BackStageWest 
March 23, 2000
Reviewed by Kerry Reid

Let's get this out of the way first: Michael Gene Sullivan does look like Huey P. Newton. In fact, he once played the Minister of Defense for the Black Panthers onstage-in Robert Alexander's Servant of the People at Lorraine Hansberry Theatre, which I never saw.

But this solo piece, which Sullivan has been developing locally and on the Fringe circuit for the past few years, goes beyond commenting on that coincidence. Mat Sullivan has set forth in this engaging, intelligent, funny, occasional quite moving show is a thumbnail sketch of growing up activist---and growing aware of the cracks and flaws in the heroes of one's youth. We don't necessarily learn a whole lot about Newton-and as Sullivan enacts his frustrating search for material about the Panther in bookstores and libraries, we realize that Huey's ignominious death in a crack deal gone bad ha overshadowed his once legendary revolutionary aura. But we learn a great deal about Sullivan, and about how the radical influences of his childhood have informed his subsequent work.

A longtime member of the San Francisco Mime Troupe, Sullivan also frequently appears at A.C.T and on television. His life on the tightrope of seeking success as an actor without losing his political passion is one of the sub-themes interwoven into this show-most clearly demarcated by his own Huey-like outbursts at what he sees a.,, the willful ignorance and incompetence of sonic of his colleagues on the Alexander show But what comes through most clearly is a fervor- for a time when being an activist was a good thing. Admirably, Sullivan makes this point over and over again with wit, charm, and self deprecating grace. He even makes an analogy between the acting styles of William Shatner's 1960s-era Captain Kirk and the cool, contained Picard of the techno-'80s. "Passionate times call for overacting." Sullivan maintains. 

He also offers a running series of tips for revolutionaries. After an emotional recounting of Robert Kennedy's assassination (Sullivan's mother was in the ballroom where it happened), he muses: "Why is it our side never just gets wounded? Reagan and Wallace got wounded. Here's a tip: Learn to duck." Sullivan is ably directed by his wife and fellow Mime Trouper Velina Brown on a spare, simple set, with nothing more than a wooden desk and a screen with projections of Newton's image and of agitprop paintings by Sullivan's mother. He moves with fluid ease from a tender recounting of his father prepping them for their first protest march (where even the family bunny played its part) to a hilarious impersonation of an uptight Irish schoolteacher, leading the audience/classroom in rousing renditions of "My Country 'Tis of Thee" and "Marching to Pretoria" (a songbook is helpfully included with the program). Sullivan's recounting of the time a cop pulled a gun on him as he sat in his own car is chilling, particularly after the Amadou Diallo verdict. And seeing him assume positions supine and supplicating during the incident hammers home the ongoing humiliation faced by black men every day-the humiliation that Newton addressed with ballsy courage, conviction, and unblinking dedication.

Newton's fall from grace has obviously left its mark on Sullivan. But as he gently reminds us toward the end of the show, the important thing is to "listen to the message and let the messenger be human."