DEVISE Vol 1

VOLUME I

HT E L A U S CTS E U U N U S P E E AT R N Y S T H PA OC M

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The Future of Theatre Lives in LA: A Letter from Abiram Brizuela

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The Rise of Unusual Voices

INDE

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Coming of Age in 2020’s: Entering a Creative Field in Flux,

By Julyza Commodore

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Zoom Theatre, A Love Letter (personal essay), By V Cate

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Who Wants to See Shakespeare in Griffith Park? Thousands!

David Melville and his Independent Shakespeare Festival,

By Julyza Commodore

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From Creativity on Stage to Creativity on YouTube: High School Thespian Discovers Theatre in the Tech Sector,

By Jannelys Santiago-Negron

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An Actor’s Journey From Iran to LA: Notes from the First Iranian Female Admitted to USC’s MFA Acting Program (personal essay),

By Elmira Rahim

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Carlos López Estrada on Telling His Own Story,

By Julia Stier

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Three Views of AI: If we turn the arts over to AI, what is it that makes us human?, By Julia Stier

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Beyond the Black Box: Exploring Live Performance Beyond Traditional Plays and Musicals, By Socks Whitmore

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Building Community and Trust in High School: Teacher William Goldyn on the Benefits of the Performing Arts in High School,

By Julyza Commodore

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An Antidote to Despair: A Personal Journey from Darkness to the Stage (personal essay), By V Cate

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Pop Psychology and Pop Musical: Why Theatre is Essential for a Young Therapist-in-Training,

By Taylor Kass

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Beyond the Binary: Subverting the Gender Binary on the Stage, By V Cate

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I Am Here: Self-Discovery & Healing Through a Personal Relationship with Theatre (personal essay), By Socks Whitmore

DEVISE ISSUE 1 – 2023 PUBLISHED BY The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company CREATIVE DIRECTOR Abiram Brizuela EXECUTIVE PRODUCER Carina Gavino EDITORIAL LEAD Steven Leigh Morris EDITORIAL PARTNER Stage Raw CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Steven Leigh Morris Deborah Klugman Taylor Note V Cate CONTRIBUTING WRITERS V Cate Julyza Commodore Taylor Kass Elmira Rahim Jannelys Santiago Julia Stier Socks Whitmore ARTISTIC DIRECTORS & GRAPHIC DESIGNERS The Piñata Guys Creative Studio Jefferson Quintana & Leonardo van Schermbeek PHOTOGRAPHER (COVER) Iris Lee PRINTING Clear Image Printing Co., Sylmar

The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company STAFF Abiram Brizuela, Executive Director Michael Halpin, Sr. Director of Operations Ninette Ayala, Director of Advancement Nick Williams, Director of Institutional Giving Anisa Hamdan, Director of Community Partnerships Joe Samaniego, Director of Programs Grafton Reyes Doyle, Manager of Institutional Giving Jennifer Castillo, Program Manager Carina Gavino, Communications Manager Arcadia Eckmayer, Program Coordinator Marcus Baldwin, Program Coordinator BOARD Sara Scott (Chair) Decker Sadowski (Vice Chair) Julissa Arce John H. Freeland Jr. Gregory Caruso Ryan Jones Carlos López Estrada Julio Quijada Jesus M. Rodriguez

The mission of The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company is to mentor, educate, and enrich youth in under-resourced communities through the creation of collaborative, original theatre.

STAGE RAW LEADERSHIP Steven Leigh Morris, Founding Editor Deborah Klugman, Senior Editor Julia Stier, Podcast Producer/Contributor

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I was just an 8-year-old boy living in Caracas, Venezuela, when Laura Leigh Hughes had the brilliant idea of founding The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company in 1993.

At the time, I was a member of the Venezuelan Children's Orchestra, the beacon ensemble of El Sistema, a nonprofit organization that not only ignited my musical career but transformed my understanding of the extraordinary potential that unfolds when unrestricted access to arts education converges with the highest standards of artistic practice.

30 years and many chapters later, I'm trusted to lead this incredible organization into its exciting next stage, rooted in community, inclusion, equity, artistic excellence, and collective pride.

We begin with the release of DEVISE, igniting an inspiring dialogue between theatremakers, their audiences, and a new generation of creators, spectators, and theatre lovers emerging from dozens of underrepresented communities across Los Angeles.

Like theatre, DEVISE was conceived as an irreverent, vulnerable, uncensored, and unapologetically human space; so we partnered with Stage Raw to enroll an exciting lineup of creative writers with an unusual perspective on the intersection between theatre, technology, and identity.

Our journey continues with the launch of an unprecedented youth theatre conservatory in 2024, providing over 4,000 youth per year with free access to top-quality theatre education, and allowing them to choose from four career tracks in acting, writing, directing, and production design. In addition to the conservatory program, The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company is expanding its intergenerational programs to include vocational training opportunities in costume and set design, lighting, and sound design.

In tandem with the Youth Theatre Conservatory, USTC will roll out a capital campaign to procure a state-of-the-art performing arts space to host the uppermost levels of the youth theatre conservatory and provide emerging creators with the necessary space to explore their artistic voice and innovate.

Our commitment to serving justice-impacted children and youth in juvenile halls and detention facilities remains unwavering, and we're strengthening our partnerships with LAUSD and PUSD to expand free access to our youth theatre residencies in schools of Los Angeles and Pasadena.

While our strategy remains adaptable, our actions are rooted in a firm belief: the future of theatre lives in Los Angeles.

Abiram (Abi) Brizuela Executive Director

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Founded in the wake of Rodney King and now celebrating its 30th anniversary, The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company embraces theatre as a vehicle for social empowerment.

THE RISE OF UNUSUAL VOICES

Providing free access to dozens of year-long youth theatre residencies focused on the creation and performance of original plays as well as exposure to professional theatre performances, The Unusual Suspects has evolved from a local program serving roughly 50 participants in Van Nuys in 1993 into a robust program that served over 3,500 youth in over 20 communities of Los Angeles in 2023 alone.

As we celebrate our thirtieth anniversary, we look back in time with endless gratitude for the community of participants, teaching artists, staff, volunteers, board members, and supporters who made this dream the reality it is today. We're proud of our journey; we've learned life-changing lessons along the way, and our path forward is as ambitious as it is exciting.

In 2024, we're launching a four-year theatre conservatory program where high-school-age youth can choose specialized careers in writing, acting, directing, and production design.

We're also introducing a vocational training program where community members can learn the fundamentals of costume, set, lighting, and sound design. Over the next five years, we're determined to launch a state-of-the-art performing arts space where young artists from diverse communities can explore their boundless imagination and bridge historically isolated communities.

We believe in the power of self-expression as a fundamental part of self-determination, so we provide thousands of children with a platform to devise a collective future for themselves and their communities.

Our programs emerge from a collective effort that engages hundreds of community partners, foundations, government agencies, corporations, and people like you who believe that Los Angeles' youth deserves topquality access to arts education regardless of their zip code.

To join our movement, support our programs, and learn more about The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company, visit www.theunusualsuspects.org

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YOUTH THEATRE RESIDENCY

The dream of becoming. We teach and support the next generation of bold artists to implement elements of movement, devised theatre, and playwriting through original collaborative theatre under a brand-new curriculum specifically designed for our K-8 classrooms.

Our classrooms become a space to explore limitless possibilities.

Structured under California Common Core English Language Arts (ELA) and VAPA standards, our student artists build a foundation in dramatic principles by dissecting and reenacting classic tales and fables, inhabiting original characters and improvising scenes with exciting outcomes. After mastering basic storytelling principles, participants devise their own original work through a series of creative exercises and prompts that cultivate the artistic mind, culminating in a live performance in front of their families and community. Upon completion of Residency, student artists will gain the skills necessary to advance to the next stage, becoming eligible for Youth Theatre Conservatory.

YOUTH THEATER CONSERVATORY The mastery of doing. We teach and support the next generation of bold artists to implement advanced methodologies through the creation of original collaborative theatre.

Youth Theatre Conservatory is a sequential 4-year program that challenges high school student artists to push beyond their own standards, encourages risk in creativity, and prepares for professional success. In Levels I & II (9th & 10th Grade), student artists undergo foundational theater practices in movement, voice for performance, playwriting, directing, dramaturgy, and lighting & sound design. Each discipline is offered to set the foundation, preparing our student artists for higher education. For Levels III & IV (11th & 12th Grade), student artists will have the opportunity to

declare a discipline of study in one of four tracts: Playwriting, Directing, Acting, or Design. In each tract, student artists will focus their study amongst professionals and peers alike, regularly overlapping with other tracts to collaborate in the creation of their theatre works. Each tract will undergo mentorship and vocational training from professional artists and creators in the field. By the end of Level IV, each student artist will present their senior Capstone Project in the form of a showcase.

NEIGHBORHOOD VOICES & Vocational Training in Production Design Building through connection.

We provide free intergenerational programming to our community partners to build with neighborhood artists. Neighborhood Voices centers on community, teaching the creation, collaboration, and production of devised theatre through prompts inspired by the community itself: impactful historical events, the current climate, or themes and conflicts integral to daily life. We believe generations in communication build layers of connection, adding richness and links to the past, present, and future. Primarily taught through community centers, participants write, direct, design, and perform in a play for and about their community, culminating in a Performance open to the public, with future iterations touring throughout Greater Los Angeles. Vocational Training in Production Design for set, lighting, sound and costume design runs congruent to the devising process, providing community members with skills to access potential jobs in the entertainment industry as well as future USTC productions.

Unique to the Neighborhood Voices program, a hosted talk-back session is held to engage community leaders in the discussion of central themes, personal impact, and ways to forge forward as a community, creating agency and change.

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VOICES FROM INSIDE

The power of expression. We support all voices, by providing free programming to juvenile halls and camps in Los Angeles County.

Through an implementation of diverse mediums, our student artists unleash their voice through traditional theater, improvisation, poetry, mixed media arts, and playwriting. Focused on reflective storytelling, our young adult participants explore key moments in their lives with fresh perspective, giving them agency to make new decisions and forge fresh paths forward as an artist. This curriculum model serves as a base for future arts training and a modality for self-expression and emotional regulation, providing our artists with the opportunity to develop a growing writing portfolio they can take with them after their period of incarceration- providing a foundation for professional development and opportunity.

Each culmination finishes with a monologue or scene presentation written and performed by each student artist, a perfect showcase for budding poets and performers.

THEATRE & CULTURAL ACCESS PROGRAM

The cultivation of new experiences.

We nurture and support the creative and cultural spirit of our youth artists, families, and stakeholders, providing experiences for all who wish to attend. These can include but are not limited to, theatre outings, trips to museums, evenings at the symphony, professional mentorship, masterclasses, and more. Prior to each field trip experience a lesson about the context of the experience is presented by two Teaching Artists. Additionally post the event is followed by an in-depth discussion of the experience, allowing space for our young artists to reflect, speak and think critically about others' work. We believe art is best shared in the community.

