Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

Surprisingly sophisticated for an incipient feature film, Rapture in Blue is a psychosexual thriller, written and directed by accomplished local actor, Ryder Houston. Rapture in Blue explores the discrepancy between the life that Jason Aylwood (Bryce Lederer) has chosen, and where his true desires lie. Jason is dating Valerie (Sarah Greenfield) and decides to take her to his childhood home. There they discover a guy named Sebastian (Tanner Garmon) who’s still in the process of moving in, when Jason slips his key into the front door lock. The two have barely recovered from their surprise when he invites them in. Sebastian is that most dangerous of men, fetching and unapologetically rapacious. Not that he does anything wildly inappropriate, but his eyes and demeanor tell a different story.

After Jason and Valerie make their departure, things between them start to unravel. Intimate Polaroids taken by an apparent stalker are turning up. Jason catches glimpses of some ghastly, terrifying phantom. Lovemaking attempts between he and Valerie feel forced and vapid. Jason seems to be repeatedly pulled into some kind of intensely disturbing fugue state. Some force beyond his control is tormenting him, playing havoc with his sanity.

There is something deliciously audacious at work in Rapture in Blue. From the outset, with a quote by Sigmund Freud, referencing the id (or shadow self) Houston sets up the dynamic lurking at the core of this eerie, yet enticing story. The id is the part of us that emerges and manifests our most repressed attractions. For all the progress mankind has made, there are still people who treat the queer community with contempt and aggression. Does his intersection with Sebastian trigger an unsettling epiphany for Jason? Do the visions intruding on Jason’s psyche evoke his worst fears? When Rapture playfully raises the assertion no lover wants to hear: It’s not you, it’s me, the duplicity isn’t lost on us. Yes it is Jason, and it isn’t.

Rapture has a purposeful, if trippy visual style. It falls somewhere on the continuum between the cunning of Nicholas Roeg and the gauziness of Robert Altman. Houston cleaves less to verisimilitude than phantasmagoria. There’s a tenuous tether to actuality, but just barely. Poor Jason has entered a place in his unconscious that refuses to play nice with the life he’s embraced. But only because he knew no differently. There may be some missteps, here and there, but Ryder Houston’s Rapture in Blue portends a future of cinematic odyssey that’s gripping, beguiling and implacable. The best filmmakers know how to gloriously mess with our minds, while remaining enjoyable. I’m thinking this describes Mr. Houston.

Available for streaming May 1st on Amazon Prime Video.

Mrs. Haggardly opens with three ladies sitting on thrones. Various comparisons come to mind. The Fates. The Gorgons. The Weird Sisters. A Tribunal. Two of them (Mrs. Haggardly and Madam Pigslips) are dowagers, one much younger (Mrs. Busybottom) a war widow. They wear elaborate gowns, gobs of makeup and enormous, turgid wigs, reminiscent of the aristocracy that fell to the French Revolution. The fact that these pretentious, arrogant, vindictive ladies are played by men, only adds to the grotesque air of decadence that suffuses this sardonic satire. (Gender mockery is a persistent thread.) These three run an orphanage for children who would seem to be casualties of war, emotionally and behaviorally speaking. One of their charges sits on a high stool, wearing a dunce cap. Johnny Rumsrunner, a kid who managed to escape, is a constant source of consternation

The Ochre House has a genius for cultivating a tangible sense dread (at least for me). Once I cross their threshold I hold my breath, convinced something unsettling is about to happen. This is not a bad thing. Ochre House has never stooped to crass shock appeal, or gratuitous mayhem. I savor knowing that anything can happen, and it’s always earned. Most of the characters in Mrs. Haggardly seem to suffer from one kind of deterioration or another: caricatures that explicate yet deprecate the glorification of battle.

Matthew Posey (playwright and director) and his intrepid troupe of remarkable artisans submerge us in a netherworld of buffered rage and throttled grief. I kept wondering if  Mrs. Haggardly was a rejoinder to Mother Courage (who for all her pragmatic chicanery, was merely trying to survive) while the despotic ladies of the orphanage reek of rapacious cruelty. The songs, composed by Justin Locklear, with titles like The Orphan God Forgot, Death Calls Merrily, and Ashes, have a searching and trance-like quality, often steeped in irony.

