Jose Solís

If you happen to be onstage, however, all you need is a sound cue.

“Tack-a-tack-a-tack-a-tack-a-tack-a,” went the director Marco Antonio Rodríguez. He was sitting in the third row at Repertorio Español during an afternoon rehearsal of “The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao,” based on Junot Díaz’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, which Rodríguez has adapted for the theater.

On the stage was 22-year-old Edgar Sebastian Martínez, who plays the title character, a comic-book-obsessed Dominican-American teenager whose shyness and body issues prevent him from flirting with women.

As Rodríguez repeated his manga-inspired theme music, Martínez flexed his biceps. In this universe, time had stopped, as everyday objects took on the weight and texture of elements out of the nerdiest sci-fi.

In the novel, Oscar is so insecure that his story is told by an unknown narrator whose identity is revealed in the last pages. Rodríguez knew that onstage he needed the world to feel active.

“We’ve seen the narrator business before — hello, ‘The Glass Menagerie,’ ” he said playfully.

For Rodríguez, the show, which began performances this month, became about how Oscar “changes everyone around him through his openness.”

Martínez, who sat near Rodríguez during a rehearsal break, described himself as much more self-aware and confident than Oscar.

Having trained at the Stella Adler Studio, where he portrayed the Gentleman Caller in “Menagerie,” among other characters traditionally cast as white, Martínez is part of a new generation that is trying to erase the color barrier.

“People don’t put me in a box,” he said.

Behind him sat Maite Bonilla, the 44-year-old actress who plays Oscar’s mother, her eyes and smile widening as she listened to her stage son talk about representation.

“Senior actors have done really good work in the field so you can feel that way,” she pointed out.

Although she always dreamed of taking on the title role of “Yerma,” Bonilla believed she would never be considered for the part. Going to auditions in her 20s, she noticed how she was always the darkest-skinned person in the room, even if the role being cast was a Latina.

“I’ve had to prove myself,” she said, “and I’ve done it with my talent.”

She was always set to play Oscar’s mom in the seven-member cast, with Rodríguez being a fan of her work. But the search for her son proved harder.

“We needed to find an Afro-Latino, who could act and was fluent in Spanish,” explained the director. Unlike the search for Dorothy in the film adaptation of “The Wizard of Oz,” which legend has it had MGM casting directors seeing thousands of aspirants, the search for Oscar Wao came down to a handful of young men who fulfilled the cultural checklist.

Bonilla and Martínez bonded over noodles in Washington Heights, where they both live. Last year, the neighborhood was officially designated “Little Dominican Republic,” and the pair share their cultural heritage and their pride as Afro-Latinos.

They both celebrated when Jharrel Jerome became the first Afro-Latino to win an Emmy for “When They See Us,” though Martínez had regrets, too: “I wanted to be the first one,” he said.

“The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao” is the first time both actors have played parts specifically written for Dominican characters.

Rodríguez first adapted the novel in English before translating it into Spanish for Repertorio. The result is a fusion of Díaz’s melancholy with the comedic precision of the Marx Brothers.

Cultural specificity is paramount. Rodríguez’s witty script establishes that Dominican slang words should be respected as they preserve the essence of these characters.

For the novelist, who understands the importance of separating the mediums, his characters onstage needed to feel like three-dimensional human beings.

“I don’t have a lot of control issues, so at an emotional level I was not troubled by the adaptation,” Díaz said by email. “In fact, I enjoyed the process; it’s a relief that I didn’t have to carry the weight of the project. Creating is hard damn work.”

The production was delayed a year after Díaz was accused of sexual harassment and misconduct last summer. (The Pulitzer Prize board and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where he teaches, cleared him of the allegations after investigating.)

Although Díaz’s fee is confidential, Robert Federico, Repertorio’s artistic director, disclosed that he was paid as much as Gabriel García Márquez, Isabel Allende, Mario Vargas Llosa, and other prominent novelists whose work Repertorio has staged.

The theater owns the rights to the “Oscar Wao” script, in English and Spanish, for productions in New York City, but hopes it can present the play elsewhere too. (The novel was also adapted in 2011 as a one-person show by the American Place Theater.)

“Plays become their own entity,” explained Rodríguez, keeping with Oscar’s wondrous vision of the world. “They become their own energy, and do their own thing.”

This article originally appeared in

Oscar Wao Takes His Superpowers to the Stage

Transforming into a superhero usually requires a radioactive insect bite, surviving deadly exposure to gamma rays, or being lucky enough to be born into a species with extraordinary powers.

