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.
There are things to be happy about these days.
Trust me, I’m aware of all the bad shit: the twice-impeached accused rapist threatening Iran with genocide just to distract from his Epstein association; SF’s Mayor Bluejeans fighting tooth and nail against a proposed billionaire tax as he follows through with laying off 500 essential city employees; two big blazes in SoCal officially kicking off fire season; local weather being outright schizophrenic lately; and every week bringing a new headline about a dead whale washing up on a Bay Area beach. Plus, it’s Tax Day next week.
Yet, I’m all the more appreciative for the bright spots I find. In order to keep things focused on the performing arts, there’s the fact that the immersive historical play Compton’s Cafeteria Riot will celebrate a full year of operation this Saturday. I won’t be able to make it ‘cause I’m booked for a different show, but readers already know that I’m quite fond of the show and recommend this living history lesson as a safe space in an increasingly-transphobic world.
There’s CenterREP’s invigorating new production of Neil Simon’s Lost in Yonkers, which I’d never seen before but makes good use of Adam Magill (who’s unrecognizable clean-shaven and with short hair). And there’s Golden Thread’s Festival of Palestinian Art, which starts this week and couldn’t come at a better time, given world events (and the fact that Golden Thread tends to always pick up the slack against anti-MENA bigotry as other orgs turn their heads away).
Then, there’s just the ability to walk around the Bay Area, which is still a gorgeous place, despite mainstream headlines to the contrary. I went to a show in Oakland last week and wound up walking around Lake Merritt, something I haven’t done in years. Seeing Lost in Yonkers in Walnut Creek required a great (and incredibly long) BART ride that lets one marvel at just how green this part of the world is.
When family members visited last week (narrowly avoiding the TSA clusterfuck), it ended as it always does: with me insisting that we stop by Dolores Park to take in the sights, sounds, and smells that aggregate only in that tiny patch of land. And as much as I despise currently residing in an unheated Sunset hovel, I do love that nearly every step out the front door gives me a glorious view of Ocean Beach. I’ve only been by Sunset Dunes a few times, but it’s one of the best re-imaginings of SF land since The Embarcadero post-Loma Prieta.
One of the reasons I’m proud to say I’m from here—and there are a great many—is the fact there are no shortage of ways one can locally decompress when the stress of the world begins to squeeze too hard. Some folks prefer their edibles and alcohol, but I’m much more partial to the Bay Area’s natural splendor and unique artistic output. Knowing that something as calming as Sunset Dunes has survived half-a-dozen Sunset supervisors in such a short amount of time is akin to knowing a beloved landmark has survived a natural disaster. Knowing that a show like Compton’s is still around based on pure demand tells me more than any bullshit Kansas laws or Supreme Court ruling ever could.
When every headline makes us want to curl up and die, getting out in the world renews our passion for life.
The Monsters West Coast premiere at Berkeley Rep
As I sat through 80 swift minutes of The Monsters (West Coast premiere through May 3 at the Berkeley Rep), I wound up thinking of how marginalized artists often make at least a few works that obey every trope of the “bigotry sucks” template. For dramatic artists, it’ll often include one or two works that lack any subtlety in their portrayal of discriminatory evils. It’s not that these works are inherently bad, it’s just that you know how they’ll end because you’ve seen this story told this exact way many times before. It’s almost a rite of passage. Playwright Ngozi Anyanwu can hardly be called a novice at this point, but The Monsters is the sort of paint-by-numbers work one would more likely expect from an emerging playwright rather than an established and very capable one.
Our story opens in an Mixed Martial Arts octagon (gorgeously designed by the ever-reliable Nina Ball), where regional champ “Big” (Af-Am Shakes vet Sullivan Jones) has just finished defending his well-earned title. Post-match, he’s sore and solitary, certainly not in the mood to deal with fans. So, you can imagine his surprise when the young woman who approaches him is more than a fan, she’s his sister Josephine (aka “Lil,” played by Anyanwu herself). They haven’t seen one another in at least a decade, and she—possibly an undiagnosed ADHD patient—won’t stop talking. But at least now they know the other one is alive.
After finding out Josephine’s job at Applebee’s barely covers her rent, Big allows her to stay at his place, provided she doesn’t interfere with his training regimen. Josephine not only agrees, she eventually asks Big to train her. As a man of limited patience, he’s hesitant, but as a man of discipline, he doesn’t walk away from a challenge. Thus begins a bonding process that will test the siblings’ family ties as it begins to dredge up old memories.
I won’t spoil the ending to the play, but I have to admit that I saw it coming from the opening scenes. Once Josephine insists on being trained, echoes of Million Dollar Baby, Creed, and even A Star is Born could be heard in the text. That alone doesn’t make it bad, but there weren’t many surprises to be found (except the play’s abundant use of Kanye West music, something that tends to raise eyebrows these days).
Added to that, the play is even less subtle about Big: a growth spurt at a young age instantly turned a Black boy from an adorable young’un to the titular “monster” in the eyes of the world, and he’s been living up to the moniker since. As playwright, Anyanwu beats her audience over the head with her messaging the way Lil and Big beat their invisible opponents. A bit more restraint would have gone a long way.
The HVAC of the Rep’s Peet’s Theatre kept CO² levels relatively low, with my Aranet4 peaking around 1,143ppm during the latter half. (The final mask-required show will be the matinée on April 12.) Dramatically speaking, The Monsters is a show we’ve seen many times before. If you’re interested in another take on that material, feel free to give it a go. Just don’t be surprised by your lack of surprise.
THE MONSTERS’ West Coast premiere runs through May 3 at the Berkeley Rep. Tickets and further info here.
