A tireless champion

I was so saddened to read yesterday that Sen. Edward Kennedy has been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Elected to the Senate in 1962, the Massachusetts Democrat has been tireless champion on issues that all Americans should care about regardless of their political leanings - health care, the minimum wage, education, civil rights.

I've only seen Ted Kennedy in person twice. In 1980, he spoke at Northeastern University in Boston when I was a student there. But four years earlier, during my first trip to Washington, D.C., I saw him on the floor of the Senate. I'll always remember it, because he was sporting a bright green tie in honor of St. Patrick's Day.

I went to Washington in 1976, when I was a junior in high school, under a Close Up Foundation program. Close-Up is a terrific nonprofit organization that promotes civic education. Under its auspices, thousands of students come to Washington every year for a week of sightseeing, a sense of how government works, and the role that they can play in it.

From my first view of the Capitol dome in the distance as our bus pulled into the city, I was hooked. This was before I went to college in Boston, before I'd done any traveling, and it was the first city I ever loved. I always wanted to live in Washington, but I never had the chance. I guess it'll always be one of my great unfulfilled ambitions. At least as an adult, I've had plenty of friends to visit there.

Washington is the best place in the world for someone who loves politics and history. I remember we met our congressmen and various government officials, toured the monuments and the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History (the beginning of my lifelong love affair with that museum). We even saw a show at Ford's Theatre, the gospel-themed musical Your Arm's Too Short to Box with God. (I don't recall anything else about it except the title).

At our hotel one morning, I saw a very tall, imposing-looking Muhammad Ali. One night, I peeked inside a banquet room where a dinner was taking place for Congress' Joint Economic Committee and had a chance to meet, among others, Alan Greenspan, (before he was Federal Reserve chairman) Coretta Scott King and Minnesota Sen. Hubert Humphrey. The former vice president was so gracious. He must have spotted my nametag because he called me by my first name, and introduced me to his wife, Muriel, who was standing next to him.

It was memorable week in many ways, including that glimpse of Senator Kennedy. While the outlook is grim, he's still with us, and I wish him the best.

Good Boys and True

Gratuitous Violins rating: ***1/2 out of ****

Brandon Hardy is at the top of the high school food chain in Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa's Good Boys and True, currently playing off-Broadway at the Second Stage Theatre.

Hardy is the captain of the football team at St. Joseph's, his Catholic boys school outside of Washington, D.C., and he's been admitted early decision to Dartmouth. As portrayed by Brian J. Smith, he's a polite, personable, confident overachiever who makes his parents very proud. Even his last name evokes an all-American wholesomeness.

But the perfectly formed life that Brandon has created for himself is in danger of falling apart. His coach, Russell Shea, played by Lee Tergesen, has come into possession of a videotape in which a boy who looks suspiciously like Brandon is seen having rough sex with a girl. Brandon's father is a doctor off on some lifesaving medical mission to Central America, so Shea calls his mother, Elizabeth, played by J. Smith-Cameron, to the school and confronts her with the tape.

Tergesen plays the coach as someone whose primary concern is to protect the school's reputation. He seems perfectly willing to sweep the whole incident under the rug, as long as it's kept quiet. And if it can't be kept quiet, well Brandon will be offered up as a sacrificial lamb.

It turns out that Brandon is hiding something - from his coach, his teammates, his family, and most importantly, from himself. He's had a secret relationship with a classmate, Justin, played with great sensitivity by Christopher Abbott, and he's desperate to ward off even the slightest hint that he's gay.

In some ways, Good Boys and True left me feeling a bit unsatisfied. Some plot points are only vaguely hinted at, the story seems a little rushed at 90 minutes and it ends rather abruptly. Despite those shortcomings, this is a play that had me thinking about how we define masculinity, how teenage boys treat teenage girls, about how athletes get treated, and about what a confining, threatening place high school can be for a gay teenager.

Smith vividly portrays a 1980s teenager struggling with his sexual orientation. I know that coming-out stories aren't exactly a novel concept in 2008, but this is the first one I've seen on stage and there were a couple of scenes in particular that were heart-wrenching for me to watch.

Brandon is living with a fear that I can't even contemplate. He knows the taunts that get piled on gay boys, including Justin. He believes that as a gay man, his future won't be as bright. It's to the point where the fear warps his judgment. To be what his teammates would consider a "real man," he hurts everyone around him. He may even have ruined the bright future that he's expended so much energy working toward. It's also telling that the girl on the videotape, played by Betty Gilpin, isn't from the same wealthy, private-school world. In one sad scene, Gilpin's Cheryl tells Elizabeth how she's been horribly scarred by the incident.

