THE UNUSUALSUSPECTSTHEATRECOMPANY
COMING OF AGE WITH DÌDI’S IZAAC WANG AND SHIRLEY CHEN
by Ali MacLean
INSIDE SING SING WITH GREG KWEDAR AND CLINT BENTLEY
by Sophie Audelo
KINDA SUS
DEVISE ISSUE 2 – 2025
PUBLISHED BY
The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company
CREATIVE DIRECTOR
Abiram Brizuela
EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS
Angie Lee
Carina Gavino
EDITORIAL PARTNER
Stage Raw
CONTRIBUTING EDITORS
Steven Leigh Morris
Deborah Klugman
CONTRIBUTING WRITERS
Jeremy Gonzalez
*Ysa Madrigal
*Jack Grotenstein
*Sophia Audelo
Ali MacLean
*Youth Journalism Fellow
COPY EDITOR
Virginia Yapp
ARTISTIC DIRECTORS & GRAPHIC DESIGNERS
The Piñata Guys Creative Studio
Jeffersonal Quintana & Leonardo van Schermbeek
COVER PHOTOGRAPHER
The Super Maniak
Maria Jose Govea
PRINTING
Clear Image Printing Co. Sylmar
DEVISE is an annual publication by the Unusual Suspects Theatre Company in partnership with Stage Raw.
theunusualsuspects.org
THE UNUSUAL SUSPECTS THEATRE COMPANY
STAFF
Abiram Brizuela, Chief Executive Officer
Michael Halpin, Chief Operating Officer
Anisa Hamdan, Director of Community Partnerships
Joe Samaniego, Director of Programs
Rachel Kilroy, Program Manager
Arcadia Eckmayer, Assistant Program Manager
Marcus Baldwin, Assistant Program Manager
Cameron Johnson, Programs Intern
Nick Williams, Director of Institutional Giving
Susan Cardosi, Manager of Corporate Giving
Rachel Reed, Manager of Institutional Giving
Jason Van Over, Manager of Individual Giving
Sierra Marcks-O’Neill, Assistant Manager of Advancement
Angie Lee, Director of Communications
BOARD
Decker Sadowski (Chair)
Katja Amirkhanian
Amanda Brown
Gregory Caruso
Chris Quintos Cathcart
John H. Freeland Jr.
Ryan Jones
Carlos López Estrada
Lynnette Ramirez
Jesus Rodriguez
Melissa Srbinovich
Grace Del Val
FOUNDER
Laura Leigh Hughes
This publication is distributed by the following partners: East West Players, Ebony Repertory, Elysian Theatre, Latino Theatre Company, Boston Court, & Rogue Machine Theatre Company.
A LETTER FROM OUR CEO
This edition of DEVISE is one we're especially proud of, and we can't wait for you to dig in. It's packed with original work from young artists, exciting perspectives from industry leaders, and a special conversation with my favorite on-screen siblings of 2024, Izaac Wang and Shirley Chen.
At the heart of this issue is the work of the inaugural class of the Youth Journalism Fellowship, a partnership between The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company and Stage Raw that offers a tuition-free program where young writers explore, dissect, and document theatre in ways that challenge conventions and reimagine the future.
Jeff Burke, the visionary mind behind UCLA's ReMap, takes us behind the curtain at the intersection of tech and storytelling while Greg Kwedar and Clint Bentley, the award-winning filmmakers from A24's Sing Sing, share how they fused raw authenticity with cinematic magic to bring their latest masterpiece to life.
This volume also includes a heartfelt monologue by Jeremy Gonzalez, an alumnus of our youth theatre programs who beautifully conveys the complexity of first love against the backdrop of a life-changing decision. Jeremy's voice is vulnerable, thoughtful, and a wonderful reminder of the power of youth voices in narrative spaces.
Thank you for being a part of this extraordinary journey. While the spotlight shines on the inspiring voices of the young artists featured within these pages, none of this would be possible without the unwavering support of our donors, community partners, and people like you who believe in nurturing and amplifying the voices of Los Angeles' youth.
Abiram (Abi) Brizuela CEO, The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company
AMPLIFYING ORIGINAL VOICES IN THE NEXT GENERATION OF THEATER
Los Angeles, home to a record number of theatre companies per capita, continues to evolve as an exciting hub where artistic and technological exploration often leads to groundbreaking advances in the performing arts.
At The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company, we're capitalizing on the city's creative might and using devised theatre as a platform for thousands of Los Angeles youth to discover the power of their individual voices.
Theatre offers a unique space for community, dialogue, consensus, and collaboration at a time when personal and meaningful connections seem more critical than ever. Our ensembles serve as ecosystems where young artists gain the necessary skills and resources to tell their stories on their own terms.
While many of our communities continue to suffer from persistent inequity and disenfranchisement, our commitment to leveling the stage by providing tuition-free access to high-quality theatre education remains unwavering.
Join the conversation #TheFutureOfTheatreLivesInLA
Helping to administrate the Stage Raw x Unusual Suspects
Youth Journalism Fellowship, my older cohorts and I have had multiple conversations with teens who might–just might–be interested in the theater.
Culturally in the United States, interest in live theater has waned over decades, manifested in or caused by 1 diminished arts funding from both government and foundation sources, 2 the diminishment of arts education in public schools, where children used to be weaned on theater, 3 media coverage that has all but evaporated due to the disappearance of local newspapers, even online, and even those that have clawed out a survival mechanism have dumped theater from coverage. In the meantime, for these, and a variety of other reasons, the output of live theater in Southern California is 50% of what it was a decade ago, while the average age bracket of regional theater audiences has ticked up to above the 60-year-old-old mark, meaning that the young are spending their discretionary funds elsewhere.
It would be easy to attribute all this to global shifts in technology, i.e. social media algorithms that lead to the presumption that what's on a tiny screen is real, whereas what appears in front of your eyes in real time and real space, is artifice. This might be a persuasive argument if one had never traveled to Brazil, or Poland, or Kosovo, or the UK, where live, professional theater remains widely attended by the young. You think they don't have cellphones and social media in Central and South America, or in Europe, where theater festivals crisscross those continents nine months of the year?
Our theaters and their support systems have fallen down on educating our children on the value of this timeless art form, and in marketing it. And that's where programs like the Stage Raw x USTC Youth Journalism Fellowship are working to pick up the torch. Our teens are busy, distracted, confused, filled with both hope and dread for the future, and often amazed when they see live theater that speaks to them. They know they're being gamed by the culture. They know they're being manipulated and even lied to by big tech, and they're craving authenticity. The theater is not necessarily a haven for authenticity, but it can be, and some of them have stumbled upon that realization. The teens are our ambassadors. They're more open-hearted and more curious than those of us hardened by age. If we pass the torch, with a little good fortune, they might just carry it.
1 Innovative theatre curriculum focused on student-written work
2 A platform for exploration, discovery, and self-expression
3 A space for community, dialogue, and co-creation
LETTER FROM STAGE RAW FOUNDER
OUR PROGRAMS THE UNUSUAL SUSPECTS PROVIDES
Steven Leigh Morris
AMPLIFYING ORIGINAL VOICES IN THE NEXT GENERATION OF THEATER
YOUTH THEATRE CONSERVATORY
is a four-year sequential program offered to high school aged youth interested in pursuing college-level study in one of four performing arts disciplines: Playwriting, Directing, Acting, or Production Design.
YEARS 1 + 2: Students build a foundation in playwriting and acting fundamentals.
YEARS 3 + 4: Students develop proficiency in their declared track and build their artistic portfolios in preparation for university admission and/or an introductory career path.