That’s the question at the center of the Bridge Production Group’s staging of “See You,” the sleek but soulless play by Québécois playwright Guillaume Corbeil, at the New Ohio Theater.

The five characters, referred to as numbers in the script, remain nameless throughout, but like social-media celebrities, have distinctive personalities.

Before we know much about them, they all recite their stats and rattle off their interests. One (Adriane Moreno) is into hip-hop and spa days. Two (Christina Toth) loves strings of pearls and lemon vodkas. Three (Crawford M. Collins) really appreciates Indian food and Woody Allen, which elicits a groan from Four (Charlie Reid), whose motto is “art for art’s sake.”

The seemingly aloof Five (Hamish Allan-Headley) declares he has no style and is too busy with the Beatles’ “Come Together” stuck in his head to pay attention to the others.

Given color-coded looks by costume designer Nicole Allen, each is an archetype for the kind of social-media influencer we look to for advice — on art, sex, music, fitness and that ambiguous umbrella term, “lifestyle.”

But we never really find out what brings them together. All they share is their obsession with themselves and sharing their every move on smartphones.

If the setup, and Max Hunter’s clinical direction, suggests an insufferable reality-show pilot — or a millennial live-action version of the personified emotions in Pixar’s “Inside Out” — Corbeil labors to reveal the characters’ humanity in his script.

But only One and Two are given anything resembling an arc, as we discover the dangerous situations their alcoholism and pill-popping, respectively, lead them to. It all comes uncomfortably close to after-school special territory: Spend too much time on social media, and you, too, will become a sex addict (or die).

The characters are also constantly name-dropping; “See You” is a bit like being stuck with friends who practically tie you to a chair to show you every single picture they took on vacation.

You won’t want to reach for your smartphone for a few hours after seeing this one.

‘See You’: Through Sept. 21 at New Ohio Theater, Manhattan; 866-811-4111, bridgeproductiongroup.org. Running time: 1 hour 15 minutes.

'See You' Review: Influencers With Followers, Not Souls

NEW YORK — Thanks to Twitter, Instagram stories and Facebook Live, it’s easy for all of us to be stars of our own making. But what happens when five individuals accustomed to being solo performers have to share the spotlight?

NEW YORK — Most visits to the theater demand that audience members become invisible. We’re asked to silence our cellphones, quietly unwrap our lozenges and refrain from speaking. But not so at the Public Theater Mobile Unit’s enchanting production of “The Tempest,” where before the play begins we’re taught a song: “Cultivate love, cultivate courage, cultivate strength, cultivate hope.”

This upbeat mantra may come as a surprise to those familiar with Shakespeare’s “problem play,” in which Prospero, the spiteful sorcerer and former Duke of Milan, causes a shipwreck to seek revenge on the men who wronged him 12 years earlier.

And it’s not that the Prospero in this free production isn’t angry. Who wouldn’t be, if your brother plotted to usurp your dukedom and had you and your daughter sent adrift on a ship until you landed in a remote island?

But as portrayed by the regal Myra Lucretia Taylor — who joins Helen Mirren and Harriet Walter among women who have played the leading role — this Prospero has a warm heart and endless devotion to her daughter Miranda (Sam Morales). She seeks revenge as a means of self-protection, not blood thirst.

Prospero’s gender isn’t the only thing that’s changed in this “Tempest.” Director Laurie Woolery has streamlined the play to 90 minutes with no intermission (a staple of Mobile Unit shows; last year’s “Henry V” felt like “Die Hard”) and turned it into a bona fide lovefest, with songs and an emphasis on comedy and romance. You leave this storm rejuvenated rather than wet, confused and cold.

Woolery heads the theater’s Public Works program, which brings together professional actors and community performers in pageantlike productions. As in those shows, she treats the text not as a sacred manuscript but as a guidebook to humanity, full of characters with needs and desires as familiar to us as they were 400 years ago.

It’s easy to identify with Miranda’s dreams of love, the young Prince Ferdinand’s (Jasai Chase-Owens) industriousness as a way to overcome grief and the spirit Ariel’s (Danaya Esperanza) desire for freedom.

The director even provides insight into the monster Caliban (Christopher Ryan Grant), a creature Prospero enslaved upon her arrival at the island, who is too often treated as a comedic sidekick or a dramatic nuisance.

