The subtly clever ending of Sandy Rustin’s comedy “The Suffragette’s Murder” is sure to resonate with film fans of the late 1930s, referencing the 1939 version of the big-screen adaptation of “The Women.” Like that film, this play riffs on gender politics, but in the mid-1800s when they were beginning to first take hold.
The play takes place on the morning of July 5, 1857, nine years after the first women’s rights convention at Seneca Falls. Alma Mayhew (Megan Hill), her husband, Albert (Matthew Boston), and some of the tenants of their boarding house are making plans for a clandestine meeting of East Coast suffragists.
Throughout the early minutes of the play, Mrs. Mayhew shouts up to the rooms, trying to rouse Lauralee, a roomer who has bartered her cleaning services for accommodations. Happy with himself, Mr. Mayhew has already put the pot of coffee on, a fact another tenant will make a point of deriding.
One of the first things you might notice entering the in-the-round Kilstrom Theatre, where this sly and slapstick-y comedy unfurls, is that the Denver Center encouraged scenic designer Reid Thompson to have a good time of it. And so he has. The parlor of the Mayhew boarding house in Manhattan’s Lower East Side is well-appointed with a piano, side tables, settees and knick-knacks. A staircase leads up to a landing, a few more stairs and then the hallway outside the tenants’ rooms. Portraits adorn the wall along the stairway.
As is the way with a parlor comedy cloaked as a murder mystery, this one wastes little time introducing the various suspects (ahem, characters). Yes, even before there’s been a killing. (And Rustin, the playwright of “Clue” — one of the most produced plays of the last few years — is practiced in the juggling of possible murderers.)
Mr. Albright (Rowan Vickers), an Irishman hoping to make America his home, bounds down the stairs and begins dispensing unexamined views on women and integration. The latter criticisms are directed toward the hostel’s progressive proprietors but also at a fellow tenant, Mr. Jennings (Curtis Wiley), a Black inventor with some extra, winking flair. Rustin creates a smart and subtle bit of connective tissue between women’s rights and abolition, by having Mr. Jennings be a refugee from Seneca Village — intentionally to be confused with Seneca Falls, the site of the first rights convention. Seneca Village was the settlement established by free Blacks seized by eminent domain in 1857. It was where parts of Central Park now stand.
Also on hand is the burly, bearded Mr. Orton (Gareth Saxe), who sits unspeaking in the shadow of the stairway, taking everything in.
Although the rooming house is in New York City, it has the feel of the antebellum South. That sense is amplified when Mrs. Adams (Linda Mugleston) and her daughter, Mable (Annie Abramczyk), enter. The proper Alabamans carry boxes loaded with contraband: sashes for attendees of the gathering of voting rights advocates. They came to New York so that the young, excitable Miss Adams could have her out-of-wedlock baby. (For slightly different reasons, Mrs. Mayhew once required the very sort of refuge she now offers other young women.) But mother and daughter have embraced the duties of the empowerment movement with zest. “Activism is its own kind of thrill,” Mrs. Mayhew remarks.
Apart from Mr. Albright, everyone is both nervous and excited about the day’s meeting. But where is Lauralee, who still hasn’t emerged from her room? The night before, she had been sent out by Mr. Mayhew to stir up some good trouble (to borrow a phrase from the late, great congressman and civil rights champion John Lewis).
The co-conspirators crafted a fine alibi for their local constable were he to appear: a séance! In a bit of subterfuge, the Adamses wear sashes with the word “SÉANCE” across them. But when a new police officer shows up at the door, the feminists — female and male alike — are distressed.
The constable (Kevin Isola) delivers news that a body has been found. The previous night’s July Fourth celebrations gave way to a riot between two gangs. Even so, the death appeared far from accidental or collateral. Clues suggest it’s Lauralee. Cue the collective gasp. There will be more sharp inhalations on the part of the well-oiled ensemble, and each proves amusing if only for its unabashed silliness.
To throw the doggedly curious constable off the track, they go ahead and hold the seance. Mable wholeheartedly takes to her clairvoyant role. Her congress with the spirit world goes unexpectedly well. Director Margot Bordelon choreographs the guffaw-eliciting nonsense with a light yet deft touch.
On the surface, the sexual politics of “The Suffragette’s Murder” are lightweight. It’s a comedy, after all — though it plays differently this month than it did when it had its staged reading during the Denver Center’s Colorado New Play Summit two years back.
In a nice feat, “The Suffragette’s Murder” refuses closure. One of the most durable alliances will be tested when a secret is revealed; others will become more solidly forged. “If you’re defeated by men today,” says Mrs. Adams, “let yourself be buoyed by women tomorrow.”
In the upper hallway, Mr. Jennings offers a final “Woosh!” — his infectious expression of optimism. It’s a sweet exclamation, hopeful but also a little heartbreaking. And that, too, has to do with timing.
IF YOU GO
“The Suffragette’s Murder.” Written by Sandy Rustin. Directed by Margot Bordelon. Featuring Megan Hill, Gareth Saxe, Matthew Boston, Rowan Vickers, Linda Mugleston, Annie Abramczyek, Curtis Wiley and Kevin Isola. At Kilstrom Theatre in the Denver Center’s Helen Bonfils Theatre Complex, 14th and Curtis streets. Through March 9. For tickets and info: denvercenter.org or 303-893-4100.