YOUTH THEATRE RESIDENCY
provides fundamental theatre education programs to K-8 schools across LA, merging classroom concepts with critical social skills in a performing arts environment.
VOICES FROM INSIDE (VIP)
is an exclusively tailored program that brings our high level theatre arts education programs to justice-impacted youth in juvenile halls, camps, and alternative schools in LA. This program provides structured and mentored support while giving students a personalized platform to hone their voice, tell their stories, and build their portfolio in the performing arts.
THEATRE & CULTURE ACCESS PROGRAM (TCAP)
provides students with free access to live art and theatre performances across LA.
NEIGHBORHOOD VOICES
is an intergenerational program designed for community members to collaboratively devise an original play while gaining hands-on experience in theatre production.
THE YOUTH JOURNALISM FELLOWSHIP
is a collaboration between USTC and Stage Raw that provides professional mentorship for aspiring journalists (ages 15-25) to cover theatre culture in LA. Over a 10-week period, fellows produce publishable reviews, essays, and interviews that adhere to journalistic ethics and analytical standards. DEVISE magazine was born from this partnership between Stage Raw and USTC and showcases a curated selection of writing from each fellowship cohort.
TEACHING ARTISTS
Our Teaching Artists are theatre professionals with extensive experience in the craft. While they expect nothing but the best from our students, their top priority is to create a nurturing space driven by a deep sense of belonging, community, and fun.
LETTER FROM STAGE RAW FOUNDER
Steven Leigh Morris
AMPLIFYING ORIGINAL VOICES IN THE NEXT GENERATION OF THEATER
Los Angeles, home to a record number of theatre companies per capita, continues to evolve as an exciting hub where artistic and technological exploration often leads to groundbreaking advances in the performing arts.
At The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company, we're capitalizing on the city's creative might and using devised theatre as a platform for thousands of Los Angeles youth to discover the power of their individual voices.
20,200+ YOUNG ARTISTS ENGAGED
16,900+ ATTENDED THEATRE PERFORMANCES
Theatre offers a unique space for community, dialogue, consensus, and collaboration at a time when personal and meaningful connections seem more critical than ever. Our ensembles serve as ecosystems where young artists gain the necessary skills and resources to tell their stories on their own terms.
8,200+ THEATRE WORKSHOPS 325+ PLAYS DEVISED 65+ COMMUNITIES SERVED
While many of our communities continue to suffer from persistent inequity and disenfranchisement, our commitment to leveling the stage by providing tuition-free access to high-quality theatre education remains unwavering.
Join the conversation #TheFutureOfTheatreLivesInLA
Helping to administrate the Stage Raw x Unusual Suspects
Youth Journalism Fellowship, my older cohorts and I have had multiple conversations with teens who might–just might–be interested in the theater.
2,400+
Culturally in the United States, interest in live theater has waned over decades, manifested in or caused by 1 diminished arts funding from both government and foundation sources, 2 the diminishment of arts education in public schools, where children used to be weaned on theater, 3 media coverage that has all but evaporated due to the disappearance of local newspapers, even online, and even those that have clawed out a survival mechanism have dumped theater from coverage. In the meantime, for these, and a variety of other reasons, the output of live theater in Southern California is 50% of what it was a decade ago, while the average age bracket of regional theater audiences has ticked up to above the 60-year-old-old mark, meaning that the young are spending their discretionary funds elsewhere.
YOUNG ARTISTS ENGAGED
1,000+ ATTENDED THEATRE
PERFORMANCES
It would be easy to attribute all this to global shifts in technology, i.e. social media algorithms that lead to the presumption that what's on a tiny screen is real, whereas what appears in front of your eyes in real time and real space, is artifice. This might be a persuasive argument if one had never traveled to Brazil, or Poland, or Kosovo, or the UK, where live, professional theater remains widely attended by the young. You think they don't have cellphones and social media in Central and South America, or in Europe, where theater festivals crisscross those continents nine months of the year?
650+ THEATRE
WORKSHOPS
25+ PLAYS DEVISED 50+ COMMUNITIES SERVED
Our theaters and their support systems have fallen down on educating our children on the value of this timeless art form, and in marketing it. And that's where programs like the Stage Raw x USTC Youth Journalism Fellowship are working to pick up the torch. Our teens are busy, distracted, confused, filled with both hope and dread for the future, and often amazed when they see live theater that speaks to them. They know they're being gamed by the culture. They know they're being manipulated and even lied to by big tech, and they're craving authenticity. The theater is not necessarily a haven for authenticity, but it can be, and some of them have stumbled upon that realization. The teens are our ambassadors. They're more open-hearted and more curious than those of us hardened by age. If we pass the torch, with a little good fortune, they might just carry it.
LETTER FROM STAGE RAW FOUNDER
Steven Leigh Morris
ABOUT THE UNUSUAL SUSPECTS THEATRE COMPANY
Los Angeles, home to a record number of theatre companies per capita, continues to evolve as an exciting hub where artistic and technological exploration often leads to groundbreaking advances in the performing arts.
The Unusual Suspects
At The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company, we're capitalizing on the city's creative might and using devised theatre as a platform for thousands of Los Angeles youth to discover the power of their individual voices. Theatre offers a unique space for community, dialogue, consensus, and collaboration at a time when personal and meaningful connections seem more critical than ever. Our ensembles serve as ecosystems where young artists gain the necessary skills and resources to tell their stories on their own terms.
While many of our communities continue to suffer from persistent inequity and disenfranchisement, our commitment to leveling the stage by providing tuition-free access to high-quality theatre education remains unwavering.
Theatre Company is a nonprofit organization that capitalizes on the power of storytelling as a vehicle for social empowerment. Providing free access to innovative youth theatre programs focused on creating and performing original plays, our organization has evolved from a local workshop serving roughly 50 participants in Van Nuys in 1993 into a robust program that serves thousands of youth in over 20 communities of Los Angeles.
Join the conversation #TheFutureOfTheatreLivesInLA
theunusualsuspects.org @theunusualsus
Helping to administrate the Stage Raw x Unusual Suspects
Youth Journalism Fellowship, my older cohorts and I have had multiple conversations with teens who might–just might–be interested in the theater.
Culturally in the United States, interest in live theater has waned over decades, manifested in or caused by 1 diminished arts funding from both government and foundation sources, 2 the diminishment of arts education in public schools, where children used to be weaned on theater, 3 media coverage that has all but evaporated due to the disappearance of local newspapers, even online, and even those that have clawed out a survival mechanism have dumped theater from coverage. In the meantime, for these, and a variety of other reasons, the output of live theater in Southern California is 50% of what it was a decade ago, while the average age bracket of regional theater audiences has ticked up to above the 60-year-old-old mark, meaning that the young are spending their discretionary funds elsewhere.
It would be easy to attribute all this to global shifts in technology, i.e. social media algorithms that lead to the presumption that what's on a tiny screen is real, whereas what appears in front of your eyes in real time and real space, is artifice. This might be a persuasive argument if one had never traveled to Brazil, or Poland, or Kosovo, or the UK, where live, professional theater remains widely attended by the young. You think they don't have cellphones and social media in Central and South America, or in Europe, where theater festivals crisscross those continents nine months of the year?
Our theaters and their support systems have fallen down on educating our children on the value of this timeless art form, and in marketing it. And that's where programs like the Stage Raw x USTC Youth Journalism Fellowship are working to pick up the torch. Our teens are busy, distracted, confused, filled with both hope and dread for the future, and often amazed when they see live theater that speaks to them. They know they're being gamed by the culture. They know they're being manipulated and even lied to by big tech, and they're craving authenticity. The theater is not necessarily a haven for authenticity, but it can be, and some of them have stumbled upon that realization. The teens are our ambassadors. They're more open-hearted and more curious than those of us hardened by age. If we pass the torch, with a little good fortune, they might just carry it.