Here Caliban becomes the embodiment of male resentment toward matriarchal structures. The creature doesn’t understand how a woman tamed him, and is trying to revert the island to the former status quo by forming alliances with the shipwrecked sailors. His very human motivations make him less scary; it helps that Grant plays him as a buffoon who still has a chance at redemption.

Sitting in the round at the Shiva Theater to watch this “Tempest” is a bit like being at a campfire, listening to ancient storytellers. The house lights stay on the entire time, creating an unspoken feeling of complicity. We are all inhabitants of the island.

Which means by the time we’re asked to recall the song we learned at the beginning, it’s as if the words — love, courage, strength, hope — had been living inside us all along, just waiting to be released by fanciful spirits.

Production Notes:

Through May 19 at the Public Theater, Manhattan; 212-967-7555, publictheater.org. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes.

This article originally appeared in <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/10/theater/the-tempest-review-public-theater.html" id="15ee5ea6-81b6-3d50-ab2c-ed71bc824248">The New York Times</a>.

(Critic's Pick)

'The Tempest' as Lovefest, With a Queenly Prospero

Bradley (James Kautz), who has visions of galaxies and the infinite universe, might have liked Astrid, whom Greta (Naomi Lorrain) named after a star. Except they will never meet: The girl is one of 47 victims of a mass shooter who erupted inside the Museum of Natural History’s planetarium. A gunman who also ended up dead — and happened to be Bradley’s youngest brother.

Bradley and Greta share the galaxy of “Entangled,” an adventurous play by Charly Evon Simpson and Gabriel Jason Dean that culminates the Amoralists’ ambitious four-play anthology “Ricochet,” which explored several lives affected by the same act of violence (a comic book added even more context).

But their characters don’t share scenes. Instead Lorrain and Kautz stand on a circular platform as images of the cosmos are projected behind them (the set is by Andrew Diaz, the projections by Katherine Freer).

From this isolated podium they communicate through private social-media messages delivered to us as soliloquies. Bradley establishes first contact after going through a list of family members of victims murdered by his brother, and the play takes the form of an epistolary tale. But “Love Letters” this ain’t. His barrage of messages remain unanswered by Greta, who is trying to make sense of the tragedy, and hasn’t got the time to comfort others.

Dean and Simpson (who had an off-Broadway hit this season with “Behind the Sheet”) created the play together via a Google document, sharing notes and developing scenes. She wrote Greta (first introduced in her play “Stained”), while he took on Bradley.

Their distinct voices are what propel “Entangled” from a traditional tear-jerker into a work of delicate rage.

While Dean’s writing is overly restrained — Bradley comes off as a man with too many unfulfilled needs — Simpson presents Greta as a figure of unbearable grief and rightful wrath. Kate Moore Heaney’s unobtrusive direction allows us to observe, rather than react, as we wait for the two styles to collide.

As Greta, Lorrain is made of flesh, tears and fire. She embodies a mother’s specific sorrow, while also making space for the character to comment on the ways in which white people expect black women to rescue them from themselves.

What also haunts about the performance, and “Entangled,” is that we leave convinced we have met Astrid. Simpson’s descriptions of her precociousness and compassion become an unforgettable tribute to a little girl we never see, but whose laughter we can almost hear.

“Entangled” runs through May 11 at the A.R.T./New York Theaters, Manhattan; amoralists.com. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes.

This article originally appeared in <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/02/theater/entangled-review-the-amoralists.html" id="3d1a1988-7431-3b8b-a527-de26c9f94632">The New York Times</a>.

NEW YORK — Bradley and Greta don’t seem to have much in common. He’s a white man with a nondescript office job, living in Brooklyn with his boyfriend Orion. She’s a black woman trying to “climb a corporate ladder” while raising her little daughter Astrid.

Review: Two Lives and Two Playwrights 'Entangled' by Gunfire

<h1>(Critic's Pick): NEW YORK — If you’re in the mood for a music-infused retelling of a Greek myth, but can’t find, or afford, tickets to the Tony Award-winning “Hadestown” on Broadway, set your aim about 80 blocks north of midtown. There, in Marcus Garvey Park, the Classical Theater of Harlem is presenting a completely free and totally exhilarating new adaptation of “The Bacchae” that will leave you wanting to join the chorus.</h1>

And not just any chorus. The all-female group of singers and dancers in Bryan Doerries’ adaptation of the Euripides play has been possessed by the defiantly playful spirit of the deity Dionysus, who takes human form as the charismatic Preacher D (Jason C. Brown) and has come to wreak havoc on those who refuse to acknowledge his godliness.

