Tijuana

Tijuana is a conceptually driven devised piece of documentary theater whose underlying premise is to (supposedly) put oneself in the shoes of another and learn more about humanity, all the while teaching a lesson in dignity and economics. This play forms part of a series that looks at what democracy means for Mexico from 1965-2015. In this case, Lázaro Rodriguez, film and theater actor from the group Lagartijas tiradas al sol, portrayed life in Tijuana for five months in 2015, and took on a new identity and worked for minimum wage. As a result, Tijuana becomes a recollection of recreated vignettes performed on stage through such physical elements as visual aids and props, as well as formally through current theatrical fashion in México, narraturgia (telling stories and reenacting them).

Image by Juan Leduc

I must be honest that I am a little troubled by, but not completely opposed to, the concept in general. If what he told us is indeed true, then for me, Tijuana feels uncomfortably close to slum tourism, a controversial type of voyeurism to see how people live in the poorest areas of the world. With that said, Carolina A. Miranda of the LA Times feels the opposite. She feels that the play “steers clear of romanticized poverty porn” because she sees the play more as “ultimately a performance about a performance. As Rodríguez questions his own motives for wanting to take on the role of Santiago Ramírez, he asked: “Is it possible to represent another?”. I think that’s a question that not only deals with the premise of the play, but acting in general, which is far more intriguing to me. Gabino’s other works tend to question the fidelity of representation as well, with both Tijuana (2017) and Montserrat (2014) providing bibliographies at the end. If a bibliography is needed, then to what extent is material provided, and to what extent does the actor provide his own resources. Therefore, to what extent does he “actually” walk in another’s shoes?

Beginning of the work. Photo: Nicholas Sheets

While I feel the premise behind this devised piece of theater is noble, that is, to educate Mexico’s middle class to current socioeconomic problems, I find it more troubling that an actor who was apparently dishonest with locals (not revealing his true identity or purpose), and who later makes a living as an actor by producing other’s poverty into entertainment, albeit honest entertainment, thinks that the ends justify the means. With all of that said, however, Gabino does not pretend to become what he is documenting. That is, he does not portray himself as having authentically experienced poverty. He confesses at the beginning, for example, that he brought with him hygiene products that a person on minimum wage could not afford, but that he finds essential for his daily routine, emphasizing implicitly that he does not plan to fully experience poverty. At another point we see him in an interview post-Tijuana sipping a cup of espresso, juxtaposing his own middle-class life versus the poverty of others. Thus, the play is as much a play about working class poverty conditions as it is about Gabino himself, or the persona he created, and that, I have to say, saves the play from becoming 100% “slum tourism” or “poverty porn”. But then again, was this Gabino or a persona Gabino created? That would change a lot of how one looks at this play.

Gabino's "interview". Photo: Nicholas Sheets

And, if this was indeed the actor who lived in poverty and not a fabricated persona, then this is not the first time something similar has been produced for consumption in an art form. You’ll probably remember the documentary in Netflix called “Living on OneDollar” (2013) where four Americans go to rural Guatemala and document living on a typical wage for two months. Of notable difference here, however, is that Gabino is Mexican, whereas the Netflix documentary is made by foreigners not accustomed to the country where they are living. Another similar documentary where someone documents poverty working conditions in sweat shops is The True Cost (2015). Since the naturalist movement in the late 19^th century, audiences have welcomed a new form of “living in the shoes of another” through visual art such as film documentaries and documentary theater. And while these types of documentaries are necessary to provide more concrete information about challenges in our world today, to what extent do these efforts lend to “poverty porn” or “slum tourism”? Does Gabino offer a new perspective on dealing with difficult issues through Tijuana?