LETTER FROM STAGE RAW FOUNDER
Steven Leigh Morris
BITTERSWEET
BY JEREMY GONZALEZ
Youth Theatre Conservatory, Inaugural Class (2023-2024)
Translated by Jimena Mancilla from its original Spanish version
A young man, Jeremy, enters the stage and walks to a spotlight. He addresses the audience, but he is speaking to someone specific, someone unseen.
JEREMY
The Thirteenth Street Coffee Shop has always had the best coffee in town. Our regular table in the corner has heard us laugh, cry, and tell each other our most intimate secrets. Brian, Erick, and Hugo have become more than my friends. They’re more like family. Going for a dark coffee with them has become my sanctuary.
He pauses a beat.
JEREMY
Today could have been just another day at the coffee shop, with the same old smell of freshly brewed coffee, Mrs. Tita talking about the news, and Brian, Erick, and Hugo laughing at a joke that I missed...all because you walked in.
Light comes up side-stage on a girl. He turns and looks at her, smitten.
JEREMY
Now, I only have eyes for you.
The girl slowly walks around him, not noticing him as he watches her.
JEREMY
I had never seen you before, but I’d waited a lifetime for you: your long hair, your smile, the galaxy of freckles sprinkled across your face.
The girl sits at a café table side-stage.
JEREMY
You sit down three tables away from me, but it might as well be thousands. My palms begin to sweat, and my face screams out everything my mouth can’t bear to say: I AM DYING TO MEET YOU.
He composes himself.
JEREMY
Brian is the first to notice, of course. He always has been the sharpest when it comes to these things. Then the other two look over at my expression and laugh. The guys urge me to introduce myself, but my feet refuse to take a single step. What if you don’t like me? What if you make fun of me in front of everyone?
Jeremy strides over to the table.
JEREMY
Then, before overthinking it, I jump in. I approach your table, and with a voice that doesn’t sound anything like mine, I say to you and your friends—
JEREMY (to girl)
Hello.
They both react to his froggy voice. Everything freezes for a moment.
JEREMY
And I wait expectantly. (Beat.) Now, anything could happen in this split-second, which to me, feels like an eternity.
Jeremy pauses and waits. She comes to life.
JEREMY
Finally, you look up. And then you speak!
GIRL Hi.
JEREMY
You say, confidently. Your friend smiles and immediately stands up, announcing that she is going to the bathroom.
Jeremy watches the friend go.
JEREMY
I carefully think about my next words. I don’t want to say anything that could ruin this moment.
He smiles at the girl. She swivels to face him.
JEREMY (to girl)
“Can I buy you a coffee?” I finally ask. I want to ask you more. I want to ask you so many things. Instead, I take a seat.
Jeremy sits next to the girl. She freezes. He gets closer, looking at her wrist.
JEREMY
I notice the bracelet on your right hand that says: ‘Don’t ever give up.’ (Smiles.) I introduce myself. She unfreezes.
JEREMY
“I’m Jeremy,” I say, trying my best not to show how nervous I am.
DULCE
And I’m Dulce.
Jeremy pauses. A slight light shift. Something intimate and romantic - perhaps a mirror ball effect. They gaze at each other.
JEREMY
People come in and out of the coffee shop while we sit there talking, but now time doesn’t exist for us. I don’t know whether it’s been an hour or an eternity, but the more I learn about you, the more I want to know. Our stories are so similar, it’s like looking in the mirror. I understand exactly how you feel because I feel the same way, too. You tell me about your family, and I tell you about my passion for basketball.
Dulce reaches up and touches Jeremy’s forehead.
JEREMY
We both end up laughing about the scar on my forehead. (Laughs.) It’s so easy to talk to you. I feel like I’ve known you forever.
He pauses smiling.
DULCE (abruptly)
What time is it? I have to go!
JEREMY
“Am I going to see you again?” I ask. You answer with a look that makes my heart jump straight up to the sky and immediately crash back into my body.
He pulls out his phone.
DULCE
Three-four-oh, nine-three, six-five.
She dashes out of the shop.
JEREMY
I rush to type it into my phone.
He furiously types it into the cell phone and taps it or kisses it for luck. Lights fade up and down or shift to mark the passage of time.
Jeremy is now on one side of the stage, and Dulce on the other. They speak on their phones.
JEREMY
Five days have passed, and you’ve become the first and last message of my day. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to see you again so badly. I finally ask you if you want to go to the park, and you say:
DULCE
Yes!
Jeremy makes a fist pump or other winning gesture. They meet together at center stage.
JEREMY
We walk for hours. We talk about the city, and then we laugh about our first meeting.
She laughs and slaps his arm. He notices her touch.
JEREMY
“The next corner, we cross over to the park,” I tell you. The traffic light has five seconds left, so I take you by the hand, and we sprint across the street, laughing. (Beat.) Having your hand on mine makes time stand still.
A light change as they are in their own world.
JEREMY
I don’t think I ever noticed how beautiful this park is. Some kids are playing ball while others huddle in front of a scratch man. We pass by a flower rack.
DULCE
I’ve always loved sunflowers. My grandmother always says I’m like a sunflower on a cloudy day.
Jeremy turns away, whipping out his phone. He furtively speaks into it.
JEREMY
Remember to buy her sunflowers as soon as you can.
He puts his phone away. Dulce wanders a few steps away out of earshot. He clutches his heart.
JEREMY
I think I’m falling in love.
Jeremy joins Dulce.
JEREMY
We sit by the lake, and we baptize a duck. Paco! Paco the Duck is what we name him, and we laugh at ourselves.
DULCE
Do you want to play soccer?
JEREMY
YES.
They stand. Dulce raises her arms over her head, running a circle around him.
DULCE
Ten to three! Ten to three!
JEREMY
You proudly proclaim after your victory. I never imagined you’d be so good at this game. You sure are full of surprises. “I have two left feet, ” I sheepishly tell you.
Dulce nods and smiles.
JEREMY
Obviously you already know that. (Smiles.) You ask if I want to sit for a while and point to a nearby tree.
They sit facing each other. The spotlight tightens on them, framing them as if in a close up.
JEREMY
Sweetie. I know it hasn't been long, but I feel different with you, and if you feel the same way, I would love this to be the beginning of our story together.
DULCE
I feel the same way, too. Let's make this the beginning of our story.
They kiss.
The spotlight widens to the original size. Lights fade up and down. Jeremy and Dulce sit at the café table. He watches her as he speaks.
JEREMY
I can’t believe it has been three months since I held your hand for the first time. Our coffee table is now yours too. (He smiles.) The group is getting bigger and bigger. Brian's friend, Majo, and a few of your friends spend time with us, too. I sit at our table, watching, as you laugh out loud at Brian's joke. Erick and Hugo talk to your friends while Majo asks me all sorts of questions. It's like a family. It's my family. (Pause.) Eventually, you turn around and say:
DULCE
I’m tired.
JEREMY
So I get up to walk you home.
DULCE
No, it’s okay. I can walk home alone.
JEREMY
But I insist. Then I lean down so you can climb on my back, like we did as children. You put your legs through my arms.
Dulce climbs on Jeremy for a piggyback, and he runs around the stage with her on his back.
JEREMY
“I'm like a car,” I say, racing down the sidewalk. “Take me wherever you want!”
He lets her down, and they laugh. Then a kiss. Lights fade up and down. Jeremy lies on his back. Dulce lies with her head on his chest.
JEREMY
“How many months have passed?” I ask you.