As Derek McLane's trophy-filled set design drives home, he lives in a very jock-oriented culture. The locker room, the gym, the football field are places where being gay is light years away from being accepted. In fact, for Brandon, it's preferable to practically be considered a rapist. He doesn't even really understand why the incident on the videotape is such a big deal. He's shocked that when the scandal becomes public knowledge, the school won't protect him.

As the story unfolded, I expected Smith-Cameron to be angrier as she tries to draw the truth out of her son. But I realized that she's an affluent, educated woman, a doctor like her husband. Even Tom Broecker's costume design signals tasteful, expensive, restrained. I realized that this is not a family where people get too emotional or spend a lot of time discussing their feelings.

Naturally, Smith-Cameron cannot believe that the boy on the videotape is her son. Her inclination is to protect Brandon. But she also remembers a pretty disgusting testosterone-filled incident from her own youth, involving Brandon's father, and she worries that history is repeating itself. Elizabeth's sister Maddy, played by Kellie Overbey, bluntly reminds her that this "boys will be boys" attitude has been going on for a long time.

I was impressed at the way, under Scott Ellis' direction, Good Boys and True doesn't squander its emotional capital by overdoing it. The two loudest, angriest, most emotional scenes occur when Brandon denies that he's gay. During the first one, I got choked up as he hurls vile, homophobic insults at Justin. He's going to have a better life, he taunts Justin, he'll make more money, be more successful, be happier, because he's not going to be gay. It's as if he could will himself to be straight.

At first, I felt horrible for Justin. But Justin is actually in a much better place than Brandon. He's hurt by the taunts of his classmates, but like most gay teens - and adults - he hasn't let those taunts destroy him. He's further along in accepting the fact of this sexual orientation. Hopefully, he'll find a partner and he'll be fine. As for Brandon, I remember thinking, he'll either come to terms with being gay or in 30 years, he'll end up like Larry Craig in an airport men's room.

In its earlier incarnation, at the Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago, the ending of Good Boys and True apparently was different, more clear cut. The play was also about 30 minutes longer. But I think a more vague ending works better. Elizabeth brings up Justin in a way that strongly hints she knows about their relationship, but when Brandon heatedly denies it, she drops the matter. Brandon doesn't seem at all ready to come out, to his mother or anyone else. Elizabeth is left frustrated and bewildered. She thought she knew everything about her son. She blames herself for his involvement with this scandal and she's disgusted by his nonchalant attitude toward the matter.

In the end, what got to me is that Brandon didn't have anyplace to turn for help when he feared his relationship with Justin would become public knowledge. He couldn't go to his coach. His mother gave an indication that she'd be supportive, but I wasn't completely sure. I also wasn't sure about how his father would react to having a gay son. I hope his parents would still love him and still be proud of him. Whatever you have to go through in life, whatever challenges you face, your family's love should never be in doubt.

When I was growing up, I had parents, a community to tell me what it meant to be Jewish. Brandon is going through something much tougher, and he's going through it all alone. I just wish he'd had someone to talk to, someone who could have eased his fears about what it means to be gay. I wish someone could have told him that it's simply a matter of who he loves, a part of who he is like his hair color or eye color, that it doesn't change any of the other things about him. He's still a great athlete, a good student, a caring son, a model citizen, the same wholesome, clean-cut all-American kid that he's always been.

I wish someone had reassured him that he would survive the hateful name-calling, the taunts and the doubt, that he didn't have to live his life as a lie, in a sham marriage, closeted and miserable. I wish someone had told him that he could have his dignity as an open, confident gay man, that he could meet his true love, find a successful career, have a wonderful life filled with great adventures and close, supportive friends. I wish someone had told him that he was a good boy and true, and that he would grow up to become an equally good man.

The Country Girl

Gratuitous Violins rating: ** out of ****

On paper, I should have loved the Broadway revival of Clifford Odets' 1950 play The Country Girl. The cast sounded terrific, it's just the kind of backstage story that appeals to me, and it's directed by Mike Nichols, who also directed The Graduate, one of my all-time favorite movies.

Well, I don't know what happened, but this was a disappointment.

First, I was straining a bit to hear some of the dialogue from my seat in the front row of the mezzanine at the Jacobs Theatre. I'm not sure how big a deal to make of this. My theatergoing companions said that they could hear fine. But I talked to some other people as we were standing in line to use the ladies room at intermission, and they also said that they had trouble hearing, especially when the actors weren't directly facing the audience.

