Four Latina converge in the basement of a corrupt politician, seeking aid and refuge. They are trying to stay off the grid. One is a battered wife, one a radical Lesbian, one her lover, and one the housekeeper who works there. Near as I can tell, one is the mother of one of the two lovers, and one the grandmother. Safe to say, there are at least two generations present, and the spectrum swings from the traditional to the far left. The extreme progressive has flaming red hair. We see no males, though one is the abusive cop, one a Latino Border Patrol who arrests Latin immigrants, and one the aforementioned owner of the mansion.
He is a hypocritical and despotic, living in a home appropriate to a feudal lord. High tech, pervasive, ruthless robotic security. The door to the basement can be locked from the outside. As the four describe their options, we see that profuse money makes servitude bearable. Especially when destitution is a systemic given. The housekeeper might have chosen to work for a more decent, compassionate man, but desperation breeds equivocation. Man Cave culminates in spellcasting, a call to enraged ancestors, a confrontation with the deep wickedness of the Master, a cleansing of this vile realm?
Playwright John J. Caswell Jr. has carefully constructed a detailed allegory, evoking the misery of the subjugated, and the heartlessness of patriarchy. The ideology is there, the discourse, the frustration, the despair. All effectively dressed in plausible structure. All these women have experienced the actuality of being exploited. (The underground railroad for terrorized wives is no urban legend.) Ridiculous wages for the Latin community are a fact of life. Whether you’ve seen Poltergeist or not, “civilization” built on the backs of the oppressed (even their graves are disrespected) is more than just a metaphor.
Practically every component of Man Cave meets at the intersection of symbol and the world the women inhabit. The cerebral and the visceral. The housekeeper doesn’t seem to work above aground. Her boss wants to use her as a shill for optics. Relics of the desecrated are hidden beneath a deer’s head of the politician’s quarry. There’s the dumbwaiter. The bathroom door ajar that exposes a roll of toilet paper. The darkness that suggests a labyrinth. When the four resort to (Santeria) witchcraft, the steps are what makes this spectacle accessible. They are mindful of each aspect. The goat’s blood, the meticulous attention to language, the rules of invocation. We believe because they do.
Man Cave is propelled by frantic energy. Political rhetoric sneaks out here and there, but like The Threepenny Opera or Pygmalion, it illustrates by demonstration. Ideas like caste, misogyny, racism, imperialism are not just abstractions. They’re not amorphous. But they’re no less affecting. They’re gripping. Canny. We see the diminishment of Lupita, Rosemary, Imaculata and Consuelo. Medea prevailed because she was a high priestess of Hecate. That goddess was the source of her strength. Witchcraft is subversive, ignoring the laws and constraints of male gods and men. She was protected (ironically) by male vanity and refusal to knuckle under to Jason’s supposed superiority. Witchcraft evolved as women’s defiance of a culture stacked against them from birth. So too, must Lupita, Rosemary, Imaculata, and Consuelo. They must summon the fury of their female ancestors.
Kitchen Dog Theater presents Man Cave, playing February 17th-March 5th, 2023. The Trinity River Arts Center. 2600 N. Stemmons Freeway, Suite 180 Dallas, TX 75207. 214-953-1055. KitchenDogTheater.org