Tijuana. Photo Credit: Nicholas Sheets

Moreover, the production blurred the lines between theater and real life, in true documentary fashion. On two occasions we are privy to recorded death and destruction―literally. Gabino recorded videos, took photos, and acquired others’ videos. Thus, the audience receives both Gabino’s experience in his own words and writing, as well as actual experiences of others. On one occasion we see someone’s video recording of shoddily built houses collapsing on the side of a hill as spectators laugh and joke about it. This was the 2015 landslide in Tijuana in the colonia Anexa Miramar, and luckily no one was either injured or hurt during this catastrophe, since signs of a landslide were beginning to appear, and people were evacuated. Nonetheless, this was not the outcome of another video reproduced with sound only, except for one brief moment, showing the actual murder of a supposed rapist. Gabino reproduced the speech by one of the community leaders who declares that justice should be executed by the community and not by the police, since the law had abandoned them in their shanty towns. After this fiery speech, the lights went out and we heard a video someone took while the community murdered this man, and then suddenly, we see his bloodied body. After this brief glimpse, we continue to hear the community killing him while we sat in utter darkness. Absolutely horrific, and uncomfortable; and I think that was the point.

Gabino recorded his experiences in a journal, which he states served as a means whereby he could record his thoughts without having to color them through hindsight. He would often recite this journal word for word, which would often lead to a reenactment and/or his didactic thoughts about that experience. For example, on one occasion he was home alone when suddenly he found himself in front of the family’s adolescent daughter, who was completely naked after having taken a shower. He excused himself with an apology and returned to his room, conflicted over what he as Gabino Rodriguez versus he as Santiago Ramírez (his new persona) would have done. But after a conversation with Gabino, I’m not sure whether all the material provided is completely legit, or material created to show the life of “someone”, when that someone is not actually Gabino himself.

Tijuana. Photo Credit: Nicholas Sheets

Toward the end of the production he made a point to argue that the socioeconomic situation of those who live in poverty with the legal minimum wage of around 73 pesos in 2015 (the equivalent of about $5/day at the exchange rate around May 2015) creates situations like the one he lived in—living in a small room in a section of town abandoned by the police. It also says something about what Mexicans who hold power think about those who live in poverty. In 2018 the minimum wage a day for a Mexican is 88.36 pesos (or the equivalent of $4.80 at the current exchange rate). His conclusion, “People who determine the minimum wage don’t ever have to live on minimum wage”. Tijuana is an attempt to show how people live on minimum wage to a middle-class public that has probably never experienced such a socioeconomic struggle.

Toward the end of his stay in Tijuana Gabino’s persona decided that his life was indeed in danger because he had misled this community for five months in terms of his real identity and purpose, and after learning of the brutal murder of this person in the video, and having lost his true identification card, he left a month early. I asked him after the show if he was concerned whether his story would eventually make its way back to the family with whom he lived, or that particular community. He replied that the social circles of those who attend and publish about theater are far removed from the lives of a community that lives under minimum wage. This is somewhat fortunate for him, but also unfortunate in general. But if the story itself was almost all fabricated, then I take my hat off to him for his amazing storytelling, and I have to take a hard look at myself for my own gullibility. As Gabino states in another interview: "I show a lot of material in the performance which proves I was there. But the spectator has, hopefully, enough material to doubt whether they are seeing truth or fiction" ("Playwright undercover: Gabino Rodriguez").

Tijuana. Photo Credit: taken from Exberliner

Nonetheless, the theatricality of the storytelling provided a helpful mechanism for us to follow his story, and an artistic means to perceive life in Tijuana without having to go to Tijuana. There was a projector upstage right where pictures and videos appeared. For example, the video of the man being murdered, and the houses crumbling in the landslide, appeared on this screen. But when he would reenact certain experiences he would also use the screen, as a sort of supplement to his storytelling. For example, while in Tijuana Gabino would go to a park and meditate while looking at the sky. Gabino laid on the floor of the stage looking upward, and the audience saw clouds and airplanes moving on the screen. In essence, we saw what he was looking at, but at a different angle. On many occasions he would read aloud his journal, and as an audience we see the journal entry on the screen. Thus, the visual aids helped reinforce many of his experiences that words alone could not portray.

Looking up at the sky. Photo: Nicholas Sheets

Gabino also used movement as a mechanism for storytelling. He began his performance reproducing movements he performed each day in a factory, moving his hands to the rhythm of the part of the machine that he was assigned to in the assembly line. He opened with these robotic movements but ended dancing as if he were in the bar of the community, lost in the music the locals danced to. And this movement was far freer than the repetitions of a factory.