OUR IMPACT 16,800+ 15,900+ 7,500+ 300+ 50+

YOUNG ARTISTS ENGAGED

ATTENDED THEATRE PERFORMANCES

THEATRE WORKSHOPS

PLAYS DEVISED

COMMUNITIES SERVED

1 9 9 3 — 2 0 2 3

IN NUMBERS YOUNG ARTISTS ENGAGED

3,500+ 2,100+ 700+ 30+ 20+

ATTENDED THEATRE PERFORMANCES

THEATRE WORKSHOPS

PLAYS DEVISED

COMMUNITIES SERVED

2 0 2 3

THE HOOD STORY 2003 F-WORDS 2005 LOVE AND TEMPTATION 2005 THE RUNAWAYS 2005 WELCOME TO MY LIFE 2005 FOR FAMILY, FORTUNE OR FAME 2005 THESE SHOES ARE MADE FOR PLAYING 2006 BURNING WATER 2006 THE JOURNEY OF THE LOCKET 2006 FRIENDS, FAMILY & SB6 2006 RUMOR RHAPSODY 2006 THE EMPIRE OF THE LOST KING 2007 IT’S A CHICKEN THANG 2007 HUSTLER’S EPIPHANY 2007 INNER WIMPY 2007 THE WISH FACTORY MIX UP 2007 BELLY OF THE BEAST (THE QUEST FOR THE UNSOLVED MYSTERY OF THE TIGER SUIT) 2008 LIFE WHEN DEATH CALLS 2008 A MILE IN CLOWNS SHOES 2008 CHANGE FOR GOOD 2008 TEENAGE MUTANT TWINKIES 2008 THE HAUGHTY SACRIFICE 2008 FREEDOM PLAY 2008 FORGIVENESS 2008 THE ABANDON HOTEL 2009 HARD TIMES 2009 COOKIN UP A STORM 2009 LOVE HAS NO GENDER 2009 WHAT YOU GIVE IS WHAT YOU GET 2009 EYES OF THE GOVERNMENT 2009 LIFE ON THE OFFBEAT 2009 LIFE, LOVE, LIES! 2009 HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO? 2010 LIFE IS A JOURNEY 2010 LIFTING OUR YOUTH 2010 REACHING THE EXIT 2010 LIFE IS NOT A GAME 2010 HOPING FOR CHANGE 2010 THE LOST SON 2011 LA FLOR MAGICA 2011 THE HURTFUL TRUTH 2011 THE UNKNOWN PROTECTOR FREMONT 2011 FIGHTING FOR A BREATH OF FREEDOM 2011 AWAKENING OF THE DARK CANVAS 2011 CHASING DREAMS & CASTING SHADOWS 2011 MONEY, POWER, AND REGRET 2012 A CURSE UPON YOU 2012 FIESTA OF TALL TALES! 2012 WISDOM OF THE HEART 2012 TROUBLE ARRIVES 2013 THE MAGICAL ADVENTURES OF TYLER & JACKIE 2013 THE GRUESOME SPELL OF LOVE 2013 REST IN PIECES OF THE PUZZLE 2013 TEENAGE RHAPSODY 2013 THE DIFFICULTY OF LOVE 2013 SUPERNATURAL SECRETS 2014 LOVES CURSE 2014 OUR FAMILY, OUR FUTURE; BREAKING FREE 2014 A CHANGE OF SEASONS 2014 FAMILY PORTRAITS 2014 TOXICITY IN THE FAMILY 2015 IT MIGHT BE ONE LAST WORD 2015 LONG, LIVE, LIES 2015 THE STRUGGLES OF A MAGICAL LIFE 2015 SHAMED LOVE, RUNAWAYS AND TIME MACHINES 2015 WHEN THE LIGHT FADES: A JOURNEY THROUGH THE DARK SIDE 2015 CHEMICALS INSIDE ME 2015 FEAR, FAMILY, AND FINDING ACCEPTANCE 2016 LOVE UNTITLED 2016 TWO DREAMS: ONE LOVE 2016 THE LOST DISCIPLE 2016 FEARLESS FIRE WITHIN: ESPERANZA FORJADA EN FUEGO | HOPE FORGED IN FIRE 2017 REFLECTION: THE RICO STORY 2017 THE LIFE OF FELICIANA 2017 RISE OF THE DANGELS 2017 THE HOWL AT 18 2017 FAMILY > REVENGE 2017 THE TALE OF THE MYSTERIOUS SWITCH 2018 BECAUSE OF BO’S LIGHT 2018 TIME IS TICKING 2018 THE ELEMENTAL JOURNEY 2018 THE SECRETS WE DON’T KNOW 2018 THE MAGICAL MISADVENTURES IN WOODLAND 2018 BAD HABITS 2019 LIBERTINA: A MYSTICAL JOURNEY HOME 2019 THE THREE ROYALS OF EUPHORIA 2019 GENERATIONS: THE CHAOTIC MARTINEZ FAMILY 2019 MONSTER HEIST: LIGHT VS DARK 2019 BLOOD OVER WATER 2019 PROJECT: ALL IN FOR HUMANITY 2020 BEHIND THE TOILET IS THE MYSTERY OF CHEF CITY 2020 FIGHTING FOR OUR GOLDEN DREAMS 2020 THE FAMILY TREE 2020 FINDING PANDORA 2020 THE MAGIC LIFE: THE ADVENTURE OF THREE WIZARDS IN THE TIME OF CORONA 2020 THE

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COMING OF AGE IN THE 2020s Entering a Creative Field in Flux

By Julyza Commodore

At this point in time, we are so advanced (and at times wildly so) in technology that we have the option to have robots deliver our food from restaurants that we can order from on our very own cellular devices with the click of just a few buttons. It’s also been a few years since COVID-19 roared uninvited into millions of Americans lives and caused a seismic shift that has impacted us all in ways that we never could have imagined. This shift has been felt in more ways than one and in so many industries across the world — including one of the most important and life changing ones, the arts and entertainment industry.

There are many creatives that would tell you within a second if you ask them “Why did you become an artist?” that “I didn’t choose the creative life, it chose me” because that is simply how it feels for so many of us. We are called to do this work. Whether it be dancing, acting, directing, writing, painting, making music, etc. these are all special callings that thousands upon thousands have been called to do since the beginning of time. Although at first only performed with one actor (the protagonist), the first plays were known to have been performed as early as 500 B.C. in the Theatre of Dionysus in Athens, Greece.

That being over 2,000 years ago only solidifies the argument and reminds us all that when other things fail or become bleak in life, the words of artists carry us through. We even saw that happen during the Pandemic when we were forced into our homes and left with art to keep us inspired to push through to see another day. Art gives us happiness. Art gives us inspiration. Art gives us hope. Art shifts the world in the greatest of ways.

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"ART GIVES US HAPPINESS. ART GIVES US INSPIRATION. ART GIVES US HOPE. ART SHIFTS THE WORLD IN THE GREATEST OF WAYS."

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When entering a creative field when so much has changed and seems to change day by day and even moment by moment (re: writers’ and actors’ strikes), I think there are some thoughts that should be remembered:

We are all unique with something different to offer.

Whether you become an Academy Award-winning actress, a Pulitzer Prize-winning author, or maybe you’ll be an arts educator who works and inspires the young — no one can stop you from your impact as a creative even when things are in flux.

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“WHY DID YOU BECOME AN ARTIST?”

Remind yourself why you are creative in the first place, what keeps you inspired and also know your worth as an artist and how special your creative work is. Nobody can put a number on that because it is sacred.

“I DIDN’T CHOOSE THE CREATIVE LIFE, IT CHOSE ME”

Knowing just how important art and creativity is, I would be remiss if I didn’t touch base on the career part of it. Yes, there are many who pursue the arts as a hobby, but there are many of us who see it as so much more than that and it is indeed a career.

This is often a subject that creates debates where people mock and underestimate the importance of an artist. As a creative, we already have so much on our plates, whether that is juggling a few day- (or even night-jobs) to get by until your dream job becomes your day job, or even if it is simply figuring out what specific art speaks to you and what you truly want to pursue wholeheartedly, the last thing we need is doubt and devaluation from the outside. Entering the creative world professionally can be intimidating and discouraging, especially in the times that we are currently in. However, it is always important to remember what you can and cannot control.

ZOOM THEATER Love Letter Ah, Zoom Theater, you pixelated wonder, you virtual stage that became our sanctuary when the whole world pressed pause.

You’ve been more than just a screen – it was through you that the magic of live performances continued to light up our lives during the darkest of times.

In the pre-pandemic era, the before times, the very idea of theater unfolding on a computer screen might have raised an eyebrow or two. But then came the unforeseen, the masks, the lockdowns, the “mute all” button that took over our lives. It was in these uncertain moments that Zoom Theater emerged as a creative beacon.

Necessity is the mother of invention and Zoom Theater is no exception. Possibilities opened up before our eyes. I read the entirety of Angels in America with one other actor over Zoom, switching off the roles. Why hadn’t we done this before? Or so we wondered, dressed up only from waist up, wearing PJ pants with a cat on each of our laps.

Riddled with Wi-Fi issues and sound snafus, Zoom still offered an imaginative escape from monotony and a lifeline to connection, even as we were holed up in our homes. Could the intimacy of theater truly translate through pixels and bandwidth?

Perhaps not as intimately, nor as effectively, but maybe, just maybe, more sincerely.

Zoom Theater reminded us all that the show must indeed go on, even if the physical stages remained empty. Playwrights, directors, and performers rose to the challenge, embracing this digital realm with a fervor that mirrored the pioneers of old. Rehearsals became virtual gatherings, costumes were assembled within the confines of our closets, and props were crafted from household items.

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And oh, the actors! How they enchanted us with their ability to emote-through the confines of a webcam. Faces illuminated by ring lights and the soft glow of computer screens delivered monologues and dialogues with a passion that bridged the physical distance and left us hanging on every word. The power of storytelling triumphed over the limitations of technology, reminding us that an artist’s spirit knows no bounds.

Let us not forget the audience, those brave souls who faced the challenge of staying engaged amid a sea of digital distractions.

We navigated the treacherous waters of frozen screens and lagging audio, our collective perseverance a testament to the enduring love for the performing arts. The shared experience of laughter and applause (when not muted automatically due to sound settings) became a lifeline.

But even as your era comes to a close, Zoom theater, know that you weren’t just a placeholder for the “real thing.” You carved out a space of your own, allowing for innovative approaches that highlighted the strength of the medium. Interactive performances blurred the lines between spectator and performer as audience members became part of the narrative through chat boxes. The intimacy of extreme (and sometimes awkward) close-ups drew us into characters’ inner worlds, fostering a connection that transcended physical proximity.

In your realm, geographical boundaries were erased. Audiences from different corners of the world gathered to witness the magic, forging connections that might not have been possible in a traditional theater setting. As we watched performers navigate the challenges of time zones and internet glitches, we were reminded that art truly does belong to everyone.

And so, dear Zoom theater, as we cautiously reemerge into a world that’s regaining its rhythm, I want to express my gratitude.

