Theater review: ‘Seven Guitars’ at Seminole State College

Kevin Rushing and Shellita Boxie in a rehearsal for "Seven Guitars" at Seminole State College. (Seminole State College photo)

There’s a lot of crowing going on in August Wilson’s “Seven Guitars.”

Much of it comes from Floyd “Schoolboy” Barton. It’s 1948 and fresh out of incarceration with a hit record on the radio, Floyd just knows he’s going to make it big in Chicago.

But a lot of it comes from a rooster in the shabby Pittsburgh neighborhood Floyd and his friends call home.

Perhaps the rooster is agitated because it wants to break free from this corner of the city and let its dreams take flight.

That’s certainly the case with the human characters, as made thrillingly clear in a straightforward production at Seminole State College.

These are flesh-and-blood people; they fix greens on stage for dinner and debate which brand of cigarette is better. They’re so real that when one character remarks she’s going to change her shoes, upon her return to the stage the audience member next to me checked. “Did she change her shoes?” she whispered anxiously to her companion. “Oh yes, she did.”

Dwayne Allen and Kevin Rushing in Seminole State College's production of August Wilson's "Seven Guitars." (Seminole State College photo)

That’s how easy it is to get involved in Wilson’s creations: Dreamer Floyd (Michael Sapp), quiet Vera, his on-again, off-again love (Shellita Boxie); boisterous Canewell (Dewayne Allen); tart Louise (Michelle Andino).

The play opens in the aftermath of Floyd’s funeral, then flashes back to the final days of his life.

He’s trying to reconcile with Vera, after stepping out on her. Meanwhile, neighbor Louise has problems of her own: Her promiscuous niece Ruby (Latoya McClam) is coming to stay after some “man trouble” back home. And everyone’s worried about Hedley, who marches to his own drummer — ranting and raving about religion and visions and oppression by white folk.

Director Anthony B. Major keeps the story grounded; no soap opera here, just ordinary people doing the best they can but always dreaming about more. And there’s a tantalizing whiff of sex and danger in the air: the way guns keeping coming up in conversation, or the way all the men are sniffing around Ruby.

Sapp is endearingly cheeky as quick-talking Floyd. His problems are always caused by someone else, success is just around the corner, and if you see him giving Ruby the once-over while he’s holding hands with Vera, well, you must be mistaken.

He’s matched in the cocky department by Allen’s Canewell, though Allen tempers Canewell’s strut with pathos as his not-quite-secret attraction to Vera becomes more evident.

Kevin Rushing’s Hedley is a charismatic combination of simpleton and orator.

Seminole State students Andino and McClam play two very different women. McClam, as Ruby, sashaying down a staircase or languidly draping her legs over a bench. Andino, full of vinegar as Louise. She greets Floyd with a glare and: “You look like you done gained some weight.” When she says she’s 48 going on 60, she’s believable.

Boxie brings a quiet, hopeful dignity to Vera, especially in the scenes where she’s grieving poor Floyd.

Richard Harmon’s set design aptly captures the run-down neighborhood, with the paint peeling off Vera’s front door and a piece of the corrugated-tin roof missing from her porch.

But it’s the high fence that traps the characters in their little courtyard that looms over the proceedings. Vera peers over it at the neighbor’s yard. Louise trudges up steps to her apartment, and pauses to look out when she’s higher than it.

The men repeatedly dash out the gates, always somewhere better to get to. But for a theatrical experience, right where they are is a great place to be.