Mrs. Haggardly takes us into a realm that where you might as easily find The Red Queen, The Mad Hatter and The Jabberwocky. Matthew Posey’s peerless at fashioning mindscapes that function autonomously, gleefully engaged in their own perverse, yet consistent logic. The pathos is genuine, the camp a thing of excessive beauty, the tragedy a fraud and the monsters poised to jump from under your bed. Mrs. Haggardy is a rich, layered, detailed allegory of men’s ridiculous obsession with warfare. Don’t miss it.

“Even in these crazy times, Ochre House Theater is still here! Beginning Friday, April 3rd through April 24th, we will have Mrs. Haggardly, written and directed by Artistic Director Matthew Posey, available for streaming via the provided link. In the meantime, subscribe to our channel and click the bell icon for notifications! See Mrs. Haggardly once again, and if you haven’t seen it, now’s your chance!”

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCT3anawUGNECyoRQsrVRZbg

 

 

Second Thought Theatre always keeps you guessing. They never repeat themselves. A gifted pianist haunted by the ghost of his sister. A family of men who are supposedly evolved when it comes to gender equality. A devoted couple who find a psychotropic that wields uncontrolled empathy. A hip-hop version of Much Ado About Nothing. A teenage religious zealot who terrifies students and faculty, at an upscale private school. And so on. Their astonishing litany is exhilarating. Second Thought wants to challenge, engage, terrify, amuse, appall, delight. They want drag us down one rabbit hole after another, and the results are a grace to those who cherish theatre.

Mlima is a revered, magnificent elephant. He addresses us directly, discussing his wise grandmother and her advice. He describes his culture and community. Next we see poachers stalking Mlima. They’re the kind of hunters who would use a sledgehammer to kill a flea. They murder Mlima, though they realize his austerity will make fencing his ivory tusks very difficult. What follows is a series of transactions, characterized by shadiness, corruption, bribery and fear. Mlima’s ghost is there for each step, bearing witness to the desecration of his body. Even the most avaricious among the smugglers, officials, curators and seafaring captains respect Mlima, a majestic pachyderm that is elder to them all. They understand that by trading in his ill-gotten tusks, they are jarring the karmic balance, and inviting calamity and chaos. In the final sequence, when the tusks are unveiled in the home of wealthy, insipid collectors (with no reverence for the exquisite beast) a cry of infinite grief erupts.

Written by Lynn Nottage, Mlima’s Tale invites us into a realm of phenomenal, canny worship. The elements (such as rain and teeming nightfall) are characters too, in a cosmos without the noise of industry and urban sprawl. The music provided by Nigel Newton is precise and evocative, with its bony percussion and eerie notes. What might have been a precious narrative from another country, becomes a stunning, simple indictment of those obsessed with acquisition and opulence. Nottage mixes gravity and humor, with a savvy eye to the egregious audacity of humanity. Mlima’s Tale has a cunning for grasping forces like awe, death, adoration and insolence and making them palpable in the midst of of homosapien folly.

I got this review out far too late, and I am an oaf.

Second Thought Theatre presented Mlima’s Tale that closed March 14^th, 2020. 3400 Blackburn St, Dallas, Texas 75219. (866) 811-4111. secondthoughttheatre.com

I need to start this review on a personal note. I grew up in a household with a distant dad, two older sisters, and a diligent mother. My mama was/is nothing short of heroic. She divorced when it was frowned upon, after 25 years of trying to make a bellicose marriage work. She earned as much as any woman could at the time. She made sacrifices I cannot begin to imagine, to give us what we needed to succeed and protect me, her bi-polar son, from a world I didn’t understand. I am 200% behind the #metoo movement, and loathe the condescension, misogyny, marginalizing and oppression women must endure daily, in the midst of a toxic patriarchy. If I turned into a woman tomorrow, I wouldn’t last a day. Or I’d invest in a Louisville Slugger and crack some skulls.

