Harrowing realities exist ‘In the Continuum’

The misperception of AIDS as a “gay disease” has been difficult to dislodge, but the riveting 2005 drama “In the Continuum” is an encouraging sign that art is catching up to life.

With some of the highest infection rates occurring among heterosexual black women in the U.S. and sub-Saharan Africa, New York University graduate students Nikkole Salter and Danai Gurira set out to draw attention to the problems facing these underrepresented demographics in their illuminating joint performance project turned off-Broadway hit, now at the Kirk Douglas Theatre.

The loaded subject matter notwithstanding, it would be a disservice to peg this as another “issue” play. Artfully shaped and performed by its creators, the work brings flesh and blood reality to numbing statistics with the intimacy and immediacy of live theater at its best -- personal, human and deeply moving.

On a nearly bare stage, the performers depict the parallel stories of two women on opposite sides of the globe who, in the course of discovering that they’re pregnant, also learn they are HIV-positive.

Though the narratives are fictional, Salter and Gurira adroitly tap their own backgrounds for the realistically observed details and personalities that populate the worlds of their respective primary characters.

Salter’s Nia, an at-risk 19-year-old from South Los Angeles, is rapidly squeezing herself through the bottom of the social safety net. After losing her latest job for helping herself to five-finger discounts, she violates her halfway house curfew to go clubbing. Yet for all Nia’s problems, she radiates irresistible childlike purity and wonder.

Gurira, an American of Zimbabwean descent, brings home-field authenticity to the equally engaging Abigail, a confident, happily married, upwardly mobile broadcaster for Zimbabwe’s government-owned TV network.

This ironic reversal of stereotypes commands immediate attention: The “Third World” Abigail is well educated, well behaved and aspires to a conventional middle-class lifestyle; the American is the barely socialized one in desperate need of intervention.

Their stories unfold through realistically crafted conversations, without recourse to the usual solo performer tropes of summary exposition or direct address to the audience. Some powerful moments require no words, as when Abigail’s annoyance at unruly street children gives way to dawning recognition of why there are no parents keeping them in line.

After introducing Nia and Abigail, the actresses cycle through a succession of friends, family members, advisors and bystanders -- each a virtuoso performance in itself. Some characterizations are comic (Nia’s self-absorbed probation officer who equates her own dietary excesses with Nia’s life choices, or the African “traditional healer,” a.k.a. witch doctor, who offers couples discounts to infected spouses). Others electrify with hard-hitting realism: Nia’s mother and Abigail’s former high school friend turned prostitute voice memorably unsentimental truths.

While there is no gender discrimination when it comes to contracting AIDS, Nia and Abigail will pay a much higher price than the men who infected them. Nia’s star athlete boyfriend will likely keep his condition secret and go on to a lucrative NBA career. Abigail has even more to lose: Although her husband was responsible, rigid traditions allow him to banish her to die in the rural squalor she worked so hard to rise above.

To mitigate the artifice of what is essentially a pair of monologues performed side by side, the scenes overlap and mirror each other with common themes and parallel plot points. Robert O’Hara’s staging unites the two worlds with elegant simplicity -- a ring of light, a transitional sound, a shared piece of fabric or momentary physical contact. By the time we cycle back to the characters of Nia and Abigail preparing to face their uncertain futures, the journey has been devastating, exhilarating and illuminating. If this one doesn’t put a lump in your throat, your heart isn’t beating.

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‘In the Continuum’

Where: Kirk Douglas Theatre, 9820 Washington Blvd., Culver City

When: 8 p.m. Tuesdays through Fridays, 2 and 8 p.m. Saturdays, 2 and 7 p.m. Sundays

Ends: Dec. 10

Price: $20 to $40

Contact: (213) 628-2772 or www.centertheatregroup.org

Running time: 1 hour, 55 minutes