Show Response: The Whole of Time

by Reuven Glezer

Mother, brother, sister, gentlemen caller - Romina Paula doesn’t so much as replay this dramatic quartet as reimagine it in new dimensions in her Buenos Aires remix of The Glass Menagerie. Calling it an adaptation feels trite, as it’s more of an ode to the original work’s bones (to be hashtag current, see Spike Lee’s Highest to Lowest in conversation with its source material, Kurosawa’s High and Low). 

Ben Becher, Ana B. Gabriel, Lucas Salvagno and Josefina Scaro / photo: Catalina Recalde

Paula’s play, and by extension Jean Graham-Jones’ translation and Tony Torn’s production, retains an ethereal warmth in its measures and its concerns; a shrine to Frida Kahlo greets us as we enter the Brick, and her work shadows the play like a guardian spirit. Andromache Chalfant & Rebecca Lord-Surratt’s scenic work for the production recalls a stateliness in how lived-in the Buenos Aires apartment feels, and Jay Ryan’s homey lantern lights give it that kind of picturesque ghostliness. I can only imagine the effect was strongest at its original venue, Torn Page, which is both Torn’s townhouse and a performance venue, but the Brick’s, well, brick walls and wooden floors only add to the allure. 

And then - bam! - we open with a karaoke rendition of a Mexican pop star’s number one hit about the woman he murdered and we’re in the middle of the sibling dynamic between Antonia and Lorenzo. Dan Safer consulted on the movement, itself a treasure, which adds lovely wrinkles to the work’s painterly energy. In many ways, watching The Whole of Time feels like witnessing a series in an artist’s renditions of a difficult family line, one where love is tendered by instability. Matriarch Ursula (why don’t we name characters Ursula anymore?) is all cold heat until alcohol loosens her lust and vitriol. She wants Lorenzo to tell his beloved sister that he’s planning on leaving - an insistence that gains new relevance when the family unit ends up in a merry-go-round of frustration later on. 

But before all that lust and carnival riding, we’ve got Maximiliano, Lorenzo’s buddy from work, coming by to hang out and unintentionally become the thing that breaks the chain. He’s comparatively lowborn compared to the rest of the clan, but he’s got curiosity and moves (another gem is his big moment to a Stooges track that’s the highlight of Safer’s movement work). Left alone with Antonia, his questions about her contentedness grow into a gateway - for himself, her newfound desires, and for the family tree to wither. 

My only quibble about the show is I wanted to live in this Williams' mutation for longer. I wanted longer asides about Basque. I wanted to see what happens to Maximiliano after he's left the clutches of this strange family. I wanted to know if Lorenzo really does want to go to Spain. Though perhaps there’s something in Tennessee that makes you watch the smoke fade as you want another taste of the cigar. 

But what you should see is how Ursula becomes a whole other animal when there's new flesh to toy with. How the kindness, a snooty, cold kindness, dries like old snot when there's another chance at sucking a soul dry. She's the cultured matriarch of a cultured family, who talk about the kind of liquor they drink and their ancestors’ place of origin like fine vintages. What's the point of all this spiritual accumulation? Who's to say when your son, who you love a little too much, is leaving you behind with the eccentric daughter you don't love enough? 

Lorenzo is reading Moby-Dick when Maximiliano walks through the door. And like in that great tome of ships & sea, there's not a world left when our obsessions and lives sink down into the waves and become lost to scavengers. At best, like the play’s first family, we might hope to cling to driftwood and be lifted home by passing strangers. 

Ana B. Gabriel and Josefina Scaro / photo: Catalina Recalde

The Whole of Time runs through September 20th at The Brick Theater.

Elena Freck and kanishk pandey on Protect the Protectors

Shannon Horsey, Gracie Guichard, Jules Talbot

KP: Hi Elena! 

EF: Hi! 

KP: How are you? 

EF: Good, how about you? 

KP: Good, good - Who are you? 

EF: (laughs)My name is Elena Freck. I am a playwright and an arts administrator. I have a play called Protect the Protectors going up at Brooklyn Art Haus September 11th through September 14th! 

KP: You said playwright and arts administrator. 

EF: Yes, I have a day job as a development facilitator at Roundabout Theater Company. And that is my 40 hour a week life and then I have another 40 hour a week life as an artist. 

KP: I’m curious, how did you come to playwriting? 

EF: I started writing plays in high school- 

KP: Oh really! 

EF: Yes. I was an actor in my high school’s theater department and wasn’t great at it, and I wanted to be doing something I felt I was good at in the theater department. And I was doing well in English during High School. And so I wrote my first play to submit to the Oregon State Thespian Festival. And ended up winning first place, so I got validation in the theater department for the first time, and that’s when I decided that would be my niche. 

KP: What was the thespian festival like? Did you get to see it performed or have actors read it? 

EF: Yeah, it was a regional competition where, if you one, you got to have actors do the show. 

KP: And was that the first time you got to hear your written work read aloud? 

EF: Yes, I got addicted to it then and there. 

KP: Many such cases, many such. And then how did you continue to working on pursuing playwriting? 

EF: I went to the college at Emerson and I applied for the BFA Theater Major, which was where they grouped all of the people who weren’t actors, or designers, or stage managers, so I was in a program with directors and dramaturgs, and some other assorted theatermakers. I took a full course of playwriting classes there and had the opportunity to write three full-length plays in college and got one fully produced right before Covid, which good timing. Then I moved to the city in 2022, and have written two full-lengths here! 

KP: Nice. It’s interesting, I went to a program that was fully just writers, not even actors. And one of the great limitations of that was not really having experience working with the various limbs of theater. And I’m curious what was the experience like for you, developing your playwriting surrounded by people who are directing, dramaturging, designing - do you think that affected the way you approach writing? 

EF: Yeah, that’s a great question - it definitely encouraged me to step up my game, because I was seeing what my classmates were doing, and I wanted to bring something worthy for them to work on. And that’s how I still create today - I know my friends, and I know I want to bring them something worthy that they’d be excited to work on and produce. That’s how this piece [Protect the Protectors] came to be, I really wanted to make this piece to work on with Clara. 

KP: Did you go to school with Clara? 

EF: Yes! We didn’t know each other super well at school, but when we both moved to the city we started to hang out more and work together. It was like, we both had fifteen mutual friends, we should probably meet up. We got coffee, found out we got along really well, and figured hey, we should try working on something together. That was early 2024. By September 2024, I had the first draft of Protect the Protectors, and I gave it to them. 

KP: So was that your first time collaborating with Clara? 

EF: Yeah - it has been one of the most fruitful collaborations of my career so far. Clara saw an outline of this show, read the first draft, directed an excerpt reading as part of Paper Kraine, and then directed a full staged reading at The Tank. And then I actually took it on my own for a few months. I had a workshop of the show in North Carolina as part of the Scotopia Festival. So it was with Clara, it was with Clara, then it was not for a bit, and now it’s nice to bring it back to Clara for the full production. Having that continuity is really nice, because it’s not per se like having a co-writer, but it’s almost having a partner in the script. 

KP: What was it like taking the script on your own to develop? Do you feel like it gave you opportunities to understand the show better? 

