August Wilson’s incredible Pittsburgh Hill District cycle of plays covers by decade the African American experience throughout the 20th century. It is intricately interconnected, as main characters in some become minor characters or references in others. They examine the pain and triumph, heartbreak and success on a microcosmic scale of individuals and families that reflects the macrocosm of experience during these decades. Wilson’s entry for the 1970s, Jitney, is as lyrical, as hard-hitting, and as ultimately uplifting as the others, and it is one of the oddballs in that it moves from a central scene of the home that most others use and into a decaying storefront being used as a gypsy cab station. Though this setting is a business, it is just as much a home as any dwelling: an enclave of men that have been supporting themselves and their community, some for decades, in this unlicensed enterprise. Arizona Theatre Company has hired accomplished director Lou Bellamy to helm this, the first produced of the eventual cycle. Bellamy, Artistic Director of Penumbra Theatre Company of St. Paul in Minnesota has a strong bond with Wilson, having produced his first and the most of Wilson’s professional productions. He has cast an ensemble that is also intimately familiar with Wilson’s work. These bonds are impressive, but one has to wonder, with the generally strong production that has been mounted, if familiarity might not also be a curse.

Bellamy’s staging and pacing is impeccable. His cast seems completely at home with their roles and dialogue, and the connections and character arcs are ever-present. All aspects of the design element support the evening and even feature a few highlights such as Matthew J. LeFebvre’s laugh-inducing costumes for number-runner Shealy. However, a single stretch of the show, that which ends the first act, seems calculated to strain the ears and patience of the audience, so much so that at intermission I counted 32 people leaving Tucson’s opening night. It’s a shame, because the bulk of the show is so strong, but even I felt overly-assaulted by that argument.

The moment I speak of is the moment when Becker (played with weary and slope-shouldered eloquence by Brian Anthony Wilson) confronts his son Booster (an intense firebrand in the hands of the smoldering Jacinto Taras Riddick) on his return from 20 years in the penitentiary for having killed his white girlfriend after she lied about his having raped her to her father. The scene has these two men offering justifications, defenses, and attacks, but as staged by Bellamy, it starts at 200 decibels and remains ear-splitting and ultimately too strident to appreciate the two men’s stubborn philosophies. I can appreciate Bellamy’s justification for the intensity, but I can also sympathize with those in the audience who simply gave up on a play that seemed set to blare through the next act.

Before and after this moment of intensity are characters struggling to survive, to achieve respect, and to deal with what their choices and the past have handed them. James T. Alfred’s performance of Youngblood, the Viet Nam vet who is working three jobs to buy a house for his girlfriend Rena (Julia Pace Mitchell, portraying well sweetness with an attitude) and their son, is equal to Wilson’s in terms of engendering empathy. Alfred and Wilson are enveloped by their characters, and their intensely personal performances draw the audience into their separate circumstances. Where the rest of the ensemble is entertaining, such as the James Craven’s take on the annoying Turnbo, which leans toward the comedy to balance the character’s annoying traits, Alfred and Wilson are inspirational and Riddick is dangerously compressed and appears ready to explode.

Vicki M. Smith’s recreation of the faded shop is lovingly detailed both inside and out, while Michelle Habeck’s lighting effectively uses the flickering overhead fluorescent lights as a basis for the coloring of the scenes.