“Hymn,” about two Black men in their early 50s discovering newfound brotherly love, is a modest two-person work that, in this outstanding, highly localized Chicago Shakespeare production, punches way above its weight.
British playwright Lolita Chakrabarti (the stage adaptation of “Life of Pi”) has said in many interviews that she wrote “Hymn” — say the title out loud to hear its focus on maleness — because she wanted to see on stage a deep, nuanced friendship between two men.
It’s worth noting that she’s also an actress and previously married to prominent actor Adrian Lester, the son of a Jamaican immigrant who starred in “Hymn” in London when it premiered in 2021. These facts explain two essential qualities of the play: It succeeds primarily, but not solely, as a vehicle for its performers, and it feels honestly attuned to its characters.
The two men meet after a funeral where Gil (James Vincent Meredith) has delivered the eulogy for his father, a Jamaican immigrant who arrived with little, built a family and a business, and sent all four of his kids — Gil is the youngest and the only male — to college. Benny (Chiké Johnson) approaches Gil and soon reveals he is Gil’s half-brother from a short, secret affair. Benny, though, never met his father, and spent significant portions of his childhood in foster homes.
Initial shock and tension give way to an intimate friendship. Each man, identical in age, provides the other with something new. Benny has never had a supportive family willing to provide counsel and encouragement, and certainly never someone to provide his kids with the type of advantages — a first job, for example — that wealth and ownership can bring. Gil, who grew up with older sisters who all became independently successful while he was brought into business with his father, has never had someone who looks up to him as a success story of his own.
The story itself works, but rather than evolving with some twists along the way, there’s just a single big one at the end, and the play ends so quickly that you leave wanting more but not necessarily in a fulfilling way. To her credit, though, Chakrabarti fills in her characters’ lives with details but without needing to over-explain. For example, her play includes clear references to racism, but the characters can simply tell a story and receive a nod of acknowledgment. And we get a sense of offstage life with key figures — Gil’s sisters, Benny’s kids — becoming important parts of the story without being seen.
What makes this “Hymn” genuinely special, though, is the relaxed authenticity of the performances and the fluid elegance of director Ron OJ Parson’s production, both made possible by the inspired choice by Chakrabarti to adapt the play to Chicago’s South Side.
The transplantation works seamlessly — “Hymn” feels very much like a local expression of place. Set and projection designer Rasean Davonté Johnson takes us all over the city with background images of local streets and parks and shops, without ever getting too bound to the fully literal; for example, an image of an oversized black fireplace stands in for a luxurious house at Christmas time.
The production also makes the best use of Chicago Shakespeare’s tricky thrust stage I’ve ever seen for a contemporary play, employing just the right quantity of place-identifying props. The transitions move quickly, as actors store or remove items from upholstered chests that work equally well to suggest a church and a nostalgic junk room.
This all helps the playing to move along with remarkable ease, allowing full focus on Meredith and Johnson, who deliver the type of acting that simply feels like people being themselves. These are two exceptional actors at peak excellence, bonding deeply with characters who bond with each other.
The best scenes — truly joyful ones — come in the middle of “Hymn,” when Gil and Benny reminisce about ’80s and ’90s songs, connecting across their class divide, showing off some rusty dance moves, and opening up about their insecurities. We experience what family and community can really mean in these moments, an utter allowance to be oneself and be appreciated for it.
This level of performance — the sheer sense of the genuine — becomes its own hymn of celebration to live theater and community.