Like the love child of Prince, Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix, Preacher D is all swagger and seduction as he descends the steps of the Theban palace and announces, “I rep for Dionysus y’all and he don’t play/He’ll light yo ass up, if you got something to say.”

While the chorus of women sigh and writhe, the young king Pentheus (R.J. Foster) is a tad skeptical. After returning to Thebes and finding that all the women have abandoned their duties in a state of euphoria, he demands to know why they are praising the god he mistakenly calls “Dianas.”

Little does he know that Dionysus/Preacher D is in fact his first cousin, son of Zeus and his aunt Semele, and all he’s looking for is some love from his family.

If you know the play, or any Greek tragedy, you know that things won’t turn out well for anyone other than the gods, which is why the pleasure in this “Bacchae” lies in Doerries’ exciting conclusion that ancient Thebes and contemporary Coachella might not have been that different.

Christopher Swader and Justin Swader created the rock-concert stage, dressed up with feather and leather costumes by Lex Liang. And director Carl Cofield takes advantage of the outdoor setting with an electrifying staging that constantly breaks the fourth wall, bringing us mortals closer to the deities onstage. Although this is not the first musical adaptation of “The Bacchae,” it’s certainly the first that warrants a merch stand with “I Heart Dionysus” T-shirts.

Frederick Kennedy’s songs give Brown and each member of the lead chorus (Lori Vega, Gabrielle Djenné and Rebecca Ana Peña) the opportunity for a star turn. A chant craving Dionysus’ blessings has all the makings of a ’90s girl-group anthem. And Tiffany Rea-Fisher’s stylized choreography is begging for YouTube re-creations.

The music is so catchy that you don’t understand why Pentheus and company won’t give in to its pleasures. Doerries, who is no stranger to finding contemporary resonance in the Greeks, highlights how the Baquettes (as the Bacchae are affectionately renamed) are so powerful that even Dionysus might not be able to dominate them. In unity, these women have found independence.

When they’re not center stage, the 12 women in the ensemble often surround the men trying to subjugate them. One tableau, which has them occupying three levels of the stage, is so breathtaking that you expect them to burst into “Cell Block Tango,” from “Chicago,” and regale us with their personal stories.

Of course that isn’t the case; the plot follows the heads-will-roll spirit of Euripides. There are gruesome discoveries and a call for new gods, a timely message if there ever was one.

And just as in the best rock concerts, when this 70-minute experience comes to an end, don’t be surprised if you’re possessed by a spirit that makes you shout for an encore.

‘The Bacchae’

Through July 28 at Marcus Garvey Park, Manhattan; 646-838-3868, cthnyc.org. Running time: 1 hour, 10 minutes.

This article originally appeared in <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/11/theater/the-bacchae-review-classical-theater-of-harlem.html" link="null" target="_blank">The New York Times</a>.

Review: The Greeks Go Coachella in a Boisterous 'Bacchae'

Like the love child of Prince, Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix, Preacher D is all swagger and seduction as he descends the steps of the Theban palace and announces, “I rep for Dionysus y’all and he don’t play/He’ll light yo ass up, if you got something to say.”

Review: The Greeks go Coachella in a boisterous 'Bacchae'

You get to see this town being erected in front of you, sprung from childlike wonder through puppetry and live video projection — Tortoise in a Nutshell’s specialty since its founding in 2010. With “Feral,” expertly directed by Ross MacKay, the troupe chronicles the decline of Scottish seaside towns while capturing the feeling of growing old and realizing that we can’t always recognize ourselves in the memories we hold dearest.

As the lights go on, they reveal an elaborate drawing desk crowned by seven work lamps. One of the performers, Matthew Leonard, sits with his back to the audience and begins to draw on a blank sheet of paper; the images are projected onto a screen. He draws four stick figures that he then names. There’s Joe, our protagonist, and his family: Mum, his sister, Dawn, and their cat.

He draws square buildings with square windows, and as he finishes, more cast members, Alex Bird and Arran Howie, begin turning the two-dimensional world into a tangible reality. They attach miniature cardboard structures to the drawing desk. What just seconds before was a metallic slope suddenly becomes a hill with ocean views.

The stick figures also take on a third dimension as little puppets with cardboard bodies and heads made of clay. They have big black eyes but no mouths.

