Through June 8: The Black Rep’s Excellent “Radio Golf” Confronts Progress, Memory and the Fragile Line Between Renewal and Ruin
Wilson’s 1997 play hits with present-day force in a product that’s as thoughtful as it is searing.
In “Radio Golf,” the culminating work of August Wilson’s American Century Cycle, The Black Rep stages a searing and timely production that probes the fault lines between progress and preservation, ambition and accountability. As the lead character, Harmond Wilks, campaigns to become Pittsburgh’s first Black mayor while spearheading a flashy redevelopment project, he finds himself at a crossroads—politically, spiritually and culturally.
Wilson’s sharp dialogue and layered characters make clear that the redevelopment of the city’s Hill District is about more than buildings or zoning permits. It’s about memory. It’s about legacy. It’s about the soul of a neighborhood shaped by the Black experience. Harmond’s sleek plans to modernize the area run headlong into the histories embedded in its decaying facades—stories his own family helped write, stories the community cannot afford to lose.
What emerges is a deeply American conflict: the lure of upward mobility versus the weight of ancestral roots. Harmond’s internal struggle—between his polished Ivy League ideals and the deeper truths of where he comes from—reflects a broader tension within Black identity and success. How do you move forward without erasing where you’ve been? How do you build without bulldozing?
Those questions took on unexpected urgency for me, sitting in the Edison Theatre more than a week after my original plans to review this production were delayed by the tornado that tore through St. Louis—leaving behind its own path of destruction, erasure and exposed foundations. Though grateful to finally experience “Radio Golf,” I still feel the loss of that week. Theater can do that, sometimes. It haunts, it waits, it leaves space for what might have been.
In a fitting, if unfortunate, parallel, the storm mirrored “Radio Golf’s” central tension: the fragile line between renewal and ruin. Just as the play explores what is lost in the name of progress, the storm reminds us that what we build—physically, culturally, communally—can disappear in an instant, leaving us to ask what mattered, and what remains.
In the play’s most resonant moments, Wilson invites us to consider what we remember and how we remember—and who gets to decide what’s worth saving. Harmond’s eventual moral awakening—his refusal to sacrifice history for a faceless glass tower—feels revolutionary in its quiet insistence that ethics must accompany ambition.
In this way, “Radio Golf” echoes a bit of dialogue by Cheyenne in the Amazon Prime series “Etoile.” The ballerina asks, “People today want to fight. They want to be angry. OK. But how do we express that anger? How do we turn it into something better? … Maybe they watch, maybe you dance, you feel, you change the story.” Wilson’s play is its own kind of dance—an elegant, anguished movement through generational trauma, capitalist dreams and the persistent hope that if we listen hard enough, we might still hear the stories the bricks are trying to tell.
And speaking of bricks: The Black Rep’s production gains even more resonance when considering that St. Louis could easily lay claim to the nickname “Brick City,” thanks to its deep 19th- and early 20th-century roots in brick manufacturing—once home to more than 60 brickyards. That legacy still lines our streets today in the enduring red brick architecture of many of our finest—and suffering—neighborhoods.
The Black Rep’s staging does more than tell these stories—it animates them with care and conviction. Under Jon Royal’s thoughtful direction, the cast brings Wilson’s text to life with emotional precision and deep understanding.
Reginald L. Wilson commands the stage as Harmond Wilks, delivering a performance rich with confidence, conflict and clarity. He’s joined by a uniformly strong ensemble: Ronald L. Conner as Roosevelt Hicks, whose energetic pragmatism provides a pointed counterweight to Wilks’s evolving idealism. Velma Austin as Mame delivers a poised portrayal that hints at the cost of proximity to power. Ron Himes as Elder Joseph Barlow, grounding the production with gravitas and dignity as well as cunning humor. Kelvin Roston Jr. as Sterling Johnson, offers grit and humor in equal—and delightful—measure.
Visually, the production is grounded by Jim Burwinkel’s set design, which frames the Hill District’s past and present in compelling physical space. Jason Lawshee’s lighting is crisp yet subtle, reinforcing the set’s authenticity. Shevare Perry’s costume design eloquently underscores the characters’ social strata and aspirations. Sound design by Justin Schmitz immerses us further in a world where memory and ambition collide.
This staging achieves more than simply revisiting a major work of American drama (this is the Black Rep’s second round of producing Wilson’s entire American Century Cycle)—it reminds us why live theater matters. It is a preservation act, a protest and a prayer—and above all, an invitation to remember. Especially in the wake of the local tornado devastation, the performance became more than a night of theater; it was a living dialogue with the fragility of what we build and the resilience of what we choose to keep.
In “Radio Golf,” The Black Rep delivers a play and a necessary reckoning—as well as a powerful affirmation of theater’s unique capacity to confront loss with hope and history with vision. Make that, humanity.
The excellent production also inspires reflection on difficult questions. Set in 1997, “Radio Golf” invites reflection on what, if anything, has truly changed in the decades since. The sobering conclusion? Not much—and that’s too bad. The questions and tensions Wilson raised are not relics; they remain with us, still pressing, still unresolved. August Wilson will live as long as his plays are produced, and his work must continue to be voiced as long as his truths remain relevant. Alas, they still do, and not just in St. Louis.
Just as pressing is the continued existence of the Black Rep itself, a cultural institution of immense importance to the Greater St. Louis region. Its presence, like that of so many other cultural arts organizations, is not guaranteed. Two large red Xs in the program—marking the disappearance of major support from the National Endowment for the Arts and another foundational arts funder—stand as a visual alarm. Their placement is both a brave act and a defiant one: a clear-eyed acknowledgment of loss, and an unflinching call to action.
It is also a reminder of the fragility of institutions that serve as custodians of Black (and everyone’s) history, stories and community. The implication is stark: even as this theater company gives voice to history and identity, its own future is under threat. Like the buildings in the Hill District, like the questions Wilson raised, the Black Rep must be preserved. This production of Radio Golf is but one powerful reason why.
Performances of “Radio Golf” continue through June 8th. Visit the Black Rep web site for details.