The Oldest Boy

Tonight I jumped back into the KC theater scene to see “The Oldest Boy” by Sarah Ruhl at the Unicorn Theatre. This particular performance was unique because the show was framed initially around actual Tibetan monks who are currently visiting from India. Before the show began they greeted audience members with hand clasps and head bows, all the while performing ritualistic chants specific to their Buddhist faith. When Cynthia Levin, Producing Artistic Manager and director, introduced the monks to us before the show, she also informed us they would accompany us in the audience. Not only did we dive into foreign anxieties and traditions specific to Tibetan monks and those who practice this faith in the US, but these special guests also saw represented on stage our perception of their own struggles, beliefs, and traditions. Trippy, eh?

Front facade

Before the show

“The Oldest Boy” premiered a year ago at the Lincoln Center and is currently being produced simultaneously by the Unicorn Theater (KC) and the Marin Theatre Company (SF). The narrative of this story surrounds a racially-mixed couple who learn that Tibetan monks believe their three year old son is the reincarnation of a former teacher in Nepal. Faced with the decision to give up their son to be enthroned within a monk community or rejecting this proposal and living a more traditional American life, the couple must face each other and their religious upbringings, their emotional attachments to family, and their commitment to each other.

American living room for first act

There’s one aesthetic outlier to this whole story: the boy is a puppet. Manipulated by two puppeteers the rest of the cast interact with the boy as if he were real, but the audience, or at least myself, struggled to push away the obvious detachment between a real boy and a puppet. However, when the couple decides to let the boy live out a monk’s reincarnated life back in Nepal, the man who manipulated the puppet, and who spoke for the puppet, transforms himself into the enthroned and grown-up version of Oldest Boy. What does it say that the boy is a puppet? Does he have agency? This surprising element of the production raises questions about how parents approach their children and attachment/agency issues.

Alex Espy (puppeteer), the Oldest Boy puppet & myself (from left to right)

At first the plot-line sounds totally far-fetched for a traditional Judeo-Christian Midwestern audience, but I was drawn time and again to the clever threads that connected these two cultures and religions. For example, at one point Mother makes a Biblical reference to the idea of giving up her son to the Tibetan monks like Abraham offering his son Isaac for a sacrifice, or Jesus Christ dying for the Father. Or the other moment, masterfully performed, when the Lama who has only experienced monkhood, and Mother, who has experienced traditional American life, shed tears over losing loved ones in their past. These remarkable, intimate moments unify the two worlds with traditional spiritual narratives as well as raw human emotion. What at first seemed completely foreign became tremendously personal.

If I might indulge on one more aspect of the production this evening it would be the idea of reincarnation as translation. At the end of the play Mother leaves behind her son and rededicates her passion for literature with translation between English and Tibetan. She affirms her new career is similar to reincarnation in that while she creates a new work through translation, the concept or idea does not disappear between the two works. Amanda Boyle, the resident literary manager and dramaturg at Unicorn, quoted Reborn in the West when she describes reincarnation as the ability to “remain conscious through the transition from death to rebirth” (playbill). In a way, when we translate, that transition from one language to another requires that the concept and idea remain consistent, just as the life of a person who dies and is reborn stays consistent with the essence of that person, no matter what sign or form they select in the next life.

“The Oldest Boy” ends this weekend, so if you want to see this incredible production I would suggest you take action now. A big thanks to all who participated in this evening’s performance and for those who made the night extremely enjoyable.

Special thanks to Yve Rojas (right), member of the Board of Directors, for offering me an amazing experience

El amor de las luciérnagas

I’ve heard a lot about Alejandro Ricaño, a Mexican playwright, director and professor at the Universidad Veracruzana. He is one of the young up-and-coming playwrights of Mexico. My first encounter with his work came during a mini-course directed by Stuart Day at BYU. One of Ricaño’s more recent plays, El amor de las luciérnagas (Firefly Love), reopened this past Thursday in the Teatro Xola Julio Prieta in Mexico City. The play, which also won the Premio Bellas Artes Mexicali de Dramaturgia 2011, is a tender story of a young girl that both metaphorically and literally finds herself amidst emotions of young love and changing identities. The usual line-up of actors also appeared in this production which was directed by the playwright himself: Sonia Franco, Ana Zavala & Sofía Sylwin (the three Marías); Pablo Marín (Rómulo, the boyfriend, who also acted in 21 historias de baúl); Sara Pinet (María’s best friend, Lola); Hamlet Rodríguez (Ramón, the campesino); and Miguel Romero (the priest, among other roles).

Playbill Cover

Alejandro Ricaño

The structure of the play is an example of a tried and true heroic adventure where the heroine confronts a struggle, goes on an adventure, and then happily ends by learning something about herself. What was intriguing and unique about this specific use of this plot structure were three unique elements: the setting, the psychology of the protagonist, and fantastic elements. The play is set at the turn of the 21^st century in various regions of Mexico and Guatemala. By setting the play in Mexico and Guatemala Alejandro Ricaño played with the cultural uniqueness of these regions. For example, the protagonist travels from Tijuana to Xalapa where she confronts cultural differences between Northwest and Southern Mexico. Also, María travels with Lola to Guatemala where they belittle their neighbor to the South. These episodes create a cultural awareness unique to Mexico that give a special touch to a generic plot structure.