Also, when you get three actors like Morgan Freeman, Frances McDormand and Peter Gallagher together in a play you expect, well, something to sizzle - you expect to get the caliber of performances that you'll always remember. Even the show's Web site touts its "three extraordinary stars." Well, I saw The Country Girl a little over a week ago and frankly, not a lot of it stuck with me. There were a few moments, but overall, it just never caught fire for me.

Freeman plays a washed-up, alcoholic actor named Frank Elgin whose best days are long behind him. McDormand is his long-suffering wife, Georgie, who is packing her suitcase and on the verge of leaving him. And Gallagher is Bernie Dodd, the driven, energetic director who remembers Elgin from the days when he was good, and wants to cast him in a new play that's trying out in Boston with the aim of making it to Broadway.

Of the three, Gallagher made the biggest impression on me. He truly believes that he can bring out the magic in Frank. He's desperately trying to keep him sober and keep the play on track. At the same time, he's fending off producer Phil Cook (Chip Zien), who would replace Frank in an instant. There are some good moments between McDormand and Gallagher, as they argue over who truly knows what's best for Frank. Dodd can't quite figure out whether Georgie is a help or a hindrance to his efforts. At one point, he tells her, "You ride that man like a broom."

McDormand does give Georgie a sense of toughness and weariness. She's a realist - she's been through so many ups and downs with Frank over the years and knows his strengths and weaknesses all too well. There's no sentimentality left. She knows he's helpless and a drunk and tells Bernie at one point that her husband is "incapable of the truth." Despite Bernie's accusations that she's hurting her husband, she knows him better than anyone else.

But as for McDormand and Freeman together, I never really felt that there was any chemistry between them. This is a couple that's been through a lot over many years - the collapse of a career, the death of a child. Maybe the passion simply went out of their relationship a long time ago. I guess they've stayed together because Frank desperately needs Georgie, and she knows that he'd be lost without her.

And Freeman is almost too mild-mannered, too low key. He does a good job of portraying Frank's insecurity, someone who's confidence is shaky, as much as he tries to hide it. Frank obviously knows what's at stake here - he's been given a second chance at stardom. But I never really saw a hint in him of the great actor that he once was, the spark that would make Gallagher's Bernie Dodd risk so much to take a chance on him.

Things do pick up in Act II, when you have the escalating clashes between Bernie and Georgie, exacerbated by the breakup of Bernie's own marriage and the bitterness he feels toward his ex-wife. There's the tension that comes from not knowing whether Frank will stay sober, whether he'll make it to opening night on Broadway.

It's hard to explain, but I didn't feel the same strong personalities come through during The Country Girl the way I did last spring, when I saw Kevin Spacey and Eve Best in A Moon for the Misbegotten. It wasn't a horrible experience by any means, it just left me feeling kind of blah when I expected to be riveted. The performances were compelling at times, but the actors never really answered the question that to me is so crucial whenever the curtain goes up: Why should I care about these people?

My audience story

I saw The Lion King during my last trip to Broadway, and I absolutely loved it. I'll be writing a full review soon, but I wanted to share my own audience story.

This was my second Disney show. I saw Mary Poppins last summer. And of course there are hundreds of children in attendance, some of them as young as 5 years old. It's all very cute and it's great to see so many kids at a Broadway show. (Less cute is the way Disney hawks souvenirs inside the theatre before the show starts. I felt like I was at a baseball game.)

You simply can't have the same expectations from an audience at a Disney musical that you have at a performance of, say, August: Osage County or some other other adult-oriented fare. Both The Lion King and Mary Poppins are nearly three hours long, and you can't expect a 5-year-old to sit there in complete silence for that stretch of time. All things considered, I thought the youngsters at both shows were very well behaved.

Still, at The Lion King I got kicked in the back of the seat a couple times and the kids on both sides of me were a little chatty. They used their indoor voices, but every few minutes a little voice would pipe up with questions - and they had lots of questions. "Who's that?" "Is he dead?" were a couple of the ones I remembered. I can't blame them. They were exactly the kind of questions I would have asked at their age if my parents had taken me to a Broadway show.

At intermission, I looked at the little boy who was kicking my seat (it really only happened a couple times, and he didn't do it on purpose) and he was so nattily attired, all I could do was smile. He couldn't have been more than 7 or 8, and he was dressed in a blazer, blue shirt and khaki pants. He was with his grandparents, and when I complimented him on his wardrobe, his grandmother sounded a little disappointed that he wasn't wearing a tie.