DULCE Six.
JEREMY
“Wow,” I say. (Beat.) It feels like years since we met.
Lights fade up and down. They are lying in a different position.
JEREMY
One day you ask me:
DULCE
Is it true that Brian is dating Majo?
JEREMY
Yes. I think they are perfect for one another but they are having issues. Brian called me, asking for advice. I want to help him if I can, but the only problem is that Majo has become like a sister to me. A confidante.
A pause. Dulce is bothered by this last part. Light change. Dulce has returned to the café table. Jeremy to the spot where he began the story.
JEREMY
Today could have been any other day. The same smell of freshly brewed coffee, as always. Mrs. Tita talking about the news.
Jeremy joins Dulce at the table.
JEREMY
Brian and Hugo laughing at a joke we didn't hear because we sat apart from the group, holding hands and looking up at the sky without saying a word. Then I break the silence.
A pause. Light change, romantic lighting.
JEREMY
“I love you. I love you, Dulce.” Your gaze meets mine. But then—
Their magical moment is broken as they both look up at someone.
JEREMY
Majo interrupts to say goodbye. (Confused.) And then she kisses me on the forehead while she says goodbye. (Incredulous.) The kiss takes me by surprise and I’m stunned momentarily. You look at me with wide eyes.
He grabs her hands.
JEREMY
“That's the first time she’s done something like that,” I tell you, nervous and confused. But you stay silent. I don't know what you're thinking, but I feel like something has changed.
Lights fade up and down. Dulce is gone.
JEREMY
Hours become days, days become weeks, and weeks become months. Summer ends, winter begins, and trees change. You change.
Lights return. Dulce and Jeremy are on opposite sides of the stage on their phones.
JEREMY
One afternoon on the phone, you ask me:
DULCE
Is it true that Brian broke up with Majo?
JEREMY
“Yes,” I answer. “They’ve been having problems for months now. I’m going to take him out, so I can distract him for a while.” But you stay silent. (Pause.) I want to ask you if we are okay, but I don't because I'm afraid of your response. So we stay silent.
The lights go a bit darker. Maybe blue.
JEREMY
I notice that we don't talk like we used to. So, I call and ask if you want to go out tomorrow. (Beat.) But you tell me:
DULCE
I’m busy.
She hangs up. Lights fade up and down.
JEREMY
I don’t hear from you, so I call again to break the silence. On the other side of the stage, Dulce answers her phone.
JEREMY
“I know you have been going through some hard stuff. I’m sorry about Max. I don't think I’ve ever known such a faithful dog.” Again, you remain silent.
Lights fade up and down.
JEREMY
I ask if you have any plans for the weekend.
DULCE
We can see each other when the group meets up at the park.
Jeremy pauses, trying to remain composed.
JEREMY
If I could do something, anything, to bring back your smile, I would. Lights out on Dulce.
JEREMY
I think, but don’t tell you, because you’ve already hung up. Lights change back.
JEREMY
Saturday, I get up early and gather as much money as I can to buy you sunflowers. I get to the park where you, Brian, and the others are already there.
Jeremy holds his hands behind his back.
JEREMY
I hide the sunflowers to surprise you and I walk over. But even standing right next to me, you seem distant.
Jeremy gives her a big smile. She gives a weak smile back.
JEREMY
Once upon a time, your gaze illuminated my whole world. Today it feels empty. Something has changed. My eyes go all blurry.
The lights close in on Jeremy in a tight spotlight as the rest of the stage goes dark.
JEREMY
Still, I try to convince myself that everything’s okay. I tell myself that you've been going through a lot and that “we” aren’t the problem. But as I sneak looks at you, darker thoughts come to mind. I think… If I lose you, I also lose a part of myself.
A beat, as Jeremy is alone in the dark. Then lights rise to include Dulce.
JEREMY
That’s when you suddenly look at the time and say goodbye to the group. I ask you to stay a little longer.
Jeremy reaches out for Dulce’s arm. She recoils a bit.
JEREMY
“I have a surprise for you! Close your eyes,” I tell you, as I grab the sunflowers. But now the sunflowers are wilted from being in the heat. In a blind panic, I try to fix them as best as I can, but you open your eyes prematurely and you see what's happening.
Jeremy, panicked, is fussing with the flowers.
JEREMY
Please close your eyes again!
DULCE
(compassionate)
Jeremy. I know what the surprise is.
Dulce takes his hand.
JEREMY
That’s when you take my hand and you tell me that you can't accept the sunflowers? You say that now isn’t a good time for you. (Confused.) Not a good time? I stand in front of you, paralyzed. I can feel the stares of everyone around us.
Dulce exits.
JEREMY
Then, without another word, you let go of my hand and walk away, leaving me with wilted sunflowers in one hand and a broken heart in the other. (Beat.) I immediately want to erase this day from history.
Pause as there is a light change. Jeremy, in turmoil, stands there saying nothing. Then quietly...
JEREMY
I have an unread message from Brian. I don't want to talk to anyone. I know we've always been there for each other, but right now I want to be alone. (Big sigh.) But Brian insists I meet him to talk, so I force myself to go. (Beat.) I get to Brian’s house and he’s waiting for me. He sits me down and says he wants to talk about Dulce. “NO,” I say. I'm not ready to talk about what happened.
Pause as Jeremy shifts character.
JEREMY
Then he says: “Dulce told me about the kiss Majo gave you a few months ago.” (Beat.) My stomach clenches. “It was just a kiss on the forehead. And it took me completely by surprise. Anyway, Dulce was sitting right there with me!” I say. Blood rushes to my head, and I get dizzy. “If this is what is wrong, then it's just a big misunderstanding,” I say, hopeful. But Brian shakes his head and says. “I think it's too late.”
Lights narrow in on Jeremy again, alone.
JEREMY
More than ten of my messages are left on seen, and several are still unread. (Beat.) I haven't deleted your number...in case one day you decide to come back into my life. (Beat.) It's been a long time. There are things I’d like to tell you. Things like I left Guatemala, that it was a hard trip, that I left my whole life behind...And that there is not a single day that I don't miss you. (Beat. He tries to compose himself.)
JEREMY
I talked to the guys and I know you’re dating Brian now. At first, it really hurt me, but I’m getting more and more used to the reality. (Beat.) In the meantime, all I’m left with are memories of afternoons with you at the park and the smell of coffee.
He stares out for a moment, then slowly exits.
LIGHTS OUT.
A17YEAR OLD’SFORAY INTO THEATRE& JOURNALISM
Youth Journalism Fellow, 2024 cohort by Ysa Madrigal
Within the car-bustling, medium-paced city of Ontario, California, only a few playhouses exist. Within them, tightly-knit communities of thespians and patrons alike subsist, escaping from everyday life with implications of life— which is not to purposefully add to the age-old question of life and art, and which imitates which.
My name is Ysa Madrigal. I am 17 years old, a senior at Chaffey High School in Ontario, the city I have called home for most of my life. The arts have infatuated me since birth, and I have found ways to keep myself involved in local arts communities and the theater.
I was born an introvert and shied away from performance. Still, I was curious and craved its proximity. I remember watching my first live musical on a school trip and becoming obsessed with theater. Soon, I forced my family to engage in this obsession too. I can confidently say that Hispanic families do love Shrek the Musical. All I wanted to do as a child was study each performer that danced across my family room’s 50-inch TV, mimic their speech patterns, copy their bold gazes, and have my minimalistic mannerisms romanticized in the same way. It makes sense that there is some fascination that lies in projecting emotion and sound for someone whose personal enemy was all of the above.
