Why ‘Fat Ham’ at Seattle Rep is a must-see

Theater review

From the moment Taj E.M. Burroughs steps onstage, it is clear that James Ijames’ “Fat Ham” is not a typical re-imagining of Shakespeare. Instead of Hamlet, the audience is introduced to Juicy, a queer young man (played by Burroughs) preparing his mother’s house for a celebration of her wedding to his uncle, Rev. Rather than a kingdom, his deceased father, Pap, had ruled over a barbecue restaurant. But both Juicy and Hamlet start their stories with the burden of expectation and filial duty.

Juicy is an exasperated, tired young man, and now the ghost of his father has come back from the grave to berate him and give him the task of avenging Pap’s murder by killing Rev, Pap’s brother. There’s certainly humor to be found in a ghost popping out of the garden shed, and “Fat Ham” is indeed witty, comedic and at times raunchy, leaning into the absurdity of the situation from the play’s opening moments. At the same time, this 2022 Pulitzer Prize winner for drama, playing at Seattle Rep through May 12, opens up some raw, honest truths about grief and joy, survival and community.  

Set at a backyard family barbecue, the play at times takes on a sitcom vibe. Juicy’s mother, Tedra, portrayed by Dedra D. Woods, bursts onto the stage each time to well-deserved applause. Woods brings a vivaciousness to Gertrude’s counterpart and plays her as the messy and complicated woman Tedra is — a woman who doesn’t always know how to love her son in the way he needs. There are moments when the veneer of the fun-loving, jumpsuit-wearing, carefree wife drops, and Woods shows the full emotional depth of her range. 

However, “Fat Ham” isn’t all laughs, sex jokes and outlandish family dynamics. The show contextualizes “Hamlet” in a relatable way for a modern audience. When Pap died, Juicy was left with a legacy of bitterness. Grief takes center stage and Juicy explores what it means to shed the expectations left by his ancestors and the family still with him. As Juicy’s cousin Tio (Chip Sherman) states, Juicy comes from generations of incarceration, leading back to slavery. His birthright is trauma and his inheritance is the expectation to spill more blood. Juicy has to navigate the weight of all the fractured relationships Pap left behind in his community, and Juicy also has to figure out what that community looks like to him. 

From the beginning, dressed in his mourning black jean shorts and T-shirt, Juicy is doing his best to simply survive. Survival looks different to each of the characters, and for Juicy it looks like building a wall between himself and others around him, until Pap comes back and smashes down the defenses in a way only parents can. Pap simply has the unique ability to do it from beyond the grave. The tenacity needed to make it through the absurdity of life ultimately is the thread that connects Juicy to his estranged father, and every other character.

Since the audience has a greater understanding of the themes, the moments when Burroughs switches from modern vernacular to soliloquies taken directly from Shakespeare’s text are doubly impactful. The charismatic Burroughs effortlessly switches between the two, never losing the flow of Juicy’s modern lines.

Under Timothy McCuen Piggee’s direction, the cast interactions are full of vitality. Reginald André Jackson, who plays both Pap and Rev, skillfully delineates between the two characters, capturing how both brothers are deeply flawed men cut from the same cloth. Friend of the family Opal (Aishé Keita) may not have Ophelia’s flower speech from “Hamlet,” but she daydreams with Juicy all the same, thinking of a life away from her overbearing mother, Rabby (Felicia V. Loud). Opal’s brother, Larry (Semaj Miller), delivers a powerfully intimate and tender speech to Juicy, despite the rigidity required in Larry’s chosen occupation as a Marine. Powerful scenes are punctuated by expert lighting design from Robert J. Aguilar.

Playwright Ijames invites the audience to figure out, alongside Juicy, what community looks like, and challenges ideas about what constitutes a tragedy. Most tragedies involve death and “Fat Ham” is no exception. The real tragedy in “Fat Ham,” though, is unlikely to be any of the actual deaths, but instead, the ways the characters kill pieces of themselves — whether it is their identity, relationships with their parents, or dreams — in order to survive. 

This review has been updated with the correct name of one of the actors in a photo.