One of the final moments dancing. Photo: Nicholas Sheets

But these lighter moments were tinged with underlying pessimism. For example, at one point he narrated the times he enjoyed watching “Manchester United” vs. “Real Madrid” playing soccer, the kids wearing shirts of famous players they dream of becoming, dreams that Gabino states will more than likely never take place. So, while the community enjoyed playing soccer to pass the time, it merely underscores the stagnant place and unmoveability of this sector of society.

Tijuana is a tough play to digest, and it should be. Someone with fame and money who is concerned for those around him that suffer socioeconomically decides to apparently walk in the shoes of those with whom he empathizes as a means to call attention to the plight of another. But if he did not do what he said in a literal fashion, that is, he created a persona like himself to make a sort of mockumentary, then the play takes on a whole new and interesting light that is indeed worthy of far more explorations. Ultimately, however, I feel the play is a step in the right direction in understanding what democracy and freedom mean for those who live on minimum wages in Mexico in 2018, as well as how those in the middle class perceive of, and play with, their own representations in juxtaposition.

Wenses y Lala

To be human. For me, theater reminds me of what it means to be human. Carefully cultivated theater draws out and highlights the gloriously human in life. Such theater I experienced Friday night at the Miami Dade County Auditorium. As part of the 33^rd International Hispanic Theatre Festival of Miami, I witnessed a remarkable play, Wenses y Lala, from the group “TresTristes Tigres”, written and directed by Adrián Vázquez (as Wenses), with Teté Espinoza as Lala. This was the first time the play breathed air outside of Mexico, and Miamians are in for a real treat. If you are in Miami for the weekend and would like to spend money on something meaningful, worthwhile, and ultimately human, I suggest you consider seeing this beautiful piece of theater. In what follows, I would like to remark on some of the aspects of the play that I found simply captivating and well executed, both in terms of content of the play and the form in which it was realized.

Wenses y Lala. Photo credit: Cartelera de Teatro

First and foremost, Wenses y Lala is a story of love. A love between two persons that continues beyond the grave. As such, we as the audience are participating in their reminiscing about their life together. As we walked into the theater we were met by both characters sitting on a brown, wooden bench, mute but observant. Little by little they began to open up to us about who they were and what to expect as they began to unfold their lives for our observance. The beauty of this first encounter was that we began to see little idiosyncrasies that defined each of the characters. For example, Lala loves to talk and make jokes. She is expressive with her gestures and still in love with her Wenses. He, on the other hand, finds it very difficult to speak in public to those he does not know. He stutters, avoids eye contact, and relies on Lala to control the conversation. Immediately, the fourth wall is shattered as the lights go up and Lala asks for volunteers to introduce themselves. She engaged with the public and asked questions, cracked jokes, and found a way to make a connection between themselves as a couple and the characteristics of the audience members. Once finished, Wenses felt a little more comfortable opening up, and the stutter, while still there, began to subside. The lights then faded on the audience, and the couple continued their storytelling. I would venture that we as an audience felt more connected to these two characters because of this initial experience. This connection between actor and audience, I feel, was vital for the play’s ultimately successful realization because Wenses and Lala were no more mere characters on a stage, but people with real lives who wished to interact and form a bond with us as an audience. As the saying goes: “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care”.

Adrián Vázques. Photo Credit: Cartelera de Teatro

This is a story that weaves together two distinct periods of time: the immediate present, as deceased persons engaging with the audience and reminiscing on times foregone; as well as brief moments in which the characters reenact specific moments of the past they are narrating. Let me give you an example. At one point in the show, as Wenses and Lala describe their evolving relationship from innocent children cum lovers, we reach a point in their story when their physical intimacy blossoms. As they both recount their version of this event (Lala probing Wenses to see how much he remembers), you see each of the characters lost in their emotions. Lala, for one, with closed eyes and lips somewhat pursed, reimagines the feelings of her “first time”, while Wenses, the shy one of the couple, acknowledges with a head nod this special moment as it is being recounted by Lala. The storytelling here transports us into the past, and Lala’s corporeal and sensual probing reminds us that the story being told actually occurred because she can recall her emotions and feelings.