The psychology of the play was also unique because María, the protagonist, was represented by three actresses. Each version of María is a different period of time: young and innocent, adolescent and adventurous, and the present and confused María. During several scenes of high emotions, each of the three Marías narrated their feelings that combined into one rich and profound experience. One particular occasion was absolutely breathtaking. María traveled with Ramón, a country folk, slowly falling madly in love with his burly and masculine body. The present María acted the emotions while the other Marías narrated her feelings. The descriptions were enthralling, and I felt almost as if I became lost in their words. The use of three Marías was a unique element that demonstrated a deep entrance into the psychology of the protagonist.

From left to right: Sofía Sylwin, Sonia Franco & Ana Zavala

Another aspect that makes the play unique is the use of fantastic elements. Several news articles (Milenio, CONACULTA, mx-df.net, etc.), as well as the playwright himself in the playbill, note the use of magical realism within the play, an autochthonous literary genre of Latin America. However, each time it is mentioned there is no explicit reference or justification. Granted, if the play really does use magical realism then it would intend to make the play a truly Latin American one. I agree there are fantastic elements, but I don´t know if I would go so far as to qualify the work as magical realism. The reason I wouldn’t qualify it as magical realism is because the characters initially doubt the nature of a cursed typewriter and the creation of a duplicate María. Even though María realizes later on that she could live a different life while letting her duplicate finish out her current one, the idea of a duplicate was initially shocking (not reality). If because at the end of the play María accepts the fact that a duplicate person can live out the remainder of her life allows the play to be qualified as magical realism, then it slips into this category haphazardly.

The title of the show, referencing fireflies, is a metaphor for the only type of love María experiences: intermittent. Her first love, Rómulo, had an on-and-off relationship with María. Each time they came together it was for superficial and egotistic reasons: imitating actors, exploring sex, etc. María realizes by the end of the play that she’s ok with falling in and out of love and decides to return back to the small village where Ramón dwells. Earlier in the play the two experience an emotional connection and have sex. Realizing she might have a more stable life with Ramón, as well as a more profound connection, she leaves behind her former life for a new one with Ramón. Adding to this reference was the scenic design choice of a network of bulbs hanging down over the stage. On several occasions, as well as the end, the lights would flash in different intervals, replicating the experience of firefly light. At the end, when she accepts that she’s ok with having on-and-off relationships, and that this might be the only type of love she’ll ever know, the main stage lights fade as the flashing lights continue to make sporadic light on the stage.

The light bulbs hanging over the stage like fireflies

It’s a beautiful coming of age story with a Latin American flavor. The show continues until the 28^th of June, and only on the weekends. If you are in Mexico City this is a show you don’t want to miss. 

Un gato vagabundo

Let me start by admitting that I’ve never attended theater specifically designed for the deaf. At BYU I worked with a role in my acting class from Children of a Lesser God, but even then, the play (and later movie) was produced by and for people who could ultimately hear. Seña y Verbo (Sign and Verb), founded and directed by Alberto Lomnitz, is a “professional artistic and educational organization that aims to create awareness and support the development of Deaf Culture in Mexico, through original theatre and video productions, as well as a variety of courses, workshops and outreach programs” (teatrodesordos.com.mx). The play Un gato vagabundo (A Vagabond Cat), is a first for Mexico because it is written and performed by two of the actors in the show: Roberto De Loera & Eduardo Domínguez. Alberto Lomnitz also contributed to the play. As well, Socorro Casillas made her debut in this theater company with this play.

Seña y Verbo Theater Company for the Deaf

The show follows the story of a young and suicidal deaf man, Vagabundo (Vagabond), who has trouble letting go of his past. More specifically, he has trouble letting go of the memory of his older deaf brother. Vagabundo, the name he creates for himself since he considers himself a wanderer, was also known as “Gato” (Cat) by his older brother, something like a “scaredy-cat”. Throughout the play his brother appears time and again and asks for the flashlight that Vagabundo always carries, but Vagabundo refuses to give it to him. The flashlight represents the only remaining object that maintains his brother’s memory alive. This mentality impedes him from accepting the possibility of love from another deaf person. Up to this point his only source or protection and love came from his brother. Essentially, if he accepts the love and care of another, it would feel like a betrayal to the only person who had ever really understood him. And yet his brother pushes him to move on. Finally, after many different experiences, he accepts that his brother will always be there in his heart.

Vagabundo converses with Flor. His brother watches from a distance.

The actors all sign in Mexican Sign Language (lengua de señas Mexicana, LSM), but for those in the audience who don’t understand this very distinct language from Spanish, the mise-en-scne utilizes subtitles. However, the beautiful use of the actors’ hands is breathtaking. For example, Vagabundo shows us the coming and going of days through sign language that at parts is quite understandable (some sections don’t use subtitles). In this specific moment he cups one hand in the shape of the moon and slowly raises his hand. To represent the day he makes his hand into a circle and raises it. When he walks through the woods the other actors convert into nature and use their arms and hands as if they were branches and logs. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this unique experience it is that deaf people are some of the most expressive people with their hands.

The party scene in the play.