Kate Hamill’s stage adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, is an episodic gloss that extols the now familiar, nearly ubiquitous story of the March women. It is in some ways, ingenious. For instance, Hamill’s device of revisiting Jo March’s play with her male, caricatured, male uber-villain, is intriguing and efficient. Sarah Rasmussen’s direction is crisp and pointed, navigating a somewhat distilled attempt to cover a lot of material purposefully, hitting the high notes, and paying close attention to turning points. The cast (Jennie Greenberry, Pearl Rhein, Maggie Thompson, Lilli Hokama, Louis Rheyes McWillians, Sally Nystuen Vahle, Liz Mikel, Alex Organ, Mike Sears, Andrew Crowe) is able, strong and versatile, often shifting gears to keep up with seachanges and the brisk pace. Hamill preserves vivid details of the period, from diction to dishes to (naturally) cultural constraints. I wonder what the experience might be for someone coming to this drama for the first time, with no other context?

In some ways the struggles of the March sisters culminate in the rebellious Jo March, whose anger is focused and heartbreaking. The others, Meg, Amy and Beth, must deal with their own challenges. The never-ending demands of motherhood, financial survival and attachment to men, the cost of charitable sacrifice. As Jo continues to fight the battles that injustice demands, the other three must make their own hard choices. Anyone familiar with the story knows the excruciating incident in which Laurie is disappointed by Jo’s response to his proposal.. She cherishes him, but it’s not the kind of love he feels for her. Alcott, in her bold exploration of role reversal, depicts the painful ordeal of choosing what we’re told we should want, and forfeiting something just as splendid. The fact that Jo may be the stronger one on this occasion, makes her no happier.

Though Dallas Theater Center’s production of Little Women was inventive, salient, forceful, poignant (in some ways) and very, very smart, I found myself frustrated and disappointed in its conception. We have reached a glorious point in American history, when the revelation of systemic male exploitation and abuse of women, is finally there for all to see. Much of the victim shaming and celebrity leveraging has been called into serious question, and it’s about fucking time. I’ve seen DTC’s Little Women celebrated as feminist and the queer interpretation of Josephine’s character, and I celebrate those too. Honestly. But then I ask myself, when Alcott wrote Little Women, wasn’t it always feminist? Wasn’t Jo always queer, whether in sexual identity or politics or both? Isn’t the undeniable presence of this ideology, this fighting spirit sufficiently evinced in the lives of the March women, without the need to enhance it? Especially to the detriment of the content as a whole?

Why diminish the roles of Marmy, the father, Aunt March, et al? I don’t think the father spoke a single line. I get that Hamill finds ways to include key details. But I missed the scenes where Marmy confides her doubts, Amy explains her limited choices, Aunt March makes it clear that she understands why Jo is the way she is. Of course, none of these are fatal flaws. I want to say, unequivocally, there is much to recommend this show. I completely respect every production’s desire to put their own shape and identity to a particular piece. But it’s too bad that they’ve taken a story they describe as “timeless” (exactly) and make it something it doesn’t need to be.

The Dallas Theater Center presents Little Women, playing February 7^th, March 1^st, 2020. 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd. Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-522-8499 or www.DallasTheaterCenter.org

My Sunday afternoon experience with The Drowsy Chaperone was nothing short of stupendous. Flawlessly timed comedy and delightful, wonderfully loopy shenanigans. I love my excursions with Firehouse Theatre and their mastery of musical theatre. Derek Whitener is a whiz-bang genius and (Dear God!) I can’t imagine how he managed the logistics of this show. It would make Rube Goldberg proud. To the cast and crew: How do you DO it???!! Doubled up on the Superfood? Tripled up on the Ovaltine? Red Bull and Jolt Cola? Kudos to you for your superb, brilliant performance, the unmitigated joy you brought me, and the spring you put in my step. Lon Barrera you sly boots! Shame on you. Making me giggle then touching my heart so profoundly at the end! There oughta be a law!