Yeah, the talking did get slightly grating after awhile, but it didn't ruin my enjoyment of the show in the least. I think that The Lion King is probably better when you see it with hundreds of kids, and catch some of their wide-eyed amazement and enthusiasm. I mean, why would I want to see it with 1,500 cynical, jaded adults like myself? (If you're planning to see it and you don't have any kids, I suggest borrowing one from a friend or relative.)

I just took it all in stride. But apparently it was too much for a man sitting in front of me. At one point during Act II, he turned around, put his index finger to his lips and firmly shushed the little boy sitting next to me on his mother's lap.

Now, that shocked me. First of all, what did this man expect at a Disney musical on a Sunday evening? Plus, he was with kids of his own! Also, I would never shush a child I didn't know. I can understand the guy's dilemma. It's not like he could quietly approach the boy's mother. He did it in the firmest, quickest and most unobtrusive way possible.

But still, I felt bad for the kid. He was probably around 5, and most likely at his first Broadway show. I could tell that he was pretty much enthralled by the whole spectacle and he was much too young to realize he was supposed to save his questions for afterward. I just felt like this man crushed his enthusiasm. I mean really, it wasn't that annoying. I hope the whole incident hasn't scarred the child (pun intended!) and put him off the theatre altogether.

Making a connection

I wrote a couple days ago about seeing Thurgood on Broadway the same week the California Supreme Court overturned a ban on same-sex marriage. Well, apparently someone else sees the connection between the fight for equal rights for gay and lesbian Americans and the fight for civil rights for African-Americans.

Here's an interview in today's Los Angeles Times with Chief Justice Ronald M. George of the California Supreme Court, who voted with the majority and wrote the opinion. Court rules prohibit him from speaking too specifically about the decision until it takes effect, in 30 days, but I think this quote really says it all:

"As he read the legal arguments, the 68-year-old moderate Republican was drawn by memory to a long ago trip he made with his European immigrant parents through the American South. There, the signs warning "No Negro" or "No colored" left "quite an indelible impression on me," he recalled in a wide-ranging interview Friday. "I think," he concluded, "there are times when doing the right thing means not playing it safe."

The Times also has a story looking at the experience in Massachusetts, where same-sex marriage became legal in 2004. The writer talks to gay and lesbian couples about the impact being able to marry has had on their lives, and how even opponents have come around. Here's a great quote from a state representative from the Worcester area,

"I was a huge opponent," said Rep. Paul Kujawski, a Democrat who voted repeatedly in favor of a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage. After three years of conversations with gay and lesbian families and individuals, Kujawski said, he has become a supporter: "I listened to story after story, and I found out they only want what everyone else wants -- the opportunity to live in happiness and dignity."

Ok, my immediate reaction was "Duh!" I mean, it took him three years of conversations with gay and lesbian families before it finally dawned on him that they simply want what we all want - the opportunity to live in happiness and dignity. I'm thrilled that he finally realized what should have been self-evident all along, but why wasn't he convinced after the first conversation? Seriously, what took him so long?!

Finally, Andrew Sullivan has a link on his Web site to a heart-wrenching column he wrote for Time magazine in 2004 about his experiences growing up, realizing that he was gay and coming to terms with it, and why the freedom to marry is so important to him.

In a couple of days, I'll be posting a review of a moving, thought-provoking off-Broadway play I saw called Good Boys and True. Sullivan's words made me think again of that play and its young protagonist, who is going through much the same process. In this paragraph, Sullivan could be speaking to that teenager:

"I want above everything else to remember a young kid out there who may even be reading this now. I want to let him know that he doesn't have to choose between himself and his family anymore. I want him to know that his love has dignity, that he does indeed have a future as a full and equal part of the human race. Only marriage will do that. Only marriage can bring him home."

A Catered Affair

Gratuitous Violins rating: **** out of ****

I've written before about my love for musicals with elaborate sets, rousing songs and intricately choreographed dance numbers. But that's not all I love. There's plenty of room in my musical theatre fandom to heap some praise on a small gem of a show like A Catered Affair.

This is a thoughtful musical that treats working-class characters in the Bronx in the 1950s with dignity and tenderness. Its themes of family and love and sacrifice resonated with me. John Bucchino's score is quite moving in the way that it articulates what the characters are thinking and feeling. And Harvey Fierstein has packed a lot of emotion, including a bit of humor, into his book, based on a movie by Gore Vidal and a teleplay by Paddy Chayefsky.