Even though I don’t understand Mexican Sign Language I could still understand many of the emotions and activities on stage. In fact, the show had me on the verge of tears during several moments (I try not to show too much emotion in public). For example, the show presents the scene where Vagabundo holds his older brother in his arms as he slowly passes away. Both brothers use the flashlight to create shadows on the wall, a pastime from when they were kids. When the brother closes his eyes, Vagabundo turns off the flashlight. It was a tender moment, and with absolutely no need for spoken words. Afterwards, the significance of the flashlight became more apparent. I could definitely feel the need for him to hold on to something so precious as a simple flashlight that contained tender and heartfelt memories.

The use of the flashlight on Vagabundo.

The show is no longer being performed in Mexico. We were able to see a rehearsal as the group prepares to travel to Paris this summer to present the play at an international conference for the deaf. The actors’ new challenge is to convert the sign language used here in Mexico to an international standard. After the rehearsal we had a wonderful conversation with Alberto Lomnitz and it was a huge privilege to meet him. For my first experience with true theater for the deaf, by the deaf, it leaves me wanting to see more of this in the United States. Truly beautiful art!

Me with Alberto Lomnitz

Dicen que me parezco a Santa Anna... ¡y yo ni guitarra tengo!

Antonio López de Santa Anna

Imagine, if you will, that it’s the year 2150 and George W. Bush wants to clear his name about the Iraq war. Or, maybe Nixon appears in 20 years and wants to clear his name about Watergate. It’s a fictitious encounter, but intriguing, no? For Mexicans, Antonio López de Santa Anna is considered by the general population as one of the worst rulers, ever.  And yet, in this play (They say I look like Santa Anna, but I don´t even have a guitar!), he reappears to clear his name. As he says in the end, if you can forgive those behind Tlatelolco, as well as those behind Ayotzinapa, then surely we can forgive him for his mistakes. The irony is that Mexico doesn’t forgive those behind Tlatelolco and Ayotzinapa, and therefore won’t forgive Santa Anna. The underlying theme behind all of this is that Santa Anna left a legacy of corruption that continues in Mexico.

Allow me to explain why Santa Anna is considered with such disdain. First, he occupied the presidency of Mexico 11 different times. Second, he sold Mexican territory to the United States of America twice. The first time, in 1854, is known as the Gadsden Purchase, which was a relatively small territory in southern New Mexico and Arizona. The second time occurred after Mexico lost the Mexican-American War of 1846-1848. In the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo the United States bought what is now the states of California, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, and a part of Colorado, New Mexico, and Wyoming. Practically a third to a half of the Mexican territory vanished with the stroke of a pen. For Americans, Santa Anna is well known for the Battle of the Alamo in which the Texans who defended this site were all killed: “Remember the Alamo.” And then he lost the war and a large section of Mexico. Because of these two losses in territory he is known as the “vende patrias”, or the nation merchant.

These are only a few reasons why Santa Anna is considered by many Mexicans as a traitor to his country. The play also presents many other events in his life that only add fuel to this blazing fire. However, despite these horrible actions, the personality attributed to him was quite welcoming: a smooth talker, a lady’s man, a man for all seasons, etc. On various occasions Isaac Pérez Calzada, the actor who played Santa Anna, walked right up to ladies in the audience and tried to smooth talk them into agreeing with him, or at least to spend an evening together. Despite all his persuading, the audience didn’t want to forgive him. And I think that’s part of the point of the show: don’t forgive people who abuse power. At the end, the genie who summoned the spirit of Santa Anna (the actor plays both roles) pleads with the audience that Santa Anna’s legacy not continue in Mexico. And part of this dialogue occurs through music,

Juan Ramón Sandoval

This play is set in a cabaret theater, so part of the show features music. Juan Ramón Sandoval played the piano throughout the show, adding a delightful texture to some of the scenes and the dialogue. What’s interesting about his contribution to the show is that some of the pieces he played are compositions from the era of Santa Anna that he found in archives. In a way, he is resurrecting Mexican art through the show. A beautiful concert pianist, he also interacted with Santa Annal. For example, on one occasion, Santa Anna gets on his knees and pleads for forgiveness. Once he ends his dramatic plea, Juan Ramón left his piano and offered him a trophy, as if he were winning an award for dramatic acting. It was funny to see this type of interaction because it was noticeable that Juan Ramón as a concert piano artist didn’t have much acting background. But that was ok for me. It added a certain level of authenticity of person to the acting because I knew he was really “acting” and not trying to “be” any real type of character.

And yet, despite this wonderful development and acting, the ending was a bit problematic. I understand the genre is cabaret, and that songs fit within this genre, but it was the content of the song that took me out of the play, as well as the drastic change in mood. At the end of the play the genie questions whether what the audience just witnessed was just a dream, or if it was the spark towards change. Well, the song that immediately follows this question pleads with the audience that the show not be a dream, but a call for change. This idea was repeated over and over, and over. For me, this was overly didactic because it reinforced an idea about the work, almost from an outside perspective, like a critique of the work after it was over. As I learned in my playwriting class, you shouldn’t underestimate the intelligence of your audience. Your play should be clear enough that they understand the point, but not so clear you are teaching a class. I felt the playwrights (both Isaac Pérez and his partner Paola Izquierdo) somewhat feared the audience wouldn’t take seriously the content of the show, or maybe even understand it’s importance, and so decided to add a final message through music.

