A truly remarkable play, one that manages to overcome the potential drawback of overemphasizing its messages and metaphors due to the powerful emotional context underlying them. Each of the three characters is marred by flaws: Hally's youthful racism, Sam's tendency to provoke, and Willie's physicality, which all contribute to making the subject matter of utmost importance. Since Fugard focuses his story on the racial divide among the three, antagonistic lines are swiftly established. However, I can't help but wonder how the narrative would have differed had other aspects of their lives been explored.
The solidification of the racism conflict interestingly only occurs towards the end, with the Willie/Sam conflict, the comparison between dancing and life, and Hally's family issues taking the spotlight in the beginning. Fugard skillfully uses these three elements to refine his final conflict: uniting the two black men in their defense of each other, exposing Hally's simplistic thinking when he discards the significance of dancing, and displacing Hally's family problems onto the black men, especially in the climactic moment of the spit. It should be noted that the vulgarity is triggered by Sam's tragic mooning, with entirely different intentions; I wonder if the "barbaric" punishment comparison of wrist-slapping to arse-caning holds true in the heart behind Sam's actions, highlighting the double standard of pain resulting from the mistakes in a dance-free environment. What about the accepted power divide? Hally's instances of subtle racism and lording over before the "Master Harold" change were not easily detectable by me on my first reading, but upon a second read, I observe Sam and Willie bowing to the point where Hally's frustrations at his father's return boil over into paternal and fraternal insults.
It is fascinating to note that Hally fears embarrassment rather than outright punishment, as opposed to the verbal and physical threats that Sam and Willie face. He clenches his teeth when hauling his drunken father as a boy and upon the drunk's return. He weaponizes the embarrassment of his father's bluntness by embracing it, which is when Sam calls him out for his falseness. Sam and Willie become heroes by owning their anger and sadness; Hally becomes the villain by masking his.
HALLY: Act your bloody age! (Hurls the rag back at WILLIE)
HALLY:...The days when I got them on my hands are gone forever, Sam.
SAM: With your trousers down!
HALLY: No. He’s not quite that barbaric.
SAM: The Messiah.
HALLY:...Suppose I turn around and say Mohammed?
…SAM: Why not? You like Mohammed, I like Jesus.
HALLY:...Tolstoy may have educated his peasants, but I’ve educated you.
…SAM: Little boy in short trousers walks in one afternoon and asks me seriously: “Sam, do you want to see South Africa?” Hey man! Sure I wanted to see South Africa!
HALLY: The sheer audacity of it took my breath away. I mean, seriously, what the hell does a black man know about flying a kite? I’ll be honest with you, Sam, I had no hopes for it.
HALLY: (Behind the counter for a green cool drink and a dollop of ice cream)...I allow you chaps a little freedom in here when business is bad and what do you do with it? The foxtrot! Specially you, Sam. There’s more to life than trotting around a dance floor and I thought at least you knew it.
…SAM: That it might not be as easy as you think.
HALLY: I didn’t say it was easy. I said it was simple—like in simple-minded, meaning mentally retarded. You can’t exactly say it challenges the intellect.
…SAM: Make people happy.
HALLY (The glass in his hand) So do American cream sodas with ice cream. For God’s sake, Sam, you’re not asking me to take ballroom dancing serious, are you?
SAM: To be one of those finalists on that dance floor is like…like being in a dream about a world in which accidents don’t happen.
HALLY:...that is exactly what Master Harold weants from now on. Think of it as a little lesson in respect, Sam, that’s long overdue, and Ih ope you remember it as well as you do your geography.
…SAM: You’re really trying hard to be ugly, aren’t you? And why drag poor old Willie into it? He’s done nothing to you except show you the respect you want so badly…how do you know it’s not fair? You’ve never seen it. Do you want to? (He drops his trousers…)
...The face you should be spitting in is your father’s…but you used mine, because you think you’re safe inside your fair skin…
WILLIE: I want to hit him hard!...But maybe all I do is go cry at the back. He’s little boy, Boet Sam.
SAM: If you’re not careful…Master Harold…you’re going to be sitting up there by yourself for a long time to come, and there won’t be a kite in the sky.