PURPOSE
is
African American excellence, fully realized.
Written by Tony Award winner
Branden Jacobs-Jenkins and directed by the legendary Phylicia Rashad, Purpose is not just a play. It’s a thunderclap. A revelation. A ten out of ten. Nearly flawless in structure, devastating in execution. This is the kind of theater that doesn’t knock on the door — it kicks it wide open.
The impact? Immediate. Lasting. Unshakable.
When a company of African American artists come together at this level — artistically, emotionally, spiritually — the results are undeniable. The writing cuts deep. The direction strikes with precision. The performances don’t aim to impress — they aim to transform.
Nazareth, a young man caught in a web of family secrets, looks out at the audience and says, “Buckle up.” That’s not a line. That’s a warning. Because what follows is a storm of truth — fierce, funny, uncomfortable, and necessary.
Purpose draws from the lives of Civil Rights leaders, but it doesn’t rest on reverence. It digs. It dissects. It holds power accountable. It explores the cost of legacy, the burden of visibility, and the silence that festers inside of families built on pride and performance.
And Purpose is also funny — truly funny. The kind of funny that makes you catch your breath from laughing too hard.
Meet the Jaspers — a larger-than-life Chicago family with a reputation to protect and secrets ready to explode.
At the head of the family is Solomon Jasper (Harry Lennix), a near-80-year-old orator and retired Civil Rights icon now obsessed with beekeeping. In his prime, he marched alongside Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. These days, he mostly watches his family unravel. His formidable wife Claudine (LaTanya Richardson Jackson), armed with a law degree and nerves of steel, runs the household with ruthless precision.
Their older son, Solomon Jr. (Glenn Davis), was supposed to inherit the family’s political legacy. Instead, he landed in prison for embezzling campaign funds — blowing the inheritance on “cashmere drawers and betting on racing pigeons,” according to his wife. That wife, Morgan (Alana Arenas), was forced by the family to sign false tax returns. She’s now disbarred and headed to prison herself. Since they have two kids, they’re serving sentences one after the other. The divorce she wants? Not happening — Claudine won’t allow anything that might tarnish the family name.
So the family plans a mandatory homecoming dinner to celebrate Junior’s release, but the table is far from peaceful. Tensions spike with the arrival of the younger son, Nazareth (Jon Michael Hill), the one Claudine calls her “weird son.” Naz left divinity school years ago, choosing photography over preaching. He may be autistic, he says he’s asexual, and the family doesn’t accept either.
To complicate matters, Naz brings along Aziza (
Kara Young), a loud, electric presence from Harlem who might be pregnant with his child. Her arrival flips the whole night on its head.
This is a story about a family trying to maintain their place on the pedestal — even if it’s cracking beneath them. There are moments of biting tension, yes. But there’s also nonstop comedy: sharp, smart, and relentless. When the dinner finally boils over, the audience is already breathless from laughter.
Some of the narration slows the pacing, and the dinner table setup doesn’t always offer clean sightlines. But those are small bumps in a production filled with firepower. The cast brings every beat to life with precision. Jon Michael Hill is magnetic. LaTanya Richardson Jackson commands the room. Harry Lennix brings weight and wisdom. Glenn Davis and Alana Arenas play dysfunction like a symphony. And Kara Young? Unstoppable.
This is not entertainment for entertainment’s sake. This is art that knows exactly what it’s doing. It challenges. It affirms. It elevates.
The stage is unapologetically African American. The vision is clear. The storytelling is elite.
And the bar? Raised. Way up. Where it belongs.
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