Isaac Pérez Calzada as Santa Anna

The idea behind the show is entertaining and instructive. As an outsider to Mexico I learned a tremendous amount of information about Santa Anna. The play also connected his presidency with that of Enrique Peña Nieto, the current Mexican president (the sale of PEMEX to foreign countries, for example). This aspect made the show even more relevant for audiences today, especially since the show was explicitly created for a call to change the direction in which Mexico is being driven by corruption. 

In the end, the play is spectacular and very informative, and I would definitely recommend it to anyone visiting Mexico City. It runs every Tuesday and Wednesday at 8:30 PM in the Foro A Poco No until the 24^th of June.

Desvenar

“Porque el comer chile duele, igual que ser mexicano” (Because eating pepper hurts, the same as being Mexican). On Tuesday evening Tim and I attended Desvenar (literally, “to separate the veins”), a play which took us through what it means to be Mexican by way of the pepper. The concept is intriguing because it indicates that food is a way of identifying an entire society. We were also intrigued in this production because Richard Viqueira, the playwright and director, is known for using alternative methods in his theatrical productions. For example, in this particular production he put a firecracker in his mouth while the other end spit out fire. He also spat gasoline to create a fire ball. It was quite an entertaining show.

(Richard Viqueira with a firework in his mouth)

(Richard Viqueira blowing fire)

The three actors embodied different aspects of Mexican society. For example, Valentina Garibay’s character, Adelita, represented the traditional Mexican woman with her patriotic ribbons, her long braids, and her long flowing skirt. Richard Viqueira’s character represented the Cholo, or gangster image of the Chicano. Finally, Ángel Luna’s character represents the Pacheco, or someone similar to a Cholo but differentiated by way of fine clothing (think “Zoot Suit”). Each person confronts their history through the pepper, and the play is divided by six different confrontations: the pepper in culture, history, music, language, society, and love.

(From left to right: Ángel Luna, Valentina Garibay & Richard Viqueira)

Throughout each section the characters described how the pepper affects their perception of Mexican identity. For example, in history the Aztec warriors ate peppers in preparation for battle. This act must have played some aspect in the valor of being an Aztec warrior, which in part plays into the contemporary perception of the "macho" Mexican. In another section they described how difficult love is, like eating a hot pepper. The pain found in relationships is to be expected for a true Mexican, or so they describe. In this particular scene, about love, they presented the pain families experience when their loved ones abandon them for the USA. In another part, in the section on society, they described how Mexicans have been oppressed for centuries, and that to put up with corruption is an essential aspect of Mexican identity. Again, it is like eating a pepper (which they actually did eat during the play, and not the sweet ones), it hurts as you eat it, but you eat it because it is expected. And since the pepper doesn't go away from Mexican cuisine, the corollaries between the pepper and society will also remain.

(The 1986 World Cup Mascot)

The directing decisions were fantastic and really moved the thesis of the play forward. The only exception, in which we both were a bit confused, occurred at the very beginning. The actors came in and sat down on chairs and immediately began to explain the framework of the play, that the pepper represented Mexican identity. Both Tim and I were quite confused as to why they chose this staging direction. The only thing I could come up with was the idea of us looking in on their play as if from behind. But even then it doesn’t support any other decision in the play later on. Other than this, the set was simple enough so that we focused primarily on the text and the acting. At one point the Pacheco character sang the Mexican National Anthem to the tune of the American National Anthem and it gave me chills. There was a lot of music throughout the show. On one hand it was wonderful to hear the tune (I had chills), and on the other, a bit scary to hear different patriotic words, sang in an ironic sense, as if saying that Mexicans are really just trying to be Americans. Another song was about solidarity with your people, which also gave me chills. Ángel Luna, who sang most of the music and played the guitar, was incredible. Richard Viqueira was more of a rapper. Valentina couldn’t hold a note. It was one of the more prominent flaws to the play. But again, the play was well written, and masterfully, if not a little eccentrically, performed. But that's to be expected, I guess, from a Richard Viqueira production.

But in the end we learned how the pepper can be used to teach identity, specifically Mexican identity. And more importantly, how food says a lot more than we think. For example, what do the foods we eat symbolize? Where did they come from? What does the food we eat say about who we are? I think these are important questions to consider.

For those still in Mexico City the play continues until August 4th, and each show is every Tuesday at 8:30 in the Foro La Gruta in the Centro Cultural Helénico.

Lo que queda de Cielo

What interested us in attending this particular play (What remains of Cielo), besides the fact that it was written by a Mexican (Camila Villegas), was the theme of the disappeared (los desaparecidos). It´s a topic of grave importance in Latin America, especially since the Dirty Wars of the 70’s and 80’s. For example, a recent case occurred in 2014, an event for which Mexico is still in mourning: 43 students from Ayotzinapa disappeared in the state of Guerrero. We were a little disappointed, however, because the play dealt with the disappearance of a young girl, and even then she really doesn’t disappear; her mother sells her. What the play dealt with on a larger scale is the idea of youth prostitution. Unfortunately, the two subjects, disappearing and prostitution, sometimes go hand-in-hand. For example, youth are stolen and sold into sex slavery in Mexico, and in many, many parts of the world.