Elena Freck

EF: The biggest thing about that process to make a difference was that I had a professional dramaturg during the process which helped a lot, but also bringing the show to a Southern audience, especially for a show about something recognizable to the South. It was interesting to see what New York audiences found funny about the show, versus what Southern audiences found funny about the show. New York audiences laughed a lot more about one character in the show that is a former Sorority chapter president, and there was less laughter in the south as she was an archetype that they recognized; she was someone they knew. 

KP: Would you say they sympathized more with her? 

EF: Yes. We worked during this process to start making her character less of a clown. The Southern audiences really didn’t see her that way, so I wanted to shape her character to reflect that. 

KP: I feel like that’s one thing that gets forgotten a lot in the new play scene in New York is remembering how much of the work put on stage is getting shaped for New York audiences. New Yorkers have a very specific taste and cultural background. Tell me a bit about how you came to writing this show. 

EF: I was working on a show taking place in an office, and it was a bit more soap opera-y, more relationship focused, and not politically focused like Protect the Protectors. And I wasn’t as excited about it. And I was thinking about growing up in North Carolina, and growing up in the military background and environment that exists there and doesn’t really exist anywhere else I’ve lived. There’s this expectation that everyone respects the troops and knows someone who has served in the military. And I was reading a lot about how the defense industry operates, about how billions upon billions of dollars worth of weaponry going to Israel comes from American defense contractors, and then articles celebrating that the majority of the largest defense contractors coming from the United States had female CEOs. There was a lot of dissonance for me between the grim sales of weapons, the massacring of families, and the - Go Girls! Feminism wins! It’s very not awesome. That’s where this play comes from. It’s set in the office of a defense contractor with a female CEO, who has chosen to hire a team of all women. 

KP: I’m curious about how you feel the characters came to be full people that you see - especially considering you, coming from the area you’re setting this play in. Are you basing them off real people or archetypes? 

EF: No, not really. When I create characters, I think I’m creating characters that I would be interested to hear argue. For example, when I bring these three characters into an office working together, I want to create three people with completely different ways of communicating, different feelings on the job they work, and see how they clash together. I want each character to be able to start an argument with each other just by communicating. One should be agnostic about the workplace, one that is very aware of the nefarious nature of the defense contractor but chooses to look away, and one that has been brought up steeped in the military culture of the South and comes to see the horror of what she’s doing and resents the work she does. 

KP: I’m curious - has the wider concept of critiquing and understanding the presence of defense contractors in the economy received any complex reception, especially in North Carolina? 

EF: Yes, definitely. The boss character who supervises the three characters - in North Carolina she was played by a military wife. And she was super excited to play the character and to lean into it, and we never got to get into the critique of the military that lives in the play. I never got hear what she thought about that aspect of the show. She played the character incredibly due to her experience, but I never got to hear what she thought of the critiques of the military within the show. 

KP: And how do you feel about the way New Yorkers react and interact with something Southern culturally, and that they get to have distance with - and I wonder if there’s anything you want people to learn when they see the show. 

EF: My biggest motivator, as a writer, is wondering why people, especially women, make certain tough decisions - what political circumstances, economic circumstances, social circumstances motivate people to make decisions that people in New York would look down upon. I would look down at someone to take a job at a defense contractor, but I want to consider why they would make that decision. You may have the ingrained belief in the goodness of the military, or you may not have a college education and are being offered a job with a much higher salary than you would receive otherwise. 

KP: Humanizing these people, then, who are often archetypes in the bubble. 

EF: And scoffed at by us who have more options. 

KP: How did you come to work with Kitchen Sink on this? 

EF: Very fortuitously! When we did the reading of the show at The Tank, we happened to be doing our reading in one of the theaters while Kitchen Sink was doing a show right next door. So Katie (Royse Ginther, artistic director of Kitchen Sink) came after our show ended, and spoke with us about it, and let us know they had a submission opportunity open up. And we ended up getting to work together! 

KP: Wow, super Kismet! 

EF: Yeah! 

KP: So, the last thing, the hard question but important question, what’re you hoping for after this? What’re you looking forward to? 

EF: Having this script published - 1319 Press is publishing it, which is exciting, it’ll be for sale at the show. I would love to see another production of the show, though I won’t be revisiting the script any time soon. I’m excited to start a new full-length - I started Protect the Protectors in the summer of last year, and it has been my sole focus. I have three other pieces I’ve been wanting to work on. I’m lucky that I have a dayjob that I’m happy with, that keeps me in the theater, but one day I’d love to make my artistry more a part of my calendar, and thus more a part of my paycheck. At some point, I’d love to continue seeing my life as both an artist and an administrator. 

KP: Amazing. Protect the Protectors, going up in Brooklyn Art Haus, September 11th, 12th, 13th at 7:30 pm, 14th at 2PM. 

EF: Yes, be there! 

KP: Oh I will. 

Protect the Protectors runs September 11-14 at Brooklyn Art Haus.

Show Response: TBoy Wrestling Day 2

By Noa Rui-Piin Weiss

TBoy wrestling rolled through New York City like a hormone-fueled carnival and left me sweaty and sore and nursing a massive crush.

This will not be a complete reflection on the event by any means, I wrestled on day 2 and spent an hour before I went on chugging water and nervous peeing instead of watching the matches. The event did still change my life.

Some background for the uninitiated: TBoy wrestling features performance wrestling, folk wrestling (think varsity sports-style), and matches with a combination of both. There are judges and cash prizes but mostly people come to scream “KISS!!” at trans guys as they throw each other to the ground. Often, there is kissing.

Throughout the 10 hours I spent at 9 Bob Note last Sunday, I chatted with people I had seen at sex parties and people who were friends of friends and people who had fucked people I know. This is the persistent power of live performance: it drags us out of isolation and forces us into proximity. You must show up and you must mingle, or at least make some eye contact. What you never realize in the moment is that these points of connection are an investment in a shared future—these are the people who will look out for you for the rest of your life.

Community is not a word I use often because I feel like it ignores the loneliness that bubbles up when you stand in a crowd of people who are supposed to be like you. So I won’t call TBoy wrestling a community, but it is a place where I, and it seems many other people, felt loved.

Exercise and physicality are vulnerable things, and masculinity only makes it worse. We carry insecurities from the outside world into any place where we’re expected to perform feats of strength: am I strong enough? am I cut enough? will people pity me when I get my ass handed to me? But instead of the burning shame of failure and estrangement so familiar from gym class and high school sports, TBoy wrestling gave us a gentle sense of unity. We said nice things about each other, we threw each other smiles, we gave endless compliments. Our bodies were not strange; everyone was there to celebrate us.

A terrifying network of violence floats behind this event. Every wrestler at TBoy wrestling has felt those moments of stinging fear–in a locker room, in a competition, in a doctor’s office, in bed with a stranger or a lover. We came to this event for positive vibes, but we were also driven there by the danger that pervades our existence.