I spent many years of my youth yearning for some Broadway poltergeist to up and possess me, for the fibers of my being to erupt into full-fledged dance and song. Unfortunately, to the ten-year-old me, that never happened. Instead, I refocused my involvement and inspiration on activities that would perhaps paint my hands and clothes.
My start was in our 2023 winter production of Xanadu, and–let’s just say that working backstage for the first time twisted me up more than the roller disco happening on stage. My friend desperately invited me at the last minute to assist with the show's final performance because they were short of “techies.”
Mic tape, lash glue, safety pins, dancing around cords, cast member whispers of “Can you zip me,” and, every few seconds, “Can you move,” accompanied by sweaty taps on my shoulder in darkness. red rather than my face: makeup design and theater tech. My involvement ended up opening more doors and welcoming more life lessons than I expected.
After surviving my first closing night, my knees buckled the second I walked into my bedroom. That night I could not focus on debriefing my experience because the talent and professionalism of the cast members constantly circled back in my mind, continuing to amaze me, especially since most of them were kids you couldn’t pay to popcorn-read a chapter of a book in class. In those fleeting moments of thought before I drifted off to sleep, I knew I was approaching some pivotal life lesson. The air around me felt hopeful and I could not stop smiling. The next morning, I darted to the theater and reserved my spot as the makeup artist’s assistant for the spring show, conveniently my favorite musical of all time,
LITtL e SHop Of HOr RoRS.
At the top of that spring, just in time for Little Shop, I showed my instructors a quick example of my makeup work and was promoted on the spot to head makeup artist – I can thank my degree from “YouTube University” for that! I practiced aging, bruises, and glam on different cast members, their faces akin to the canvases for the portraits I was used to painting. Eventually, I started building closer connections with the people with whom I was working.
Whether I had realized it at the time or not, an overarching change was taking place. I was becoming much more outgoing than before. Working with a class full of big personalities and being rewarded with creative direction for my talent emboldened me and I began to feel more confident in my actions. The duality of my peers showed me how I can comfortably adapt and adjust my communication styles to each environment I exist in.
As of this spring, I have been the head makeup artist and makeup designer for my high school’s theater company for one year. My experience pushed me and my talent beyond my limits until I started to get growing pains from pushing at the box in which I confined myself before I decided to apply myself to these activities.
During the day, I have my theater tech class period, a class I had been excited to explore but never got around to joining due to my COVID-impacted freshman year. In class, we build sets and props on our stage or outside, gathering materials from our basement’s warehouse-like rooms–the furniture room and the wood/metal shop–where I learned to use more power tools than my dad, a new milestone for me. As my work has improved over time and as I worked on more diverse sets, I have been given the chance to paint most of the set for our current spring show, Sweeney Todd. This was the result of advocating for my skills and demonstrating how we can embellish our sets, with the cast behind me vouching for my talents as well. This past year, I have worked on designing the interiors of set pieces and shops, like Mr. Mushnik’s plant store and Mrs. Lovett’s pie shop.
This past fall, along with working on our production of Happy Days, I assumed the position of News Editor in my school’s newspaper. I conducted numerous interviews around town and school, thanks to the practice of ensuring my voice was heard in theater and when talking to people over summer from selling my art at farmers’ markets and local punk shows. The experience I gained from my different hobbies and communities inspired other aspects of my life to shine brighter as well, like my community organizing. I can channel my peers when I need some confidence for public speaking or when making program suggestions.
I convinced my instructor to increase the coverage in our newspaper about the ongoing production and teased our theater company’s ideas for Sweeney Todd. Along with our upcoming musicals, I advocated for including more diverse topics in our paper. While most of our staff identify as LGBTQ+, we had virtually no foundation of support or advocacy in our recent issues of the paper. I took that opportunity to lead and sooner than I knew it, I was directing projects, reporting, and investigating the ongoing rise in transgender-targeted policies in education. Along with translating legal documents into more accessible language, I directed a series of interviews with volunteer self-identified transgender students about their opinions on how our school is handling the policies enforced across the nation. This specific section of interviews generated mixed feedback that I was nonetheless happy to hear, considering many states do not allow the topic to even be discussed.
BECAUSE OF MY WORK, I HAVE FINALLY BEEN ABLE TO HEAR MY VOICE WHEN I
OCCASIONALLYSPEAK–AND ALSO IN THE HALLWAYS.
Working both in the theater and in a publication has helped me in more ways than I could have imagined. I credit them both for the leader I have become today. Combining my passion for the advocacy of journalism and love of arts and theater has been my perfect niche and helped guide my plans for my future as I approach college and adulthood. I will study English and Journalism in the fall at UCLA and plan on continuing to work closely with playhouses in the LA scene I am relocating to. I am excited to continue satisfying that niche in working with both Stage Raw and the Unusual Suspects Theatre Company. The arts are a privilege to experience. Theater has taught me that life is truly just a performance and attaining opportunities is a matter of gaining experience and having a kick-ass audition.
REMAPPING THE STAGE WITH JEFF BURKE
A CONVERSATION ON THE INTERSECTION OF APPLIED TECHNOLOGY AND THE PERFORMING ARTS WITH UCLA REMAP'S JEFF BURKE
by Jack Grotenstein Youth Journalism Fellow, 2024 cohort
Jeff Burke is the associate dean of research and technology at UCLA’s School of Theater, Film, and Television. He co-leads the Center for Research in Engineering, Media, and Performance (REMAP), UCLA’s cutting-edge research lab that explores new cultural forms by interweaving engineering, the arts, and community development. Jack Grotenstein sat down for a conversation with Burke to gain insight into REMAP’s groundbreaking work, and to talk about the intersection of theater, youth, and technology.
Jack Grotenstein: In your own words, can you describe what REMAP is and how it came about?
Jeff Burke: In 2004, with some help from colleagues in electrical engineering and encouragement from some folks at Walt Disney Imagineering, we started REMAP at UCLA. Our focus was to explore the intersection between creativity, community, and technology. REMAP did a number of different projects over the years that explored these areas, from civic installations and outdoor sculptures, to live performance experiments incorporating augmented reality or artificial intelligence. Technologies over those 20 years have become such a critical part of the thinking about the future of creative expression in theater, film, and TV.
JG: Could you explain REMAP’s approach to using technology in theater?
JB: Successful projects typically involve a workshop phase with designers, technologists, actors, and directors, blending technology and storytelling effectively. This method allows us to experiment and refine our approach throughout the production process. One theme was exploring how technology could change audience interactions. Initially, we felt that more media and technology meant being locked into specific pacing, staging, and blocking. We aimed to find ways to return flexibility to the rehearsal process and production.
JG: It’s a fact that my generation — Gen Z — and those after us are losing our attention span. It’s getting harder for the theater to rival TikTok. It’s even more obvious to me as someone working for Stage Raw and often being the youngest in the house. I’m curious as to what impact the incorporation of technology will have on the next generation of theater.
JB: The experience of an in-person encounter could be more important to people than we give them credit for. Getting people to sit down for an extended period, which is the traditional format, doesn’t attend to the importance of in-person time. That’s less about technology and more about the attitude toward in-person experiences.
To me, it suggests that the relationship between the audience and the material, and the audience and the performers, has evolved in a way that recognizes the value of time differently. Some of the things that we’re thinking about in terms of technology, audience experience, and audience interaction are in that direction: How does the audience find a different kind of value from being in a theatrical experience? How do we value inperson interaction in a different way, and how does that lead us toward different theatrical forms? The things that are the most interesting to me are performance practices that are headed in that direction. I’m curious — what do you think about it?