Doña Cirila & Cielo

The venue in which the play occurred is extremely small (Espacio Urgente 2); we’re talking maybe the size of a large bedroom. The stage itself probably ranged from 8’ by 20’ and the audience was packed in the room like sardines. The main prop used throughout the show was a mannequin, which represented the idea of Cielo (the daughter’s name means “heaven”). It stayed on stage throughout the play, didn’t move, and centered the action of the play. On the mannequin was a dress used for a quinceñera (the equivalent of a “Sweet Sixteen” party). Other than that there were stars that glowed when the lights turned off. The stage was small, hardly any scenery, and to top it all off, standard lighting from the ceiling illuminated the stage. In circumstances like these the dialogue and acting have to be stellar.

Unfortunately, the text seemed to be in a very premature stage. Or maybe it was the directing. Either way, both Tim and I left with many, many questions about the structure of the play. What we did learn was that the mother, Doña Cirila, had been a prostitute in her youth (mentioned in passing), and that the decision to sell her daughter was made out of desperation. However, it’s hard to feel any sympathy when the desperation behind the decision isn’t shown, or if shown, not developed. Cielo’s hometown boyfriend, Tony, ends up joining Cielo’s uncle’s prostitution business in order to find her, only to find out at the end that she was sold to one of the top dogs in the business. From that point on, he refuses to continue looking for her, as well as quits the business. From the tough character of the uncle, Don V, I assumed that by quitting the business he was basically committing suicide. And that’s when the play ends.

Don V, Doña Cirila, Cielo & Tony

It left me with so many questions, too little sympathy, and a hunger for more developed characters. I would have like to see the mother’s struggle more than Don V’s manipulative behavior. I told the playwright afterwards it was difficult for me to approach this play, in part, because I come from a society in which prostitution is not seen or hidden away, and, in my own experience, I didn't grow up in extreme poverty. I also think it was also difficult for me to feel any sympathy for the mother because she was so poorly developed as a character. She shows up on many occasions, only to be bossed around and then leave. Maybe this simple fact demonstrates the fact that the mother didn’t have any choice and was manipulated into selling her daughter. Either way, her character could be much, much stronger.

I can appreciate the effort put into this show, and the important theme this play begins to discuss. I think it just needs some more love and devotion.

La llegada

Sandra Félix on the right

On Monday, Tim and I arrived at the Mexico Library in the morning to see a play which would be performed in front of a group of students. Sandra Félix, the director for a previous play we saw (exilios: obras breves), adapted this play from a graphic novel by Shaun Tan, entitled The Arrival in English and El emigrante (The Immigrant) in Spanish. The scenery, illumination, and multimedia were all designed by Philippe Amand, the hauntingly beautiful music was originally created by El Gabinete, and the traveler who personified the main character in the story was played by Antonio Zúñiga.

The imaginative world of Shaun Tan

Staying true to graphic novel’s uniqueness as a genre, Sandra chose to keep the play without words. In order to move the story along she used select images from the book. And let me say that these images are breathtaking. Obviously because images were a central part to the play, the use of multimedia was essential throughout the production. To display these images the stage was set up with a large white wall. A smaller rectangular box was located in the middle with another white screen behind this space. When large transitions occurred two large sets of blinds would descend to cover the box. These blinds could shut to allow a full screen appearance, or they could open to allow us a peek into the world. Most of the time the blinds were kept up so we could see the actors on stage.

Actor Antonio Zúñiga

The story followed a husband and father as he leaves his family to travel to a strange new area. The transportation, language, writing system, and animals were all unique to this new world, but here and there he finds remnants of his old world. For example, he is invited to a family dinner, as well as sits and gazes at the sky with a war veteran. Throughout the play, through both the acting and images on the screen, we see his loneliness, his joys, and his fears. By the end of the production his family arrives and they are finally reunited. It was a beautiful and very happy ending.

The combination of actor and image, for me, made the multimedia as significant, if not more significant, than the actors themselves. And I think this is well received in a setting like this because the play is essentially a graphic novel with the actors displaying even more emotions and movement than can be found in a graphic novel. In this way, both sides complement each other: the acting increases the emotions behind the images, and the images move the story along.

Creative use of multimedia and acting

The themes within the play carry a special message for anyone who travels to new places, not just immigrants, as the Spanish title for the graphic novel suggests. Both Tim and I were in tears as the family was reunited at the end. I’m sure that if I were alone I might have been more emotional, but when I’m surrounded by others I try to keep it in. I felt, to a certain degree, the students who were present probably didn’t feel the same emotions as we did, since both he and I have families of our own. But I think the message was still profound enough for them, especially if they are close to their own family or if their father or mother has left for any specific purpose, not just as an immigrant.

The Salt Lake City Temple

And this touches on a gospel truth: families can be together forever. No matter what happens to us here in this life, we have the ability to be with reunited for all eternity if we are sealed by the proper authority in temples. I am grateful that I am sealed to my wife and children. If anything were to happen to any of us I know we will be together again for all eternity after this life. This is a truth that gives me tremendous peace in this life, and hope in the next.

The play will continue on Saturdays and Sundays until the 28^th of June, located in the Foro Polivalente Antonieta Rivas Mercado. If you are in Mexico City, I highly recommend you make a stop here.