For the most part, people kept it light and fun. Performance wrestlers worked the crowd, tore off their tank tops, pulled out silly props, and spanked each other. The winning performance duo, a match between Beefcake and The munch, brought a third performer on the stage for a dip into a three-way kiss. The folk wrestling was largely good natured, with opponents smiling and clapping each other on the back after matches. My wrestling partner cove and I did an enemies-to-lovers number to Sugar We’re Goin’ Down where cove swung me around the ring and I proposed to him. Every performer was making the world they want to live in: one where trans people can participate in sports without anyone blinking an eye, and everyone is gay for each other.

But the utopian attitude shifts at the finale.

The judges carry Dallas Havoc into the ring with his hands bound behind his back and a hood over his head, then dump him on a folding chair. He’s our action hero, bloodied and captured with no way out. Atlanta Proper appears on a balcony above the crowd in a catsuit. They’re the assassin, the shadowy hand of state power ready to take out our hero. The plot thickens: Atlanta receives a call that “transgenderism” has created a rupture in our social fabric, and the government has a gender morpher in custody. It’s Atlanta’s job to annihilate him.

It should be corny, but it isn’t. I feel my throat catch when Atlanta enters the ring and slides a fake blade over Dallas’ scars, yelling “YOU’RE NOT A MAN.” My heart tightens when Dallas screams back “YES I AM” through a bloody fabric gag.

It’s eerie to have another trans person play the heel, but Atlanta’s performance shows how useful camp can be. By taking on the role of the villain, they’re saying “The fear you feel is real. I can reflect the danger back to you because I face it too.”

What follows is an unreal smackdown. Heads grabbed between the thighs and slammed against the mat, tumbling passes into pins, a classic folding chair smash. And just when you think Dallas has won, Atlanta comes back and punches him in the gut. They pull out Dallas’ packer and dangle to the crowd, disgusted. All is lost. Until the triumphant return, when Dallas whips his entire body around Atlanta’s neck, springs back into a handstand and crashes Atlanta to the ground.

Atlanta and Dallas took the high camp of wrestling and alchemized the fear we’ve all been feeling—that the government will stick its hand down our pants and say “what is that thing?”—then turned it into a James Bond-style drama. They gave us a spectacular theatrical container to experience the triumph, the despair, the feeling of fighting for your life only to get the shit kicked out of you. They turned the low hum of constant threat up to 10 and gave us a cathartic ending.

But underneath the spectacle are two trans people with undeniable trust between them working through wild feats of momentum and impact to put on a great fucking show. Every act of bravado is also an act of care—Atlanta smacks their chest to show Dallas that they’re ready, and to give Dallas a moment to prep before the next move, all while playing the cocky villain. Dallas stomps his back foot every time he slams Atlanta’s head into the corner of the ring, sending momentum through his legs instead of his arms, letting Atlanta control their head and providing noise as cover for the fakeout move.

Everyone knows wrestling is theater but TBoy wrestling proves how powerful theater is. It lets us be hokey, silly, and indulgent while laying out the depths of our feelings. We’re horny and angry and scared and we desperately want to put our hands all over our friends. We want to be bigger, stronger, faster than we actually are. And whatever insecurities we may have about ourselves, we’re willing to go to the mat for each other.

There are many nuanced debates about whether transness is a useful political category, but the cruel fact is that our bodies and our choices are the targets of an organized campaign of violence. It is still radical to love trans people, and to love them as their strangest, most unreadable selves.

I guess what I’m saying is that I live in one of the places where it’s easiest to be a trans person and I still feel a deep, pervasive sense of alienation from most of the world. And even though TBoy wrestling was a tiring, sweaty 10 hours of my life, in many ways it felt more like home than any other place I’ve tried to put myself.

It was not utopia. But I felt a weight lifted off me that I didn’t know I had been carrying.

all photos screenshots from video taken by Weiss

TBoy Wrestling is organized by The Print Shop.

Hannah Weisz in conversation with Theresa Buchheister

This week I got to interview Hannah Weisz (any pronouns)! Hannah is a multi-talented artist entering her 2nd year at NYU this fall. I met Hannah when they did a “Creepy Double Bill” in Brick Aux in 2023. Her piece was called You are Cordially Invited to Elika Strauss’ Birthday Celebration. She was in high school at the time and collaborated with Foreshadow Puppetry to do a very weird and wonderful week of shows, and then they asked to intern for their final semester of high school at The Brick! Hannah was instrumental in making one of the zaniest months ever of ?!:New Works happen, as well as working on archival and marketing projects. Find out what Hannah has been up to, what is in their near and distant futures and what inspires her in this Staff Picks Soapbox interview! 

Theresa Buchheister: 

Hi Hannah! First and foremost, I always like to start with an “introduction in your own words”. Who the hell are you? What do you want people to think about you as they hear the rest of this interview? 

Hannah Weisz: 

Hi, Hello! I'm Hannah Weisz and I referred to myself as a theater-maker earlier today, and we agreed it kind of sounded very oat-milk-pronouns-barista-Bushwick, but honestly, I don't think I'm beating the allegations of that general energy, so I guess whatever comes to your mind when I say those words. I'm kind of that. I am from New Jersey, and I go to school in New York. I write, I perform in and out of drag. I produce theater, film and other things. 

Performing Three Course Meal at That Show. photo: Owen Burnham

TB: 

Awesome. That's a great, sort of very specific and yet very open definition of who you are. Which leads to my 1st question! You are definitely what some people in the TCG realm of theater would describe as a multi hyphenate. How so? I'll list the things off that I know about for the reading audience: theater (writing, directing, performing, producing, often sort of designing), drag performance, art, film, music, intimacy coordination, and soon the art of criticism. How did you begin doing so many things?! What was the genesis of being such a multi hyphenate? 

HW: 

Oftentimes there wasn't anyone around who was doing the thing that needed to be done. So I just had to do it myself if I wanted the project to exist, and then sometimes, like for sound and lighting design, I was like - “Thank God, there are other people now who I know and love, who can do this instead.” But other things like makeup and directing… I've really enjoyed those, and I'm so glad that I was put in those situations, because now I choose to do it for fun. 

TB: 

I'm just gonna say out loud, for the record, that I was nodding emphatically during that. So through this wild necessity of - If you want it to exist, you have to do it yourself - there are all these component parts. What things have sort of stuck with you? And which things are totally not for you? You touched on it, but I would love to hear more.

HW: 

Yeah to elaborate on the things I referenced, sound and lighting design require a pattern of thinking that takes me right back to my high school physics class, like just crying over that homework. It's just, there's something very mathematical and formulaic about it, not necessarily monotonous… I feel like there's always something new to do and learn, of course. But those two areas, it’s not how my brain works. So I love watching it, and I love when other people do it. In the case of directing, the first time was definitely a necessity situation. I had a director, and he decided within a few days that he was more interested in acting for somebody else's project. (This was all in a devised theater class.) And so I was like - “Oh, I guess I'm going to be facilitating this.” And then I did, and I loved it. It was very fun. I kept in touch with those actors, even though I have not directed much since then. But the vibe when it is 4 actors or less is really fun. 

TB: 

Sweet. When it comes to projects where you're a writer, for example, do you feel like you write and then give the writing over to the director? Or are you more collaborative with the director and the actors and the other people in the room? 

