Left to right: Teri Brown, Patricia Alli, Mikayla Lashae Bartholomew and Bethany Mayo in Virginia Stage Company's production of "Angry, Raucous, and Shamelessly Gorgeous." (Samuel Flint)

NORFOLK — Blow, Gabriel, blow! We now have the first anti-August Wilson problem play, though it ends up being more a tribute to him than a bashing.

Audiences are again convulsing at the Wells, this time at a comic tradition — Black women fussing and cracking each other up — even more venerable than the British music hall tradition of Virginia Stage Company’s last comic gem “The 39 Steps.”

The current offering with the tough-to-remember title was written by Pearl Cleage, a Black playwright with an outsized rep (though not so large as that of Wilson — the late author of the “Century Cycle” of 10 plays, one depicting each decade of the 20th century, the most famous being “Fences”).

Cleage’s play, expertly directed by Virginia Commonwealth University theater scholar Tawnya Pettiford-Wates, concerns four Black women united by their profession — theater — though one of them, former diva actor Anna Campbell (Patricia Alli), hasn’t had a role in two years. (She has, notably, been living for decades in Amsterdam trying, until recently, to drink up everything but the canals.)

The other three women are her best friend and manager Betty Samson (Teri Brown), her producer Katie Hughes (Bethany Mayo, also VSC’s director of education) and Precious “Pete” Watson (Mikayla Lashae Bartholomew). The last one is Anna’s replacement in her best-known role, but, at the evening’s start, Anna doesn’t know this. (She thinks she herself is reprising it.) Did I mention “Pete’s” theatrical connection involves dancing and poles?

Mikayla Lashae Bartholomew as Precious “Pete” Watson in Virginia Stage Company's production of "Angry, Raucous, and Shamelessly Gorgeous." (Samuel Flint)

Anna has been invited to current-day Atlanta for a theater festival giving her a lifetime achievement award and presenting a performance of “Naked Wilson” (which, so far as I know, exists only in Cleage’s imagination). Kate reminisces about the day a much younger Anna invented her signature part: “One brave woman doing all those fabulously male monologues, alone on the stage, naked, just to make a point about the silencing of women. It was nothing short of revolutionary.”

Decades later, however, they’re having trouble selling tickets to the reprise of “Naked Wilson,” because “August Wilson is a powerful presence and people are afraid the piece is disrespectful.”

And that was indeed my reaction on first hearing about Cleage’s play “bashing” Wilson for being chauvinistic. “But what about Ma Rainey in ‘Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom’ (1982) and Rose Maxson in ‘Fences’ (1984) and Berniece in ‘The Piano Lesson’ (1986) and Aunt Esther in ‘Gem of the Ocean’ (2003) and (indirectly) in ‘Radio Golf’ (2005)? Aren’t they all great parts for Black women?”

But, as Cleage seems to counter, Wilson did do more for Black men.

Says Anna: “But the story was always and forever about their blues, not ours.”

Betty concurs: “That’s what we were so mad about.”

But since then, Betty and Anna, now both 65, have declared a “truce” with Wilson, chauvinist or not.

This is the first time the VSC has produced a play composed only of Black women actors and directed by a Black woman, Pettiford-Wates, who brought a gifted cast of designers from VCU.

The play is set entirely in a swish Atlanta hotel suite, true in its stage appearance to its supposed $500-a-night price tag. Betty, Anna’s manager and companion, is already there, serving as glue for the evening. Her compulsive solitaire-playing and whispered blessing/prayer “Ashay” (“Amen” in some African and Asian cultures) take us from scene to scene. Brown bears the burden of lots (perhaps a bit too much) “time-is-passing” stage business. But Brown bears up nicely, also bearing, in character, with her friend’s diva-like ways. Anna enters in fabulous African-patterned silk pajamas (courtesy of VCU-trained costume designer Nia Safarr Banks). She is obviously looking forward to what she thinks will be her big comeback. She’s prepared to bare her 65-year-old body; unfortunately, she has misinterpreted the Atlanta festival invitation. As the audience soon learns, festival producer Kate has always intended that a younger actor play the “Naked Wilson” part.

The first hurdle is disabusing Anna of her misconception. The second is getting her to accept her replacement, the untrained “Pete,” a tall, voluptuous woman whose flashy clothing and makeup choices (too much bronzing) along with her body language (a louche slouch, with feet on the furniture), epitomize the generational and educational gulf between her and Anna. The two clash, loudly and repeatedly, with Anna eventually reporting Pete’s impending nude performance to the police.

But then Pete, a performance artist at heart, holds a nighttime solo show atop, of all places, Margaret Mitchell’s House. As the author of “Gone With the Wind,” Mitchell represents the purest remnant of Lost Cause racism. Pete has only seen only the 1939 film version, but she almost instinctively disses Mitchell by performing Rose Maxson’s self-assertion speech from “Fences,” and singing “Oh! Susanna,” in Spanish for extra — if unintentional — alienation effect. Her performance is brilliant, perfectly transgressive, and even honors Anna, whose real full name is Susanna, for the character in a Langston Hughes poem. While atop the roof, Pete is mistaken by a street lady for a Wilsonian angel figure. (Think Gabriel in “Fences.”) A video of the performance goes viral and suddenly things are looking up for “Naked Wilson” — if only the constant rain will stop at the outdoor venue. Will benevolent Wilsonian ghosts prevail?

Toward the end of the play, Anna confesses the motive behind her first miraculous performance of “Naked Wilson”: “I didn’t do it because I was mad at August. I just wanted to feel his words rolling around in my mouth and see if I could feel them coming out through my skin, which is why I had to take my clothes off. I was so in love with the words.” Cleage is none too shabby a wordsmith herself.

Wherever you are, Mr. Wilson, Ashay. Pearl Cleage has your back.

Page Laws is dean emerita of the Nusbaum Honors College at Norfolk State University. prlaws@aya.yale.edu

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