Masiosare: un extraño enemigo

Written and directed by Fernando Bonilla, this play criticizes social constructs and abuses of power in Mexico. Underneath this criticism is a masterful play full of audience interaction, violence, live music, and much, much more. The story behind this play gives it a profound purpose. Fernando Bonilla states to a reporter from the magazine Excelsior:

“I began to write the work from the hospital bed, [and] it came about from the idea of showing the absurd, the misery of my experience, and as it progressed it transformed a little into the biography of the person who pulled the trigger, the person that shot [me]; now it shows us the story of “Mexicano X”, of an invisible person that is born into a violent society, which from his first moment makes him vulnerable, crushes him and finishes him on the outskirts, converted into an assassin, a criminal” (My own translation).

In fact, Fernando Bonilla plays the part of the aggressor throughout the play: el comandante. It’s a testimony that even in the worst circumstances, if one really tries, they can begin to understand people’s decisions and their unique backgrounds. It’s an exercise in sympathy that I think is universally useful.

(Fernando Bonilla)

Interwoven within this structure of sympathy are powerful characters. To the side, always watching, are the two musicians Omar Medina Fernández and Yurief Nieves, who play music occasionally and interact with the other actors. The actress who played the mother of Masiosare, Valentina Sierra, was phenomenal in her interaction with the public. Tim commented that in another work he saw last year she was also impressive in her interaction with the public. Juan Carlos Medellín played a hilarious transvestite and a stuttering officer. In one scene he takes so long to read a simple police report, pronounces the words strangely until he realizes the word, and sweated like crazy before the powerful character of the comandante, played by Fernando Bonilla. Finally, Marissa Saavedra was absolutely enchanting. She sang beautifully to move the story along, was the girlfriend for Masiosare, and played a hilarious dope on the TV show. Really, she was quite excellent. This was a stellar cast.

(El comandante and the transvestite)

(Masiosare and his girlfriend)

The story of the play, as mentioned, follows the life of Masiosare. When born, he follows the comandante into the ranks of the military, always hesitant to speak out or act in any way unorthodox. However, one evening he is asalted by two people, almost dies, and Marissa Saavedra’s character finds him and sends him to a hospital. There, the surgeons barely touch him, but miraculously he survives. Later, he is invited on a TV show where he spits out blood. There is quite a gap between this obvious abuse of a victim for media purposes and then later, Masiosare attacks the TV host, who turns on him only to incite him to the point that he finally shoots and kills her. Once captured he is brought back on the TV show and read a list of crimes he commits, and the comandante lists off just about every major crime a person can commit. The public is asked to vote on Masiosare’s sentence: death or forgiveness. The comandante wanted to demonstrate that in Mexico there is a very democratic system in place. Finally, the Virgin of Guadalupe comes down and demands Masiosare’s blood, only to find that no one wants to kill him. So she demands the blood of his girlfriend. That’s when Masiosare abandons her and the audience is given tomatoes to throw at her, a metaphor for her death sentence. At this point the comandante comes out with the banner, much like Miguel Hidalgo (in fact, throughout the play he has a Miguel Hidalgo wig), and declare that the Virgin of Guadalupe has commanded this death sentence, so they must follow through. That’s when the show ends.

(El comandante resembles Miguel Hidalgo)

(La Virgen de Guadalupe makes an appearance)

You might conclude, as I did, that not only does Bonilla criticize society and politics, but also how religion is used within society. The rape by an angel, and the vulgarity of the Virgin of Guadalupe while she demands the blood of Masiosare and then his girlfriend, offer the public a harsh approximation towards the country’s main religion. But I feel in this that Bonilla didn’t single out religion so much as criticize as many aspects of Mexico as possible. You might say he is an equal opportunity employer of criticism. And the political use of the Virgin of Guadalupe in Mexico’s history is quite strong. Think of Miguel Hidalgo’s banner, as well as Vicente Fox’s political controversy with his openly religious stance towards the Virgin of Guadalupe.

(Miguel Hidalgo and his banner)

(Vicente Fox before a Virgin of Guadalupe shrine)

But this criticism, along with all the rest, is part of the beauty behind the play. Bonilla is capable of looking at each aspect of Mexico to find how people justify and arrive at their actions, wherever that might be. And all this comes after a traumatic experience. After having been attacked himself he decided to try and understand. In quite an absurd way, he put himself in the place of what he would consider someone responsible for creating such a violent society: el comandante. If there’s anything I take away from this show, the most important lesson is that this playwright is incredibly brave. And, while the show is a bit absurd, the lessons obtained are far from it.

Valentina y la sombra del diablo

No one likes to talk about sexual abuse towards children. It’s difficult to put into words the emotions that children are feeling, much less the hatred we feel towards those who are offenders. And yet, as difficult as this topic is, Veronica Maldonado made a play about it for kids. Wait, what? You read it correctly. When Dr. Compton told me we were to see this kind of a play I thought to myself that it would be a total disaster. I thought, either the play would be too general and not really get at the point, or it would be too explicit and offend the parents that brought their children. Much to our surprise, Valentina y la sombra del diablo (Valentina and the Devil’s Shadow) was a masterpiece that delicately said just enough to get across a message that needed to be said: children who are sexually abused can and should use their voice to denounce their offenders. In fact, Veronica told us after the presentation that two children already told their parents they were being sexually abused by a family member and that in these two cases the perpetrators are now behind bars. This, my friends, is one of the many powers of theater.

