By John Lyle Belden

American-born actor Ira Aldridge was the first man of African descent to play the lead role in Shakespeare’s “Othello” on the London stage in 1833.

(The tragic character Othello, as most know, was a Moor, dark-skinned from African heritage. But especially as he is the title role, even when Black actors were available in England he was always played by a White man in blackface.)

The play “Red Velvet,” by Lolita Chakrabarti, presented by Southbank Theatre Company, is about this and more, taking measure of a complex and controversial artist with particular emphasis on one of his many milestones.

We open and close the play in 1867 with Aldridge (Daniel Wilke) on what would be his final tour of Europe, performing “King Lear” in Lodz, Poland. We learn he has been a celebrity throughout the Continent and in the U.K., where he also managed a theatre. Turning 60, he is impatient, blustery, and forbids any press interviews (we’ll understand why later).

A young Polish reporter, Halina (Hannah Embree), manages to make her way into his dressing room, talking the actor into taking a few questions. Feeling her to be impertinent, he then sends her away. However, the memories have been triggered, and our scene switches to London, more than 30 years earlier.

During a sold-out London production of “Othello,” famed actor Edmond Kean, in the title role, has collapsed on stage and will never tread the boards again. Theatre manager Pierre LaPorte (Brant Hughes), a friend of Aldridge, sees a chance to make theatre history. Politically progressive company member Henry Forester (J Charles Weimer), who also supports the demonstrations against slavery in the British Empire raging at the time, likes the idea, but fellow thespians Bernard Ward (Doug Powers) and especially Kean’s son Charles (Matt Hartzburg) – who plays the Moor’s murderous rival Iago – do not.

It is argued that the British stage is for escapist fantasy, where a regular (White) person can pretend to be something he is not. This form of stark realism, Ward remarks, is as absurd as a real simpleton playing Caliban or a real Jew as Shylock. Still, LaPorte is adamant and the show goes on, with Aldridge baring his natural face.

While the men seem to fit archetypes one would expect to see in a story of shaking up things in a treasured institution, the women each take an intriguing perspective.

Ellen Tree (Liz Carrier), like the tragic female lead Desdemona that she plays, seems caught in the middle. She must act opposite Aldridge, the focus of this controversy, and she is the fiancé of Charles Kean, who threatens to walk out in protest. Her allegiance is to the company, and she seems intrigued by this American’s approach to the play and its characters. Wilke and Carrier, like the actors they portray, skillfully present themselves as professionals rehearsing a married couple who must stand close and touch each other as they are bonded by love and destroyed by jealousy. Is that all we see? Neither they nor Chakrabarti’s script under the direction of Donna McFadden give us an easy or definitive answer.

In a role of sublime subtlety capped by the profound moments when she finally speaks her mind, Kendall Maxwell is exquisite as the servant Connie. Just her presence at the back of the room – standing in contrast to the man of color who is treated as a peer and equal to the others who only see her as little more than a tea-serving automaton – speaks volumes.

Rachel Kelso plays Aldrige’s wife, Margaret, casually trusting and true to her famous husband. Her understanding helps buoy our feelings for Ira Aldridge, who in turn expresses genuine affection for her, especially when she is no longer with him.

Embree is also impressive, giving us a character having to power through her own issues in a society determined to limit her.

Also, in the 1867 scenes Weimer amusingly plays a randy German stagehand, while Powers is Aldridge’s longsuffering personal assistant.

Hughes delivers a sharp performance as one struggling to keep both a career and a friendship without losing both. His character’s Frenchness makes him a sufficient outsider to be the catalyst of change, still, he’s all (show) business for his role in these events.

We come to find in the play’s title an aspect of Aldridge’s life’s arc. He recalls peering through velvet curtains as a boy to see his first plays; as an adult, he dons a crimson velvet cloak as the Moor. (Just one of many excellent costumes by Karen Cones.) Turning convention on its head, in preparing to play the aging King, he applies greasepaint to lighten his skin.

A reflection and commentary on racial and gender discrimination that has us considering how much has truly changed, and what it has taken to change it, wrapped in an intriguing portrait of a historic individual, “Red Velvet” has one weekend of performances left, Thursday through Sunday, May 1-4, at Shelton Auditorium, 1000 W. 42^nd Street, Indianapolis (Butler University campus).  Get info and tickets at southbanktheatre.org.