This is Drama Masks, a Bay Area performing arts column from a born San Franciscan and longtime theatre artist in an N95 mask. I talk venue safety and dramatic substance, or the lack thereof. Read part one of my Year on Stage 2024 review here, and stay tuned for the conclusion next week.
In between my endless 2024 personal calamities, I often wondered when optimism becomes ignorance. When not dealing with the worst-ever year of my personal life, it felt like I was greeted by bad theatre news at every turn: last-minute fill-ins due to actors maladies (a few of which were confirmed COVID); seemingly every company had an “emergency” fundraiser and cut back on shows; nearly every show I attended saw me as one-of-only-a-few masked patrons; Cal Shakes closed (bad); Cutting Ball closed (worse); genocide in Gaza went largely ignored; and drastic cuts to both arts and media funding meant I had a lot less to write about (hence me launching a Patreon).
On top of all that, this country—knowing how much of the above mess was leftover from cuts made from 2017–2020—decided to re-elect the twice-impeached, SF-hating, accused rapist, and white supremacist profligate who’ll likely make the mess even worse. How could I possibly be optimistic after all that?
Because I saw some damn good theatre this year.
Also, I found everything—my life, my work, my art, my sense of home—all tied to my activism. As bad as it is to watch chattering class “latte liberals” turn a blind eye to Gaza and COVID, it helped me weed out people I don’t want in my life anymore. In the past 12 months, I’ve shouted directly at SF supes, taken admins to task for poor health protocols, nearly got runover by Biden’s limo during APEC, and had things thrown at me from high windows as I protested in the streets. And those are just off the top of my head.
As all that happened, I watched as supposed “people of strong moral character” either voiced impotent empathy with the oppressors or just stayed mum, hoping everything would just blow over. They love to speak of themselves as being uncompromising artists, but their public silence revealed their private cowardice. Years from now, they’ll be seen as the compliant “neutrals” who refused to take a stand because it would rock the boat.
That’s why I loved seeing work that actually took a stand. Rather than back down for the sake of comfort, the real artist-activists had their resolve strengthened—mine included. They didn’t care if the circumstances were “perfect,” so long as they got to do the work they wanted how they wanted. Be it Left Coast Theatre Co.’s delivering some of the best local queer theatre or Tiny Garcia’s unique knack for turning unhoused pain into literal poetry, they proved that San Francisco is still a place where art and activism are inextricably woven. They know the fight we have coming and they’re making clear what side they’re on.
I’m glad to be on that side, and I’m glad to experience that kind of art. Here are some highlights from the past year.
Shook off the cobwebs
I’ll be honest: I never thought I’d direct again. Acting either. I used to do them so often that I my pre-2020 hope was to move onto larger work. When this still-ongoing pandemic took hold, those plans got detoured. I’ve only done one theatrical acting project (in those halcyon “safe” days of 2021), but offering to direct for one company seemed to drive a wedge between us. So, you can imagine my surprise late last year when the folks at Cutting Ball offered me to direct for their year-opening short play showcase. At the time, neither they nor I knew it would be their final production, but it was a fun experience that both got me to work mental muscles I haven’t used in years. Most of all, it reassured me that I am a part of this theatre community rather than just an observer.
Suck it, Sartre!
If I ran a list of troupes and venues that have shut down of late, it would just break everyone’s hearts. And it would also take away from the fact that two “closed” venues got new leases on life: The former Stage Werx has now successfully gone through a full year as place-to-be Eclectic Box, and the unfortunate loss of Cutting Ball led to the unexpected resurrection of EXIT Theatre, once the epicenter of SF indie theatre. The Cutting Ball venue, EXIT on Taylor, was re-christened Taylor St. Theatre and has already begun to fill up its calendar. This is something SF theatre needs: art in and of the Tenderloin (shout out to Jonathan Carver Moore’s gallery) and a space where starving theatre artists know they can present their radical ideas without money being the deciding factor.
The trod boards of Tanya Orellana
The surreal shapes of Magic’s Dirty White Teslas. The Afrofuturism of Crowded Fire’s Shipping & Handling. The sky-scraping steps of Play On! Shakespeare’s Richard II. The open landscape of Berkeley Rep’s Mother Road. A few years ago, most of us had never even heard of scenic designer Tanya Orellana. Now, seeing her name in a press release or program promises some of the most intriguing set design in modern theatre. If 2024 didn’t prove that, then you just weren’t paying attention.
Stayin’ on theme
As the (white) majority of Bay Area theatres tied their seasons together with loose themes and pretenses that were chosen a year in advance, bold indie companies saw the world around them, stopped in their tracks, and decided to say what no one else wanted to. That’s why the US’s continued exploitation of Puerto Rico seemed to only be addressed by La Lengua. It’s why most places could ignore the genocide in Gaza and rampant Islamophobia, but Golden Thread dedicated their entire season tackling those themes directly. It’s why everyone else pays lips to revering Black women, but Oaktown treasure Margo Hall has made it the central focus of her tenure as AD of the legendary Lorraine Hansberry Theatre. In fact, that reminds me…
Sistas! Sistas everywhere!
You had everything put out by LHT. You had writer Star Finch continuing to stake her claim as a bold new voice. You (as of this writing) still have the cast of Marcus Gardley’s A Thousand Ships. The past year saw so much fantastic local work by, about, and with Black women that you’d think that SF was trying to make up for its poor reputation as having a dearth of Black women’s voices. This was a good year. Don’t give it up.
“Wouldn’t it be awful if a tree fell down and killed Fred and Willy on the golf course?”
This classic Noël Coward line, spoken by Emily Newsome, was the single funniest moment of the year.
A more perfect union.
I mentioned last time how nearly every classical local art venue and org found it self under fire this year. Most issues stemmed from workers’ rights and collective bargaining. That’s a good thing. Be it SF Symphony or Starbucks, a world-premiere ballet or Marriott-owned hotel, unions flexed their power this year and the world is all the better for it. 2020 brought “The Great Resignation” that corporate bosses called a fad. 2023 saw WGA and SAG-AFTRA shut down the industry; studio bigwigs called them greedy. 2024 brought the fight to SF and reminded everyone who really keeps the lights on.
Even our new Levi’s-heir mayor-elect knew to get on the unions’ good side. Now, I’m not stupid: I expect each of these businesses and arts organizations to push back in the coming year, emboldened by the aforementioned white supremacist in the White House. (Lurie’s transition team includes someone all-too-eager to bend the knee.) But here’s the thing about the masses: We win one fight, we see strength in numbers, we feel more confident going into the next fight. Whether an arts org or an affluent business, they’d better remember that there are more of us than there are of them.
That Morpheus line.
Say what you will about how much The Matrix Reloaded sucks (which it does), whenever I emerge from moments of major struggle—which 2024 had in abundance—I think back to Morpheus’ speech to the people of Zion. He tells them that danger of AI and extinction is coming, and how that danger has been all they’ve known their entire lives. Yet, as true as those things are, one indisputable fact remains: “We are still here!”
It is not hyperbole to point out how I’ve been close to death several times this year. I didn’t share that with many people, but the solace I found in art—particularly theatre—both comforted and inspired me at my lowest points. It not only got me through the year, it made me doggedly determined to be here this time next year, and the year after that.
I hope you will be, too.
Next up: Part 3—The Conclusion.