Identified only as Man-in-the Chair, our narrator and host, plays a vinyl recording for us of a (fictitious) 1928 musical called The Drowsy Chaperone. It’s all there. The young, gorgeous, adorable actress. The handsome, guileless, fresh-faced fiance who’s head over heels. Drowsy is set on the day of the wedding, but (naturally) there are complications. The producer is being hounded by thugs (disguised as pastry chefs) sent by a gangster with considerable money invested in the Broadway show. If the actress gets married and leaves the production, the show is kaput. Additional complications include a best man with too much to handle, serving liquor during prohibition, a ditzy blonde with clueless ambitions, and the notorious chaperone. Now, for those more savvy among you, the title itself should be a tip-off. Whatever else a chaperone might be (for Christ’s sake!) the last thing she should be is drowsy. “Drowsy” (so it seems) is code for schnockered, in polite company. This chaperone might be described as everyone’s favorite deranged Auntie, whose only concern might be: Where’s my next drink?

Written by Lisa Lambert and Greg Morrison (Music and Lyrics) Bob Martin and Don McKellar (Book)

The Drowsy Chaperone is that most confounding of all spectacles: a theatre comedy that actually comes off. The gags are almost nonstop, which, unless you’re Bug’s Bunny, is nearly always a recipe for disaster. Honest. It rarely works. It’s like watching those plate-spinners on Ed Sullivan. You think: they couldn’t possible push any further. But they make it happen. Then there’s our host. He interrupts the show, he digresses, he gossips, he confides the backstory of the starring performers. He has no illusions about musical comedy fitting into the workaday world of the 21^st century, and summarily robs us of ours. And yet, it only revs up the musical itself.

Drowsy is the quintessential musical comedy, if ever there was one. Now we say “iconic” Ugh! It’s a valentine to the insane, glorious, fizzy, improbable world they create on the stage, to our awe and delight. It might also be a commentary on stardom, glamour, entertainment, and the cultivated illusion of intimacy. In The Threepenny Opera, Brecht consistently pulls us out of the story (to invite comparisons between theatre and actuality) and Drowsy does the same thing. It’s improbable that Man-in-the Chair is straight, but he might be. Martin and McKellar take very deliberate steps to reassure us that he is not creating this delusional, fantasy world, in forfeiture of the world as it is. Yet, the show culminates in his meeting and befriending (what I took to be) the characters? All this being said, with all it’s insistent, subversive hi-jinks, The Drowsy Chaperone is a breakthrough and a gift.

The Firehouse Theatre presents: The Drowsy Chaperone playing January 30th-February 23^rd. (Closing weekend!) 2535 Valley View Ln. Farmers Branch, Texas 75234. (972) 620-3747. www.thefirehousetheatre.com

 

As many of you know, Daedalus was one of the great architects of Greek mythology. He fashioned a disguise for Pasiphae to seduce Zeus (when he turned himself into a white bull) the labyrinth to imprison the Minotaur, and wings that would let he and his son, Icarus soar. Knowing Icarus would be tempted, Daedalus warns him against flying too close to the sun, lest it melt the wax that held the wings together. Enthralled by the experience, Icarus forgets,  plummets into the ocean, and drowns.

Created by Becca Johnson-Spinos, Logan Beutel (Daedalus) and Dylan Weand (Icarus) Dreams of Icarus takes the mythological premise and runs with it, after making Icarus and Daedalus brothers, instead of son and father. Loosely speaking, Daedalus is the practical engineer, while Icarus is the visionary and storyteller. When Dreams of Icarus opens the two brothers have been imprisoned in a steep tower until Daedalus agrees to do the King’s bidding. During their confinement they process many unresolved conflicts from their personal history. They love each other fiercely, and perhaps too often, clobber each other when they disagree. They struggle to work out an escape, the theoretical promise of wings looming just beyond their reach. They need each other, more than they know.

Never in my experience as a theatre critic have I found another company to compare with Outcry, and their brilliance at finding the intersection of the ethereal, the dazzling, the visceral, the terrifying, the enraged and the sublime. Becca Johnson-Spinos has found a way to create a hybrid between choreography and stage movement that is captivating and rich. Dreams of Icarus doesn’t only explore the poignant attachment between Daedalus and Icarus, but all brothers, with all the tumultuous, kinetic, vibrant capaciousness of powerful emotion. The monologues are intuitive, oracular, fanciful, yet (forgive the expression) “grounded” in human experience. You can feel the brothers groping to articulate the nebulous, elusive revelations that we all ache to put into words, but the result here is transformative.