HW: 

Well, for the most recent project that I am writing, this short film Soap Gene, I am (doing that). I do actually have another role besides writer, as a co-producer. But that's really just a lot of like sending emails and logistics kind of things, creatively. I've definitely felt like, I want Ali, our director, to take as much control as she wants, and then say - “What do you want? Do you want some more of that? Do you want some more control?” Because I definitely feel like I want to hand the vision off to whoever's taking it next. 

TB: 

Sort of like a relay race, a little bit. 

HW: 

I was JUST thinking - passing the baton! 

TB: 

Ha! Reading your mind! Interestingly, my next line of questioning is related to the film project. You seem to have a little bit of a horror lens on everything you do, evidenced by Soap Gene, amongst other projects of yours I have experienced. I'm curious where that comes from, and if you find that is your lens on everything, including your music and other things? Or is it more about when you're doing theatrical, filmic stuff that you have that lens? 

HW: 

I think my love for creating horror definitely started in live performance. 

I honestly have not been much of a horror movie person… like I enjoy it. But I have some friends who are cult followers of certain movies, and that's never really been something I was drawn to. It really started in theater, especially when it got real experimental and just being able to create a really unique sensation in the audience where it's this combination of actions and light and sound that can create this emotion in you, like nothing else. This is my first time writing for film. I've done other roles. I've acted and done special effects makeup. But this is my first time writing for film. And I'm definitely learning how different it is! But starting out, I knew that this story would kind of only work logistically as a film, so I am doing my horror film research now. 

photo: Levi Langley

TB: 

Do you feel like there are influences, stylistically, as you're thinking about this one, whether horror or not, when you see it in your mind? Is there anything that you think it's in the same family as. 

HW: 

Well, the whole script was definitely pretty directly inspired by Jacqueline Novak's stand-up special, which certainly on the surface, is pretty much different in every way, in that it's a stand-up special and and not, you know, a narrative short film. But just the themes that she was talking about, and her really mind blowing (to me) cadence, and the way that metaphors just kind of explode out of her in a both awe-inspiring and yet very easily understandable ways. I think a lot of those qualities are what I wanted to capture in this. I was watching it with my partner, and she started talking about bringing an authentic spirit of play to the balls, and I paused it, and I said - “I need to write something right now” - and then I did. 

TB: 

I love it when something can just motivate that directly, you know? Especially something that's in such a different format. Like, I've been talking to Jeff Jones about short stories, recently. I've been finding a lot of inspiration in short stories because of the ability to really play out a metaphor in a way that sometimes in theater you don't. You don't get the narration. You don't get the sort of inner life as much. I mean, you get it, but it's like inside of a person onstage, and in order for the audience to receive it, it sort of has to be shared in this literal way. But in a short story it's laid out for you to digest and choose whether or not you trust it. And stand-up, I think, is so verbose. It's so much more verbose than any of the performance stuff that I've seen you do, so it's interesting to be inspired by something so wordy. 

HW: 

Yeah, yeah, it was. I find myself watching a lot of stand-up and long form improv, which I think are like the two art forms where I don't think I would do either of them for under $100,000, so I don't know why I am so drawn to watching it. But there must be some sort of subconscious compatibility there, because it's certainly not a conscious one in terms of creation. But whatever it's doing, I'm enjoying consuming it, for sure. 

TB: 

It could be another gene like the cilantro gene, that we both have, because literally on Monday night of this week I was talking to some friends about stand-up, and how it’s one of the things

that I miss most in Kansas. There's not a lot of stand-up here, and it was the easiest and most enjoyable thing for me to go see in New York, because I have no desire to do it. Never will. 

HW: 

Exactly. Yeah. 

TB: 

And there's such a freedom to that. And it's almost like maybe that's the thing that allows your brain to be open to inspiration because you're not asking - “How would I do this?” 

HW: 

Wait. This is such a therapeutic breakthrough for me right now. Wait. That's like a hundred percent. Thank you. I totally didn't put that together. That’s crazy. I love it. 

TB: 

Isn't that wild? 

HW: 

Yeah. 

TB: 

Especially coming from a person like you, who does all these different things… And like, I also do all of these different things. So it's not like we are one-lane kinds of people, but there's certain lanes where I know - That's definitely not my lane. Though, you know, there aren't that many. I'll try almost anything. I think you'll try almost anything. 

HW: 

Stand-up and improv. 

TB: 

I love watching them! Part of that same stand-up conversation was recognizing that whenever I go to dance shows I'm like - “I should get fit. I should dance.” I feel inspired, but I also feel like I want to do the thing I just saw and then that sends me on a whole different path, you know? Even if it is delusional, I feel like I could do that or want to do that. 

… 

Well, that was therapeutic for me, too. Look at that! Therapy through interview. Well, I'm really excited about the horror film. Can you tell people how they can support? I know you're looking for financial support, but also various kinds of help on the film. 

HW: 

Yeah, absolutely… so financial support would probably be just venmo-ing @pixiethetiger. That's our director. If you have venmo. If not, but you still want to support financially, talk to me and we'll figure it out. In terms of roles on cast and crew, if you are interested in auditioning or being

involved, email soapgenefilm@gmail.com. Auditions are September 13th. Check out their IG @soapgenefilm to get all the updates! 

TB: 

Awesome, awesome. That's great information. I put all sorts of links in these interviews so that people can go down rabbit holes and find information. SO! Next up, let's look backwards and then forwards a little bit - Your first year at NYU was super packed. Can you give me three highlights from your Freshman year? 

HW: 

Three highlights. Okay, three highlights. I'm gonna decide what they are first, st and then I'll elaborate because I need to remember what I'm doing. Okay. 

TB: 

Totally. 

HW: 

I'm gonna say, highlight number one was starting to make music, straight up. Music without like a musical theater angle or anything like that, just music for the first time. Okay, I'm deciding between things right now… Directing a play for the second time. That opened actually the night before I recorded my single. So that was very close together. And doing drag/adding the term performance artist to the persona of Mae B. Tomorrow. … 

I'll call those the three. 

Okay, should I…? 

TB: 

Yeah, elaborate. 

Getting ready for day 2 after sleeping at the studio. photo: Madeline Coley

HW: 

Okay. 

TB: 

1 - Music. 2 - Directing. 3 - Performance art with drag. 

HW: 

Yes, okay, music. So I started to have this inkling for like a few months before I started school. Maybe one day, I'll just put an EP out because I've been writing music for several years. But it just never really occurred to me to pursue it in the way that I'd pursued publishing my poetry or singing within other forms of live performance. And I got an ad for this recording company that that is structured in a way where you don't have to pay a huge amount upfront. And I was like - 

“This is interesting. I'm gonna throw my hat in the ring, and we'll just see what happens.” And then they said yes, which was very scary. We worked out a plan for an album which ended up being 5 songs. But, I had already said to myself, and the world, I'm making an album. So now

I'm going to make the rest of the songs in New York. And it's just been very fun. I don't know a lot and there are a lot of very nice and smart people who are willing to join me as I figure it out. I'm definitely trying to stay as grassroots as I can and like lift up horizontally as much as I can. 