Using handheld cameras, the performers give a tour of the town. Wonders in miniature abound: a tiny squirrel pestering a priest; women in the beauty shop oohing and ahhing at their stylish hairdos; and the newly arrived Supercade, a megastore that promises to turn the town on its head.

It’s the Supercade that makes the town go feral, as gentrification leads to chaos. The lighting, by Simon Wilkinson, changes from yellow and blue to a strident red. Joe’s apartment loses its views, blocked by the monstrous new building. Rabid dogs roam the streets, garbage begins to pile up, and that friendly priest now carries a sign that says the end is nigh.

“Feral” is at its best when it answers the question of why live cinema is necessary for this story, as opposed to a more traditional film. Watching the performers — as they go under tables, scramble to position the puppets and improvise when technical difficulties arise — is a reminder of why we cling to beauty as the world around us falls apart.

Review In 'feral,' gentrification spoils a seaside idyll

NEW YORK — The seaside town of “Feral,” a production by Tortoise in a Nutshell that opened at 59E59 Theaters on Wednesday, is easily recognizable. With its quaint streets, attractive shops and effortless charm, it might as well be called Idyllville. It’s the place most of us wish we remembered from childhood.

Review: In 'feral,' gentrification spoils a seaside idyll

The frank depiction of sex and the chiseled actors’ nudity turned the play into a sleeper hit. It ran off-Broadway for more than a year and even once hosted a nude audience night, during which patrons were invited to disrobe emotionally and physically.

Gelman’s second play, “Safeword,” is hoping to do for bondage what “Afterglow” did for open marriage. But here, the characters are unfinished, and overall the play promises more than it can deliver.

When the curtain rises at American Theater of Actors, we see Micah (Joe Chisholm) down on his knees as the muscular Xavier (Jimmy Brooks) stands behind him in full leather gear, holding a whip. “Tell me you like it,” Xavier says, as he strikes Micah’s back over and over.

Not much is made of the fact that Micah is white and Xavier is black (all the characters have their race specified in the script) although that dynamic could’ve warranted a play all its own. (Thank you for “Slave Play,” Jeremy O. Harris!) Instead, we’re asked to focus on their progressive, colorblind existence.

Micah is married to Lauren (Traci Elaine Lee), and the two own a restaurant. Though Lauren is just as creative a chef as Micah, she has quit so he can run the place by himself. She also has no idea about his secret life as a submissive.

Xavier runs his pro dom business from an apartment next to his partner Chris’ place. Chris (Maybe Burke) is white, gender queer and doesn’t believe in marriage, although the couple has been together for seven years.

Lauren and Micah live in the same building as Xavier and Chris — convenient for dramatic purposes, but laughably improbable (the white, black and red set design is courtesy of Ann Beyersdorfer). In a city where finding the right coffee and barber takes endless trial and error, what are the chances of a sub finding a pro dom living above him?

Gelman isn’t one for verisimilitude though. Lauren assumes the marks and burns on her husband’s back are the consequence of CrossFit. Instead, what interests Gelman is getting all his characters together to unleash forced drama. And once Lauren and Chris find out about Micah and Xavier, drama is what we get.

Leaving “Safeword,” audiences should be quizzed. Can straight people be involved in bondage? Yes, we learn. Are all sub men gay? No, we find out. If you’re into bondage when do you need to respect your partner’s safe word? Always.

Would it be too much to ask that we knew the characters as well as we know the rules of bondage? Gelman, who also directs, seems more concerned with disproving myths and setting up perfect tableaus (the scene transitions feel endless) than he does in creating characters we want to spend time with. We’re never privy to what makes these people tick; they’re all painted in broad, generic strokes, like the mock dating profiles you see on the subway.

And we wouldn’t want to go home with any of them.

‘Safeword’ runs through July 7 at American Theater of Actors, Manhattan; safewordtheplay.com. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes.

This article originally appeared in <a id="c139f1a1-fedd-45aa-9e59-1f646f3b6cf1" href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/08/theater/safeword-review.html">The New York Times</a>.

Education sweetened with a teaspoon of titillation

NEW YORK — The plays of S. Asher Gelman try to fill the void in popular culture once occupied on TV by the likes of “Queer as Folk” and “The L Word” — shows that promised titillation about LGBT life but also educated audiences. In his first professional play, “Afterglow,” two men in an open marriage invite a young massage therapist into their bed and lives.

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