A hero’s descent to the underworld, katabasis in Greek mythology, is a trope common to many mythologies around the world. But Long Way Down, the hip-hop musical making its world premiere at Olney Theatre, puts a new spin on katabasis. Based on local author Jason Reynolds’ 2017 YA novel of the same title, the Ken–Matt Martin–directed musical translates the hero’s journey into the dark underbelly of American self-mythology: poverty, racism, and ever-present gun violence.
Will (Tyrese Shawn Avery), a teenager with a love for anagrams and other word games, has learned three important rules from his big brother, Shawn (Victor Musoni). If a loved one is shot, Will must remember: Don’t cry; don’t snitch; get revenge. When Shawn is murdered, Will sets out on a quest for revenge. As he rides the elevator down from his top-floor apartment, his trip takes a turn as the elevator stops at each floor to admit a ghost—all victims of gun violence, some of them perpetrators as well. Except for the introductory scenes in which Shawn is killed, the action of the 90-minute show is supposed to occur within the confines of an apartment elevator and the span of only 60 seconds.
There is nothing claustrophobic or distorted about the experience, however. The ‘elevator’ is a rolling cage in which, and on which, Will and the ghostly interlopers sing, swing, dance, and play across the stage. In the intimate space of Olney’s Mulitz-Gudelsky Theatre Lab, the performers’ willingness to come within inches of the front row—with spinning elevator in tow—adds an element of thrill. Simean Carpenter’s set is comprised almost entirely of vertical bars that suggest a prison. Carpenter also designed the lighting, which has its most spectacular moment when the ghosts first appear behind translucent doors as writhing shadows.
The ghosts’ entrance, a frenzied dance phantasmagoria that clearly marks Will’s descent from the land of the living into the underworld, makes a good jumping-off point for discussing the choreography by director Martin and Musoni. Musoni’s dancing is, appropriately, some of the production’s best, such as his early show duo alongside Avery’s Will for the number “In Three,” which introduces the ironclad rules that govern the characters’ actions. Following Shawn’s death, Musoni seems to float across the stage as the young man’s spirit struggles to adapt to disembodiment, silently screaming after loved ones who cannot hear him. It is chilling to watch.
It’s unfortunate that the sound design (Kevin Lee Alexander) sometimes allows the instrumental music to overwhelm the vocals. Regrettable in any show, it is especially so as Long Way Down draws on hip-hop’s rich wordplay tradition and has, as one of its themes, the power of words. Yet, the music is enjoyable and effective, even if the lyrics are sometimes not entirely discernable. One of the most affecting numbers has no words at all. “The Cry #1” is the musical reaction of Shari (Io Browne), the mother of the two boys, to the news of her child’s death. Part vocalization, part scream, Browne conveys a meaning beyond words. At another scene, this critic will admit to getting a little teary-eyed during Will’s reunion with his childhood friend—and first love—Dani (Cheryse Dyllan) in the balladic “Somebody I Used to Know/Men Who Came Before You.”
Avery and Musoni make a believable set of brothers, alternately bantering and bickering, sometimes requiring mediation from their mother. Avery, who at 22 is not too far removed from the adolescent experience, portrays Will as deeply sensitive, yet insecure about that sensitivity—a talented, thoughtful young mind who also takes impish delight in needling his older brother. Among the ghosts, Parris Lewis shines as Buck, the first apparition Will meets. Buck provides much-needed comic relief after the heavy themes of the opening scenes, urging Will not to ask ‘stupid’ questions about life after death, but instead something useful like:
“Did the government kill MLK? Do Black lives really matter to White people? Does that vaccine give you cancer?”
By relishing in questions—such as the extent of personal responsibility within unjust systems, or how an individual might perpetuate cycles of violence—Long Way Down avoids being preachy, confident that an enraptured audience is an audience that remembers best.
Long Way Down, book, music, and lyrics by Dahlak Brathwaite with additional writing by Khiyon Hursey, based on Jason Reynolds’ novel, and directed by Ken–Matt Martin, runs through June 23 at Olney Theatre Center. olneytheatre.org. $55-$96.