It’s a stormy night in Memphis on April 3, 1968, and Martin Luther King Jr. has only a few hours left to live.
Earlier that evening, he delivered his famous “I’ve been to the mountaintop” speech, and now he’s back in Room 306 at the Lorraine Motel. Still hopped up on adrenaline, he calls the front desk for coffee, despite the late hour. As portrayed by Samuel L. Jackson, in his official Broadway debut, King is naturally imposing but also accessible and down to earth — especially toward the maid, Camae, who brings his order.
What happens next between King and Camae — played by Angela Bassett — makes up “The Mountaintop,” by 30-year-old playwright Katori Hall.
Considering one of the characters is a civil-rights hero, the 90-minute two-hander has some surprisingly corny moments. But the finale offers a fantastic pay-off that ranks among the most exhilarating 10 minutes of the year.
In his speech that night, King did mention a storm warning, making the setting authentic enough. So, too, is David Gallo’s faithful re-creation of Room 306, down to the ’60s-orange bedspreads.
But the show, directed by Kenny Leon (“Fences”), doesn’t traffic in PBS-style realism. Not only is Camae fictional (she’s based on the playwright’s own mother), but the play touches on a metaphysical, even downright supernatural realm.
Camae is a new employee, first night on the job. She’s thrilled about meeting the man she’s seen “on the TV down at Woolworth’s,” but she keeps her wits about her as they share a smoke and casual chit-chat.
King, lonely and tense, is happy for the company. Despite knowing chuckles from the audience — his penchant for the ladies is well known — the play doesn’t suggest anything untoward.
Hall gives us the man behind the myth: King audibly uses the bathroom, his feet stink (as Camae tells him), he can be petulant and demanding. Despite some occasional stiffness, Jackson is a good fit and projects a calm, natural authority.
Bassett isn’t the right age for Camae, who’s meant to be in her 20s, and she overdoes the “young” mannerisms, to grating effect.
But then Hall herself goes for cutesy tricks, getting easy laughs from Camae’s cussing and from King’s heart-to-heart with God. Don’t expect any sophisticated, stimulating banter: Hall tries so much to make him one of us that she robs him of his intellectual might.
But then there’s that ending, a brilliantly staged journey in which the visuals, Branford Marsalis’ original music and Bassett’s incantatory speech — she really rises to the occasion — combine to breathtaking effect.
The path to the peak may be uneven, but the view from there is worth it.