You provided a lifeline during a time of uncertainty, offering a platform for creativity and connection when we needed it most.

You proved that even when the world keeps us physically apart, the spirit of theater can transcend screens and pixels.

As the curtain falls on this chapter of virtual performances, let us remember the moments of laughter, tears, and collective joy that you brought into our lives. You were more than just a screen; you were a beacon of hope, a testament to the resilience of the arts, and a reminder that even in the most challenging of times, the show – and our passion for it – must go on.

By V Cate 12

WHO WANTS TO SEE SHAKESPEARE IN GRIFFITH PARK? THOUSANDS!

David Melville and his Independent Shakespeare Festival

By Julyza Commodore

Englishman David Melville and his American wife, Melissa Chalsma, founded Independent Shakespeare Festival (ISC) 25 years ago, with programming initially in Barnsdall Park (East Hollywood), they soon found L.A. city support for an annual, summer festival outdoors in Griffith Park. Every summer it attracts thousands of families from across Los Angeles. ISC also has offices in Atwater Village, and does off-season performances related to the classics in that intimate venue. Julyza Commodore spoke with Melville JULYZA COMMODORE: With being in business for 25 years, how have you seen and/or experienced the evolution of theater?

DAVID MELVILLE: There’s been a lot of ups and downs within that time I think. Uh, you know when I first came to America in 1995 during a Broadway performance of Hamlet . . . you know that’s such a huge question. A bulk of our producing career has been in LA and so much has changed — the scene has changed a lot from being quite a vibrant community of small theaters, but not really any mid-sized theater and then institutional bigger theaters that have been sort of the bedrock of everything and then obviously there’s been eruptions in the smaller theater world. At this point now 25 years later, it’s impossible to say what the future looks like, because I think we’re at this huge dividing line where this cultural shift is happening. If you look at downtown LA, there are all those old theaters that were built hundreds of years ago that were so vibrant at one point and yes, many of them were old movie theaters, but some were performance venues, they were active and functioning for 20 or 30 years and they’ve just been empty shells for the past 40 or so years, and that’s sort of a testament to how you think the culture is going one way and then it just shifts.

JC: And you mentioning cultural shifts has brought me to my next question. What has inspired your overall mission for the company and has it changed over time?

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DM: Well when you start a nonprofit, you have to write a mission statement for the IRS. It’s useful and we didn’t realize it at the time, but it becomes the guiding principles of the organization and if you pick a mission that resonates with the public, the public will get behind it, but if you pick a mission that just resonates with you that isn’t going inspire the public, that’s a harder path to go down and from the beginning. We wanted to make theater that’s accessible to as many people as possible and in that sense, the mission hasn’t really changed. When we started doing shows in the park, we looked at the makeup of LA and the makeup of our company which was mostly White at that time and said “ this is not serving LA” that’s when we altered our mission to make sure the playmakers look like the audience.

JC: What does community mean to you?

DM: I think community is the essential ingredient that’s going to make theaters functional in the future. A lot of regional theaters cater to wealthy donors and sponsors and they tend to forget that the first duty is to cater to the local population and I think the more that we think about things locally, the more successful we can be, because it’s about serving those in our community.

JC: What keeps you inspired? What keeps you all going?

DM: We wear so many hats doing what we do.

We’re acting, doing sound design, fixing things and even sorting out the plumbing. When you find yourself in an emergency and you have to pump the sewage tank at the park, that’s a question you’ll ask yourself. But we had this moment during the first season in Barnsdall Park and were playing to 50-100 people a night and there was this lady that came up with her little boy and shook our hands after and she said that she had no idea what to do, because she had no money and that they had an amazing time and the little boy dug into his pocket and gave us 40 cents I think for donations and it was at that moment that we realized, oh we’ve found our vocation.

FROM CREATIVITY ON STAGE Yes, there is life after high school.

“What am I going to do once I graduate?” is what most students ask in their final years of high school. And with the start of the new academic year, new freshmen at their colleges are stepping into new possibilities where they will spend the next two to four years taking their chosen classes. But for me, it was a different experience entirely, after spending so much time doing theater performances throughout my high school career.

At Hemet High, in the theater club, I acted as a makeup crew member for the first two years. Watching and learning, yearning for a spot up on the stage. And in my last two years, I was given that chance to perform! As a thespian I adored being under the stage lights and being able to lose myself as Grace Fryer’s mother in Radium Girls, scolding her daughter for not choosing to take the settlement money after being physically assaulted.

But my favorite moment was in another production, Seussical the Musical, showing my singing voice in my first lead and finally having that chance to truly show what I was made of! Yet, there was a downfall to my last performance. . . because it never happened. A week away from the opening night, Hemet High had to close because of the Pandemic. I had never felt so upset in that time, because it was finally the time to show this is what I’d be working up to, through all my years in high school.

I never thought I would ever get a chance to show myself again as a performer, so I laid my head down and started to apply to colleges that would better myself as a person in society. My options were to be a vet technician or as a dentist. It crossed my mind to try to apply to art schools, but they all had required a portfolio that I hadn’t built up. I was about to turn away from a career in performance, until my mother told me something that I will forever keep in my heart.

“THIS ISN’T YOU,” SHE SAID. “YOU LOVE ART, YOU LOVE PERFORMING. I KNOW YOU WILL MAKE A DIFFERENCE DOING SOMETHING YOU LOVE.” 14

TO CREATIVITY ON YOUTUBE

High School Thespian Discovers Theater in the Tech Sector

By Jannelys Santiago-Negron

And with that, my determination was now reborn as I looked into more art colleges until one caught my eye.

The Los Angeles Film school, and I was whisked away into the world of animation!

About a few months into my journey through college, I was on a Discord Server (a messaging app) and was relaxing with a few friends in a group call until one of the members popped into the call and was looking for a new editor for his YouTube channel. I had initially thought to myself, I know how to video edit, but that was for my broadcasting team. When he was about to leave the call, I piped up and said that I was a video editor and could do something for him. And that’s where I first met my best friend and colleague, Cougar MacDowall.

He gave me a video to do, some lines to act for the animation, and after some critique, he was very impressed with how fast I had adapted to fit his style of animation. So, I started to gain more skill in his eyes and we kept going through with the YouTube channel.

We both threw ideas back and forth to one another, and each one was an eventual hit! Of course I was still working and doing college at the same time, so there was some stress when I thought I wouldn’t hit a deadline, but I always kept the thought of keeping myself and my family proud of me. And that gave me more motivation than I could ever ask for. And through Cougar, I had even gotten the chance to edit other YouTube content featuring Dawko on his original animated comic series called Hex. And I even got to voice act in some video games, animations and sing some song covers with over half a million views!

So what did I do when I got out of high school? As the doors closed from my ambitions to perform in live theater, I still found the stage through other means! I went straight into my love of art and performance and kept my motivation high which eventually led me into my current job of working as a co-owner of a YouTube channel with 1.5 million subscribers. And I could never ask for anything else, and what’s even better is the animated pilot I am making through the funding of the channel. I can only thank my friends and family now as I am a few months away from graduating from college, and I for one am excited to see what will come next!

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AN ACTOR’S JOURNEY FROM IRAN TO LA Notes From the First Iranian Female Admitted to USC’s MFA Acting Program

By Elmira Rahim

All I ever yearned for was to reach my full potential as an actor. While the art scene in Iran is truly inspiring, I knew I could not explore all parts of myself due to lack of artistic freedom imposed by a totalitarian regime. So, at age 24, I decided to move to the US with my younger sister, to finally break free from all limitations. To many people’s surprise, my life in Iran was filled with love. I was empowered by male figures in my life, introduced to art at a very young age and learned aspects of my culture which I deeply cherish. I got to witness women of Iran pushing the boundaries in the smallest and the biggest ways: Artists not allowing limitations to stifle their creativity. That is not to say I carry no wounds from the violation of basic human rights in my homeland. They certainly make themselves apparent from time to time.

Leaving one’s roots to pursue a dream has been a fascinating journey; one filled with growth, sacrifice, longing, hope, frustration, great achievements and at times, great despair.

What is your race/ethnicity? That is the question. I have just moved from Iran to US, filling out forms to apply for my Social Security card. It is truly the first time I’m

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thinking about this question. Well, Iran is in Asia. Does that make us Asian? Is Middle Eastern mostly referred to people from the Arab countries? We are not Arabs. I do not yet have a phone in the US and my Iranian number does not work in that office. So, I couldn’t look up, what my race is, if I am from Iran. I decided to ask the lady behind the counter collecting people’s documents.

“Excuse me? I am Iranian. Which box should I check for this question?” I asked her. She looked at me and after a few seconds replied with indifference: “I don’t know. Whatever you’re comfortable with…

If you don’t know, just check White.” She continued with her work. Little that I knew, this question will not only come up again, but it will greatly shadow my professional and personal life. As an aspiring

actor in Los Angeles, labels like “ethnic,” “ethnically ambiguous,” “actor of color,” “brown,” “fair skin actor of color,” “BIPOC,” “diverse,” “sort of diverse,” “exotic,” “Mediterranean,” “Middle Eastern” and so on has been used to identify me.

I personally have no attachment to either one of these labels.

My first few years in the United States, while figuring out life, I was determined to get admission to an MFA Acting program.

I had some theater experience as an actor in Iran, but I had not chosen theater as my college major, and I’ve always desired an academic training in acting.

As I was taking acting classes in LA, most instructors advised me against going to an acting school. “You would mainly work on Shakespeare in theater schools,” they told me. Some believed accumulating debt in a profession as unstable as acting not to be the wisest choice. Some argued that while you are busy in school for years, you will be off the market as a younger actor, and by the time you graduate, there will be fewer roles available in your age range. After all, ageism is a real thing in this industry, especially for women. However, against everyone’s advice, I wanted to continue my education, not studying Engineering as I had in Iran, but this time, in a field that I love.

I applied to most prestigious theater schools. Of course, the application process was extremely unfamiliar and overwhelming. I was terrified that writing a “statement of purpose” in my second language, when I’m hardly familiar with the concept, would not do justice to what I have to offer. Marketing oneself and talking about goals, strengths and weaknesses is not something we grow up with in Iran.

I didn’t know anyone is this country. Who would I get a recommendation letter from?

Ironically, I had to go with the acting instructors who were against me going to acting school. As required, I prepared a classical and a contemporary monologue for the auditions. My first audition was for NYU. I could not have been more nervous, but I did my best and felt good about the audition. One of the auditioners recognized from my resume that this must be the first time I’m acting in America, and in English.

He said he was impressed and that I have a unique story. Despite the encouraging compliment, I didn’t get into any programs that year. I was devastated at first but didn’t let the disappointment discourage me from applying again. I was learning very quickly, while there are a lot more opportunities in the US than in Iran, there is also far more competition.

