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The first thing we see in Dominique Morisseaus new playConfederatesis a century-old photograph of a breastfeeding woman.
In her note, Freer asks the subject for permission to use her picture.
She insists the university investigate.
Morisseau sees connections, too.
Abner doubts that a woman can aid the war, and Malik clearly chafes at his professors feminism.
Even other Black women cant be trusted.
The academy has its overseers and its dogs and whips she just cannot quite name them.
Time bends, and we do not flinch.
The plays big-swing departures from the real, asserted so confidently, are never confusing.
Thelittleunbelievabilities, though those do itch a little.
Would a university let a current student, even if shes an assistant, get her teachers email password?
She seems to be warning the reader, but its a promise instead.
Morisseaus voice gets fiercer and richer the farther she gets from naturalism.
It made me think of herSkeleton Crew,just closed on Broadway.
But in that play, more weight rested on such particulars.Confederatesreaches for and catches different, unnameable things.
And in a farce this serious, direction is crucial.
Morisseaus play also assumes theres an enemy at every turn.
Instead were left with the note to the woman in the picture.
But at the end, we can still turn to the picture, with its infinitely answerable mystery.
Who did this humiliating thing to the wet nurse?
Theres no need for an investigation.
We know, we know, we know.
Confederatesis at the Signature Theater through April 17.
