The Amen Corner, National Theatre, 12.6.13

James Baldwin’s heavily autobiographical early (1954) “gospel” play focused on a Harlem pastor’s attempt to reconcile her church leadership with her family and her past.

Marianne Jean-Baptiste powerfully headed the all-black cast as strict pastor ‘Sister Margaret’, whose authority is undermined when her irreligious alcoholic ex-husband Luke returns. 

There was excellent support from Sharon D Clarke (as ‘Odessa’ her full-figured sister, feet firmly planted on the ground), from Lucian Msamati (as the dying jazzman husband Sister Margaret had deserted years earlier) and from Eric Kofi Abrefa (as the son who flees the nest; a clearly autobiographical figure). 
 

It's invidious to single out one performer from a great ensemble but special mention is due to Cecilia Noble as ‘Sister Moore’ (the pastor’s vast, virginal and Machiavellian rival), whose comic timing was impeccable, and who generated a rousing audience response from lines like:
 
"I want to praise the Lord for being here ... I want to thank Him for keeping me pure and set apart from the lusts of the flesh, for protecting me--hallelujah!--from all carnal temptation.  When I come before my Maker, I'm going to come before Him pure.  I'm going to say 'Bless your name, Jesus, no man has ever touched me!' Hallelujah!" 
 
After a slightly underwhelming start to the season, this has to be the stand-out NT show of the year (counting ‘This House’ as belonging more to 2012).  Directed with brio by Rufus Norris (who, it's just been announced, will be taking over from Nick Hytner as the National's Artistic Director), the production featured a two-tier set by Ian MacNeil (chapel on the upper floor and pastor’s living quarters below): typical strong NT production values. The piece was infused with humour and verve and the glorious live music from the London Community Gospel Choir really brought it alive:  “Praise the Lord!” 
 


Jimmy Baldwin in NYC

Baldwin, who first honed his inimitable skill with words from a pulpit, showed how street churches proved both refuge and straitjacket for the 'respectable classes' of Fifties Harlem, most of them first-generation arrivals from the violence of the 'Jim Crow' South.

The 'message' was the same one Baldwin preached all his life, from the Northern slums to his voyages of discovery in the South in the early years of Civil Rights, from the cafes of the Rive Gauche to the steep streets of Istanbul and the heady scents of the St-Paul de Vence villa where he died:  that to go out into the world is to live, to take risks, to embrace love.

Or, as Sister Margaret puts it, in her preacher's vernacular: 

“To love the Lord is to love all His children -all of them, everyone! -and suffer with them and rejoice with them and never count the cost!”.