During my second try, I was feeling less like a fish out of water. I was beginning to find my voice. I chose a monologue about the pain of separation, the pain of no longer being able to remember the details of the face of someone you love. A feeling familiar to me as an immigrant. This time around, I auditioned for the MFA Acting Program at the University of Southern California (USC). Andy Robinson, the creator of the program, saw me through that monologue.

I was finally seen and got admitted to the program as the first Iranian woman.

My experience at USC was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. However, my interactions with people there were not free from preconceived notions about where I come from. But I was too homesick and in culture shock to register any of the comments, questions or assumptions as insensitive.

I was mainly excited to get an opportunity to stretch myself beyond my imagination, and to work with mentors who continue to inspire me to trust my voice as an actor. To represent a country with such complicated political and social landscape was not a role I was equipped to take on, but I always felt the weight of it on my shoulders.

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During my intense three-year training at USC, I got to play a variety of characters regardless of their ethnicities. Classical, contemporary, drama, comedy, commedia dell’arte, clowning, devised work, physical theater, on camera acting, we did it all. I was in heaven. I was living my childhood dream of setting my talent free. More importantly, I got to share that journey with people who on paper, aside from our shared passion for storytelling, I did not have much in common with. That experience alone, expanded my world and made me a better actor. I found great confidence in recognizing that the human condition is the same everywhere.

That being an Iranian woman is just a slice of me. By the third year of our training, I was truly ready to navigate the world of show business with much more connection to my personal power. I dreamed of making my people proud. I wanted to make it worth the sacrifice of being away from family and loved ones.

Our training culminated with a showcase for representations in the industry. That was our transition to the world outside of school or as some people called it, “the real world”. The week leading up to the big day, I was at my citizenship ceremony.

While I was going over my lines for my showcase scene, I was half listening to a speaker giving a speech about how lucky we are to become American citizens. That all our ancestors dreamed of becoming American citizens. That America is the greatest country in the world with the greatest democracy in the world. It is the land of freedom and justice for all. Land of equal opportunities for all. Ironically, it did not take long as an American citizen to face the biases against me, and notice the opportunities out of my reach, simply due to my background.

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Outside of normal post-graduate challenges, I had to constantly push back on stereotypical Middle Eastern roles.

Most auditions coming my way, which were not many, greatly lacked nuances and most often, accuracy. It became hurtful to recognize that people underestimate my ability to handle more sophisticated language, simply because they detect a slight accent, or they find it necessary to justify a Middle Eastern character in the story. In addition, the constant

task of educating people about the fact that I don’t speak Arabic, I don’t identify as a Muslim, Iran is not a desert, not all Iranians are conservative, and I certainly don’t have a recipe for the most authentic hummus, as hummus is not an Iranian food, has been draining. In a field based on imagination, it is sometimes amusing to find yourself at the presence of decision makers with no imagination.

Seven years after graduating from USC, while proud of my accomplishments in LA theater, I still feel like a kid in a toy store who’s not allowed to play. It is hard not to feel envious of careers that are not entangled with such unnecessary complication. Nevertheless, I refuse to be a victim. I am going to push the boundaries with all force, just like I’ve learned from the women of my homeland.

CARLOS LÓPEZ ESTRADA ON TELLING HIS OWN STORY

By Julia Stier

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Taking in Carlos López Estrada’s filmography, the first word that comes to mind to describe the Mexico City-born director is versatile.

His first feature Blindspotting – starring Hamilton’s Daveed Diggs – centers on an formerly incarcerated man in Oakland. His second, Summertime, was a collaboration with a group of young poets.

And his most recent film? The groundbreaking Disney animated feature Raya and the Last Dragon, which secured him a nomination for an Academy Award.

So honestly, versatile seems like an understatement.

However, long before the filmmaker took his seat in the director’s chair, it was the theater that first instilled a love of storytelling in Estrada.

As the grandchild of an actress, Estrada would accompany his grandmother to the theater on the weekends and watch her rehearse and perform from the wings. He credits these experiences as being how he formed his “artistic sensibilities.”

Estrada first made his way into the industry directing music videos for artists such as the aforementioned Diggs. Then, he had his own foray into the theater world in 2015 when he starred in an original multimedia production titled Ded! [sic], based on the Mexican Day of the Dead Tradition, which he co-created and co-directed with Cristina Berkovitz.

At the time of his conversation with Julia Stier, Estrada was in the Bay Area producing his next film. He emphasized that theater will always be “the heart” of what he does. ♥ 21

Julia Stier: How has your work in the theater affected how you approach directing TV and film?

Carlos López Estrada: In so many ways. My preferred form of literature has always been plays. Growing up, that’s where I developed my taste, even more so than watching movies. Seeing and reading theater was how I first began to think about how to develop a story, how to develop a character, what feels engaging, and what feels meaningful and powerful and fun and true to me. The collaborative experience of putting together a theatrical production has also really impacted the way I work.

[In Film] you barely get to rehearse with actors. But the process of putting together a play is so meticulous, and values the collaboration and the space to let ideas grow and age, and [allows] room for questioning and experimentation.

That’s something that I’ve always really valued. To me, there’s a truth to being in a room with a person and knowing that you’re experiencing the same thing and you’re connecting on such a profound level. You can get that in movies, but it’s different. For all these reasons, I think that my love and appreciation and proximity to the theater world has really impacted the way I think about the work that I do, and the processes that I followed for making the movies that I’ve done.

JS: Your work is rich in representation. What stories are you hoping to see – or see more of – on stage or on screen?

CLE: I did music videos for a very long time, and because of a video I did for Daveed Diggs’s rap group [Clipping], we developed a really close relationship. When he got approached by producers about turning his script he’d written with his writing partner into a movie, because we had this relationship, he brought me on. That was Blindspotting.

After that, I immediately got the next job. I did an indie, then I worked at Disney Animation. I did Raya the Last Dragon, and I left Disney a little bit over a year ago. So, finally, now I’m getting a chance to pursue projects that I care about and develop my own stuff.

I started writing and I feel like it’s a really exciting stage of my career.

After I left Disney, I was able to take a step back and look at my trajectory with a little bit more perspective and plan ahead and ask

"I WANTED TO LOOK INWARDLY AND SAY THINGS THAT I WANTED TO SAY." 22

myself the big questions: Why do I want to keep making movies? What kind of stories do I want to tell? What is important to me?

I noticed that because of this pace, and the way that everything has developed, I had spent most of my directing career telling other peoples’ stories. It finally felt like I’d reached a point where I wanted to do that for my own story. I wanted to look inwardly and say things that I wanted to say. I really began exploring stories that are closer to my identity and culture, whether it is Latinx stories, or specifically Mexican stories, or stories of Mexicans living in the U.S. It feels like for the first time, I’m telling the stories that mean the most to me. It’s been a really good journey.

JS: On your path from theater-maker to Academy Award-nominated director, what’s been the best piece of advice that you’ve received?

CLE: I don’t necessarily know one piece of advice, but the biggest learning lesson and moment of recalibration for me was this independent movie called Summertime.

I found this group of young spoken word poets who worked at this nonprofit called Get Lit. They did a poetry showcase for me and I was so moved and asked if they would be interested in developing their work into a feature.

That turned into Summertime and it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve done, but also the scariest. The whole concept was that we would let the poets write and act and devise the whole film. It felt a little antithetical strategy-wise to what I should be doing as my second feature… This felt like a little bit of a risk. It was like the messiest thing I’ve ever done, but also the most beautiful.

Letting go of control is something I think directors and artists are very afraid of, because we crave control and we crave certainty. The way that we did this movie forced me to let go of all of that and just trust that I was working with artists who I thought had something to say and whose stories mattered. I just felt something that made me feel really alive. I trusted that instinct and it resulted in the most beautiful thing that really reshaped how I want to engage with the stories that I want to tell and with the communities that I want to represent on screen. It was a game changer for me.

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JS: What’s next for you?

CLE: I’m developing an original show, a musical with a friend of mine who’s a songwriter, and we’re working with New York Theater Workshop.

That’s the thing that’s been giving me the most life. I am also very happy to have been invited to the board of The Unusual Suspects. The work that they’re doing is just so profoundly meaningful. I did my first session with a couple of kids that they were working with this summer where we were giving them feedback on some monologues, and then I’m going to be directing the monologues on stage for an event for The Unusual Suspects.

It feels like such a beautiful opportunity to use my love for theater and support communities that I think are very often ignored. And being able to facilitate their stories, reaching more people, just became the most beautiful way that I could be spending my time.

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THREE VIEWS ON AI, AND ITS IMPACT ON THE ARTS

If we turn the arts over to AI, what is it that makes us human?

By Julia Stier

At the time of writing, both the Screen Actors Guild and the Writers Guild of America are on strike.

One of the hot topics of contention? The use of Artificial Intelligence (AI) on the screen and in the writers’ room.

JEN MARKEWYCH Ukrainian-born Jen Markewych is a philosopher who has taught at Cal State, LA, has served as an emergency medic, and was recently admitted to the UC Davis Ph.D. program in philosophy. Her areas of specialization in philosophy are applied ethics and public philosophy. She believes that philosophy is the only discipline that can save the world. Jen is also a member of the Screen Actors Guild.

JULIA STIER: As a philosopher, what is your stance on the fear of AI replacing artists in part or altogether?

As writers and actors seek to put guardrails on AI, their concerns beg the question: Can AI truly replace human creatives?

JEN MARKEWYCH: I don’t really have this as a fear. In fact, despite this question being bandied about a lot, I’m not sure it actually makes much sense. AI actually can’t “replace” artists. I think we need to remember that a human that makes art is fundamentally doing it because it’s essential to their personhood. AI can’t stop me from making art and it can’t go through the same creative process that I, Jen Markewych, go through to create art.

We connected with three professionals – a philosopher, an educator, and a writer – and asked them to weigh in on AI and its potential impact on the arts.

The more reasonable question is whether AI will replace people who get paid to be part of an industrial capitalist system that churns out entertainment for a consumer. So, will AI be able to replace some episodic television writing, IKEA wall prints, or formulaic movies? It certainly seems like it. But also, great art has always been recognized because it breaks some kind of mold and does something original. It certainly doesn’t seem like AI can do that.

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JS: How can AI improve playwriting?

That said, some people are embracing the technology.

Some instructors require their students to collaborate with GPT to complete class assignments (under the philosophy that people and machines working together will yield the best results).

JM: It seems like AI can be used to spur creativity. In essence, there’s always this thing that you can toss ideas at and see what it tosses back. You don’t have to wait to get into a writers’ room or a coffee house or a workshop, it’s always ready to mess around with.

JS: Might AI hurt or help human creativity?

JS: How might AI hurt or help human creativity?

JG: Both. Yet just as calculators are a tool that handle some mundane tasks and free up thinking at a more creative level, AI can be seen as a “cultural technology” (in the words of Alison Gopnik).

JM: It seems like it might clear away a lot of the flotsam and jetsam in creative fields. Let’s use shoes for example. We all own a lot more shoes than we used to because shoemaking was industrialized and we’re no longer reliant on our village cobbler to make our shoes. But there were likely a lot of village cobblers that made pretty crummy shoes. Now, we all have access to more choice and better shoes than the lousy ones that the local cobbler made. But it’s still the case that the very best and brightest shoemakers are making those shoes by hand, with maybe the aid of some machine assistance. This is true of countless industries, and I suspect it will be the same for this one.

