In 'Little Children Dream of God,' Haitian refugee tale goes adrift

By F. Kathleen Foley

March 5, 2017 1:30 PM PT

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“Little Children Dream of God,” now in its West Coast premiere at the Road on Magnolia, opens with such an intriguing hook that one is almost tempted to ignore the problems plaguing Jeff Augustin’s imaginative but deeply flawed play.

In the opening scene, storm-tossed Haitian refugee Sula (Jaquita Ta’le), some 11 months pregnant (an indication of Augustin’s mythical intentions), drifts toward Miami in a rubber tire. Such strong and timely stuff bodes well, at least initially.

Sula reaches Miami in the throes of labor and is taken in by crusty Carolyn (Blaire Chandler), a nurse with 11 children, all of whom were begat by none other than God himself (a bizarre plot point that figures, somewhat arbitrarily, into the action). After giving birth to a child who never cries, Sula finds a new admirer in Joel (Hari Williams), the owner and manager of a ramshackle Miami apartment building that hosts refugees, a legacy of Joel’s philanthropic Haitian father, whose imminent death will leave the future of the building and its tenants in grave doubt.

But Sula, stalked by her murderous ex (Sedale Threatt Jr.), can never rest easy — and the memories of the dark voodoo rituals she once practiced on her native shores don’t help. Augustin’s various A, B and Z stories encompass Joel’s elitist cousin (Latarsha Rose), who hires Sula as a nanny, and a gay male prostitute (Jonathan Bangs) who seems thrown into the action purely to add more eccentricity. Then there’s the dying Cuban curmudgeon (Jonathan Nichols), another extraneous character who primarily functions as a deus ex machina in a conveniently happy ending.

A supernaturally murky tone, enhanced by Derrick McDaniel’s excellent lighting design, predominates. Given the right approach, Augustin’s dramatic perambulations may have retained the power to fascinate. Unfortunately, despite the best efforts of a committed cast, director Andre Barron’s over-the-top staging never pitches Augustin’s daring oddity into the credible human context that could make this feverish “Dream” linger.

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