Athol Fugard’s play was seemingly everywhere after its 1982 premiere, first as a challenge to apartheid, then as its obituary. To see it now is to be struck by how unerring Fugard is in finding the personal in racism’s sustenance (bitterness, shame, striving). Apartheid boycotts are not in the headlines, but South Africa is still peopled by those wounded by the shorthand of skin color for social class. Continue reading From “Master Harold” to “Mud,” Small Shows Deliver Big