It must have seemed pretty radical for the ’50s. A Pentecostalist black man — struggling with issues of faith, identity and family — pens a play that questions the wisdom of investing too much in faith, and too little in love and personal growth.

“No one yet knows how high a bill we will have to pay for what we have done to Negro men and women,” the playwright James Baldwin once said about “The Amen Corner,” written in 1954 and produced on Broadway in 1965. And of his main character, Sister Margaret, a pious evangelical minister who has shunted away her sexuality in service to a higher power, he said: “She is in the church because her society has left her no other place to go.”

“The Amen Corner” — produced by True Colors Theatre as part of the National Black Arts Festival — can be raucously funny, haunting in its gospel music and devastating in its account of the trials and tribulations of Sister Margaret, who in the course of an evening appears to lose everything that mattters to her.

Though the play meditates on the blindsightedness of overinvesting in one relationship at the expense of another — a concern that is nothing if not universal — it comes across as dated, antiquated, too long for its own good and simplistic in its observations of human nature. It also makes you wonder why True Colors artistic director Kenny Leon even bothered. (He produced it on the same stage with many of the same actors back in 1996 when he was running the Alliance Theatre.)

But Leon seems to love any excuse for a gospel church play. (See 2004’s “Tambourines to Glory” and 2006’s “Rejoice!”) And you’d have to be a heartless so-and-so not to enjoy a show that includes the towering comedic ego of Margo Moorer (Sister Moore); the divine sounds of Bernardine Mitchell (Sister Douglass) and Chandra Currelley (Sister Boxer); and the high-caliber talent of Denise Burse, who gives a heartbreaking turn as Sister Margaret.

In a dauntingly complex and physically draining role, Burse (a regular on Tyler Perry’s “House of Payne”) is revelatory in a show that requires her to carry the weight of the whole affair on her petite shoulders. Nevaina Rhodes is also seriously good as grieving young mother Ida Jackson. Newcomer Ronve O’Daniel gives a slightly inconsistent but highly promising performance as Margaret’s Tom Wingfield-like son, David. Alas, Thomas Byrd (as Sister Margaret’s dying husband, Luke) exhibits smart comedic timing but draws out his deathbed monologues to the point of tedium. One minute, the actor seems right on target, the next minute a little tentative.

The musical direction of Jmichael — featuring a full-out community choir — is the real deal. But after all the live music, some of the recorded material can be incongruous and confusing at times. Shilla Benning’s costumes are spot-on to the era, but Vince Mountain’s set — the church is positioned over Sister Margaret’s apartment — seems to be a trap for actors trying to make their entrances and exits.

As directed by Andrea Frye, this effort has instances of lovely acting, exquisite singing and knee-slapping foolishness. (When it comes to pettiness, grandstanding, confrontation and hypocrisy, everyone knows that churchfolk can be the worst.) But African-American classic though it may be, it just doesn’t feel like the right story for the moment. And it sure doesn’t make you want to say “Amen.”

THE 411: 8 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays. 2:30 p.m. Saturdays-Sundays. No performance July 22. 2:30 p.m. matinee July 23. Through Aug. 3. $15-$25. True Colors Theatre, Alliance Theatre, 1280 Peachtree St. N.E., Midtown. 404-733-5000, truecolorstheatrecompany.com

Bottom line: Good performances don’t redeem dated material.

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NBAF theater: ‘Hallelujah Street Blues’

By Kathy Janich | Thursday, July 17, 2008, 02:24 PM

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

THEATER REVIEW. Grade: B

Who wouldn’t want Josephine for a neighbor? She’ll make you a sandwich, offer you iced tea and listen to your fears about the steady creep of gentrification — you know, moving the old folks out so younger folks, who’ll pay more, can move in.

As drawn by Atlanta playwright Valetta Anderson and embodied by the ideal Veronica Redd in the world premiere of “Hallelujah Street Blues” at Horizon Theatre, Josephine, aka Josie, is a touchstone.

She’s a family matriarch trying to live on her own terms despite the loving interference of family. She’s a cagey old soul, an insulin-dependent diabetic who sneaks Pop-Tarts, who talks to her late husband amid the trees he planted decades ago, who uses her cane only to ward off unwanted assistance, and who sees almost everything going on around her — that the marriage of her know-it-all daughter is in trouble, that world-weary son Nathan has her best interests in mind, that her slick lawyer son-in-law does indeed have a heart, and that everyone has an agenda.

Redd gives Josie a gimpy walk and perfect timing, whether she’s punctuating a punch line with the flip of a hip or raising an eyebrow to comment on the craziness around her.

Horizon describes this comic drama, developed over two years in its New South Play Festival and directed by Thomas W. Jones II, as “‘Soul Food’ meets ‘The Waltons’,” but it’s more than that. It’s saucier than “The Waltons” and more genuine than “Soul Food.”

Anderson draws real people — flawed, funny, wily and lovable in all their imperfect ways — and gives them real conversations to dig into. “You help me with my home problem,” Nathan says to brother-in-law Carter, referring to a dispute over property lines, “and I’ll help you take your problem home.” Carter’s problem is wife Clarice (Keena Redding Hunt, a bit too one-note as a pouty woman-child).

Neighbor lady Dottie, aka Dorothy (the tiny yet mighty Deborah Callaway Duke), may not be as crazy as she seems. Although we never actually see Shadow, her ever-errant dog, you just never know. Is she senile or playing a calculated game? If you know any of August Wilson’s offbeat creations (Stool Pigeon in “King Hedley II” comes to mind), you’ll know the line she walks so delicately and well.

The family house (inventively designed by Jeffrey Weber) would fit nicely in any older Atlanta neighborhood. Its brick facade is tidy, its back porch clean and comfy, its pathways clear, its shrubbery trimmed. It even has a screen door that slaps closed like an open hand on a pesky mosquito. Only when lights come up behind the brick do we realize it’s a scrim, letting us see action both inside and out. The shrubbery and paths, suggested by paint on the floor, lead into the audience and to projections of Granddad’s crabapple trees, (lights by Andrew D. Smith).

Unfortunately, the men, especially Taurean Blacque as Nathan, stumble on too many lines. And the storytelling loses its crispness in the final half-hour, despite a nice touch of mysticism. “Hallelujah” does not solve its gentrification problem, happily, although every character is able to redefine “home.” What lives past the curtain call is the feeling of family and one clear-eyed woman’s eternal wisdom.

“Women in this family marry their daddies,” Josie tells Clarice, “and live happily ever after with broken hearts.”

That simple but profound observation says everything about Anderson’s story, and the people who deliver it.

THE 411: 8 p.m. Wednesday-Friday; 8:30 p.m. Saturday; 5 p.m. Sunday; and 3 p.m. July 19 and 26, Aug. 9 and 16. $20, $22 and $25. Horizon Theatre, in partnership with the National Black Arts Festival. 1083 Austin Ave. N.E. at Euclid Avenue, Little Five Points. 404-584-7450, www.horizon theatre.com

Bottom line: Neighborhood beauty.

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