At the outset, I was a bit muddled by some of the liberties taken, but once I gave myself permission to set those aside, I was overcome by the audacity and palpable sense of the metaphysical this astonishing show attained. Somehow Dreams of Icarus weaves together myriad associations with flight: soaring, swooning, ecstasy, defiance, bravado, unfettered joy.

Special note must be taken of Gabrielle Grafrath’s remarkable wings, crucial to the success of this piece. Ms. Grafrath conceived them flawlessly, depicting them as something utilitarian, canny, but also giddy with fluffy feathers, just right to take us second star to the right and straight on till morning.

Of course any play is a group effort, but how did team Outcry come up with this improbable marvel? Years ago a movie was released called My Dinner with Andre and before you drove to the show, you thought: “How? How, how, how, how, how?” Almost two hours of searching conversation? How can it possibly work? And yet, Dreams of Icarus, like My Dinner, trusts its impulses. It not only evinces this dream of flight, but takes us along for the glorious ride.

Outcry Theatre’s Dreams of Icarus played December 20th-29th, 2019. 972-836-9206. outcrytheatre.com

 

Written by Larissa Fasthorse, The Thanksgiving Play is a spoof on political correctness. Political correctness defined as treating the marginalized, vilified, systemically subjugated, or otherwise abused communities, with respect and deference. Such groups might include, Indigenous Americans, Women, Jews, African Americans, Muslims, LGBTQ. Those who cleave to the ideology of political correctness (safe to say) have honorable, conscientious, and vigilant good intentions. They strive to diminish the pain and misery endured by our fellow human beings, throughout the world. Throughout history.

Logan is a very progressive, Junior High School Drama teacher, who is staging the school Thanksgiving play. She was recently reprimanded for her production of The Iceman Cometh; the content apparently too controversial for scholars on the cusp of adolescence. Logan has invited Jaxton, her erstwhile lover and kindred spirit, in the enigmatic realm of conceptual theatre. Jaxton and Logan grasp the benefits of meditation, improvisation and the metaphysical, when building a script. Alicia is an actress hired to be part of this very lofty Thanksgiving narrative. Mistaking a headshot of Alicia for her actual ethnicity, Logan was thrilled to employ an “actual” Native American. Caden is a history teacher. His grisly details of ceremonies concurrent with the first Thanksgiving, are somewhat inappropriate to the occasion.

All four of these collaborator/performers (with the possible exception of Alicia) are gung-ho about the project. Brainstorming, considering various hooks and angles, throwing out ideas. All bearing in mind they must rise above the imperialist, patriarchal arrogance of their forbears. Sadly, they lack practical grounding when it comes to execution. Logan feels it would be wrong to cast someone who isn’t Indian to play one, though it’s not as if they’re turning any away. Her solution of honoring them by their absence is perhaps giving students and parents too much credit. Caden, Alicia, Logan and Jaxton are a sweet bunch, but their idealism ultimately seems too nebulous to drop anchor.

Fasthorse’s strategy for The Thanksgiving Play is fairly sound. While it never feels cynical, and intellectual skills of the teachers never in question, we’re meant to regard them as flakes. Someone’s left the cake out in the rain. The central premise (evolved, cerebral liberals woefully deficient in theatrical articulation) is serviceable, if overworked. Which is not to say she doesn’t have a point. It’s not that political correctness is necessarily an affectation or insipid bourgeois quickfix. We see the characters performing their goofy holiday songs in ridiculous costumes and how easily they’re sidetracked, and of course, it’s amusing. But none of them seems to notice the resulting event is a debacle.

Thanksgiving Play closed December 1^st, 2019.

Adapted by Philip Grecian from Jean Shepherds’s memoir: In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash,  A Christmas Story depicts the life of Ralphie, during one particular, pivotal Christmas. Ralphie lives in Hohman, Indiana, with younger brother Randy, his mom, and his dad, i. e. “The Old Man.” The narrative is provided by an actor designated as “Adult Ralphie” who describes a time before television, when he listened to Little Orphan Annie on the radio, eagerly used his secret decoder ring, and dealt with bully Scut Farkas. Randy never wants to eat anything, mother cooks meat loaf and cabbage every night (except holidays) and The Old Man is always cursing a blue streak when he must fight off the neighbor dogs or fix the antiquated heating system.

