Sweat promised a lot. Not in the literal sense – yet, as far as I can remember, Dove’s ‘Go Fresh’ didn’t work overtime while I was sat in The Royal Exchange – but in the show’s alluring description as a “Pulitzer-Prize winning drama…destined to be an American classic.” But, in the same way those higher-ups have sold the British public a dream over the past few years, it just didn’t deliver.
Directed by Jade Lewis, Sweat sweepingly follows the lives of nine Pennsylvanians, living and working in one of the poorest towns along America’s rust belt. The narrative is centred on the long-standing friendship between three women, Cynthia, Tracey, and Jessie – portrayed by Carla Henry, Pooky Quesnel, and Kate Kennedy – who met on the floor of a steel factory. The ‘hard-as-nails’ (or should I say steel?) trio turns out to be, in quite a predictable but nonetheless true-to-life turn of events, fragile and complex. Their operations both at a human level and an economic level come to an abrupt stop when Cynthia, who has fought her way from the factory floor to the factory’s management, oversees severe job losses in a ‘make or break’ moment for her friends.
The play’s factory setting worked nicely with GOOD TEETH’s set design, which featured large rectangles dangling loosely from the Royal Exchange’s theatre ceiling over the stage. Alongside the occasional electrical sparks flying over the audience’s heads, the theatre’s intimate in-the-round staging felt like the audience was also in the factory with the women. What GOOD TEETH and the respective design team did was sparse, but combined with the lighting and auditory decisions, it worked.
This illusion was then quickly shattered by the play’s scene change to a ‘pub,’ where the audience meets its barman Stan, portrayed by Jonathan Kerrigan, and Stan’s fellow younger bartender Oscar (Marcello Cruz.)
The problem with this switch to the pub was that there was too much time and focus spent on it. For the audience’s attention to be captivated, the stage design had to be interesting. The minimalist staging didn’t achieve this; the pub consisted of the play’s ever-present thin metal, square fencing, a holdall with some large bottles in it, and a box with more bottles. In fact, there were more bottles than funny lines.
The pub scenes seemed to work like clockwork: characters enter, drink; characters laugh, drink; characters shout, drink; characters say they’re going to leave, drink. The play took ‘Cracking Open a Cold One with the Boys’ to a whole new level, but instead of bringing something new or different, to me, it was the same thing over and over again. Although the pub was very much intended to be the characters’ main social space, demonstrating that in this small, run-down town there really isn’t much to their lives besides the factory and the watering hole, it had the effect of running the play dry.
As the play centred on this location, it meant that it lacked pace. There were some scenes that were doubtlessly designed to up the ante. In classic theatrical tradition, the second act’s climax which in this case was a multi-character fight scene – the setting detracted from this. Rather than blending together different characters’ emotions and stories instead drew them out, so they became a blurred and formless series of events.
The actors’ American drawls didn’t help this either; the dialogue seemed to congregate around shouting or enthused declamations, which created a fusion of noise operating in the same decibel range. Lewis Gribben, portraying Jason, a hot-headed and reactive young adult who chops and changes between being in prison or out of it, and loving or hating his mother, Tracey, was principally responsible for this. However, one of the play’s most touching moments was in the hands of Jessie ( Kennedy), who quietly admitted (at the pub, of course) that her birthday wish is a kiss.
Combined, the stagnant staging and all-too-similar dialogue meant that Sweat ultimately fell flat. It had so much potential: in fact, it was infuriating to see what it could have achieved. The storyline felt authentic and heart-wrenchingly real, as the characters struggled against political and economic crises which saw many at the bottom of the ladder bearing the effects in real terms (and wages), while those at the top pressed on, unable to see the effect of their policies and practices on the people.
While Carla Henry convincingly portrayed Cynthia, whose intersectional character inhabits the awkward tension of being a member of the floor while also getting a glimpse of what it’s like ‘on the other side,’ some of the other actors’ portrayals felt a bit one-dimensional. A lot of the characters were pigeonholed early on – Jessie, as a dumb blonde who drinks too much and seems aloof; Stan, as the honest middleman with a persistent leg injury – which restricted their characters’, and consequently the play’s, development.
Maybe the real issue lies in the dialogue. Some of it just felt uncomfortable. Although the play addresses some of America’s ‘culture wars’ and pressing political concerns, even having excerpts of media and politicians’ speeches playing in the background in between scenes, it doesn’t confront them. Within minutes of the opening scene, a racist slur set the tone of this: although it was said, it was left hanging in the air for the audience to uncomfortably chew on and then never further addressed. The taste of my drink had barely left my mouth, and I was already watching characters assert “Why don’t we have a white history month?” yet such comments weren’t further explored, which, especially in terms of race, instead felt reductive. If it was just said, and then not capitalised on or explored, then what was its purpose?
Sweat is a real case of diamonds in the rough. Both the potential and the material are there, and it had a lot in it which I should have liked, but it wasn’t successfully nor fully worked with. This is a shame, given the important – and, ahead of America’s upcoming presidential election – pressing themes it is based on. The one-dimensionality of the characters, staging, and dialogue meant that it could only go so far; and if the next adaptation is able to push past this, then the audience would really begin to sweat.
