The Unicorn’s new Jerome Stage is the perfect place to get intimate with women who live a world away

Some cast members dig deep enough to compensate. Toccarra Cash and T.J. Chasteen develop their underwritten slaves into full selves for whom we would ache if their stories were given focus. As a white teacher risking her life for ideals, Angela Cristantello is an eccentric pleasure, uncorking her daft laughter even in scenes that give her lines better suited to a wall plaque than to any dramatic character.

The historical realism is sometimes suspended for welcome flights into the mythopoetic. Through shrewd lighting and staging, director Ricardo Khan plunges us into a well where a slave is hiding. Earlier, the town's rise from the dirt is presented as a vibrant, multicultural dance number. Music throughout the show, from Kansas City gospel singers, is rich and stirring, and Bill Cobbs, star of TV and films, is a warm, garrulous narrator. But he's forced to talk us through an epic metaphor comparing freedom with itching — rashes, scratches and all. No wonder that on opening night, he sometimes lost the words.

What we have here, then, is a show so steeped in talent and local importance that I fervently wished it might cohere. Then, as the climax neared, the town was suddenly a smoking ruin and Quindaro had never bothered to show us exactly how or why. Quindaro the town's failure might be vague to audiences, but sadly, Quindaro the play's is all right there on the surface.