Review: In Flex, Friendship Fouls Consume a High School Women’s Basketball Team

It’s 1998 in Plainnole, Arkansas, the WNBA has just entered the zeitgeist, and the members of the Lady Train high school basketball team have gone to extreme measures to keep their starting lineup (and hopeful futures) intact: No sex until they bring home the state championship.

It’s a very Lysistrata opening to Candrice Jones’s sports-centric play Flex — now at Lincoln Center’s Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater — but the comparisons end there. For one thing, the celibacy pact has been breached before the show even begins (the cycle of senior athletes in provincial Plainnole being sidelined by unwanted pregnancy can’t be so easily broken). And more importantly, the pact has nothing to do with boys. Sure, it’s the boys who get these talented young Black women pregnant, but the players’ loyalties are to one another and their ambitions are their own.

The internal struggle between loyalty and ambition is the central conflict for Starra, played with unshakable confidence and remarkable athleticism by Erica Matthews. She’s the star(ra) of the Lady Train, but her supremacy is threatened by Sidney (an amusingly brash performance by Tamera Tomakili), a California transplant who is presumed glamorous upon arrival— and not entirely unfairly, considering that her Division 1 college scouts have followed her to the boonies of Arkansas.

It’s an opportunity Starra (whose late mother also lost out on recruitment opportunities) would do just about anything to have herself. And she takes anything shockingly far, much to the chagrin of her other teammates — particularly her sweet-natured and extremely religious cousin Cherise (a hilarious Ciara Monique whose performance resists trite archetypes). It’s a move so outrageous, it almost overshadows the other central story line: the collective pursuit of an abortion for their teammate April (an excellent Brittany Bellizeare), which, in between horrific conversations about sexual trauma and the dearth of access to healthcare in the South (Jones’s version of 1998 is looking 2023 dead in the face), turns into a charming road trip comedy (Renita Lewis, as the queer-coded Donna, delivers some of the show’s best deadpan comedy from the driver’s seat of set designer Matt Saunders’s jigsaw puzzle of a car).

Flex trades in the same camaraderie and female friendship that made A League of Their Own a beacon for every female athlete, with doses of teen drama and ’90s nostalgia to lock in the allegiance of every elder millennial (costume designer Mika Eubanks’s vests, baggy button-ups, and bucket hats are spot-on). In stories like these, characters are the key to success, and characters are clearly Jones’s strength as a writer. For each of these girls, the stakes feel high and authentic to this slice of American life — but director Lileana Blain-Cruz maintains a levity throughout that all but ensures a classic happy ending at a championship game where life lessons coalesce into a poetic expression of teamwork. [For the novices in sports-ball vernacular, the Flex offense demands a lot of passing and takes players out of their traditional roles. You can see where this metaphor is headed.]

Flex certainly invites comparison to Sarah DeLappe’s successful ensemble play, The Wolves, which followed the complex politics of a girls’ soccer team. However, where The Wolves buried tension and darkness beneath a shell of inane chatter, Flex wears its drama on its sleeve and cushions it all in the safety of a traditional story arc. There’s also the added buffer of Coach Francine (Christiana Clark, mastering a coach’s cadence of tough love), who, despite her unfair blanket rule against playing pregnant girls, takes on the uncomplicated persona of “stable adult” — the kind of cozy character perhaps better suited for a television miniseries than a play that aims for complexity.

The most tension-generating part of Flex is the actual basketball that Blain-Cruz has her cast play onstage (Saunders turns the Newhouse Theater into a fully functional basketball court). Plot points depend on actors hitting shots — particularly Matthews, who incredibly sinks a three-pointer to button one of her Act 1 monologues (if you were wondering, The Wolves had zero soccer-ing). It’s one of the riskiest moves I’ve ever seen attempted in live theater and the payoff is an entire audience holding its collective breath and celebrating the ecstasy of victory. With that kind of pressure, even an expected ending gets an infusion of suspense.