Like (makes hand gestures) lifting up horizontally, lifting up from the horizontal. I don't know if my hand motions translate, if you're reading the transcript. You can imagine it. So yeah, it's been great. Oh, and in terms of horror influences (on music), not so far. But I've been writing more and more punk and harder songs, bringing in the Aztec death whistle to the studio. and we'll see where things go from. Lilac oil. 

TB: 

Awesome. I love it. I love it. It feels like such an interesting experiment to embark on while you're also experimenting with just being in your first year of school. It's really bold to do something that massive and different… like sort of just like... I'm also doing hand gestures that will not be interpreted very well in print. I'll describe them with words. 

Veering. I was veering with my hand away from a sort of path that is sort of like that you're on. And then you're like, I'm gonna do this (veering gesture) and you really go hard on it, which is so cool. 

HW: 

Yeah, thank you. I think I witnessed enough of both really lovely and talented friends making a similar leap, and people who had twice the confidence and half the experience/skill, try it and enjoy it, that I was like, why not? Why not try. 

TB: 

Yeah! What's the worst that could happen? 

HW: 

Exactly. 

TB: 

And so then the next one was directing. 

HW: 

Yes, okay. Directing I directed a short play with 2 people called Loop. 

Written by Oliver Morris. It was so so fast of a process, from auditioning to finding out that I was accepted as a director in this festival to opening night. I think the total was less than a month. So it was intense in terms of rehearsal space. We didn't really get many resources for that, so there would be times we got kicked out of the dance studio and into my bedroom. We continued rehearsing but in the end I think we ended up having time to spare, and I spent the first half of our final rehearsal bringing people's favorite Trader Joe's snacks. And we just talked about our experience with this play, our hopes for future projects, etc. And it was very nourishing, and I realized that I think I have more of an instinct for this than I feel like I do in the moment. Because, looking back, I think I was able to do more in less time than I even expected for myself.

TB: 

That's really cool. You know, I think that this continues for your whole life when you're an artist… you can start to feel like you're not ready for something or you don't have the resources for something. But then, once you're in it and doing it, you're like - “Oh, my gosh. I'm capable.” You know? And even more than being capable, people had a good time. You made something cool that you're proud of. Of course, it doesn't always go that way. Sometimes you can be like - “Ooops. I failed.” But I'm really glad that this experience reinforced your trust in yourself when you're in a room, leading people. 

HW: 

Thank you. Yeah. Circumstance can definitely create capability and disaster. 

TB: 

Yeah, also it's sort of sending me on a little thought journey of all the rehearsal places where we've had to be like - “Well, we can't do it here anymore.” 

There was one in this basement. It was a weird basement in my friend Joey's apartment, and we had to go through storm doors inside of his apartment, which I don't even know how that works, because storm doors are always outside, and you open them up outside and you crawl down the stairs… but they're inside his apartment. We went down to this terrifying basement, and we'd been rehearsing there for a while, and then one day, all like 15 of us went down there, and it just smelled like fresh vomit. 

HW: 

Oh no! 

TB: 

And we were like, we can't do this. 

TB: 

Yeah. We cannot be in here… like we are gagging as we're trying to figure out how these children explode in our play. And then we went to a park. I feel like I always end up going to a park when I get kicked out of a place or have to leave a place that I am rehearsing. 

HW: 

Wait. I've never thought of rehearsing outdoors. I should try that. That sounds really fun. 

TB: 

Yeah, in the nicer times of year it rules. I've done Union Square. I've done Tompkins Square. I've done Washington Square. I’ve done all the Squares. Yeah, the public space, whatever. You're not going to be the weirdest thing that anyone sees in New York. That's for sure. … 

OK! And then the last one on your list of highlights from your first year at NYU was introducing performance art into the concept of your drag character.

HW: 

Yes, so I started doing drag from a place of being a really big fan of it and researching it and interviewing drag performers, and a lot of those people that I was talking to and researching about started out in the ballroom and nightlife scene primarily. And so when I started doing drag and creating the persona I modeled after kind of the only type of drag I had consistent knowledge of. So I would be performing in a bar in and I would lip sync to a song, and it was very fun, but I felt like there was something that I could be getting out of drag that I hadn't found yet. And then I think the more I watched experimental theater the more I realized… I think I can put these impulses into drag, too. And I started doing that more. And I started performing more in performance art spaces and variety shows, and in long form theater as like whatever character I've been cast as in drag. And I started to feel much more at home and understanding of my character. And I think eventually I realized, when I tell people I'm a drag queen, they have an image of something that I am. But there's also something else. And so I decided, I'm gonna add performance artist onto that. And it feels very exciting. I think adding that label opens me up to possibilities of creating longer form works and works with different types of tech and objects and fluids and media that I think I would not have gotten otherwise. 

TB: 

That's really great, because it is such an important thing to remember that our perception is created by the things that we've had exposure to. And so, while you're super super lucky to have exposure to drag before you even got into college (like that's so cool) but it was also its own limitation and its own sort of prescription about how it's done and why it's done. So to let these other things in is also you showing other people what is possible. 

And that's really cool. I always get frustrated when I am in a “scene” that feels limited by rules about what it is and is not. I think theater has a lot to gain from drag and drag has a lot to gain from theater. 

HW: 

If they'd only just give each other a chance. 

TB: 

I love it. Okay! So the next question is - Three things that you're most excited for in the next year… let's say through May 2026. 

HW: 

Oh, okay, through May 2026. 

Finishing the album question mark, hoping it would be done by then. Probably. So we'll say that, and we'll put that into the universe that that's gonna happen. Learning about theater criticism. 

Training more with IDC - intimacy directors and coordinators. 

Those are my 3.

TB: 

Those are huge. Those are great. 

HW: 

Thank you. 

TB: 

A lot to be excited about. All right. Is there anything that you're nervous about? 

HW: 

Yeah, I mean everything I just said, for sure. Definitely everything I just said. Towards the end of last school year, I had to take a three month break from drag, because I was getting so burnt out that I realized I was starting to dread having to get in drag or really perform in any context. And I 

was like, I have to cut something out, or I'm going to not want to do any of it anymore, which would not be good. And so I'm just really nervous about finding a sustainable balance of working in all the places that I want to work and taking care of myself to the level that I can do my best. 

TB: 

I hope that you move through the nervousness about it, because it's such a big part of being an artist, and, you know, it never becomes something where it'll just be the same for a calendar year. It'll be a constant negotiation with yourself. And so starting to really have those conversations with yourself and the people close to you is really important. So good luck with that! 

photo: Levi Langley

… 

Okay, so we have to wind this down (I am so bad at keeping it short). Two more questions! Are there any shows that you're not involved in that you want to shout out? Anything that you're really looking forward to? 

HW: 

Oh, that's a great question. Oh, my goodness, okay, wait. I have to think about the things that my friends are doing, and I have to organize them in my head. 

Hmm, okay. 

My friend madeline Francis is a musician and has their first single out - If God. They're very cool and talented. 

And my friend Morgan has a new EP coming out. She's @morgandoesntcare on Instagram, Morgan Julianna in all the music places. 

My friend, pachacunti, is a drag queen, and she's just always doing stuff. I don't know what her most upcoming thing is, but look her up. She's very cool. 

