Frankie Addams is a twelve-year-old girl who does not belong. To put it in her own words, delivered tremolo at the end of Act I, she doesn't have a "We" feeling about anybody--just her own "I" feeling. Her mother is dead, her father is wrapped to in his business, and the neighborhood girl's club has turned her down. All she has is the family's colored cook--solid in more than one sense of the word, four-times married, humorous--and a small boy named John Henry. These two are very comforting, but no girl of high imagination such as Frankie can be satisfied with their companionship alone.

So she dreams of going away to live with her brother and his wife after they get married, of belonging with them, of becoming a member of their wedding. Her desire to belong shows in many ways: she wants to change her name to F. Jasmine Addams (Jarvis and Janice are the couple--Frankie wants her name to begin with "Ja . ." also); she chooses a far too formal dress for the wedding; she tugs at her crew cut hair hoping to stretch it to a more glamorous length.

Her problem is the heart of the play, though there's also the parallel story of Honey Brown, who also does not belong. He is a Negro who wants to preserve his self-respect (in a Georgia town), to take his natural place in the world of men--to be a "member of the world." Both his and Frankie's attempts to solve their problems by swift action are bound to be failures: Frankie cannot go away with her brother and sister-in-law, Honey cannot achieve self-respect by refusing to say "sir" to Frankie's father. Later, both attempt more violent solutions on the same night: Frankie by running away, Honey by slashing a man in a razor fight.

The play, therefore, has an interesting and subtle framework of ideas; but its chief appeal lies in its charming picture of the kitchen group: the distraught and sensitive girl, the solid reliable Berenice who mothers her, and the perky little boy who hangs around them.

This is a very simple story. Most of the action takes place in the kitchen and about ninety percent of the dialogue is delivered by the three main characters. In view of this concentration, it is fortunate that two actresses so talented and so well-fitted for their roles are playing the parts of Frankie and Berenice. Julie Harris does a superb job as the insecure sensitive girl; she postures, sulks, storms, and displays an amazing variety of quickly-changing moods. Ethel Waters has an easier role (the colored mammy is well-established in our literature), but she carries is off so well that perhaps the role seems easier than it is. Together they are the play: the restless girl bouncing around the kitchen, slamming doors, half-bullying John Henry, posing in that ridiculously grown-up dress of her; and the motherly cook, sensible to the point of stereotype, utterly natural, and almost as uncomplicated as Frankie is complicated. The two parts are complementary, the two actresses perform them beautifully, and the play, which stands or falls on these grounds, more than stands.