Just as books, then libraries, gave individuals enormous access to others’ minds, models like GPT can broadly share human expertise and allow transformative thinking in some areas. The models themselves, at least currently, are not particularly creative themselves.

They are good pattern matchers. The extent to which they seem creative is the draw on ideas/solutions of others, or they make productive analogies that others have yet not seen.

Perhaps that is all human creativity is, but I think it will be some time before AI subsumes the human mind, despite the current hype. Those who initially play with foundation models are stunned by their intelligence.

Those with far more experience are bemused by their profound stupidity.

People will still want things created by people.

Ultimately, this might lead folks back into the theater and live music venues, as that’s the only way you’ll be certain to have that real human connection with an artist sharing their art.

JS: What excites you the most about AI? JG: I’m excited about the potential of “foundation models” like GPT and Dali. They open up the opportunity to easily develop applications that heretofore would have taken an enormous investment in time. As a cognitive scientist who uses technology to study the human mind, they also provide enormous opportunities to revisit long-standing theoretical disputes.

JONATHAN GRATCH Jonathan Gratch is a Research Full Professor of Computer Science, Psychology and Media Arts and Practice at the University of Southern California (USC) and Director for Virtual Human Research at USC’s Institute for Creative Technologies. He completed his Ph.D. in Computer Science at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. He is a Fellow of AAAI, AAAC, and the Cognitive Science Society.

JULIA STIER: There are already programs like TurnItIn.com that analyze papers for plagiarism.

Do you foresee theaters and educators needing something similar for detecting the use of AI? JONATHAN GRATCH: Yes. OpenAI itself has introduced technology for generating AI-generated content. Other technology is being developed to detect deep fakes. Faculty at my university have already used tech to detect ChatGPT-created essays and failed students. Some publishers have actually shut down accepting story submissions after learning about half were AI-generated (and typically pretty bad).

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JOHN LOPEZ Another issue is that AIs deeply magnify inherent biases in their training data. In short, until it's been finetuned, a base-model LLM can be rampantly racist and toxic — because the Internet can be rampantly racist and toxic. Work generated through AI’s help is going to exhibit and fall prey to those biases, and I worry that it adds to the gravitational pull of racism in new and dangerous ways.

John Lopez is an alum of the Sundance Episodic Television Lab and NBC Short Cuts Film Festival, John has written for such shows as Paramount Plus’s Strange Angel, Seven Seconds for Netflix, and The Terminal List on Amazon. In the run up to the Writers Guild of America’s 2023 MBA negotiations, John was a member of the WGA’s AI Working Group.

JULIA STIER: Will AI lead to an explosion of more plays now that folks can feed their ideas into a computer and have it create a piece in playwriting format?

JS: With the advancement of AI, will theaters need playwrights anymore? Or will artistic directors turn to AI to craft and write their “perfect season”?

JL: One thousand percent yes, we need playwrights still. In fact, with AI we might need them now more than ever. There is a torrent of synthetic text coming and it threatens to overwhelm us with a certain "regression to the mean." By which I mean a sameness, a homogenization of thought. My suspicion is that only individual, thoughtful, human voices can help us keep our sanity.

JOHN LOPEZ: I think it's possible AI can help someone get started, but I fear there's a trap behind the notion that you just prompt AI with a few words and get a full-blown, ready to produce play. At least in TV, and I imagine on stage, the devil is always in the details.

An essential part of writing is grappling with exactly what you want to say, and discovering your voice as you figure how best to say it. AI short-circuits that vital process. In fact, the degree to which it "fills in" the material for you, is the degree to which it replaces your idea with material ultimately derived from others' work.

That's because the "training data" – which to be clear is other writers' plays – are the artifacts left behind from another artist's struggle to figure out what they want to say, and how they want to connect, to audiences. Why deny yourself this journey?

So, I guess I don't think you can craft your perfect season from AI. The entire point of playwriting to me is to reflect human experiences back at one another – to enable connection between artists, performers and audiences, and engender empathy and humanity...

Our duty is to let audiences feel that other human being behind the work, that person expressing their point of view, their take on this profoundly baffling existence of ours.

We may have an explosion of people attempting playwriting with AI, but I think there's never been a real barrier to entry to any form of writing, other than one's own discipline. You still need discipline to make something good, true and meaningful, even if you could theoretically do it with an AI.

Current AI by its very nature has no point of view; it would be folly to turn to AI to supply what is truly nourishing in the theater. Point of view is the secret sauce behind great art, and has always been what puts the humanity in the humanities. I'd argue that is what is ultimately behind any great play that I personally want to see. Because I want that unique, special point of view to resonate within my own soul as an audience member.

JS: Will the possible influx of more play submissions and/or the possible use of AI by playwrights force theaters to be more stringent with their submission policies?

JL: I think they have to be. At the very least, AIgenerated material needs to be clearly labeled and identified. The U.S. Copyright Office already requires this. You can't copyright AI-generated material yet. Which I think is for the best. The standard is "transformative" change to the work [if a new work that makes a significant changes to preceding work that inspired it, the preceding work may not be subject to copyright protection], and I think that should be an extremely high standard.

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THINKING OUTSIDE THE BLACK BOX THINKING OUTSIDE

THE BLACK BOX THINKING OUTSIDE THE

Exploring The World of Theater Beyond Traditional Plays and Musicals By Socks Whitmore

If you had an average American childhood, you probably associate theater with two things: plays and musicals. Your high school’s low budget production of Annie, a night at the opera with your grandmother, Shakespeare in the park, a reading of The Crucible… Theater has been a part of the human experience for centuries, from the first Greek tragedy to the stylings of Stephen Sondheim.

Over the years, the greater canon of theatrical works has grown vast and varied, expanding not only the types of music and speech featured in mainstage shows, but also the genres of theater itself. (Spoiler alert: there’s a lot more than just plays and musicals.)

We’ve compiled some of these secret subtypes for the bored students, frustrated thespians, and curious creatives out there—when common convention fails to entertain, try something new!

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DOCUMENTARY THEATER, also known

as Theater of Fact, incorporates pre-existing documentation from real events and people as the source material for the script, generally without altering the wording. These quotes may come from news articles, interviews, public records, personal writings, or even video footage that can be incorporated into the production design (with the proper permissions secured). If the text is solely made up of the words of others, it can be called Verbatim Theater.

GRAND GUIGNOL/HORROR This form

of theater got its name from Le Théâtre du Grand-Guignol, a Parisian venue in the early 20th century that specialized in psychological thrill and naturalistic horror. The Grand Guignol approach to the macabre is decidedly avoidant of the supernatural, and instead leans into more human horror of the mind and body — though today the name is often used as shorthand for graphic horror, which is a popular form of theatrical entertainment in its own right.

IMMERSIVE THEATER is an interactive

format rising in popularity that often manifests in one of two forms: a linear show that allows the audience to have some (if not total) control of the story’s direction, or a non-linear performance that creates a detailed, roamable world where parts of the story can be viewed in various locations around the venue. This kind of theater can be intimidating to some audiences, but in the most adaptable shows, bold participants have the power to help create complete, memorable chaos and one of a kind performances!

The art

of th e

ater exist s in

NEO-FUTURISM

There’s meta theater, and then there’s Neo-Futurism: a theatrical aesthetic that discards the “suspension of disbelief” common in narrative theatrical spaces, instead favoring the tenants of honesty, speed, brevity, and the idea that nothing is pretend—the actors only play themselves.

A common feature of Neo-Futurist ensembles is the “30 Plays in 60 Minutes” format, a theatrical game that lists 30 short plays on a menu for the audience to order at random.

A unique aspect of this technique is the intentional possibility of failure, and the excitement of the subsequent stakes.

PERFORMANCE ART As broad of acategory

as it sounds—performance art can be randomized and spontaneous or carefully scripted, in any setting, for any length. As long as it includes time, space, an audience, and action by the performer, it’s art! Your body is the medium, and the world is your canvas.

Examples of performance art include spoken word, various forms of puppetry, improvisation, and avante-garde visual art installations that incorporate a performance element.

PHYSICAL THEATER is when the storytelling is primarily (if not exclusively) communicated through movement. This could resemble a classical ballet, a puppet show, a mime performance, a circus act, or something far different—truthfully, it’s an umbrella term all its own. Some common ingredients are dance, acrobatics, pantomime, rhythm, and physical comedy. Theater has lots of artistic neighbors!

all th ese f orms and

mor e—t he o nly li mit i s you r ima gina tion!

THINKING OUTSIDE THE BLACK 31

BOX THINKING OUTSIDE THE BLACK BOX

BLACK BOX THINKING OUTSIDE THE BLACK

BUILDING COMMUNITY AND TRUST IN HIGH SCHOOL

Teacher William Goldyn on the benefits of theater in high school

By Julyza Commodore

William Goldyn teaches acting, how to build a portfolio, and world culture at the Ramón C. Cortines School of the Visual and Performing Arts in Los Angeles. He spoke with Julyza Commodore JULYZA COMMODORE: For those that don’t know you, give a little bit of background about yourself and what inspired you to become a theater arts educator?

JC: What do you think the youth can gain from theater arts?

WG: So easy! There’s a large number of students who think they’ll never use what they learn from WILLIAM GOLDYN: I started college as a political theater and then years later, they find that so science major, but during my senior year, the [high] much of what they’ve learned are things they can apply to life — how to take risks, how to present school I was teaching at didn’t have a theater themselves and put their best foot forward and teacher, so I directed a show my senior year and they hadn’t hired someone yet. After talking to the how to talk to other adults and be part of an ensemble team. Theater helps us in so many principal, we worked out a deal, I helped build the program and then I fell in love with it. I was already other ways that have nothing to do with theater including relationships and connecting with doing theater, but I never thought of making a others. career out of it. I knew the importance of using my voice for good and making a difference. It all JC: What does community mean to you? happened naturally.

WG: Trust number one. Community comes from JC: What inspired you to work with the youth? many many different places. I think we create it — I think we create our own great ones and WG: William Goldyn: I’ve directed adults, but our own bad ones. And I’ve always believed that every time I work with high school students, I find true ensemble and true community doesn’t want that they are more willing to listen, be vulnerable, anything from you, they want things for you. They willing to take risks and also are more fun to work want you to be successful and they want you with, creative, passionate, thought provoking. to achieve. You’ll always know if a person just I’ve enjoyed working with adults, but because the wants something from you or do they want you to youth are willing to take more risks, it just makes succeed? You all (In Joe Turner’s Come and Gone the show that much more passionate and I am done at Ramon C. Cortines 2014-2015 school always so impressed and I’ve been very lucky to year) had a mission and it was to tell a story and work with incredible and talented actors. that was one of the tightest groups — we call it a community — people who really want these stories told right.