This is a musical that's really unlike any other I've seen over the past 18 months. A Catered Affair doesn't overreach. Under John Doyle's direction, it's a well-told slice of life about a family at a crossroads. I liked the way it showed the different dreams of people living under the same roof. And one thing I appreciated when I thought about it later, it's generally a very quiet musical, which was kind of nice for a change.

Aggie and Tom Hurley, played by Faith Prince and Tom Wopat, are coping with the loss of their soldier son, killed in Korea. Understandably, that grief contributes to the subdued mood of A Catered Affair, but I wouldn't describe it as a gloomy or somber musical. Just the opposite - I found it very hopeful and life-affirming.

Aggie wants to use the military's death benefit to give their daughter Janey the lavish wedding that she never had. But Tom has a dream of his own that he's been harboring all these years: he wants to buy a share of his taxi business. And their daughter, played so sweetly and with such determination by Leslie Kritzer, wants a simple wedding at city hall with her fiance, Ralph, a nicely low-key Matt Cavenaugh, so that the two can embark on a cross-country car trip.

Prince and Wopat portray Aggie and Tom with great sympathy and poignancy. Up until this point, they've been consumed by the details of daily life. They've probably spent the past 20 years not talking to each other. Now, for the first time in their marriage, they will be alone with each other. And all of that bottled-up emotion is coming out, when Aggie dreams about the perfect wedding in "Vision," or Tom's stunning and forceful "I Stayed."

The disagreement about what to do with the money reminded me of another working-class family in the 1950s, the African-American Youngers in A Raisin in the Sun. But seeing the folded, triangular-shaped American flag resting on the kitchen table also reminded me of stories I've read recently, of families who have lost a son or daughter in Iraq or Afghanistan and face a similar dilemma.

This was my first time seeing Harvey Fierstein on stage, and hearing that gravelly voice in person was thrilling. Initially, I had some reservations about his role. He plays Aggie's brother Winston, a "confirmed bachelor" in 1950s jargon. His comic turn seemed a bit out of place in a story about a grieving family. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how essential he was to the story.

I think audiences really crave the relief that laughter provides. A Catered Affair is a pretty serious musical, but Fierstein's book wisely includes a few scenes that lighten the mood. In one of them, his anger at not being invited to the wedding leads to a drunken outburst that's sad and funny. Ok, maybe his voice isn't the best, but I thought he was so touching in his big song, "Coney Island."

There's another reason why Winston's role is so important. In the popular culture of the 1950s, blacks, Jews and gays are largely at the margins of society, or invisible. But of course, there were gay men in the 1950s. What A Catered Affair does is make these men visible by giving a voice to their lives and their loves and their dreams, by showing them as fully realized human beings, as part of supportive families. And that's the way it should be.

I also loved the way David Gallo's set and Zachary Borovay's projection design evoked New York City - from the pictures of tenements projected on the back wall, to Janey and Ralph's beautiful duet on a fire escape, "Don't ever stop saying I love you." This was an era when extended families lived with each other in cramped apartments, and when two young people would never think about taking a cross-country drive together unless they were married. I also loved the trio of neighborhood busybodies, played by Lori Wilner, Kristine Zbornik and Heather MacRae, who lean out of their windows to trade the latest gossip.

At its core, A Catered Affair is a story about love - between a husband and wife, between siblings, between parents and children, between two men. Even though we never actually see the object of Winston's affection, we know there is someone special in his life. It's a story about what family members do for each other, the sacrifices they make, it's about the things that get unsaid in a relationship, about a younger generation yearning to break free from their parents.

I wrestled with my rating for A Catered Affair, whether to give it 3 1/2 or 4 stars. But I'm giving it the benefit of the doubt. In the interest of full disclosure, a knee injury flared up soon after the show started, and I was in intense pain for the first 45 minutes. I spent the last 45 minutes standing at the back of the mezzanine in the Walter Kerr Theatre, which actually was a pretty good vantage point.

Since then, I've thought a lot about A Catered Affair. While some musicals are pretty forgettable, this one stayed with me. I went to the Web site and listened to some of the songs, and they moved me once again. Even the parts that gave me pause initially, like Winston's role, seemed to fit when I really thought about them. If it weren't for the knee pain, I think these things would have struck me while I was watching, and made a bigger impact.