(The playwright Veronica Maldonado)

To tackle this subject the play revolved around a young girl who is being sexually abused. Instead of using realism, the play uses symbols to represent Valentina’s different fears, as well as the devil and his shadow, which is the sexual abuser. For example, the devil’s shadow appears in the form of a red cloth with a yellow triangle for a face. This “devil” wants to play “doctor”, or “the game of secrets” with Valentina, and she does not want to play. But each time he appears he uses rhetoric that, to be honest, is very convincing, and especially to someone who is young. It was quite disturbing to hear this, but the devil never explicitly mentions words like sex or taking off clothes. Rather, there is a more inferred tone to the work, something that parents immediately understand, but that some children might not. And that’s ok. As Veronica told us afterwards, some children thought the devil represented a bully, and that they should stand up to bullies.

(Representation of the Devil's shadow.)

(The Devil's shadow coercing Valentina.)

But that’s not to say the work shied away from the issue. Oh no. When the devil did sexually abuse Valentina she would take the red cloth from the actor inside the devil and cover herself as she struggled inside. What drove the action between these sexual encounters was Valentina’s desire for change. She imagined her grandfather offering her counsel after each attack. However, her grandfather was no longer alive, so her encounters were almost like angelic messages. It was touching to see how Valentina was so scared of men that she felt it extremely difficult to even let her grandfather touch her. But as the play progressed she finally allowed herself the chance to hug her grandfather, in what was probably one of the most emotional scenes of the play. Imagine, if you can, someone who is so shocked from sexual abuse from a family member that it is difficult to hug someone who actually loves you.

(On the left is a representation of Valentina's grandfather.)

After two unsuccessful attempts to thwart her attacker and being raped, she finally stands up and uses her voice against him. In fact, she realizes who he is and calls him out; one of her uncles. And this is the message that Veronica is trying to tell us through her play: children may not be physically strong, but they are able to speak, and if they use their voice, they have a power that can be used to stop their sexual abuse.

("Paths and Exits Are Made with Words.")

Another element central to the show is the use of children’s music. Since the actors were adults, the music helped us approach their representation of a young girl. Also, the fact that the devil uses these songs in a manipulative way only adds to the dark feeling we felt when he appeared. If I can make a reference, it’s like in Serial Mom when the psycho mother hacks the old lady to death while the song “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” is playing from the musical Annie. There’s an extra element of creepiness when children’s songs are used in these settings because the innocence of the lyrics are juxtaposed to the dark scenes in which they are used. However, at the end of the play when the devil is finally overcome, Valentina finishes one from start to finish without any manipulation or distortion. She is finally free of her attacker.

For me, this production is a demonstration to all that difficult subject matter can and should be related to children in a delicate way. Just think, if this play hadn’t been written or produced, two child molesters would most likely still be committing this heinous act. As a parent, I found this story both heartbreaking and urgent. Now, if only there was a way to bring this play to the US.

Posada es el nombre del juego

On Saturday Dr. Compton and I attended a unique piece of theater in the Cultural Center at the UNAM. And let me tell you, the UNAM is huge. It took us a good half-hour to walk from the Metro to the Centro Cultural. One of the neat aspects of the university is that there are volcanic rocks used throughout the walkways, a testament to the volcanic soil here. For me, it made the whole experience of walking around the campus even more exotic (There are no volcanoes in Kansas!) There’s also an ecological reserve within the campus, or “University City”: Reserva Ecológica del Pedregal de San Ángel. I was blown away at such a beautiful and enormous campus.

(An aerial view of the UNAM campus with the iconic library at the bottom left.)

(Centro Cultural at the UNAM. The show was presented here.)

(Sculptures within the Ecological Reserve.)

When we arrived at the Centro Cultural we found a hefty audience waiting for Posada es el nombre del juego (Posada is the Name of the Game), written by Hugo Hiriart and directed by Carlos Corona. What’s special about this show, and I’d imagine why it attracted so many, is that it’s a touring show based out of a trailer which converts into a stage (it was also free). This type of theater was especially popular in Europe during the Renaissance. For example, Don Quixote happens on a touring theater company. Today it’s very unlikely to come across this type of theater. When we arrived, the trailer had already been set up in the form of a train which read: El Tren del Progreso Nacional (The Train of National Progress).

(The Train of National Progress)

The name of the show mentions Posada, or, José Guadalupe Posada, an artist who lived during the Porfiriato, or time in which Porfirio Díaz was the dictator of Mexico. This time period (1876-1910) is known by many as one of immense change that brought Mexico into an age of growth and progress, in areas such as science and the construction of the railway system (there already existed one railway line from Mexico City to Veracruz). Posada, on the other hand, created masterpieces that are iconic today, using skeletons to represent people in his artwork. Much like the Vanitas of the Baroque style, he criticized the external appearances that Porfirio Díaz constructed of national progress.

(Iconic "La Catrina" engraving by Posada)

("The Bicycles of the Dead", Posada)

So, by the name on the train we knew the company was using this irony found in Posada’s artwork as a framework for their story. And what a story it was. La Catrina narrated the story between scenes about a doctor who wants to convert humans into chickens, an egotistic son who wants to arrive at having 100 girlfriends, and a magician that hypnotized a girl from her lover. A crucial aspect of this performance was the use of masks, in the Posada style. Each character wore a specific mask that covered most of their face. Because each mask held a specific pose, the actors used their bodies much more to convey their feelings. And it was absolutely masterful.

(The actors with their masks.)