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THEATER AS AN ANTIDOTE TO

DESPAIR A Personal Journey from Darkness to the Stage

By V Cate

Content Warning: This personal essay explores challenging subjects including psychological and physical trauma. We recommend our younger audience to read this in the presence of a trusted adult and instigate a candid discussion afterwards.

Growing up in the picturesque enclave of Malibu, one might assume that my childhood was a sun-soaked dream. But the reality was far from idyllic. In a family that struggled financially and emotionally, my journey was marked by challenges that extended far beyond the ocean views and celebrity homes that surrounded me. My refuge, my salvation, ultimately came in an unexpected form: theater.

Rather than go into explicit detail, suffice it to say that no child should grow up in the physical or emotional environment that I did. Trauma was my teacher, instructing brusquely from the shadows of a house that held unspeakable horrors. In many ways, I was my own parent. I tried to raise and protect my younger siblings as best as I could in the shadow of an abusive father and an abused/absent mother.

Isolation was a bitter companion during those early years, an unwelcome consequence of the darkness that enveloped my home. It was in the realm of fiction — through books, television, and the magic of films — that I sought solace. Escaping into imaginary worlds became my lifeline, a means of connecting with idols, friends, and kindred spirits who existed beyond the confines of my reality.

For reasons far outside of my control, we moved to Simi Valley, where I had an important choice to make: which high school to attend. Simi High was the default choice — stratified in the same way most high schools are, with normcore classes, popular kids, and a strange emphasis on sports. But there was another option — Santa Susana, a small performing arts/magnet/technology high school.

It was here that the transformative power of theater would reveal itself. The first school performance I saw was the improv comedy troupe. These were older kids, full of confidence, deftly weaving in and out of scenarios as though they were psychics. Their performance stirred a newfound curiosity within me. The glimpse of unbridled creativity and apparent joy seduced me immediately.

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H T NI N E C I H

Embracing theater as my lifeline, I embarked on a journey of self-discovery that would shape the trajectory of my life. I enrolled in a theater class and on the first day found myself standing before my peers, delivering a monologue. Nervous, I performed with as much sensitivity and daring as I could muster. It was wading into a new pool of water, slowly.

When I was done, I received something that changed my life forever. Applause

That was the moment that firmly cemented my path ahead. With one simple monologue, I was able to stand taller, to feel more confident, to take up greater space than ever before.

The stage became my refuge. The once-isolated child was now center stage, thriving in an environment that embraced authenticity and celebrated individuality. Musicals, dramas, children’s theater, Shakespeare — I was hungry for it all. I even auditioned for the exclusive improv comedy troupe. I wasn’t naturally gifted at improv, but with effort (and kindness on the part of the teacher) I got in.

There are so many beautiful memories from those days. Unencumbered self-discovery.

Laughing with friends for the first time in my life. Show crushes. Getting ready backstage.

Breathing in the energy from the stage lights. Late night runs to Denny’s after a show.

I had finally found my life, and I was slowly finding my voice.

But not everything was good. Things at home were worse than ever. As theater helped me learn more about myself, I started to question my father. Punishments increased. I was getting mental whiplash, my view of life oscillating each day between possibility and dread.

But I continued to pursue theater with unwavering determination. I honed my skills and stretched my artistic boundaries. Each role became a portal to self-discovery, a canvas on which I could paint my emotions and vulnerabilities without fear of judgment.

Sometimes it’s easy to get trapped in a current, and when I met my highschool boyfriend I was swept away. In many ways he couldn’t have been more like my father. In the few years I was with him, I wound up dropping out of high school, losing touch with most of my friends, and staying isolated inside my room; he didn’t like me to leave.

Still a child, it took me a very long time to extricate myself from the grips of both my father and my then-boyfriend. One of the first ways I did so was to secretly sign up for an improv class at the nearby community college.

I was 17, younger than all the other students in the class. This was a room full of adults.

The teacher was uninspiring — an ex-soap star who wasn’t particularly funny and didn’t give much instruction. But sneaking out to that class once a week carried me through until I found the strength to run away. When I did leave my boyfriend — at the same time my father finally moved in with his girlfriend — I felt emotionally ravaged. Empty, but strong.

And ready to fill the blank slate that was left.

I auditioned for a Shakespeare play. For the audition, I had to wear an awkward cast for my broken clavicle (long story). During the climactic moment of my monologue, my beaded bracelet inexplicably and dramatically broke, shooting jade beads all over the stage. It was like a nightmare scenario. But I stayed firmly in character. I was cast as Lady Macbeth.

When I stood behind the stage curtains waiting for an entrance during my first Macbeth rehearsal, I silently danced with joy. After feeling hopeless for so long, I was so thrilled and thankful to be there.

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E H D N SE O H C ATER E H

Later came Hamlet. I remember vividly the view from the floorboards in the closing scene, watching sweet Horatio deliver his final lines as he stood over me, snow falling.

This is it. This is beautiful. This is everything.

As those abundant years passed, I craved more theater, but got distracted by the thing that brings so many of us down: making a living. I cycled through a surprising number of jobs and despaired from a lack of purpose. I was working all the time and no longer performing.

For a time, I got into martial arts, and became so skilled that I was encouraged to become a full-time teacher. Ultimately, it was my longing for theater that stopped me. I knew that the regimented lifestyle of a martial arts instructor would never allow for the chaos inherent in the life of a thespian. So I had to choose: discipline and security, or passion and creativity.

In the end I chose theater.

I auditioned fiercely and worked with various companies before finding my way to Zombie Joe’s Underground Theatre Group, which was unlike anything I had seen before. The performances were highly stylized — a sort of fusion of grand guignol, butoh, and camp.

If theater is a beacon for dreamers and misfits, there was a haunted quality of ZJU that made it particularly enticing for outcasts, the abused, and the especially odd.

ZJU pushed me to physical, mental, and emotional limits that I had not known existed.

I became addicted to it and spent about three years of my collective weekends performing in the cult classic Urban Death. In that show, I performed in the nude. I died and lived and died again. I emerged baptized in blood. I transformed into monsters and creatures beyond imagining. I howled, I wept, I danced. It was cathartic, empowering.

Zombie Joe gave me my first opportunity to write and direct, and I was ravenous at the thought of a new theatrical challenge, which was to open up countless future opportunities, there and beyond.

Yet, as life’s pendulum swung, I found myself facing new trials. Homelessness, heartbreak, and personal trauma cast shadows that threatened to engulf me once again.

At the end of 2015, I was living out of my car. For a time, I would drive to Lake Arrowhead to crash at my father’s place. Imagine how well that went over.

I would still find ways to do theater - at ZJU, with my own company, with friends. I was putting on vampire themed cabarets every week at a bar in Beverly Hills. I was avidly reviewing theater for Stage Raw, as well as working as posting editor, assigning editor, and ultimately managing editor up until the Pandemic. This is how much I needed theater in my life, despite (or perhaps because of) feeling so lost at sea.

In 2017, I finally landed in an apartment. It felt like a moment of relief - coming up for air.

Then, a few months later, I was raped.

And everything broke.

The CPTSD that developed had me feeling like my brain had broken apart. I was shattered into pieces. I was afraid to go outside. People around me didn’t understand why I was more reclusive than usual, more sensitive. I self-soothed however I could and gained weight like armor to protect myself from ever being touched again.

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APPLAUSE APPLAUSE APPLAUSE APPLAUSE In 2018, ZJU gave me another gift. The company decided to take a small, select group of performers to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival to perform Urban Death.

I had to go.

I recommend that every earnest theater lover experience the Edinburgh Fringe Festival at least once. It is the third largest event in the world, behind the Olympics and the World Cup. Imagine a theater event that big! Small theater dreamers from all over the world make their way to Edinburgh just to express themselves and be a part of something brief and big and beautiful.

It was one of the best, most life-affirming things I had ever done. Sharing a flat with my cast mates was an indescribable joy. I have deep love for my younger siblings, but a functional family is not something I ever had. This felt like family. Waking up, making tea and toast.

Talking about our days ahead. Heading out to explore the city, experience everything the Fringe had to offer. Then busking, performing every night, and partying until sunrise.

And Urban Death, by the way, enjoyed a wonderful, nearly-sold-out run.

I returned home with a renewed sense of self that carried me through to 2020. But we all know what happened in 2020.

A quarantine situation was not ideal for me (not that it is for anyone). When you’re locked inside your room, it’s like a cell. It’s like Plato’s cave tricking you into thinking that thoughts are reality. It’s an incubation tank for doubt and madness and despair.

They say that if you put fleas into a jar, they will leap out with ease. But cover the jar and their escape will be barred. However, if you remove the jar’s cover once more, the fleas will have learned how to be contained, and will never again jump past the height of the jar’s rim.

They’ll stay there, confined and diminished, of their own accord.

I went a little insane during that time. Luckily, art and madness work well together.

In 2022, Animal Show — a playwriting group I had been a part of for about a decade which was an offshoot of the Padua Playwrights — decided it was time to start doing in-person theater again. We had been meeting over Zoom, but it just wasn’t the same. At the time, many public COVID restrictions were still in place. So we put on The Backyard Plays festival.

As planes roared overhead and dogs barked next door, I once again found myself immersed in the raw, unfiltered energy of live performance. It was in those moments, under the open sky, that I rediscovered the healing power of theater. Connecting with a creative community and allowing myself the freedom to express myself breathed life into my spirit once more.

Creating art, finding joy, and love, and self-love, even amid all of the obstacles that life had was completely reaffirming.

Now, as I stand on the precipice of a new chapter, I am filled with gratitude for the transformative journey that theater has made happen. Healing, inspiring, uniting, it’s revealed to me how the human spirit, through art, can summon the power to soar, even if your wings have ever been broken.

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E E E E

POP PSYCHOLOGY AND POP MUSICALS Why Theater is Essential for a Young Therapist-in-Training

By Taylor Kass

When I attend theater productions in Los Angeles, it’s not an uncommon experience for me to be the youngest member of the audience. Much of the time, the only reason I can afford to be in the audience at all is because I’m reviewing the production. I graduated from USC’s School of Dramatic Arts in 2020, but many of my peers don’t see live theater as much as they’d like. Most theater companies, both locally and nationwide, are bothered that their audience demographics skew much older and many make concerted efforts to engage young people in their programming. But it’s rare to come across a teenager, college student, or individual in their early 20s with the disposable income for a Broadway ticket that can cost hundreds or a production in Los Angeles that charges double the price of a movie ticket.

In the absence of sufficient government funding and in a bleak artistic landscape still recovering from the Pandemic’s financial devastation, theaters are forced to cater to audience members that can afford to consistently pay full price for tickets so it’s no surprise that those older audiences usually win out, leaving a tragic dearth of plays and musicals written about young people for young audiences. And these young audiences need to see their experiences, dreams and fears represented onstage the most.