A Christmas Story is composed of of anecdotal mishaps that plague poor Ralphie (and others) during the Christmas season. He and his buddies Schwartz and Flick are just trying to make their way to school and back without Scut and his sidekick (Little Toadie) making their lives miserable. The litany of life’s unfairnesses includes: a remarkably crass “leg lamp” that (ironically) dad couldn’t have won without mom’s help, an unrevealed department store Santa that makes every single kid cry, and the time Ralphie blows his first opportunity to help dad by dropping the “F-Bomb.” [Pretty harsh, if you ask me, considering dad’s obscene outbursts.] Naturally, these incidents have their humorous side.

Perhaps A Christmas Story’s wild popularity can be attributed to its solid grounding in reality. Yes, Ralphie indulges in phantasmagorical adventures, but the world outside his private universe is all too ready to intervene. Like A Charlie Brown Christmas and The House Without A Christmas Tree, we don’t feel the content has been sanitized for our protection. There’s irony and flights of fancy but Grecian never confuses warmth with kitsch. We see the flaws in characters, but their good side too. Mama understands when Ralphie finally has a meltdown and wallops Scut. Dad saves Ralphie from wearing a bunny costume sent by his aunt. The humorous incidents feel authentic, but they’re never cruel.

I would be remiss if I neglected to give special recognition to the kids in the cast of A Christmas Story : Thomas Breda (Flick) Bella Chinn (Scut Farkas) Tanner Chinn (Schwartz) Mahder Debela (Helen) Olivia Fowler (Little Toadie) Kendall Kepner (Esther Jane) Caleb Lucas (Randy) and Mark Vasquez (Ralphie). These burgeoning actors were credible, professional, dedicated to their craft, and absolutely hilarious.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents: A Christmas Story, playing December 6th-22nd, 2019. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. (972) 699-1130. www.richardsontheatrecentre.net

Not many know, not long after Scrooge had his sublime epiphany, he backpedaled. He actually brought suit against Jacob Marley, The Ghost of Christmas Past, The Ghost of Christmas Present, and The Ghost of Christmases Yet to Come (among others) for reckless endangerment, emotional distress, attempted murder, et cetera….In The Trial of Ebeneezer Scrooge, these charitable souls are tried for the previously mentioned crimes. They’re defended by Rothschild, a smarmy, excessively solicitous counselor, who tries the patience of presiding Judge Pearson. Like any bench trial, witnesses (both living and deceased) are cross-examined, testimony is given, objections are raised and sustained or quashed. We hear the testimony of Scrooge’s nephew, his sister, the woman who stole his bedclothes and Bob Cratchit.

Of course, we’re going to wonder why Scrooge has this radical relapse. Why has playwright Mark Brown created this quandary? We all know that whatever apparitions visited Ebeneezer on that fateful Christmas Eve, they were motivated by good intentions. Perhaps a couple didn’t mind taking him to task. The appearance of supernatural entities in the courtroom, doesn’t impair their powers. (Some of the special effects are truly spectacular.) I’m thinking Brown probably means the title figuratively. While it’s supposedly others on trial, we seem to be examining Scrooge’s behavior through the lens of their experience with him. Just like in Charles Dickens’ novel. For all the complications and narrative turns, it feels like some questions have already been asked and answered. What’s the catch?

The Trial of Ebeneezer Scrooge is a kind of cockeyed satire. We spend a lot of time being misled, which isn’t necessarily wrong. What we might construe as digressions or asides are establishing tone, once the other shoe drops. It’s not always easy to tell where the show is coming from. All this being said, it’s a goodhearted, mischievous piece, with dedicated, conscientious performances. Any time you can find a fresh take on the traditional Christmas stories, it’s a gift.

The Core Theatre presents: The Trial of Ebeneezer Scrooge, playing December 7th-29th, 2019. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 115, Richardson, Texas 75080. 214-930-5338. www.thecoretheatre.org

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 15^th, 2019. 3630 Harry Hines Blvd. Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-516-0706. caramiatheatre.org