May 20-26, 2004

art

True Grit

the confessional: John Douglas Thompson plays Lucius Jenkins, a Rikers Island prisoner who counsels the lead character in Stephen Adly Guirgis' Jesus Hopped the 'A' Train. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

Jesus Hopped the 'A' Train to Philly: a conversation with the playwright.

by Toby Zinman

Stephen Adly Guirgis (pronounced "gearjis") has been declared the best American playwright under 40 by The New York Times. His play, Jesus Hopped the 'A' Train, nominated for an Olivier Award in London, opens next week at the Wilma, directed by Blanka Zizka; this will introduce Philadelphia audiences to a major voice in contemporary American theater: fierce, funny, desperately sad and altogether thrilling.

The play, originally produced by New York's Labyrinth Theater Co. (Guirgis' artistic home for many years), was directed by Philip Seymour Hoffman (an old pal) in a gritty, grungy, way off-Broadway venue that gave this shocking and ferocious play an even sharper edge. I was knocked out by the play, and then, a couple of years later, Guirgis' next play, Our Lady of 121st St. , knocked me out again. Its first line, "What kinda fuckin' world is this?" could be the motto of Guirgis' drama and a summary of his ongoing inquiry.

When I talked to him, he was riding a bicycle in New York, talking on a cell phone. He has one of those voices that creates instant intimacy -- warm, unpretentious, with no sense that he is providing canned answers. His conversation is astonishingly self-revelatory.

Given the fact that Guirgis' new play is called The Last Days of Judas Iscariot, my first question was obvious: What's up with him and religion?

He replied: "I grew up Catholic. Things that were instilled in you when you're young are hard to shake. In my adult life I am trying to separate the wheat from the chaff, to find my own understanding of what's beyond us. I have a need to feel a sense of order. I think there are two things going on. First is my inner turmoil projected outward in my plays. People say I'm angry. Well, if you're looking for a reason to get angry, you don't have to look very far. A lot of writers out there, playwrights I admire, write about people like us -- educated, not rich, not poor -- and whatever turmoil they wrestle with. But I haven't been interested so far in writing about characters like that. My mom always said, from the Beatitudes, 'Blessed are the poor in spirit,' and I'm drawn to these underdog folks -- my ear is stimulated by the language of the street."

In Jesus, one of these underdog folks, Angel, is allowed one hour in 24 for fresh air, in a cage in the yard of a lockdown wing of Rikers prison. Guirgis says the play has two sources. "In my 20s, an old friend joined a cult and I, like the play's character Angel, couldn't bring him back. [In the play, Angel shoots and kills the leader of a religious cult, which is how he winds up at Rikers Island.] "I learned that nobody can change somebody else, and I think the diligence I showed was more about not wanting to lose him and that connection with my childhood."

"The other source was when I was a kid I used to pray when I was in trouble. Then, once the trouble passed, I didn't want to say hello, goodbye, nothin', to God or whatever. As I got older, I needed to connect with a power, and I feel a responsibility to be good. This is at the heart of Angel's thing."

Angel bounces between Mary Jane, his crackerjack lawyer who urges him to shade the truth if not outright lie, and another underdog, Lucius, the serial murderer in the next "cage" who encourages him to confess and be saved. The choice at the end -- and the play ends with a huge jolt -- is ambiguous.

Guirgis says, "I like it that people take different meanings from the end. The question is how would his life be if he got off. I don't know if I would have been brave enough to make Angel's decision."

Although he says he likes acting best (he is currently in a new play at Labyrinth called Guinea Pig Solo), he has some wonderful stuff to say about playwriting.

"You have to write about what you know. When I started writing, I was broke, working in prisons and shelters, where people were crazy or HIV-positive or both. I was living in a building on 42nd Street, spending days doing social work in Times Square when it was what it was. As life changes, you write about that. I fear that change -- maybe my plays will start to suck. I'm trying to grow up, to embrace the responsibilities of being an adult. My life is different now, and my house is different now. A year ago I was sleeping on a ripped-up futon on the floor, and now," he says with some wonder and pride, "for the first time, I have a bed and a kitchen table -- like a real normal person lives there."

Jesus Hopped the 'A' Train runs through June 27, $9-$50, Wilma Theater, 265 S. Broad St., 215-546-7824.