JG: I think immersive theater offers a sort of intimacy and intense humanity that traditional theater can’t. Augmented reality experiences can literally transport you to another world; I think that’s what our generation is craving. I’ve been to theater productions and seen people my age on TikTok, but I’ve never seen anyone check their phone in the middle of a haunted house. You’re so completely immersed in the experience that you forget you even have a phone — you’re just excited and maybe even worried about what’s going to happen to you in this new world you are in. That’s something totally unique to immersive theater. Immersive theater is definitely growing in popularity right now.
JG: I’m curious – other than augmented reality, how could technology be incorporated in the immersive experience world?
JB: One of the things that we’ve been thinking about is the general idea of having a connection to each audience member. Something that we’re doing is using people’s phones as a kind of a magic wand or something — incorporating it into the experience of the media onstage.
Another idea is what does it mean for a show to have memory? In the AI sense, it’s maybe a little problematic. But right now, we’re looking at the idea of fine-tuning something based on what the audience has done before in the show. The audience’s co-creation with the performers on a given night could be remembered in any number of ways, beyond just taking pictures of it.
These ideas are sort of easy to frame as being non-theatrical because they’re not immediate, but they have analogies in our contemporary media. Our online media does these things already in some way, even if it’s exposed to people or not. We also do it in the theater. Internally, as performers or as participants in an experience, we see the audience and how they react. We respond to them and adapt the performance to them. The framework in which that happens depends on the type of performance; that adaptation is happening at some level in almost every performance.
The bigger question is, how do you take that collection of ideas and make them relevant within a given show? How do you make them contribute to a new type of performance experience?
JG: You hinted at the problems that sometimes come along with the incorporation of AI. Any incorporation of generative AI comes with a lot of implications, both moral and ethical. I’m curious if you think the use of AI in theater fosters or stifles the creativity of directors, designers, and actors?
JB: Some of the most difficult things about incorporating technology into performance are getting the machines to do what you want. The typical approach has been to program them manually, which is often hard, with the resources available to any kind of performance. I’m super interested in the idea that you can show machines how to do things as a way for artists to incorporate them into a performance.
As to your question, I have two perspectives. If your goal is to make the same thing more cheaply and efficiently, then you’re probably not going to end up allowing people to be more creative. Creativity takes time, and the ability to experiment and fail. To some extent, AI is allowing people to do things that have been historically really time consuming or required a lot of expertise in a new way. Making those processes more efficient is pretty much the idea of entertainment as a commodity.
If the question is, can we do new things, or can our creativity take new forms? I think there are a lot of opportunities there. Unfortunately, a lot of the advances are driven by the consumer market, and they’re driven by efficiency and productivity goals. It tends to skew the examples away from creativity and toward efficiency, but I don’t think that it must be that way.
JG: Theater has shown throughout history that it’s a fast-moving and ever-evolving art form. As a pioneer of a new wave of the theater world, where do you think it’s going?
JB: I am really excited about new types of encounters between audiences and performances, in a number of ways. Performances that blend encounters in virtual spaces with encounters in physical spaces are things that people have been thinking about for a long time, and they’re becoming more and more viable.
I don’t know how possible it is, but something that’s equally intriguing for me is we see more opportunities for the building blocks of the media experience outside the theater to get remixed, unpacked, put back together, and subverted in the performance. We can’t hold off all the tools and technologies that exist to create media experiences outside the theater from a live experience.
" CREATIVITY TAKES TIME, AND THE ABILITY TO EXPERIMENT AND FAIL. TO SOME EXTENT, AI IS ALLOWING PEOPLE TO DO THINGS THAT HAVE BEEN HISTORICALLY REALLY TIME CONSUMING OR REQUIRED A LOT OF EXPERTISE IN A NEW WAY."
INSIDE SING SING WITH GREG KWEDAR AND CLINT BENTLEY
HOW A THEATER PROGRAM IN NEW YORK PRISONS INSPIRED A TRANSCENDENT SILVER SCREEN DRAMA
by Sophie Audelo Youth Journalism Fellow, 2024 cohort
Greg Kwedar and Clint Bentley are the creative duo behind A24’s Sing Sing. Based on true events, the 2023 film follows a growing friendship between two men as they work on a theatrical production as a part of the Rehabilitation Through the Arts (RTA) program inside New York’s Sing Sing Correctional Facility. Featuring a cast made up in large part of real-life RTA alumni, the film is brimming with positive representation of Black and brown men, defying Hollywood stereotypes.
I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Kwedar and Bentley, and as an aspiring filmmaker, I was curious to learn about their writing process, their experiences making the project, and their advice for young artists.
Clint Bentley & Greg Kwedar
Sophie Audelo: Why do you think it was important for audiences to see a movie like Sing Sing right now?
Greg Kwedar: We are aware of the time our film exists [in], but we also try to tell stories that can live outside of time. They’re about some of the oldest questions that exist, but they take on new contexts and we find new meanings within the time [the stories are set in]. [Yet] more than ever, it’s important for us to look each other in the eyes and to hear [each other’s] stories and know each other’s names, because I think when you do that, that is a portal to empathy; that’s a portal to connection and overcoming division.
SA: What was it like having the people this movie is dedicated to working alongside you on set?
Clint Bentley: It was amazing. It’s really hard to overstate the impact that they had on us, in terms of being our North Star for the movie itself. We were always so inspired by the work they were doing and the work that they had done in their own lives in RTA — but also, they just made us better people.
SA: What was it like bringing RTA alumni in the cast back into this environment they were once not allowed to leave? How did you ensure that everyone felt supported?
GK: It was truly a community effort, and we mean that in every sense of the word. It was the kind of project that attracted the right kind of people to it — but at the same time, [it’s] a big ask to [have] our RTA alumni go back into a space [where] they were once incarcerated. Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin said that his body itched when he put those greens back on, yet at the same time, he was aware of the purpose [behind] why he was there. The story he wanted to be part of telling was greater than his discomfort, and that allowed for a space of transformation. What was once a uniform [he was] mandated to wear could now become a costume to express a character, and there was a power in that — [it] then became its own kind of form of catharsis.
SA: As writers, what was it like, having to morph your script when someone would contribute a new idea on set?
CB: We both come from documentary backgrounds, so we have that history of following the story and being open to where [it’s] taking you, versus going in with your preconceived plan. The actors were so alive and brought so much to the table. From a writer’s perspective, it always felt like it was getting better and becoming something more interesting than what we had written down.
SA: How do you keep the passion behind making a movie alive when the production process can take so long?
GK: It comes in waves. You’ll make a big push for a concerted amount of time, and it’d be like, “This is the moment — we’re gonna make it across the finish line.” And then you get to what you thought was the finish line, and it’s just not there. But also, we were meeting a lot of resistance from the industry. We saw something quite unique and special we were focusing on, and if that got any attention from the industry, they would try to bend it to conform more to stereotypes that had preceded us. Ultimately, we got to a place where it’s like, “Whatever it takes. If this is the last movie we make, for me personally, this would be it, and I’m gonna give it all that I have.”
SA: What’s your advice for young people who are thinking about pursuing a career in the arts?
GK: I think everything we do is all cumulative. It’s all adding to whatever your voice is or your means of expression are. I had a mentor once tell me it’s like putting tools in your tool belt that you can use. I think the main advice is get out and live a story, because that feeds the storyteller. And don’t settle for comfort. Lean into the unexpected, because a lot of time, the gems are there, and that’ll serve the storyteller you ultimately become.
CB: [In America,] we’re trained to believe in this “trade school”-type mentality where you go to undergrad and you study this, and then you go to grad school and you get your MFA or whatever, and then you’ll naturally be an artist, and you’ll have the checkbox of “I’ve done these five things to become an artist, and now I can start making art!” And it’s just not the case. Something I always say is “Find your people,” because you will all lift each other up more than doing it on your own. And the other thing is “Treat your craft like a craft.” Don’t wait for anybody to tell you [that] you can do it. The only way you’re gonna learn to do it is by doing it.