My friend Levi Langley is a photographer and music journalist, and is so so talented at both. She took all my pictures for promotional stuff for my music, and she does like a lot of concert photos. But other kinds of photos, too, and she writes about music, and she's very cool. If you are interested in music, talk to her.

Leah Plante-Wiener and Eulàlia Comas (laialeah) are fabulous, and they are continuing to produce shows at box machine, and you should see what they have going on there. 

Harris Singer wrote a play called Take Me To Dollywood and it is going to be at La Mama! Lastly (for now), Dr. Boat. They're really great. They have a new (semi new at this point) single out. And they're just very cool and talented. And they're performing all around New York live. And they have music that is recorded. And they're great. 

TB: 

Okay! Last question! What do you imagine yourself doing in ten years? 2035. 

HW: 

Okay. Oh, boy, so how old? 29? Like what do I hope? Just generally? 

TB: 

Yeah. August 2035. Where are you? What are you doing? What was your day like? 

HW: 

Oh, yeah, okay. The answer that I think I've been too scared to admit is my truest desire. It’s that I am living in New York, and I think in the Lower East Side, or maybe part of like the Williamsburg area and I am doing several things at once, in general. But if we're talking about the day specifically, I am working on 1, 2, 3 active projects in a day. Hopefully a good combination of solitary and collaborative, so that I don't go insane in either direction. And At least 2 cats are making their home in my home… and 29. What else? What else could be happening? Hopefully. 

TB: 

29 is in the midst of your Saturn Return… 

HW: 

Oh, I have no idea. I don't know. I know my prefrontal cortex should be developed by then, so maybe I'll have totally different hopes that will come with a sense of logic. 

TB: 

Oh, my gosh! So maybe at 29 you'll be surprised. (reading) Saturn Return is a significant astrological transit that occurs when the planet Saturn returns to the same zodiac sign and degree it occupied at the time of the person's birth. That happens between 27 and 30. 

HW: 

Oh, that's very cool. Okay, what does that mean? In terms of how I should adjust my behavior. 

TB: 

Oh, so let's see what to expect… A time of significant change. It can involve career shifts, relationship changes, financial adjustments, a deeper understanding of one's purpose and values.

HW: 

Oh! 

TB: 

It's interesting because you have so much more clarity and inspiration than most 19 year olds that I know and so I think maybe the big change will be that you surprise yourself when you're 29. 

HW: 

Yeah, I would be a little worried if I hadn't surprised myself by that point. 

… 

Yeah, I guess that would be the ideal. Several things that I can't currently anticipate. And I'm also hoping that less of my energy is used on being afraid for the world and this country and New York specifically. I wish I had said that first… 

TB: 

Oh, it's definitely a thing that I think affects every little hope and fear and moment and dollar that we spend and second that we breathe, you know? So yeah, I feel like that's a good wish to put into the next 10 years - that it will take up less of your headspace because things will be doing better. 

HW: 

Yeah, so, true. 

TB: 

Well, that is a good chunk of interview. 

(Then we talk for a long while about an archiving project that Hannah is helping me with and the hope to make it into a documentary and I forget to properly end the interview…)

Tamás/Tanya Marquardt in Conversation

Gyula Muskovics and me being Magyar vampire-like things in The Last Hour at SoMad, NYC. Photo credit Tamás Marquardt.

Theresa Buchheister: 

I always like to start with an introduction. Like, what do you think that people ought to know about you? To provide context for EVERYTHING to come. 

Tamás/Tanya Marquardt: 

Okay, okay. Wow, okay. So my name is Tanya, or Tamás, I go by they/them pronouns. I'm an artist in my forties. I don't know why I think that's important, but there's less of us as you go, and I think it's important to say, like, I'm an artist in my forties. I make art. I'm Magyar. I’m Canadian. I also recently found out I'm Scottish, which is a whole other thing that I don't know anything about, but I feel like it's important to say. I was born in Regina, Saskatchewan. My father was a traveling vacuum cleaner salesman, so I moved a ton. I was brought up by an addict and I became an addict, and now I've been sober for 12 years. Working class background. First person in my family to go to university. It wasn't an easy go but I was really obsessed with performance, and I loved being in front of people and getting attention. Basically. (pause) 

Anyway, long story short, I did actually make it to university. And I got a degree. And I graduated with all this training, which feels oddly like it cycles in and out of people's paradigm. But I had all this physical theater training, Grotowski training, went to dance school, and then moved to NY in 2010 and have a degree in memoir. So I wrote a memoir in 2018 about being a runaway kid and a BDSM model when I was underage… like 16. And I guess all of that has really influenced who 

I am now. Because I'm in my forties, I did not have words for what I was. People were always calling me ambiguous and bisexual. So thank goodness for the younger generation. I now realize that translates to like, you know, polyamorous and all these other things that have like a wider range of descriptors. And then, in the last few years, I've really connected with my Magyar ancestry. I used to write a lot about trauma, and I still am interested in trauma and identity and class. All those things are like influences, but it's been such a healing, reconnecting experience for me. And that has been wonderful. It's been really pleasurable to kind of come full circle and have a like a richer sense of myself, as a human being and an artist. 

TB: 

That is so much incredible context. And I'm also gonna link to your site. 

(I did. See above. Lots of links to come, so check them all out.) 

TM: 

Yeah. 

TB: 

So folx can check out your memoir! Okay… so you give such great context and also start with - you're an artist in your forties, first and foremost (but after your pronouns, which is also nice (I use they/them, too, thanks!)), and that we have language for that now, because for a lot of people our age, the sort of search for identity took a very different form, because it was just like, what are the words? Like, none of the words worked, but certain combos got close. I think there's also this relationship to “midlife”. When you feel like you're different from the storied

midlife crises that afflict people in their forties you're like - “Well, I didn't have kids, and I didn't get married to someone when I was 18… I won't have a midlife crisis or sort of cyclical interest in things that happened 20 years ago.” And then you get here. And you're like… ooooh dang. 

TM: 

Fuck. Yeah, yeah, totally. Yeah. And it was also weird to come out and really realize that I was trans, at the same time that I hit middle age, which is when your body is really changing in a bunch of other ways, too. So it was like this double adolescent slash getting old that was really intense for me. And then also, realizing how little me, when I was 16, was hanging out in kink and BDSM clubs in Vancouver and I met trans femme people pretty young. I met people that were experimenting with all kinds of sex and gender and identity things, you know? It was a pretty subcultural place, but there were like no words around trans masculinity at all. I met “butchy” people. They were mostly the security guards or the bartenders, and they, you know, they looked great, and I liked hanging out with them, but I had to kind of stay a bit of a distance from them because I was underage, you know, so I had to like not get too close to them, because they were the people that would ask me for ID. And now, you know, the words that we had then are for some being reinvigorated or held close, but for some they are derogatory. But yeah, the words really shifted. And when I did come out, I’d sleep with anyone of consenting age, pretty much. It was really tough, because I had that biphobia or whatever. And I kind of just went back into the closet pretty quickly, because there was nothing around. And I had to get sober, too. 

