come along for the ride—making for a road trip you don’t want to miss.
Mother Road runs at Arena Stage through March 8. Runtime approximately 2 hours and 40 minutes with one intermission. $41-$95.
