Review: “A Letter to Lyndon B. Johnson or God” Delivers

A Letter to Lyndon B. Johnson or God: Whoever Reads This First

Written, directed, and performed by Xhloe Rice and Natasha Roland

Presented at SoHo Playhouse

15 Vandam St., Manhattan, NYC

February 8-22, 2025

Natasha Roland and Xhloe Rice. Photo by Morgan Mcdowell.
Two different stories of a boy demonstrating masculinity by leaping from a high place bookend A Letter to Lyndon B. Johnson or God: Whoever Reads This First, the spectacular show from three-time consecutive Fringe First Award winners Xhloe Rice and Natasha Roland. Written, directed, and performed by the duo, A Letter to Lyndon B. Johnson or God captivatingly captures both the anarchic energy and poignant yearnings of boyhood while highlighting its imbrication in a nexus of ultimately damaging patriarchal normativities. The show’s current production is part of SoHo Playhouse's 2025 International Fringe Encore Theater Series, which runs from January 2nd through March 2nd and provides extended runs to shows from "emerging artists who show exceptional talent at each season’s Fringe Festivals."

A Letter to Lyndon B. Johnson or God acquaints us with a pair of boy scouts during LBJ’s 1963-1969 presidency. Ace (Natasha Roland) is the (outwardly) tough one, a “decorated” scout proficient at the expected young male activities; and one of a large crop of brothers in his family, including at least one soldier. His close friend Grasshopper (Xhloe Rice), or Hop, lives with only his grandmother, leaving a gap where he wishes a father figure were, and the occasional stuttering hesitance or physical stumble that Rice gives him in performance marks him as the ‘soft’ one of the duo. Ace and Hop recount tales of their youthful escapades, such as sneaking out to see LBJ’s train pass through their town or pranking one of their camp counselors, but we also catch glimpses around the margins of less idyllic experiences, events which, as the show goes on, occasionally erupt from those margins into clear light of the center, no longer suggestion but cold fact. Throughout, and alongside an ever-present awareness of the never-named Vietnam War, a folktale-style narrative of a boy’s journey in pursuit of manhood acts as an evocative contrapuntal echo to Ace and Hop’s own journeys towards (male) adulthood.
Natasha Roland and Xhloe Rice. Photo by Morgan Mcdowell.
A big part of those journeys consists of the naturalization of patriarchal models of masculinity. Under such models, showing affection or crying is discouraged (holding a male friend's hand, the boys reiterate, is for emergency situations only) and heterosexual possessiveness is reinforced. In the disconnect between masculine intimacy and masculine posturing, one may not even know one's best friend's given name. These norms are also bound up with relationships to the state and its institutions. The play's title gestures to the collapsing of the figures of father, president (in this case, a president bearing a phallic surname), and god that we witness with Ace and Hop and which bears a long history, certainly stretching back in Western history to when nations had kings rather than presidents, that remains relatively unchanged today (just take the current situation in the U.S. as an example). Ace and Hop's playing war is at the same time their – and every boy’s – possible future. If such play, with its own long history, has changed today in relation to a volunteer military that - for now - allows women too in combat roles, acclimation through play to instrumental violence functions the same, helping also to lead to the sort of 'patriotism' espoused by Ace and Hop: whatever the “good guys” do (even if objectively not good) is right.

In addition to the offstage audience, the production invites spectators to occupy seats along three sides of the stage for an up-close view of the astounding physicality of the performances. In their solid scouting uniforms, face, and limbs, Ace and Hop look like they might be mid-adventure in Neverland, while daubs of red on their cheeks (and Ace's nose) hint at the clowning that infuses Rice and Roland's brand of physical theater. The pair work beautifully as a unit whether playing harmonica (appropriate both to the 1960s and to the wilderness type or soldier far from home), pushing or riding or crawling through the single large tire that is the set's only ornament, delivering silly vaudeville style runners, or conjuring up moments of moving pathos. A Letter to Lyndon B. Johnson or God is a well-oiled machine of invigorating movement, wonderfully atmospheric lighting and sound design (the former by Angelo Sagnelli), interlocking narratives, and effectively deployed silences. When Hop expresses his hope to Ace that they will do what they are doing now forever, the audience might see a reflection of its feelings about this fast-moving, funny, and bittersweet play.

-John R. Ziegler and Leah Richards

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