Sun's solo show 'No Child' brings Bronx school to life

Fifteen minutes from Midtown Manhattan, eight armed guards watch over the daily comings and goings of students at Malcolm X High School in the Bronx. And as if the travails of raising yourself in the nation's poorest congressional district aren't enough, that institution's young people are subject to the kind of dehumanizing environment -- lines, metal detectors, scared teachers, crummy resources, cripplingly low expectations -- more apt for the training of convicts-to-be than high achievers of tomorrow.

That's the thesis of Nilaja Sun's superbly performed and thoroughly gripping one-woman show, which begins a national tour in Chicago after a long New York run and a bevy of much-deserved rewards for Off-Broadway excellence.

Sun -- an apt name for an optimistic artist fighting through a cloud of educational dysfunction -- spent a few months as a teaching artist in the school. "No Child" (which she intends as ironic commentary on federal educational policy) is a theatrical account of her temporary but emotionally fraught experiences on the front lines of an inner-city school.

"No Child" is a must-see -- especially for teachers, who will understand and appreciate this show best of all -- because it combines a persuasive critique of the failings in one of society's most sacred obligations with an innate understanding of the emotional toil of trying to teach well. And like all the best shows based on social observation, it's also willing to celebrate the personal eccentricities that populate every community. Sun sees the fun in these inner-city kids, as much as the imminent potential for tragedy in their lives.

The structure of playing multiple characters based on real people -- ranging from the janitor to teachers to many of the kids -- and switching rapidly from one to another has become familiar. Sun owes much to Anna Deavere Smith, and her work also will remind Goodman theatergoers of the recent "In the Continuum."

But many more people attempt this kind of thing than can do it well. Working with skilled director Hal Brooks, Sun has the advantage of a long, extraordinarily expressive face, capable of gender neutrality and complex physical changes. She is both an exuberant, sophisticated show woman who can drive her story right into an audience's lap and a subtle actress capable of immersing herself in her characters and thus bringing them to life. Some of her kids got me right in the gut.

For much of the night, Sun lets you think that she will be the heroine of her own story -- the gifted actor-teacher who briefly waltzes into hell, uniquely understands these teenagers and leads them out into the promised land of theatrical creativity. And I suppose you could argue there is an element of pandering in celebrating the redemptive power of doing theater in a theater. It's not exactly taking your case to the opposition.

But to Sun's great credit, things don't turn out that way. The best section of the piece is the one where Sun almost packs it in. Granted, you know defeat won't end this show, but she is still strong enough to show the audience cracks in her armor. Her climax isn't so much triumphant as a halting, incremental step for all concerned. As so many teachers come to feel, one educator can't fix the system.

But at the end of this 75-minute journey, you feel an urge to hop a plane and a train to the Bronx and, well, try to fix some stuff for these young people. You can't ask much more of this kind of a show.