I grew up listening to pop-rock musicals that portrayed coming-of-age stories in an unflinching and electrifying way. Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater’s 2007 Tony Awardwinning musical Spring Awakening, based on the 1891 play of the same name by Frank Wedekind, is a teenage maelstrom of trauma and nascent sexuality in turn of the century Germany. Naïve teenager Wendla is impregnated by angsty schoolboy Melchior without even knowing how babies are made. Meanwhile, Martha struggles silently as her father abuses her and Moritz sees suicide as the only way out of an anxiety-ridden life. Yet underneath the repression specific to this society lies an evergreen thread of relatability accentuated perfectly by the angsty pop rock score. Growing up can feel “Totally Fucked” – you feel like a stranger in your own body and you grapple with yearnings you can’t name.

And worst of all, it feels like you’re alone in your experience and that no one is as confused as you. When the ensemble comes together to rage against the adults that have failed them, Spring Awakening shatters that feeling of isolation.

Next to Normal, which premiered on Broadway in 2009, dramatizes psychology, psychiatry, and the effects of mental illness more specifically. The Goodmans are “the perfect loving family,” except for one huge problem: Gabe, the family’s teenage son, is actually a figment

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of mom Diana’s imagination. Gabe passed away as a baby but his grown-up form haunts Diana as an entity somewhere between a ghost and a hallucination. While Diana suffers most severely, her mental illness colors every aspect of the family’s life. Dad Dan and teenage daughter Natalie try their best to support Diana through a series of numbing psychiatric drugs and electroconvulsive therapy, but nothing seems to eradicate Diana’s deep-seated grief and they realize that “some hurts never heal.”

The Goodmans’ sole surviving child Natalie is entirely marginalized by the memory of her brother; no matter how good her grades are or how perfect her piano playing is, she can never seem to measure up to his absence. With a distracted mother and a father consumed with caretaking, Natalie clumsily navigates adolescence, academic pressure, first love, substance use, and her own mental health challenges mostly on her own. And even though Gabe is not entirely real, his main goal is to prove that he is. Just like any other teenager, Gabe just wants to be seen.

With Dear Evan Hansen’s Broadway premiere in 2016, teen stories were catapulted into the digital age. Evan is a high school student battling a debilitating case of social anxiety disorder and healing from a not-so-accidental fall from a tree. After his classmate Connor commits suicide, Evan is mistakenly identified as the boy’s only friend. But rather than correct the error, Evan allows the little white lie to snowball until his speech in honor of Connor goes viral online. Later, Evan’s lies are exposed and his budding friendship with Connor’s family is soured. But even though Evan’s interpersonal relationships are greatly damaged by the lie, it’s Evan casting himself as the internet’s mental health champion that’s particularly disturbing. Evan shares the same desire to be witnessed in his pain as the teen characters from Spring Awakening and Next to Normal do. But with the power of the internet, Evan takes it a step further and to a wider audience. Evan doesn’t just want to be understood. He wants to be known.

But with great virality comes great responsibility. In 2020, the COVID-19 Pandemic plus the Black Lives Matter movement plus a lot of extra time online created the perfect recipe for the rise of the Instagram infographic: an aesthetically pleasing block of text on a colorful background that might offer helpful information about an important current event or provide resources for mutual aid. But in 2023, it also might diagnose you with an anxiety disorder, relationship OCD, an avoidant attachment style, ADHD, a toxic boyfriend, a narcissistic parent, capitalist burnout, or all of the above. These labels can accomplish something akin to watching our experiences play out onstage: they make us feel less alone.

With so many ways to describe what we’re going through, it can feel like we need to pick at least one label that fits us the best. How else will our experiences be valid in the eyes of our peers, our families, and our followers?

Pop psychology is a double-edged sword. This phenomenon refers to all of the commonly accepted theories of psychology that have trickled down into the mainstream and into our daily understanding of human minds and behavior. If you’ve ever taken a quiz about your love language, labeled an awkward comment a Freudian slip, or watched Dr. Phil dispense advice on TV, you know the drill. Demystifying and normalizing mental

health knowledge allows folks without a psych degree to take charge of their own mental health and advocate for themselves in a healthcare system that is frequently utterly dismissive.

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But oversimplification and misapplication of psychological theories and research have the potential to cause harm, especially to young people. Maybe it’s just my personal For You page, but every scrolling session on TikTok uncovers at least one video, either from a licensed mental health professional or an armchair analyst, listing symptoms for a disorder that the algorithm thinks I have. An overabundance of advice from an infinite number of credible and non-credible sources also has the potential to damage interpersonal relationships. You’re probably thinking of that friend right now – the one who peppers “therapy-speak” into every conversation. This friend’s ex wasn’t just uninterested – they were emotionally unavailable, toxic, and narcissistic. This friend wants to let you know that in order to respect their boundaries, you need to respond to their texts within 30 minutes. It’s not their fault that lack of communication triggers them; they have an anxious attachment style.

It’s not just self-diagnosing that’s on the rise – it’s formal diagnosing by mental health professionals too. In most cases, therapists need to provide a diagnostic code in order to bill a therapy session to their client’s insurance. For this purpose, therapists consult the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition. This manual, referred to as the DSM-5, is published by the American Psychiatric Association and has changed significantly since the first edition came out in 1952. New disorders are added, old disorders (such as homosexuality) are removed and are no longer considered disordered, symptoms are clarified, and the sections are re-organized to reflect similarities between disorders. But what does the therapist do when they believe that a client may not check off all of the criteria for a diagnosable disorder but could still benefit from therapy? This ethical dilemma is one that mental health professionals face every day. And although providers and consumers have the same goal of making mental healthcare accessible and affordable, it’s still only the privileged few who can afford to pay out of pocket for therapy that bypasses insurance and mandatory diagnoses.

Having language to describe what we’re going through- in the form of a formal diagnosis or not- can make us feel less alone but it can also lead to the pathologizing of normal human experiences. For example, Next to Normal’s Diana Goodman fits all of the criteria to be diagnosed with prolonged grief disorder, characterized by symptoms including intense emotional pain, emotional numbness, and denial about the loved one’s death. The disorder is also described as a period of grief that lasts longer than normal. But, as the musical questions, what is normal and who decides? Is a mental health professional in charge of determining what level of grief is functional? Or should the individual seeking treatment set their own goals?

Carl Rogers, one of the most influential psychotherapists of the 20th century, developed a new humanistic theory of psychology that sought to understand individuals through their own perspective. This person-centered theory positioned the client as the authority on their own life. The therapist in this theoretical framework, a far cry from Sigmund Freud’s all-knowing expert, became an equal in the therapeutic journey and facilitated the client’s self-exploration and self-actualization. Rogers’ ideas formed the basis for much of contemporary psychotherapy and stressed the importance of the therapeutic relationship between therapist and client. The therapist must display what Rogers called “unconditional positive regard,” or the ability to remain non-judgmental and empathetic no matter what the client says. In a world that has very few truly safe spaces, the therapy room becomes a place where the client can pursue authenticity in a judgment-free, completely confidential manner.

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As an acting major at USC, my undergraduate studies were more about memorizing lines than memorizing diagnostic criteria. As a current graduate student at Pepperdine University pursuing a master’s degree in Clinical Psychology, many skills I learned in the theater are applicable to my training towards licensure as a Marriage and Family Therapist. That deep sense of empathy that makes Rogers’ unconditional positive regard possible was cultivated in the theater. Playing characters that I deeply disliked challenged me to find the humanity in everyone. Dissecting dialogue in

a play taught me to be a careful and close listener. Watching shows about a wide variety of subjects, from various time periods, from diverse playwrights, and from different perspectives allows me to access a greater depth and breadth of emotion than I could unlock on my own.

The Greeks looked to the theater for catharsis: a state of purification by way of emotional purging. Tragedies in particular allowed theater-goers to empathize with the most potent dramatized pain. Therapy also provides catharsis in the practice of unearthing buried trauma and repressed emotions. Confronting that pain is scary, but it always feels a little lighter after being brought to light. While catharsis can be understood as a step on the way to self-actualization, I think an essential component of catharsis is experiencing it in the presence of another human being. Theater allows us the opportunity

to connect to the collective through the shared emotional experience of witnessing characters’ pain, fear, and joy. Therapy, whether it’s in a group or in one-on-one individual therapy, allows us the opportunity for our own pain, fear, and joy to be witnessed.

Witnessing and being witnessed are two equally essential parts of being human.

Do I think we need more plays explicitly about mental illness? Yes and no. Telling nuanced stories about the human experience will inherently include depictions of mental illness and of the struggles we all share. Are plays written before the time of Freud less true or relevant because they weren’t written with today’s understanding of mental illness? Absolutely not.

Diagnoses can make a world of difference to clients who gain context for their symptoms for the first time, but psychology is a constantly-developing field and our understanding of mental disorders is continuously evolving.

That’s why seeing our stories onstage is so essential for our development as deeply engaged young people. Spring Awakening, Next to Normal, and Dear Evan Hansen swept the Tony Awards in the years that they were nominated and became staples of the contemporary musical theater canon. When theater-makers invest in stories about young people and the issues important to us, it pays off both artistically and financially.

Additionally, making sure that programming is accessible and affordable ensures that young people from every background get the opportunity to know themselves more deeply.

Our understanding of mental health and the language we use to talk about it is always changing, but the human experience and the stories we tell about it are evergreen.

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BEYOND THE BINARY

UNMASKING GENDER IN ANCIENT GREEK THEATER In the cradle of theater, ancient Greece, the stage was a divine space utilized for storytelling, communitas and worship of the gods. Using masks, male actors would seamlessly transform into goddesses and women.

The mask itself became emblematic of a transformative force, catalyzing a subversion of ontological constraints.

KABUKI, NOH, AND TAKARAZUKA: ENGENDERING FLUIDITY IN JAPANESE THEATER

Subverting the Gender Binary on the Stage

Japan’s disparate performance styles have always included a level of gender fluidity. Kabuki’s onnagata performers transcended the superficiality of crossdressing, conjuring an intricate choreography of nuanced artistry that defies the boundaries of convention. Meanwhile, Noh drama performers, like the ancient Greeks, utilized mask work to represent men, women, demons, and ghosts.

By V Cate

Much of society adheres to a simple rule: You are either a boy or a girl. Of course, this has never truly been the case. Transgender, genderfluid, gender nonconforming and nonbinary people have always existed, even in times and places where members of the LGBTQ+ community have been shunned, abused, punished, or murdered for authentic self-expression.

Founded in 1913, the more recent Takarazuka Revue is known for its dazzling musical productions played exclusively by women. The actresses train diligently for a full year before being assigned the type of roles they will take for the rest of their career, along with their gender presentation for the duration of their residency: Otokoyaku (“male role”) performers cut their hair short and use masculine language, even offstage.

They perform a wide range of shows across from their musumeyaku (“girl role”) counterparts — regularly in romantic scenarios. This transcendence interrogates the concept of identity, even beyond the stage.

Theater arts have long upheld a binary paradigm, relegating protagonists to prescribed gender roles. Antagonists, meanwhile, sometimes enjoy a gender dynamism, but that is only because they are considered aberrant.