Teté Espinoza. Photo Credit: Cartelera de Teatro

Here’s another example. Toward the end of the show, Lala recounts the day she died and how Wenses, who sang once and refused to sing again, actually sang at her funeral. At that moment, Wenses, the reticent of the two, bursts up and out of the bench and begins to express himself in song, lamenting the death of his beloved companion. His character’s arch probably hit its climax at this point, from the beginning of the play when he could barely speak to finally releasing his emotions and becoming vulnerable in front of not only those at his wife’s funeral, but us as an active audience. It was breathtaking.

Which brings me to one of the most remarkable aspects of this play: the acting. I am almost always blown away by the amazing theater produced in Mexico City, and tonight I was definitely not disappointed. Theater does not necessarily need a large set or fancy lighting schemes to bring out the human in all of us. Theater simply needs a body or two sitting on a bench and captivating an audience by gestures and words. And that is exactly what occurred tonight. The eyes, the hands, the little idiosyncrasies of each of the characters, the songs, the playful way in which Lala teased and egged on Wenses and Wenses reverted to his defense mechanisms, all of these elements felt real. It was, in a word, human. I might add that Teté and Adrián have been acting in this play off and on since its debut in 2014, so there has to be some chemistry after four years together. Both Wenses and Lala have well crafted characters on stage and I am very appreciative and aware of the hard work that goes into crafting such unique relationships on the stage.

Wenses y Lala. Photo Credit: Centro Cultural Español

Finally, I would like to mention the form of the play in terms of its story telling. There is something to be said about the way a piece of drama utilizes storytelling as a tool for driving plot and action in the present world of the play. However, this technique was not taught to me during my playwrighting class, for example. The emphasis in playwrighting within modern Western dramatic traditions has usually focused on the dialogue between two persons in a time in which they are portrayed to be living. Much of the realist and absurdist drama of the twentieth century tend to remain in one time period with an immediate and mutual present for all characters involved. In a sense, the neoclassical tradition of the unities of time, space, and plot dominate most theater today, with few (notable) exceptions. In television much of this technique is used with flashbacks, such as in the series Lost when viewers are transported into the past of a character’s life in order to understand the present action and the driving forces behind each of the characters. In this way, storytelling provides clear impetus for understanding the present.

But in this play the present action is not dependent upon previous memories. Rather, the memories build up the story in order to create finely polished characters with whom the audience falls in love. We do follow a trajectory of their lives as the play advances, but the present action are two people sitting on a bench retelling important episodes in their lives. We share memories with them as they recall their most harrowing and joyful experiences together. By the end of the play, we have invested so much time and emotion into their lives that they have become dear friends to us and it is hard to say goodbye. In this way, the play’s action is more about establishing close relationships rather than strictly following a chronological plot. It is more an awareness of what it means to be human, without explicit didactic purposes or an activist theme for social or political change. For me, it was like opening up a window into the human experience and remembering what it means to have a meaningful conversation, to develop lasting relationships, and to persist in love despite the challenges I face.

Is this the new direction of theater today? I at least realize that in Mexico this is becoming a popular trend, with critics and fans alike. During the discussion after the show I asked Adrián about his choice in writing Wenses y Lala in the form of narrating stories, a genre often referred to in post-dramatic theory as “narraturgia” (narrativa + dramaturgia). He replied that the theater he writes seeks to find “el poder de la palabra” (the power of the word) and to “transmitir un sentimiento” (transmit a feeling). He does not like to use the term “narraturgia” because he views his theater as just that, theater: “lo nuestro es teatro”. Thus, he feels that categorizing his theater into a subsection like “narraturgia” does not give justice to what he is attempting to do: write theater that is engaging. Adrián is colleagues with Alejandro Ricaño (think El amor de las luciérnagas or Más pequeños que el Guggenheim, for example). Ricaño also writes theater in this style and has found a lot of success. Since the beginning of the 21^st century Mexican playwrights have begun to write theater by telling stories in them (think of the 2006 edition of Paso de Gato). One of the audience members felt that the storytelling allowed us as an audience to glimpse what it means to be Mexican, but a self-identified Mexican felt that the story was rather universal in its scope. I agree with both. I found the play’s recourse to violence one of the tropes often used in Mexican theater, but the idea of lasting relationships and difficult marriages is indeed universal.

For those in the Miami area this weekend, I highly recommend this play. For more information, visit teatroavante.com or visit miamidadecountyauditorium.org.