In the end, A Catered Affair isn't the biggest, boldest or brashest musical I've ever seen, but it's certainly one of the most heartfelt.

Thurgood

Gratuitous Violins rating: **** out of ****

This week's decision by the California Supreme Court to overturn a ban on gay marriage is the latest in a long line of battles to expand civil rights in America that have been waged - and won - in America's courtrooms. All of those struggles can be traced back to the landmark 1954 Supreme Court ruling in Brown vs. Board of Education that outlawed school segregation. In a unanimous decision, the justices said that separate can never truly be equal.

In the 1950s, before he became the nation's first African-American Supreme Court justice, Thurgood Marshall, of the NAACP's Legal Defense Fund, was known as the lawyer for Linda Brown. She was the young black girl in Topeka, Kan., whose family wanted her to attend school closest to where she lived, a school that was designated for white children only.

Marshall's story, and the story of the fight to end legalized segregation in the United States, are brought to life by Laurence Fishburne's wonderful, totally absorbing performance in Thurgood, a one-man show playing through July 20 at Broadway's Booth Theatre.

When I was a young, I remember watching on television one-man shows with Henry Fonda as Clarence Darrow and James Whitmore as Harry Truman. Through their mannerisms and manner of speaking they became those men. I'm sure that a one-person show has got to be one of the most difficult roles for an actor. You're out there in front of an audience all alone, walking on a tightrope, without a net. Yet they pulled it off. And Fishburne is absolutely their equal. Quite simply, his performance blew me away. I totally suspended disbelief and felt like I was watching Thurgood Marshall tell me the story of his life. I just hope someone tapes this for posterity.

This was my first time seeing a one-person show live. Before I went, I was a little afraid that it might be a slightly dry recitation of the facts, something that was more good for me than entertaining. But Thurgood is immensely entertaining. And Fisburne is mesmerizing as he takes us on a journey through Marshall's life. While George Stevens Jr.'s 90-minute play takes the form of a lecture Marshall is giving at his alma mater, Howard University Law School, I never felt like I was being lectured at, but rather regaled by a masterful storyteller.

The set, by Allen Moyer, is simple but works fine - a long oak table, a lectern and couple of chairs. Elaine McCarthy's projections on a stucco-colored flag on the back wall - the Supreme Court building, a sharecropper's shack, a sign pointing to the balcony of a movie theater where black patrons were forced to sit - give us a feel for the time and place where these events in Marshall's life are occurring.

And under Leonard Foglia's direction, Fishburne, almost always in motion, is a commanding presence on stage. I was in the third row, on the aisle, so when he sat down, he was literally right in front of me. There was one point when I wanted to sneak a glance at the other side of the stage, but I didn't dare take my eyes off of him - he was looking right at me, or at least that's what it felt like.

Fishburne makes Marshall a very compelling character, but also folksy and very human - blunt at times, funny and self-deprecating, honest when talking about his shortcomings. Marshall comes across as a towering figure, totally determined to fight the evil of segregation, someone who was fierce in his beliefs, never wavering from his convictions on issues that were important to him, such as his opposition to the death penalty. And as a bonus, Fishburne does a terrific impression of Lyndon Johnson.

I knew the outline of the story from Simple Justice, Richard Kluger's excellent, detailed history of the Brown case. But Fishburne really brings those facts to life as he weaving together all of the different strands of Marshall's life - growing up in Baltimore, his decision to become a lawyer, the triumph of the Brown decision, the pain of losing his first wife to cancer. And his passionate delivery makes the 14th Amendment to the Constitution, with its equal-protection clause, sound practically like poetry. There's also one very funny anecdote about a white lawyer who joins the NAACP legal team that I remembered from the book, but hearing Fishburne as Marshall recount it truly brought home the difference between reading a story and hearing it.

When we think about the fight for civil rights, the first things that come to mind are Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech, Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat on a bus, peaceful protesters being attacked by police dogs and fire hoses. Those are all important things to remember. But that's only part of the story. What Fishburne reminds us of so forcefully in Thurgood is the equally important other part: the hours spent putting together cases, researching and writing legal briefs, arguing before judges who weren't always kindly predisposed to African-American lawyers.

It's a simple idea really: equal justice under law. Those words, engraved on the front of the Supreme Court, include far more Americans today than they did a half century ago. While we have a ways to go to truly include everyone under the banner of equal justice, we've certainly come a very long way. And for that, as Laurence Fishburne demonstrates so compellingly, we have Americans like Thurgood Marshall to thank.