The title of Pearl Cleage's What I Learned in Paris initially suggests coming-of-age erotica in the Anias Nin mode, or perhaps a Lost Generation roman a clef. Her play's chronological setting on the day in 1973 (when Maynard Jackson was elected Atlanta's first Black mayor) leads us to anticipate political hijinks—a reasonable assumption when all but one of the characters were, a few hours earlier, part of the winning candidate's campaign staff. Playgoers enamored of these well-worn tropes may, with some effort, succeed in imposing a socially significant subtext on a plot borrowing more from Moliere than from Aaron Sorkin, but to do so would subvert Cleage's foray into that rarest of theatrical genres: African-American romantic comedy. Cleage makes no secret of her intent: After some perfunctory rejoicing in the election headquarters, we are told that loyal supporter J.P. Madison is a favorite for the post of city attorney. We also learn that, in response to his divorce five years earlier, he married Anne, his considerably younger former secretary. Oh, but Anne, whose consent was founded less on affection than duty, is in love with her husband's likewise-smitten best friend, John. Furthermore, Evie—aka the first Mrs. Madison—has returned from the West Coast, intent on becoming the Pamela Harriman of the "Black capital of America." As press secretary Lena struggles to keep a lid on these new complications, a potential scandal is revealed—possibly the only on record where the threat arises from people not having sex—leaving the savvy women to put things to right. What? You thought that the great events of history lay exclusively in philosophical issues argued by men, flanked by obedient female counterparts meekly concurring? Until Evie breezes in from San Francisco, resplendent in tie-dye caftans, New Age yoga and a feminist manifesto born of embracing solitude, it's easy to forget the injustices existing side by side with advances within recent memory. Playgoers seeking material for earnest post-show debates can waste time mulling over these themes, but the smarter course is to enjoy this Congo Square Theater Chicago premiere production's on-target period decor (Andrei Onegin, Marci Rodgers and Rick Sims nail the era down to the orange walls and rotary-dial telephones) and Cleage's snappy regional-accurate dialogue, delivered with razor-sharp precision under the direction of Daniel Bryant by an alert and energetic cast featuring Shanesia Davis as the irrepressible Evie Madison, whose tale of self-discovery during a week's vacation in Paris—hence the play's title—is enough to send us home ready to call our travel agents the very next morning.