TB: 

Yeah, it's impossible to sort of unravel those things from each other. When you're examining the life that you've lived up to this point, you know. That just made me remember the terrible phrase that was often uttered back in Kansas in the 90s/early 2000s - “Bi now, gay later.” So if you're if you were bi, or perhaps pan, if you were interested in sleeping with everyone, people were like, “Oh, you're just not-straight, you know. You're just going to admit that you're gay down the road or go back into the closet.” 

TM: 

It's been a whole journey. 

TB: 

Journeys are the thing. Like the journey of CREATURE. Tell me about where that started, like the first nugget of an idea. 

TM: 

So during the start of the pandemic, I had a friend with whom I would chat online. We're both Eastern European and we’d been exchanging for a while, just like around that experience and different feelings of queerness in relation to Eastern European life. And I was kind of just doing random Internet research - “What's Hungary? What's it like? Are there any gay people there?” I've known my grandfather my whole life, and I remember being on his farm… So I was reconnecting and I started looking at folk dance, randomly. I'm a dancer, so I guess there's that connection. But I was not in any way trying to make a piece or anything like that. I was also simultaneously going through this transition process, which is always ongoing. Then I found a video. It was really beautiful. It starts off with this Hungarian reporter. It's like a news show. And it's like Hungarian, Hungarian, Hungarian, and it's maybe in the seventies. And then it goes to this black screen. And this spotlight comes up, and the most beautiful man I had ever seen comes walking into the light, and he has this beautiful hat on with this big feather and a linen shirt that's like open. It had scooped arms. And he wore big leather boots that go all the way up his legs with these black pants on and I was like - “Hold up now, like what the fuck is?” He also had this beautiful mustache … he was so handsome and he started doing pretty much the hottest dance that I'd ever seen. It was the legényes which is Hungarian for the Lad’s Dance, and it was so masculine, but like so passionate and loving. And I thought - this is the kind of masculinity that I'm going for. I mean, I'm a they/them/wolf/unicorn thing. I don't consider myself a man or a woman, I'm somewhere in between. But at that point I was really interested in asking what does it mean when I say “masculine”? What is it even describing? And I was like - that's what it's describing. Because I'm not Brad Pitt… I know I'm not going for that. And all of a sudden my search for lineage and my search for space in terms of my gender transition became one thing. 

In rehearsal for Creature. Screenshot taken by Tamás.

TB: 

Ah yes, the pieces start coming together. 

TM: 

Yeah. I became doubly obsessed, and I began to try to figure out everything I could about this dance. I went on this deep dive which really hasn't abated, and after researching a ton on my own, I realized I could only go so far. So, I found these lessons online. It's this guy from Transylvania. He's short. He has this gigantic mustache. It's all in Hungarian. So I started learning it and I was like - “I want to make a piece about this. Obviously I'm making a piece about this.” And then I reached out to Miguel Gutierrez. I was like, I'll just get Miguel to direct me, and he was like - “Babe. I love you, but you're Hungarian. I'm not. You need to find Hungarians to do this.” At first I was nervous to look for Hungarians because I worried they would say - “You're from Saskatchewan.” But because of Miguel, I went on this circuitous search and I found these 3 queer dancers - gergö d. farkás, Bálazs Oláh, and Julcsi Vavra. And they teach the dances. AND they teach them in a queer way, so I started learning from them. They're doing amazing work. They've been shut down and really critiqued by the right and sometimes in scary ways, and they continue to do this work. Then I got a Residency, and I went there and started training with them in person. Right before that, I shared a work-in-progress at Brick Aux as part of Gestating Baby and it's gotten so much deeper and shifted and changed since then. It's ongoing. My plan is to go back to Hungary in November and keep integrating the dance. 

TB: 

Potentially interesting tangent, but was there anything like that handsome leather-booted man in the video that initially inspired you to want to be a performer?

(Here we go on a loooooong tangent that was truly impossible to transcribe, sort of as predicted, about an old tv show and childhood and many things, but we come back to an English teacher and the love of writing.) 

TM: 

For some reason I just knew writing and school was my way out. Like, I'm not getting pregnant. Those were the 2 options you had, right? You meet an older guy and you get pregnant or you try to get through school and graduate. 

TB: 

Yeah, it's almost like a Choose Your Own Adventure. But you're like - “Wait, these are the options? Ugh Okay, I will pick one and see what other doors open up to me. And hopefully they don’t all just eventually lead to the same place?” 

(pause) 

Speaking of paths and choices, what led to you doing Grotowski stuff in college? Were there musical theater kids, Neil Simon kids and Grotowski kids? Was it something to do with your Eastern European roots? 

TM: 

Well, I always thought I was going to be a Shakespearean actor because that is what they gave you, the only plays that I read. So I thought, I'm going to be a Shakespearean actor. And then I tried out at all these Shakespeare places. Maybe it's changed now, but I think they took one look at me, and they were like, no, you're not going to be a Shakespearean actor. I was like 6 foot tall with piercings. Maybe it's changed now, I don't know… So I got into this one community college, and it was good and stuff. But I was like - “I want to be challenged more. I want more. I just want to go deeper.” And so I tried out at this school called Simon Fraser University, which is in Vancouver. And honestly, I just wanted to get into a deeper practice, and I had no idea what they were teaching or anything. It's the same as when I moved here. I had no idea what the memoir program at Hunter College was about. I just was like, I just have this desire, this need, to learn more. So, I got in and then they started teaching me Grotowski, which immediately appealed to me. The hard work. We dedicated ourselves fully and it doesn't matter if we're training on the cement floor. I was like - this is right in my wheelhouse. 

TB: 

It's fascinating because so often it goes back to the search when you're like - “I don't know. I'll try this door. Oh, that thing or that thing…” for whatever reason it's like, even before you have established the ways that you process or understand things that are either for you or not for you, you can still sort of say - “I think, maybe, that.” 

TM: 

Yeah or looking forward to look back, I wonder what will we think when we're 83? When it feels like it all makes sense. 

TB:

You know what's funny? My last question for this interview is asking you to look back ten years and forwards ten years and I wrote down that I will make a Google Calendar entry for 2035 to check in with you. I love doing that. So, I guess I should make another entry for when we are in our 80s. 2065 or so. 

TM: 

Wow! Let's definitely text each other. I'd love that. I think that's great. I'll be here hopefully. 

TB: 

I'll probably be dead. But you'll get the Google Cal reminder, and then you'll have to try to connect with me. 

TM: 

I can't wait. 

TB: 

I will mail you some of my hair or something, so that you have a better chance at getting ahold of me. 

TM: 

Well, I am a Scorpio, so if you mail me some of your hair, I'm gonna mail you some of my hair back, baby. 

TB: 

Of course! That Scorpio context would have also been really helpful in your introduction. But now we know. 

TM: 

What are you? 

TB: Libra. 

TM: 

You're a Libra. Oh, my mother is a Libra, and one of my partners is a Libra. Libras are great. 

TB: 

I didn't think much of Libras when I was younger. I really wanted to be a Scorpio, because all the cool people I knew were Scorpios, and I was like - Oh, I guess I'm just screwed for life because I wasn't born in the right month. 

