I winced when I saw it because now that the Trump administration has ordered the NEA to eliminate its grant program for underserved communities, withhold funds from organizations that promote diversity, equity and inclusion and discourage projects that criticize America in anyway, it’s unlikely that the NEA will be funding shows like My Man Kono anytime in the near future.
For playwright Philip W. Chung’s drama chronicles the real-life story of Toraichi Kono who immigrated to this country around the turn of the last century, worked as a chauffeur and general factotum for Charlie Chaplin and then just before WWII, was accused of being a spy for Imperial Japan. It’s a piece of American history little-known to most of us and Chung has gone all in on the research. Maybe too much so.
The play, told in flashbacks, unfolds like the term paper of a student determined to earn an A+ in AP History. Chung makes the grade (it is instructive to learn that being relocated to internment camps wasn't the only hardship Japanese-Americans experienced before, during and after WWII) but Chung scores considerably lower when it comes to crafting a dramatic narrative.
Because the play covers six decades of Kono’s life, the incidents he encounters and the people he meets are only sketchily drawn. And because seven of the eight-member cast play multiple roles it’s hard to latch on to any of them, be it Kono’s long-suffering wife or the third-rate actor who becomes his nemesis.
Charlie Chaplin does stand out but that’s probably because most people who see the play will already have their own ideas—mainly positive—about the silent-movie icon. Chung and his director Jeff Liu know this and so they drop Chaplin into as many scenes as they can (his image even dominates the show’s logo).
Conlan Ledwith does a good job of capturing the comedian’s onscreen mannerisms and real-life vocal patterns but devoting less space to Chaplin might have made more room for Chung and Liu to develop Kono’s character.
Brian Lee Huynh gives an earnest portrayal of Kono but the Wikipedia entry I read when I got home (and the somewhat rakish photo that accompanied it) suggests that the real Kono was a more dynamic and complex guy who naturally charmed officials both here and in Japan and who also delighted in his proximity to celebrity and the power that comes with it.
But Chung has other things on his mind. The show's second act focuses on the 1948 deportation hearing on Kono’s involvement in passing military secrets to the Japanese. Chung clearly wants to use the case to illustrate the bias against immigrants and the anti-Asian racism that have long been a part of the American story. But in doing that he tamps down Kono's personality and leaves the question of his culpability in the espionage up in the air.
Which is a shame because Kono’s story and those of other people from underserved or under-observed communities whose experiences also played a role in shaping the America of today are worth fully exploring—despite flaws in the subjects or in the storytelling—and there may now be fewer opportunities to get them.
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