Jay Wilkison (left) portrays a Confederate soldier and André Braugher is a just-freed slave in “The Whipping Man.” (Joan Marcus)
An early scene in the new off- Broadway play “The Whipping Man” demonstrates the devastating power of words.
We’re in April 1865 and the war has just ended. A young Confederate soldier, Caleb (Jay Wilkison), limps back to his family’s ruined Richmond, Va. home: He’s been shot and gangrene has set in.
“That leg gonna haveta come off,” Caleb’s newly freed slave, Simon (André Braugher, magnetic), informs him. Simon and another of the former slaves, John (André Holland), get to work with a handsaw — but not before Simon describes the operation in excruciating detail. There’s no need for us to see anything: The images Simon has put in our heads are enough.
Rookie playwright Matthew Lopez, 33, certainly knows how to start a show with a bang. But then “The Whipping Man” settles into an earnest, surprisingly tepid evening.
Granted, Civil War dramas aren’t common, so the setting alone makes this show stand out. Lopez then upped the ante: Simon and John have adopted the faith of their Jewish owners.
This is a fascinating angle, but Lopez didn’t wring either original characters or actual drama out of it. After the climactic amputation, for instance, the first act settles into endless discussions and reminiscences, flatly staged by Doug Hughes.
Whenever there’s a lull, in comes a big revelation, each one more hackneyed than the last. At least you can pass the time taking in John Lee Beatty’s massive set, the ruined hulk of a mansion.
The shorter second act does spring to life, as the men celebrate Passover, and their improvised Seder — the day after Lincoln’s assassination — underlines the parallel between the Israelites and the black slaves. When Simon sings the spiritual “Go Down Moses,” the scene has a passionate poignancy the show could have used more of.
Braugher is known for TV’s “Men of a Certain Age” and “Homicide,” but he’s also done a lot of Shakespeare onstage, and it shows. Here, he effortlessly assumes the role of moral center, while suggesting brewing unrest and frustration.
Braugher and the appealing Holland are a pleasure to watch, but they can’t quite make up for the writing’s lapses. “The Whipping Man” reminds us that a good canvas can’t guarantee good art.