Greg Kwedar and Colman
Domingo
COMING OF AGE WITH DÌDI’S
IZAAC WANG
SHIRLEY CHEN &
DÌDI 'S ON-SCREEN SIBLINGS TALK SUNDANCE, SKATEBOARDING—AND SAYING SORRY TO THEIR MOMS.
by Ali MacLean
While most young actors find their way to the screen by sending a photo along to an open casting call, or through a gauntlet of Cute Kid commercial auditions secured by a manager (or maybe even a momager), once in a while you stumble upon a unicorn: a trained child thespian. You can usually spot them not only by their talent but by their poise. Like an aspiring athlete, these young artists are disciplined in their training and take the work seriously — but not so seriously that they lose their sense of play or humor.
This is true of Dìdi actors Izaac Wang and Shirley Chen, both of whom had amassed impressive résumés even before starring as siblings Chris and Vivian in Sean Wang’s coming-of-age indie hit. Izaac had the Academy Award–nominated Raya and the Last Dragon under his belt, as well as Clifford, Good Boys, and Gremlins. Shirley had done two runs of the play Man of God at L.A.’s prestigious Geffen Playhouse, starred in the 2020 Sundance hit Beast Beast, and appeared in TV shows like Parenthood and Speechless.
Their shared performing arts school background is evident immediately upon meeting them; they’re comfortable in their own skin and introspective, with a sense of humor beyond their years. Below, the pair dive deep into their process as actors, what it was like bringing Dìdi to Sundance, and why they think the project has resonated so strongly with audiences since its release.
ALI MACLEAN: Congratulations on Dìdi. I grew up with a lot of teen movies — the John Hughes canon like Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink. But they were glossy and stylized; they weren’t very realistic, and Dìdi is. It gives you a glimpse of what it’s really like to be a teen: the awkward phase, like in the film Eighth Grade. You both went to a performing arts high school. Did you start in theater and then transition into film?
SHIRLEY CHEN: I think we both grew up going to auditions.
IZAAC WANG: I started acting as well… Sorry, my cat just spit up on me. I have drool everywhere.
AM: That’s so Dìdi ! (Izaac tries to push an enormous cat off his lap)
IW: I’m stuck here for a bit.
AM: When you’re doing a play as an actor, you’re playing to the back of the house. Then when you’re doing a self-tape or you’re on set, you’re playing to a small lens. How do you both make the transition back and forth between mediums?
SC: I got to do my first theatrical play called Man of God at the Geffen Playhouse. Through that experience, I learned that theater is like an endurance run, and TV and film are more sprints. When I’m on a film or TV set, I’ll just get into the zone. I contain my energy, listen to music, and stay in the zone. I try to stay in that headspace and stay laserfocused. Whereas with a play, you have an hour and a half to dedicate your whole focus on moving through the present, which is more challenging for me, because you have to find ways to make everything feel new and exciting to you. Some of the best advice I got was to give myself secrets before the show. I’d give my character secrets and journal for ten minutes about some new memory for them
IW: Shirley has a whole process. For me, when I’m film acting, I get quieter, and for theater, I get louder. I think theater is a more exaggerated and open form of film acting. You’re really using more of your voice and your body to represent what your emotions are, versus acting in a film, [where] you don’t have a lot of free will. Of course, the director of a play says, “I want you to do this, this, and this,” but you can do whatever you want with your body to portray that. Sometimes in film, in a closeup of your eyes, you have to look at something and pretend it’s somebody, but what you’re [actually] looking at is just a black box around the camera. I think that’s a pretty big difference. In theater, you are more engaged with your co-actors.
AM: Let’s talk about Sundance, from the summer lab, to the actual shoot, to the film being accepted to the festival, to being at the ceremony and winning Best Ensemble Cast and Audience Awards. What was that journey like, and how did you first get involved with the Sundance lab?
IW: With the lab, it wasn’t a guarantee that we would book the film. It was like a test. Sean was testing specific things, [like] our chemistry in real life. That was fun.
SC: I don’t know if Sean would ever admit that it was a test.
IW: No, but it was basically a test.
SC: What really surprised me about working on Dìdi was that from start to finish, [there was] so much love. Sean was able to assemble this ragtag team of really talented people who were also kind and loved working on set together. It’s rare that a project that has so much soul gets into Sundance, wins two awards there, is bought by a major distributor, and then has a strong opening weekend. It takes so many wins and so many things falling into place for something like this to happen for an independent film, and I feel really lucky that Izaac and I were there early on.
AM: What do think people connect to in the film’s story, and what do you connect to?
IW: There are a bunch of coming-of-age movies out there, but what is special about this one is that there is a dynamic that you don’t [often] see. There’s no movie like this that is ultra-specific to the 2000s. Maybe I live under a rock — which I do — but I think this one really hits home because it has a real family. The chemistry feels real. And I think people also really love this movie because of the mother-son dynamic. That is something that hits home for everyone. It’s the grounded relatability of the movie.
SC: I think [Sean] did a really good job with an ultra-specific story — the lines [the characters] say and [the] things they do are so specific to these particular people. And to go back to your point about the John Hughes movies of the ’80s, growing up,
AM: It’s interesting to see a teen movie where social media is so prominent. We didn’t have social media when I was growing up. The idea of not knowing where you are with your friendship unless you are saved in their Top 8 on MySpace is such an indication of that early 2000s era the film was set in. Izaac, you’ve said you don’t watch many movies. I sense that is a generational thing. Most people your age watch YouTube like your character. They watch skateboard videos or are gamers.
IW: It’s a slightly more personal thing. Movies are a pretty huge thing for some of my friends now. I got a homie that is super into movies. But yeah, we are on YouTube as well, and we are absorbing other types of social media. Personally, I am not one to go outside willingly. I’d rather stay home and play games. But others are relatively social. Or maybe that’s just how I see it.
AM: Was skateboarding — and filming skateboard videos — part of your world?
IW: I definitely had to learn how to skateboard. I grew up with street biking. I was never a skateboarder. But the filming came easy to me. As an actor, you slowly learn it. You make dumb videos with your friends for fun. That’s one thing I related to about Chris — the filmmaking aspect. Making videos. That’s what I do as well. Skating is a different matter. I suck at skating.
"ALWAYS STAY TRUE TO WHO YOU ARE. ALWAYS BE YOURSELF. NO MATTER WHAT CHARACTER YOU ARE PLAYING, THERE IS A PART OF YOU IN THAT CHARACTER."
AM: As an actor now, you have to be a videographer and an editor. For self-tapes or social media, you have to be able to film and present yourself well. You need to have your own equipment and good lighting — you have to be a one-stop shop. Have you learned these skills to market yourself?
IW: No, I have a few hobbies. I enjoy being athletic. I like going to the gym. Being a jack-of-all-trades actor is not about forcing yourself to learn these things to be better; it’s about doing what you love on the side.
AM: Shirley, you have a lot going on aside from the film. You’ve graduated from Harvard and are in the Hasty Pudding, which is a huge deal. What was it like being inducted into that club?
SC: The deciding factor for me going to Harvard was the Hasty Pudding. The Hasty Pudding has an insane amount of money, and something I realized when graduating is that theater is really hard to crowdsource. Even for a reading, it’s really hard to get the money. But Hasty Pudding is backed by a lot of wealthy donors, so there are a lot of expectations to be funny, and I remember there was a bit of backlash our year, where people were saying, “Oh, women can’t be funny.” It was a lot of pressure, but it was really cool. I’ve never experienced anything like that. I am an Asian American woman, and [being in] that space, which was never really designed for me to be a part of, was jarring. But I think that is emblematic of my experience at Harvard in general. I was on the East Coast in this prestigious place, but I felt out of place. But it was cool.
