Review: Between Two Knees Is Church Masquerading as Comedy

Avid theatergoers are by now familiar with the land acknowledgement, the little prayer to the Lenape people who once inhabited Manhattan Island, which now precedes performances at many of New York’s most venerable theaters. While there are variations, land acknowledgements all convey the same basic point: We’re sorry to be performing on land that was stolen by our white forebears, but we have no plans to give it back, so this is all you get. I can imagine finding such a hollow apology, absent any material reparations, unsatisfying were my own home confiscated. It is surely not enough for the 1491s, the Native American comedy troupe now presenting its show Between Two Knees as part of the inaugural season of the Perelman Performing Arts Center, better known as PAC NYC.

Donors have poured $500 million into the construction of this arts temple at the site of the World Trade Center. You can see their largesse in the spacious bathrooms, marble walls, and state-of-the-art jewel box theater in which there is not a bad seat. You don’t spend that kind of dough unless you intend for something to last, and I genuinely hope it does.

I also hope that artistic director Bill Rauch comes up with something better to put on than Between Two Knees, one of the most mirthless comedies I’ve experienced in a long time. A co-production of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and Yale Repertory Theatre, Between Two Knees is the kind of show you laugh at politely, hoping that will somehow expedite its conclusion. Don’t let the coquettish title fool you. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about this show — unless you’re a woke masochist.

“It smells like inherited wealth, privilege, and a tad bit of guilt in this room,” Larry the narrator (Justin Gauthier) says at the top, taking a big whiff. He then passes around a collection plate (“For just the price of a cup of coffee, you can help a grown Indian child in need”) before launching into a game: Wheel of Indian Massacres. Inevitably, we land on Wounded Knee, which prompts the main story.

That tale is collaboratively written by the 1491s, whose members include Sterlin Harjo and are best known for the cult TV series Reservation Dogs. It’s about Ina (Sheila Tousey). Mortally injured at Wounded Knee, she is determined that her young son live to old age. He ends up at a Catholic boarding school where he is given the name Isaiah (Derek Garza). He falls in love with the strong-willed Irma (Shyla Lefner) and together they crisscross Turtle Island, torching churches and generally having a great time. They raise their son (Shaun Taylor-Corbett) to be a warrior and he goes off to fight World War II. Their grandson (also Garza) isn’t a fighter — but that doesn’t mean he can avoid Vietnam. Everything culminates in the 1973 Wounded Knee Occupation.

Spanning much of the 20^th century, Between Two Knees has the ambition of a novel with none of the depth. Its fast-and-loose approach to history would be perfectly justifiable if the results were actually funny, but even those politely laughing in the audience mostly surrender by the second act.

What humor can be wrung from this leaden script originates with Eric Ting’s hyperactive production, which appropriates its style from Hollywood action flicks and Japanese cartoons in a manner similar to the downtown company Vampire Cowboys (of the cast, James Ryen, Rachel Crowl, and Shaun Taylor-Corbett are most successful at inhabiting this world). Taylor-Corbett is one of two choreographers (the other is Ty Defoe) on a show in which the movement never rises above what might be found in a cruise ship line dance.

At least the design is top-notch. Regina García’s scenery instantly sets the tone for broad comedy, a Cleveland Indians logo cheekily peeking over an antique proscenium. Lux Haac’s dubiously authentic costumes also offer an array of sight gags. Mischievous lighting (Elizabeth Harper), cinematic sound (Jake Rodriguez), and force-multiplying projections (Shawn Duan) all contribute to this feast of half-baked theatrical concepts served on an opulent silver platter.

The epilogue offers an alternative utopian history of the late 20^th-century, in which all the white people evaporate in an act of divine retribution. For truly, only God could untangle such an arbitrary and imprecise construct as race, sorting the elect from the damned as they and their 23andMe results are cast into the fiery pit. It’s genocide as a punchline.

“So long white people / Some of you were cool / Most of you were not,” the actors sing during the finale as confetti and bubbles rain down from the rafters like a Broadway jukebox musical. “Now that you’re leaving / Everything is gonna be awesome.”

The irony is that shows like Between Two Knees only exist by the grace of a very white (and specifically Christian) penchant for self-flagellation. It’s the impulse that drives wealthy white Americans to donate millions to the construction of a glittering new arts cathedral (as if this indulgence will get them into heaven) and middle-class whites to purchase $79 tickets to sit in that sanctuary for two-and-a-half hours and contemplate their original sin. Even non-Christians (as some of PAC NYC’s biggest donors are) engage in this conduct, a kind of confessional imperialism so thoroughly pervasive in our culture as to appear universal (for more on this phenomenon, I highly recommend Tom Holland’s excellent history of Christianity). But it’s hard to imagine a similar show about the Uyghurs ever performing in Beijing. Is conquering and subjugating other people a behavior unique to white people, or is our peculiar practice actually to internalize guilt about atrocities we didn’t personally commit?

As the revolutionary tide of 2020 recedes, we can more clearly recognize this waterlogged show for what it is: an extravagant pageant of superficial atonement. Between Two Knees is a very expensive land acknowledgement performed on some of the most valuable real estate on earth. By hosting it, the administrators of PAC NYC make one thing very clear: We’re absolutely not giving it back.