The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: Tarell Alvin McCraney’s modern fable returns anchored by deeply felt performances and a striking physical language
By Ross
Drumming by Munir Zakee meets us before anything else, even through a computer screen, and it settled into my body with a steady insistence that refused to be simply and only background noise. Watching this production as a video recording rather than in the room did create a distance I could intuitively feel, but the pull of Tarell Alvin McCraney’s captivating The Brothers Size found a way to reach across that distance with surprising force. That rhythm, paired with the sight of a white circle being drawn on the ground, established a landscape that felt both ritualistic and immediate, as though something ancient and present-tense were unfolding at once.
Co-directed by McCraney (Academy Award winner for Moonlight) and Olivier Award winner Bijan Sheibani, this revival embraces a stripped-down aesthetic that allows language, movement, and sound to carry the weight of the storytelling. The stage is nearly bare, defined solely by that single circle and the sound of live drumming pulsing through the piece like a restless heartbeat. Characters fascinatingly speak their stage directions aloud, collapsing the space between performer and audience and turning the act of storytelling into something shared and consciously constructed. The result is an electric, moving theatrical language that feels at once intimate and expansive, holding space for both stillness and an approaching eruption.
At the center of this dynamic staging is the relationship between two Size brothers. Ogun, portrayed with grounded emotional clarity by André Holland (August Wilson’s Jitney on Broadway), has built a life shaped by discipline and responsibility, while his younger brother Oshoosi, played by Alani iLongwe (Paradise Blue at Geffen Playhouse), returns from incarceration carrying a heavy suitcase full of vulnerability and restlessness. Their dynamic is shaped by care that often arrives with friction. A question from Ogun can feel like an act of protection and intrusion at the same time, often met with that internal hesitation of wanting to know and not wanting to know. “Death killed the lazy last,” the sleepy brother, Oshoosi, states to his brother Ogun, in an attempt to placate. But Ogun is determined and unwavering in his attempt to help his ex-con brother pull himself up in the world. That push and pull defines their connection, revealing a bond that is deeply felt and constantly tested.
Holland’s performance anchors the production with a quiet intensity that draws focus without ever reaching for it. His Ogun moves through the space with a sense of purpose that reflects a man trying to hold the world together through sheer will. Opposite him, iLongwe brings a playful softness and volatility to Oshoosi, capturing the uncertainty of someone caught between paths. Malcolm Mays (“Life of a King“) enters the circle as Elegba as both a disruptor and an invitation, embodying a magnetic and destabilizing presence that takes over the space. His connection with Oshoosi carries a charged intimacy that extends beyond friendship, introducing a layer of desire and possibility that complicates the world Ogun is trying to maintain.
That tension expands the play’s exploration of freedom and obligation. Oshoosi stands at a crossroads shaped by competing forces. Ogun offers structure, stability, and a future built through labor. Elegba represents something very different: an alternative that feels immediate and emotionally alive, even as it carries its own risks. The production leans into this dynamic with careful attention to queer identity, allowing the relationship between Oshoosi and Elegba to exist as an integral part of the narrative rather than something hidden beneath it. Their shared history and physical proximity create a language of connection that is expressed as much through movement and silence as with words.
McCraney’s writing, rooted in Yoruba storytelling traditions, gives the play a poetic framework that elevates its everyday realities into something mythic. Phrases echo, gestures repeat, and moments of stillness and movement take on heightened significance. The live drumming underscores these rhythms, shaping the emotional landscape and guiding the audience through shifts in tone and intensity. It becomes a full-body experience, even at a remove, where sound and physicality work together to create a sense of immersion that emerges through Suzu Sakai’s minimal design.
Within that simplicity, the production, with lighting by Spencer Doughtie and sound/composition by Stan Mathabane, reveals a world that feels both tightly contained and open to interpretation. The white circle on the floor becomes a boundary, a ritual space, and a point of return. The characters move within it and around it, as though negotiating the limits placed upon them and the ones they impose on themselves, guided by the solid work of choreographer Juel D. Lane. That visual language reinforces the play’s central concerns, tracing how identity, history, and desire intersect in ways that resist easy resolution.
Experiencing The Brothers Size through a recording inevitably alters its immediacy, yet the production’s emotional clarity remains intact. Its focus on brotherhood, longing, and the search for a life beyond past mistakes resonates with a quiet persistence. Sitting with these characters, with their choices and contradictions, the story unfolds as an act of reckoning shaped by love and fear, pulling in constant tension. The rhythm that begins the evening continues to pulse beneath it all, carrying the sense that every move forward is measured, uncertain, and deeply human.