In the end the mad doctor, through a potion, converts his daughter’s lover into a chicken, and she in turn voluntarily turns herself into a chicken by drinking the potion. The egotistic son seduces his 100^th girlfriend only to find out that she was the devil and then is thrown to hell. The lover sends the magician in a cannon ball to the moon and is reunited with the love of his life. The use of situational comedy and outrageous stories all happened on this Great Train of National Progress. But I think we all can agree that if this is progress, then it’s a very outrageous idea of progress, much like Posada argued in his artwork.

Humboldt: México para los mexicanos

When you cherish a breathtaking sunset, the red, orange and yellow hues of sunlight making their last hurrahs for the day, you want that moment to last forever. The tranquility and majesty command silence as you gaze in awe at the beauty that envelops the senses. Sometimes, when I leave the theater, I feel a similar sense of awe and reverence. It’s a testament that when a playwright develops profound ideas, in combination with a thoughtful production, the audience will leave with emotions that unequivocally provoke deep reflection. In my opinion, theater has the power to be just as majestic as nature.

And that’s how I can somewhat describe how I felt after Saturday’s performance of Humboldt: México para los mexicanos. Here, the playwright (Ernesto Anaya Ottone), director (David Psalmon), and the six actors are all foreigners, living in Mexico. So, the title itself is catchy because this is a work produced not by traditional Mexicans. However, this irony is part of the main theme of the show. Alexander von Humboldt, one of the show’s characters, was the first foreigner to become a naturalized citizen of the United States of Mexico, decreed by the president himself, in 1827. However, Humboldt is also responsible for delivering maps of Mexico to the United States of America, maps that would eventually lead to the USA’s interest in this territory. In 1848, after Mexico’s defeat to the USA, a large territory of Mexico became part of the USA, thanks in part to the maps defining this territory. And Mexico has its’ first naturalized citizen to thank, in part, for this loss.

(A poster for the show, also the director)

There’s also the question of what it means to “be” Mexican. Each actor came to Mexico with a dream to be Mexican. However, to become Mexican one takes a very large quiz, about 100 questions (and this is just one aspect). The actors actually read every single question to this test to the audience. At first, the audience wanted to answer the questions, and then the actors began to read the questions more quickly. After ninety questions, and some pretty absurd ones as well, I think we all realized it was a pretty ridiculous test. One actor read to us #28, which asks about the identification of the person that originally combined the idea of the Aztecas with the Mixtecas. The answer according to the test was Huitzilopochtli, the God of War. But the actors showed us that Humboldt was the first to make that connection.  Also, as noted by the actors, if a person misses just one question on the test it is enough justification to deny citizenship to a foreigner. And that’s what happened to this particular actor who answered that it was a public myth. Answering these questions was overwhelming to the actors, and each one of them displayed their frustration with wanting to “be” Mexican but impeded by a series of questions. In fact, they felt as if Mexico didn’t want them. They came bright-eyed only to realize that, as they said in the play, “Mi casa es su casa” is only a façade.

According to the playwright, “being” Mexican is more defined by a transition from one place to another more than anything else. The playwright himself declares: “We want to break the myth that Mexico is only for Mexicans. In the very idea of Mexico the foreign is imprinted: the Aztecs were foreigners that arrived at Texcoco Lake, just like the Spaniards did. In both cases the encounter was violent. The association between foreigner/conquistador has been, more than just one episode in Mexico’s history, a constant. Through this work we hope to be able to repair this fracture by showing the human face of diversity, taking into account that the experience of being a foreigner is something that, in the end, we all do, because to feel far away is a universal experience.” And that’s something I can appreciate, being a foreigner right now in Mexico.

The play’s production was masterful. Many levels and areas of the stage, as well as the audience, were used throughout the production. It was a very interactive show and it helped us, especially myself, approach some of the feelings of the actors, who were also foreigners. To be quite honest, though, there was a lot of stimulation surrounding the technology, the voice-overs, the shouts, the movements, the smoke machine, and a plethora of other elements which combined to offer the audience too many images. But as Dr. Compton and I spoke about this element of the production we realized it imitated reality much more faithfully. So many aspects of a culture, of a nation, of family, of self, all combine to offer so many factors in any identity. We are left questioning just how one defines the self. Is it family? Is it a language? Is it a geographic location? These questions affect not only foreigners living in Mexico, but foreigners everywhere.

(The multimedia usage during the play)

This play affected me tremendously and, as I said earlier, on our walk home many thoughts were racing through my mind. I wanted to lose myself in these thoughts in order to make sense of what I just saw, due to the immense beauty of the spoken word that brought about these feelings. But that’s the splendor of irony, isn’t it? Sometimes you can’t quite put your finger on something as majestic as the sunset, or what defines us as people. Mexico for Mexicans? No. Mexico is for everyone, because everyone is a foreigner.

And as a final note, the director mentioned the 43 students from Ayotzinapa that are still missing, the fight for Wirikuta against privatized mining in their indigenous community, as well as other students missing in Michoacan. I want to take the space here to also remind my readers that Mexico will not rest until these missing students are found. I unite in solidarity with those asking for the return of these students. No one should ever be forgotten

.

("Wirikuta for the defense of the sacred. No to mining.")

(A piece of  activist art in Avenida Reforma calling attention to the 43 students still missing: "Because they were taken alive, we want them back alive!")