SHAKESPEARE’S GENDER PLAY: DEFYING THE BINARY IN ELIZABETHAN THEATER In Elizabethan England, roles were again played by men (just because there was gender fluidity doesn’t discount theater’s patriarchal history). Characters in William Shakespeare’s plays often donned the attire of the opposite gender. This wasn’t just a quirk; it was a powerful statement about identity. Through characters like Viola and Rosalind, Shakespeare questioned society’s rigid binary norms, proving that roles could be rewritten and identities reshaped. The Elizabethan proscenium unfolded as a heterodox tableau, its crossdressed protagonists inaugurating a metatheatre of gender subversion. The Bard’s oeuvre orchestrates an incisive counterpoint to binary determinism.

At the same time, the arts have long been a sanctuary for dreamers and outcasts. A deeper examination of theater and the categorical construct of a gender binary reveals a symphony of narratives that transcend its confines.

From the embryonic stages of Greek amphitheaters to daring avant-garde and drag performances of today, theater has always been — and will always be — a genderqueer space.

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EMBRACING DIVERSITY: NON-BINARY EXPRESSION ACROSS CONTINENTS

MODERN THEATER’S STRUGGLE FOR INCLUSIVITY

Beyond these paradigms, diverse traditions around the world have championed non-binary expression.

Indigenous and Native performances across the globe resonate as fervent celebrations of multifarious gender identities. Two-Spirits among the First Nations, hijra communities in South Asia, and the African Dagaaba and Dogon tribes are merely some examples of instances in cultures that instill a less limiting belief surrounding gender than that imposed by colonizers.

These cultures recognize the richness of identity beyond a binary frame, and ritualistic performances have often been spaces of non-binary expression, emphasizing the connection between human and nature, human and the divine.

Modern theater grapples with the daunting task of dismantling the binary. The nonbinary arena, obscured for centuries, now demands recognition. Some playwrights and directors endeavor to spotlight the experience of nonbinary individuals, amplifying voices that were once silenced. Yet, this transformation is not without its struggles, as entrenched norms resist change.

Meanwhile, modern awards shows mostly uphold outdated tropes. Nonbinary performers (of which there are many) who are nominated in a gendered category are not only insulted by a direct lack of recognition even in the face of praise, but must choose between an award designated for someone of a different gender, or forgo awards entirely. Many performers choose the latter, and so feel unwanted and unseen.

During the Ming and Qing dynasties in China, it was considered improper for men or women to appear onstage together. As a result, opera troupes typically had all-female or all-male casts, who would then perform the roles of all characters regardless of gender.

A DIVERSE TAPESTRY UNRAVELED

It seems that even in societies that impose a strict idea of “man” and “woman,” ascension, exploration, and expression are still allowed on the sacred sanctuary of the stage.

From the embryonic genesis of Hellenic theater to the zenith of digital innovation, the tapestry of gender expression is intricately woven, with each culture, era, and playwright contributing a thread that either enforces the status quo, or — as good art should — opens our eyes to other possibilities. The spotlight’s shifting glow reveals a kaleidoscopic continuum where identity flourishes as an iridescent spectrum, emancipated from the fetters of a reductive binary.

THEATER IN THE DIGITAL AGE: EXPANDING HORIZONS In today’s digital landscape, virtual stages and online performances provide new avenues for artists to explore identity beyond the confines of tradition.

Something that theater and gender have in common: There are no boundaries, no limitations. And approaching each with vulnerable authenticity usually results in a more meaningful understanding of what art and personhood are. As we embark on this ever-evolving journey, let’s envision a world where human identity, as with art, shines in all its beautiful complexity.

With more open acceptance than ever, contemporary LGBTQ+ theater productions intentionally challenge gender binaries, giving voice to marginalized identities.

Drag culture, with its extensive cultural resonances, is known for its performative extravagance. The genre playfully explores and defies gender norms on stage, celebrating self-expression and blurring boundaries, all with a heaping helping of camp.

Yet, queer performance is still a dangerous thing.

Drag performers are a common talking point for angry conservative-minded individuals. Recently, a man voguing in public (a type of dance from the ballroom scene) was brutally murdered.

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Self-Discovery & Healing Through a Personal Relationship with Theater

By Socks Whitmore

When people ask me what my favorite musical is, I love to make a big show of taking offense.

“You can’t ask a musical theater writer their favorite!”

But after a moment of faux deliberation, I always come back to the same answer: the show that means the most to me has to be one of my own creation.

I knew for a long time that I wanted to write music, but growing up, I actually didn’t have access to much music at all. I was born and raised in western Maryland, spending my formative years in a constrained, religious household with little ability to express my discontent. When the events of my life weighed heaviest on my heart and mind, my safest spaces were found in the odd pairings of musical cast albums and punk rock I would weep to in my basement bedroom, moved by the music’s ability to communicate pain in a way everyday words could not. It was that feeling of being held, heard, and seen that first inspired me to pick up the pen and tell lyrical stories of my own.

I ceased to call Maryland home in 2017, when I left the state to study voice at the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts). I finally started writing musical theater as a freshman voice student, and now just a few whirlwind years later, I have projects of all shapes and sizes under my belt—many of which I’ve produced, directed, and performed in! I never could have guessed how each one would shape the path I took, or how they would change me as a person forever.

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a trans man raised as a child actress who is asked by his sister to reprise the role he played as a kid. The two major themes of this piece were dysphoria of the past self and healing the rift between queer kids and their families—both unresolved ideas within my heart that I was anxious to unpack. For the workshop production, I assembled my first-ever all-trans team, from cast to crew, and dove into a new research process to better understand the binary transmasculine community.

TAKING THE LEAP Once I was free from the repressive environment of my childhood, I was driven to learn more about mental health and reclaim control over my brain from the traumatizing experiences I had undergone. I began writing my first musical that very fall: We Are Here, a two-act show about a high school guidance counselor who uses her own trauma to relate to her students, but who gradually spirals when an abuser from her past is hired as the new principal. As part of the development process, my writing partner and I hosted almost a dozen community discussion groups around topics of mental health (like “What Are Content Warnings and (Why) Do We Need Them?”), and facilitated over 30 interviews with individuals who offered personal perspectives on mental health. We also invited willing interviewees to share audio recordings with us that became part of the show’s sound design. The end product moved the audience to tears.

As an autistic adult who was then undiagnosed, it’s true that I may have been a little bit overeager to “challenge” myself by diving in headfirst. As 2020 rolled around, I was having difficulty advancing the development of the material—thankfully, Ms. Rona came around just in time to nullify my scheduled performance for April 18, 2020, leaving Back to One with nowhere to go for… quite some time.

The three years that followed were slow but important ones. Though my trans team from the 2020 pipeline scattered to the wind, the digital nature of the stayat-home quarantine era empowered me to connect with countless transgender artists from across the continent. Every so often, I would bring Back to One to the table in some way, performing a song from it or sending it out to Trans Gender and Non Conforming (TGNC) dramaturgs, but I also engaged with digital theater, voice over, cabarets, anything that I could to keep making art with other artists.

Many of the narrative elements in We Are Here were informed by my own life experience and reflected not just what had happened to me, but what I had wished would have happened instead. The script became a vehicle of healthy introspection, reflecting what we had learned from the endlessly varied perspectives we were introduced to in our intensive research process and including nuanced portrayals of concepts like asking for consent before touching someone having a panic attack. These ideas were also included in our rehearsal process and I’ve brought them into every space I’ve been in since; the knowledge I gained from the devising of this piece laid the foundation for a lifetime of emotional literacy work, truly opening the door for me to heal my trauma through making theater.

Time went on, live theater slowly returned, and one day I had the blessing of receiving a grant to put up a concert reading. It was time to go back to Back to One. When I finally sat down to finish this beloved piece, I realized that I was a different playwright from what I had been before. My 2019 self had come to the table with hopeful intentions and a strong idea, but it was my 2023 self that was ready to finish the job. The time I had spent outside of the live theater space had introduced me to people of different genders, races, abilities, ideas, and identities that I was now able to reflect in my process. The ending I wrote for the show was an idea my younger self could not possibly have dreamed up—it was a humbling, yet empowering experience to learn that I could not have finished this piece a moment sooner than I did, but that I had gained the tools to do so by trying. I reflected on the themes of dysphoria and reconciliation in new ways, and I understood my own writing more deeply.

GOING BACK TO ONE The writing process for We Are Here intersected with another major milestone moment of my life: coming out as gender non-binary. I came out publicly in July of 2018 and went into the workshop production socially presenting as non-binary for the first time.

The many projects I participated in during my first year of transition taught me a lot about how to navigate artistic spaces as a transgender person—and the many trans artistic spaces I navigated in my second and third years of transition taught me the critical value of community.

This show healed me—not in the moments on stage or in the rehearsal room, but in the seconds surrounding it, where it existed to remind me why I became an artist. When I at last presented the finished work, I was rewarded with the sweetest shower of heartfelt response from the audience members who at last felt seen… by my work.

My relationship to other trans people was immensely influential when it came time to write my second musical. In 2019, I began to develop a one act show called Back to One: A Coming of Self Musical about

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FROM PAGE TO STAGE

ALL IN THE WORLD

As a multidisciplinary artist, I don’t spend all my time working on my next musical. Writing is a natural means of healing because I can be in dialogue with myself, in public or otherwise, but some of the most interesting growth I’ve experienced in theater has been as an actor being directed by others. The most meaningful piece of theater I’ve been in (that I didn’t write) was Alterea Inc’s Stardust, an immersive show with multiple concurrent narrative threads to discover and affect.

I was given a backstory for my character, a gender non-conforming youth who was faced with the choice to either reconcile with family or ascend to the heavens, but ultimately I was given free reign to develop them into a complete and unique person.

I named them Malachite Burns.

Every individual’s experience with theater will be different and personal, and that’s something to be welcomed. Whether you write, act, or simply want to feel known, theater offers the tools to express, process, and understand deeper parts of yourself. To paraphrase someone rather famous… All the world’s a stage, and all the people merely players. So play!

Mal will always hold a special place in my heart because I modeled them after myself in many ways.

Mal was visibly neurodivergent and shy, but also eager, kind, and charming. In character, I portrayed panic attacks and anxiety, and was always struck to find that my audience members did not abandon me.

I experienced such generosity, compassion, and warmth from total strangers who loved and accepted Mal for a night without judgment.

The scripted story offered a powerful opportunity to unpack complex experiences in-scene, carried by improvisation and character work for much of the show. The coming-of-gender elements of the narrative had a meaningful impact on audiences, but as Mal, I was almost more excited by the development of a polycule with two other characters halfway through the show’s run. A month before we opened, I had celebrated my one year anniversary with my reallife partner/polycule, and this was my first time in a performance space where intercharacter polyamorous exploration was not just “allowed,” but encouraged.

The safety I felt in having permission to try things, to be vulnerable, and to be supported without hesitation was akin to drama therapy—I cannot thank Mal enough for that magical opportunity.

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