Call it revolutionary theater. Five black men, heads shaved and clad in khaki prison fatigues, fling themselves across a small stage, jumping, singing, spitting their way through a series of stark, spotlighted vignettes of life in their native South Africa. Then, without warning, they turn on the audience, fingers pointed. "It's not only about the rent increase," hisses one. "It's not only about the vote. It's not only about the bloody passbooks . . . What is it?" Silence, broken by a few nervous giggles. "Stand up!" The actor glares at a confused ticket holder in the front row. "What is...
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