A (Ana Villafañe, left), the youngest woman ever elected to Congress, speaks with the first woman Speaker of the House, N (Holland Taylor), in Mario Correa’s political tug-of-war N/A.
There’s perhaps just enough time until the 2024 election that a play about internecine strife among Democrats can be palatable rather than infuriating. In fact, Mario Correa’s N/A, a battle of ideas between N (Holland Taylor), the first woman Speaker of the House, and the insurgent A (Ana Villafañe), the youngest woman ever elected to Congress, is downright enjoyable, with sharp, quippy, idea-laden writing that can feel as though plucked from The West Wing (minus the walking). Staging this play in the fall, on the eve of the election, would have been sadistic; in the election’s aftermath it might feel like an afterthought. So the moment is ripe to watch two fiercely intelligent, trailblazing women debate their ideals and approaches to wielding power.
N and A are stand-ins for Nancy Pelosi and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, here in a quiet moment after one of their many arguments.
The protagonists are called “N” and “A” but they are clearly stand-ins for Nancy Pelosi and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez; their conversations are “heavily researched and lightly imagined.” No names are used in the play: not Joe Crowley’s, the high-ranking Democratic Congressman that AOC shocked the world by defeating, nor Trump’s, who is referred to, rather, as “the God-awful President,” “the most dangerous President in our history,” “this calamity of a ‘President,’” and other apt phrases. One doesn’t need to be a political junkie to appreciate N/A, as its ideas and conflicts are laid out clearly, though there are some Easter eggs for overconsumers of political news (Correa himself once worked in Congress).
Diane Paulus’s precise direction avoids the stasis that can sometimes afflict two-handers: the way the actors sit, orbit one another, and where they stand all seem to symbolize their power struggle—no movement feels slack or accidental. The scenes take place between 2018, after A’s historic primary win, and 2022, when N relinquishes the speakership after House losses in the midterm elections (projections by the design collective Possible cue the audience to the time and immediate context of a given scene). The production, designed by Myung Hee Cho, is sleek and bare-bones, with all acrylic furniture: two seats, a case containing the Speaker’s gavel, and a desk with phone, into which N either cajoles members of her caucus to support her speakership bid or explains to her granddaughter that “‘Eleanor Roosevelt Barbie’ is a real Barbie!” N wears a pink skirt-suit and A wears a black pantsuit (costumes also by Hee Cho), the clothing representative of the differences between these women.
The thrust of the disagreement between N and A is realpolitik versus idealism, incremental change versus systemic change. As A says, “What about uprooting the calcified political structures that perpetuate social and economic inequity?” For N, anything that doesn’t have a chance of 218 House votes and 60 Senate votes is a waste of energy. She wields power through her sway over her members, while A’s power comes from her social-media and media following, from the “movement.” The generational divide between N and A is felt not just in terms of fluency with technology but in the way they speak about race and privilege: N is reluctant to acknowledge how her whiteness confers on her privileges when she had to fight so hard in a chauvinistic, male-dominated world.
N and A in A’s office not long after the Jan. 6 attack by Trump supporters on the Capitol, where both women acknowledge they would have been killed if found. Photographs by Daniel Rader.
A strength of Correa’s writing is the ability to locate humor amid the debates; N, in particular, is given a bevy of clever jibes and observations that Taylor delivers with pitch-perfect timing. In some sense, Villafañe’s task is the more difficult, because, A’s dialogue, as written, can feel as if it’s bordering on a parody of millennial-speak, or she is positioned as the righteous scold to N’s humor and wry detachment. But Villafañe doesn’t allow A to become a caricature, and her seriousness pays dramatic dividends in her powerful objections to an immigration bill that N has ushered through the House and during the trauma that follows the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol by Trump supporters, when suddenly N’s horse-trading doesn’t seem to have much appeal. Correa is careful not to privilege one woman’s point of view over the other or to provide a correct “answer” to their conflict, and he seems to be animated by the clash of ideas but also by genuine admiration for both women.
There are moments when the play’s debates feel repetitive, but the scenes that are anchored in details feel natural and nuanced, and also reflect the politicians’ humanity. The tug-of-war is engrossing, funny, and ultimately moving, with two fine-tuned performances that evoke the namesake characters but are not crude impressions. Let’s just hope we can still have conversations like these after the next election.
N/A runs through Aug. 4 at the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater at Lincoln Center (150 West 65th St.). Evening performances are at 7 p.m. Tuesday through Friday andat 8 p.m. Saturday; matinees are at 2 p.m. Wednesday and Saturday and at 3 p.m. Sunday. For tickets, visit lct.org.
Playwright: Mario Correa
Director: Diane Paulus
Sets & Costumes: Myung Hee Cho
Lighting Design: Mextly Couzin
Sound Design: Sun Hee Kil & Germán Martínez
Projection Design: Possible
