Mila and Angelo are roommates in a homeless shelter for LGBT teenagers. Kids who self-identify as queer are often kicked out of their own homes. Mila presents as an angry, alpha male, while Angelo is an effusive gay male, sweet-natured and congenial. Angelo’s no longer welcome in his home and Mila can’t shake the memory of his unborn cousin. Angelo tries to be friendly, but Mila keeps admonishing him to “Stop acting like a bitch.” There’s a touching dreaminess to Angelo’s behavior. We know he can be careful, when he needs to be, but he’s clearly relieved to be in a place where he needn’t pretend. Though Mila is brusque and disparaging towards Angelo, it seems his aggression is motivated by fear. Like other women who identify as and live as men, he can’t risk discovery by most guys who live on the streets. It takes some time, but gradually Angelo captivates him with his fanciful notions, like describing our lives and connection to the stars. Angelo’s Abuela says, “You don’t need wings to be an angel.”
Playwright Emilio Rodriquez has depicted the intense, fierce, dangerous world that LGBTQ folks must endure. While we have come a long way as a culture, not all of us are fortunate enough to live among the enlightened. You never know when you might cross paths with someone who thinks it’s their job to maul and degrade you. Mila and Angelo have been taken from their nests to a life where they must constantly consider every word, every gesture, every article of clothing. Rodriquez, carefully, exquisitely, has found an intersection between the ferocious Mila, and the tender Angelo. Almost like Stanley Kowalski and Blanche DuBois (if you will). Except these two find a way to genuinely care for one another.
While sharing a room, Angelo is worried for Mila’s welfare. When he disappears for hours after curfew, Angelo frets and paces. When its obvious that the cops are chasing Mila, Angelo helps him hide. Even though Mila is often obnoxious, Angelo sees through this. Regardless of how each of us identifies, underneath it all, gender is a puzzle. A conundrum. Sadly many cisgender (straight-identified) won’t admit that none of us has really figured it out. They can’t or won’t be brave enough to own what Mila and Angelo embrace, for the sake of self-actualizing. Rodriquez has pulled us into this realm, where the ultimately nebulous question of how we celebrate and express our genitalia is explored. This production brims with mystery and warmth and the wonder that comes from navigating by the stars. Kudos also to director Jorge B. Merced, J Davis-Jones (Mila) and Dominic Pecikonis (Angelo) for their remarkable, poignant work.
Cara Mía Theatre presents Swimming While Drowning : playing November 30th-December 15th, 2019. 3630 Harry Hines Blvd. Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-516-0706. caramiatheatre.org