AM: Izaac, you work in animation, so I want to talk a little bit about My Little Pony and Gremlins, because those are two icons from my childhood, and you’re helping to resurrect them. What other characters would you want to bring back?
IW: There’s this Japanese drifting anime [that’s] basically about car culture in Japan — one of their first ever. It’s what got everyone into cars. Well, and obviously the Fast and Furious series. It’d be cool to be in The Fast and the Furious, too.
AM: Well, they keep making them, so your odds are good. What about you, Shirley?
SC: Maybe Friends, but not with six different white people. But then again, do I want to see a bunch of twenty-year-olds sitting in a coffeehouse? There is a nostalgia factor about it because my whole family would watch it together. I also thought about Sailor Moon, but I think they’ve tried that and it was bad. So maybe a Tamagotchi show? Maybe what we need is a non-phone-based friend. Something that is there for you, and you feed it. No stakes. In case it dies.
AM: So we know Izaac wants to work with cars. Shirley, is there a dream role you’d like to play?
SC: For a long time, it was Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. But I recently saw Twisters. [I’d like to play] a character like that — a headstrong woman against the odds. My goal is actually to do things that people don’t think of when they think of a Harvard grad. I’m a bit of a weird goofball.
AM: Going back to Dìdi, we know where your characters are at the end of the film. Vivian is off to college, and Chris is a little bit more comfortable in who he is. And he has sort of come to an understanding with his mom. But let’s say it’s ten years later. Where are they?
IW: I like to imagine that Chris just turns into Sean.
AM: Sean the director?
IW: Yeah. Chris starts making films. I don’t know where Sean was at 23. I think he was messing around with short films in New York. Sean was probably writing Dìdi. So I guess Chris is writing the next big feature.
SC: I see Vivian as someone who loves reading for fun — stories about very headstrong women, like Little Women, so I think in college, she’d study English. But I don’t think she’s a writer. I think she is maybe doing something to help kids. Or maybe she’s a journalist. Something tangential to writing, and she is definitely a strong boss woman. But she isn’t working a 9-to-5. I think she and Chris probably FaceTime each other, but I don’t think she’s like, “Yo, I love you.”
AM: What advice would you give to someone who came to you and said, “I want to be an actor, but I don’t know where to start”?
IW: I have this one default answer I always say. It is advice I also follow. Always stay true to who you are. Always be yourself. No matter what character you are playing, there is a part of you in that character. You can always relate one way or another. Unless it’s completely wild and you’re playing a trash bag or a corpse, there is always something you can find to relate to. Don’t try to be the character. Be yourself, but in an alternate universe.
SC: I would say play and be. Because acting can be very hard, and the older you get and the longer that you do it, the harder you need to work to make sure that it’s fun. You’ve got to make sure you don’t let the stakes of life supersede the stakes of the scene. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. How do you keep the creature alive? How do you keep the part of yourself that is open and vulnerable and not afraid to be hurt, who is childlike and wants to play the scenes without the fear of failing? All of those things that keep a person tender and alive, and fun to watch — those get withered away and attacked as you get older, and you have to find more ways to stay strong in the world, but also soft on the inside. I think that is the hardest battle, but it’s also the most rewarding and what makes somebody a really strong artist.
"HOW DO YOU KEEP THE PART OF YOURSELF THAT IS OPEN AND VULNERABLE AND NOT AFRAID TO BE HURT, WHO IS CHILDLIKE AND WANTS TO PLAY THE SCENES WITHOUT THE FEAR OF FAILING?"
AM: What are your thoughts about art and its importance in the world when everything feels hard?
SC: People have been hit hard the last several years, and they’re feeling more and more hopeless. I look at the news and I get scared. I was eight in 2008, and I remember feeling a lot of hope and trust in our government. It felt like things were working out and we were moving toward change. But now people seem scared. With a movie like Dìdi, people can watch it and feel really good. For a while, a lot of art felt like it was making a statement. We had to push an agenda and make changes that way. But Dìdi does it in an understated way. I think Dìdi will create change. You go into that theater and you get to laugh, and cry tears of joy and sadness, and think there is hope in humanity. It hits that spot that someone misses about being a kid or wants to call their mom. That sweetness. And you get to work through the feelings underneath — of not feeling good enough. It’s a coming-of-age story and also a feel-good movie that touches that specific period. You walk away from that feeling good.
IW: She said it perfectly. There’s not much I can add. I think most people at some point have gone through a hard time with their family. At some point, you’ve butted heads with your mother. Your mother is trying to look out for you, but she just doesn’t understand you. Hopefully, this movie will make people realize that communication is key. I still struggle with it. I can’t communicate with my mother sometimes, but maybe this movie will make you call your mother and say “Hey. I’m sorry and I love you.” ♥
Ali MacLean is an award-winning playwright, filmmaker, and actor from Boston whose work has been recognized at prominent festivals like Toronto and Palm Springs. Her screenwriting achievements include finalist placements in Scriptapalooza and Screencraft, and winning the 2020 David Sedaris Humor Writing Prize. She is a teaching artist with The Unusual Suspects.
EMPOWERING YOUTH THROUGH
THE TRANSFORMATIVE
POWER OF THEATRE, THE UNUSUAL SUSPECTS THEATRE COMPANY INSPIRES, UPLIFTS,
AND CREATES
BOUNDLESS OPPORTUNITIES FOR
YOUNG VOICES TO THRIVE.
Helping to administrate the Stage Raw x Unusual Suspects
Youth Journalism Fellowship, my older cohorts and I have had multiple conversations with teens who might–just might–be interested in the theater.
Culturally in the United States, interest in live theater has waned over decades, manifested in or caused by 1 diminished arts funding from both government and foundation sources, 2 the diminishment of arts education in public schools, where children used to be weaned on theater, 3 media coverage that has all but evaporated due to the disappearance of local newspapers, even online, and even those that have clawed out a survival mechanism have dumped theater from coverage. In the meantime, for these, and a variety of other reasons, the output of live theater in Southern California is 50% of what it was a decade ago, while the average age bracket of regional theater audiences has ticked up to above the 60-year-old-old mark, meaning that the young are spending their discretionary funds elsewhere.
It would be easy to attribute all this to global shifts in technology, i.e. social media algorithms that lead to the presumption that what's on a tiny screen is real, whereas what appears in front of your eyes in real time and real space, is artifice. This might be a persuasive argument if one had never traveled to Brazil, or Poland, or Kosovo, or the UK, where live, professional theater remains widely attended by the young. You think they don't have cellphones and social media in Central and South America, or in Europe, where theater festivals crisscross those continents nine months of the year?
Our theaters and their support systems have fallen down on educating our children on the value of this timeless art form, and in marketing it. And that's where programs like the Stage Raw x USTC Youth Journalism Fellowship are working to pick up the torch. Our teens are busy, distracted, confused, filled with both hope and dread for the future, and often amazed when they see live theater that speaks to them. They know they're being gamed by the culture. They know they're being manipulated and even lied to by big tech, and they're craving authenticity. The theater is not necessarily a haven for authenticity, but it can be, and some of them have stumbled upon that realization. The teens are our ambassadors. They're more open-hearted and more curious than those of us hardened by age. If we pass the torch, with a little good fortune, they might just carry it.
LETTER FROM STAGE RAW FOUNDER
Steven Leigh Morris