JOURNAL ARTS
One-Man Play Shows Us That Genius Often Isn't Valued
Ken Keuffel
Wednesday, August 6, 2003
Thelonious Sphere Monk (1917-1982), a pianist often called the high priest of bebop jazz, didn't get the kind of recognition and compensation he deserved. As such, he was not unlike many other geniuses whose revolutionary breakthroughs are greeted by indifference, befuddlement or hostility.
The audience likes what it knows. Promoters act accordingly.
In theatrical terms, all this is a recipe for the same, old tired story that's been told before and will be told again. But Monk, a one-man show by Laurence Holder that is part of this year's National Black Theatre Festival, manages to find many new and refreshing insights.
Rome Neal, who plays the title role, rises to a daunting challenge, not only bringing out his character's many eccentricities but also reminding us of the many demons that haunted Monk throughout his life. Neal, wearing a smart suit and a colorful kuffi, also dances with effortless grace and plays the piano in a way that shows how Monk's innovations developed only after hours of solitary diligence.
During some sequences in the overly cold theater, a strobe light accompanied several moments of madness, bringing Monk to his knees in horror and physical pain. These finds contrast in humor, for example, when we learn that Monk's neighbors nearly went mad because the pianist insisted on playing the same note over and over again. About his wife, Nellie, Monk says, 'I don't have to tell her that I'm a nut case. She just knows.'
The real-life Monk could sit speechless for hours, penetrating stretches of silence only when it was time to say something pithy. Here, though, he talks nearly all the time - and on all sorts of subjects, from his roots in North Carolina to his struggles to find gigs. Neal engages the audience with penetrating, intensely personal glances. He persuades us to listen to Monk's music again.
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