(Then when talk about astrology for a good while lol) 

But yeah, yeah, I love the astrological perspective. It encourages you to look back and look forward all the time. And I feel like that's part of CREATURE. And I guess the entirety of

being an artist who's in your forties, really. Speaking of, coming up, you have a presentation of CREATURE, and it's happening at Mabou Mines, which is awesome. I am linking, just in case any folx do not know about Mabou Mines. History is important! Also, there is a Lee Breuer piece (The Gospel at Colonus) happening at Little Island right now. Anyway, I am curious about the name of the festival, because it could be pronounced revenue (as in ticket revenue) or re-venue. 

TM: 

It's re-venue. I know because that’s what I said, too. But basically RE/VENUE is a conglomeration. I know it's The Tank and some other folx, and what they've done is they look for spaces that are empty, and then they approach the people that run them, and they're like - “Look, your space is going to be totally empty. Why don't you just give it for free to artists? And they can just show stuff, and then we'll do some sort of, you know, split arrangement, and it is a win-win.” And a lot of spaces have said yes. And so they approached Mabou Mines, and it was definitely a quick turnaround. But they have all these amazing shows, and it's all up now. So you can go and check out all of the different shows. It runs from July 23rd to the 4th of August. There are usually 2 shows a night, one at 6pm and one at 8pm, and mine's at 8pm on July 26th, which is a Saturday. I'm super excited. I love that space. I've worked with Mabou Mines before. And I just love everyone, JoAnne Akalaitus and Mallory Catlett and everyone. So it's been really great. Oh and I just saw DOLLHOUSE on video. I can send it to you. 

TB: 

That's so cool. I was just talking with someone recently about how exciting it can be to get something like that, because it's impossible to see everything that you wanted to see ever, you know? And I just read that Ain't No Mo’ is coming out as a book, which is incredible for many reasons, but especially because of its rudely short run on Broadway. I got to see it before the pandemic, and it was incredible, and I was so excited to see it on Broadway, and then it closed way too fast (fuck Broadway). But now there's a book! It's not the same as getting to be at the show, and everyone should go to shows as often as they can, especially if they live in a place like New York, where they have access… 

TM: 

Yeah. 

Comic book stills from current comic-in-process called The Walkers, co-written with David B Smith and phantigrams.

TB: 

But I think of the VHS tape of Reza Abdoh’s The Law of Remains I saw in college… and the book of the Alan Cumming Cabaret that I got in high school… 

TM: 

I love that. Yes yes. I got the DVD because I'm trying to do a contemporary version of A Doll's House. And so I was trying to find documentation of it. It's actually really hard to find…But I saw it recently and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It's so amazing. 

(Then we talk about other shows we would love to see video of and/or do covers of… and I admit that this is a whole other interview.)

TB: 

So re-venue slash revenue (because I feel like revenue is part of it)... 

TM: 

It's got to be in there. I mean, obviously, yeah. 

TB: 

It is a thing that people should follow because the lineup is really fantastic. And people who have moved here since PS122 became PSNY maybe do not know the space. 

(We pause for technical difficulties and then talk about technical difficulties for a long time lol) 

This whole interview is sort of like different concentric circles, I guess. But because you brought up your collaborators that you connected with after reaching out to Miguel, you also mention (in the press release) Sándor Vay… 

TM: 

Ah a collaborator in a different way! Sándor Vay was born in 1859. Birth name was Sarolta, born into quite a bit of wealth, assigned female or whatever, but was raised as a boy child. That's the quote that I found, “raised as a boy child”, and there's a whole bunch of accounts of why that may have happened. My theory is that Sándor requested it and they provided space for that. So he became a writer and a journalist, and he moved to Budapest, as many queers do. He had many, many relationships with women. He was married. At one time he had a lot of lovers, he visited prostitutes. He loved women. Then he was married a second time to a woman named Marie, and he got himself into a little trouble gambling, and tried to borrow money from his then-father-in-law, who did a little detective work and discovered that his birth name was Sarolta. Stop me whenever you want. 

TB: 

Go on! It is fascinating! 

TM: 

Ok so there was this big trial. That happened, and everyone all over the world just like freaked out about this trial because he was a “deceiver”. You know, he had deceived Marie. So he was forced into an asylum and it was really intense. He's in the psychopathic sexuality book, which is this book that fortunately and unfortunately exists. And it's very judgmental, but also maybe not for the time. Anyway. That's how we have his story. And because he was wealthy, he got out of it and the marriage was annulled and he returned to writing after a brief stint as a coffee shop owner. And then he died. And after he died, we are left with these records of him. There's no formal pronouns in Hungarian, but they all refer to him as a man. He wrote these really beautiful stories that are like epistolaries, or, like made up archives of the rich people in Hungary, which is kind of an amazing thing. They were all based on real stories, and they were parts of his oeuvre, or whatever that were recommended for children to read by the Hungarian school of education.

He's just like a really fascinating character. He died in 1918. So it's just basically proof of Western gender ideology. Well, Karl Maria Kertbeny invented the word homosexual. He was Hungarian. He came up with the term. Then Count Sándor Vay.. it just proves that there are actually queer people everywhere. They've been everywhere. They'll continue to be everywhere. 

TB: 

That's so incredible. 

The Last Hour at SoMad, November 2024. Photo credit David B. Smith

(Then we discuss Sándor Vay’s poetry and how none of it is translated and TM says they should write a book about him and I agree…) 

So continuing with collaborators, zavé martohardjono is working with you! 

TM: 

Yes, zavé is working with me! They are the director, and then also Gyula Muskovics is the dramaturg. David B. Smith is the scenographer. And my friend from Canada, fellow Magyar queer Canadian, Jaye Kovach did the sound design. But yeah, working with zavé has been great. zavé went to BANFF with me and was born in Montreal. We had so much fun in Banff. Like the 2 of us. We knew each other, we were friends, obviously we were friends, but when you go to the mountains with somebody for 2 weeks, and there's like nowhere to go, and you end up at a gas station buying Canadian chocolate bars, that's when the real friendship starts. They're amazing. It's so beautiful to be in a studio with them. They're so creative and open. And also like they've done a lot of work with ancestral things in different ways, and it really helps me a lot. 

TB: 

You have such great collaborators on this one person show lol. Is there anything that has surprised you about this project since you started it? 

TM: 

Hm so probably 2 things. One.. I went to Hahood, which is a very small village in Hungary. I was surprised at how hard I committed, like, I've been to Hungary a bunch of times. I had gone through a bunch of archives but when I was like - “Okay, I'm going to learn this folk dance and I can't just be like - I'm Hungarian - you know what I mean? I’m visiting where my great grandfather immigrated from, where my grandfather's ancestors are from, visiting the graveyard…” I had some pretty profound experiences that changed me forever as a human being that I didn't expect… because every art piece does change me as a human being, but not like this. Like it was really deep in me. And the other thing, which is very strange and still sort of unfolding, is about my mother. My mother is this really amazing Hungarian woman. I had been sending her stuff and saying - “Hey, mom, look what I found! Isn't this cool?” And then one day she called me, and she was like - “I just want you to know that I'm glad that you're discovering all these things, but also we're half Scottish.”

TB: 

That's interesting... And I'm also like, you know, in 10 years will there be elements of your Scottish heritage that have woven into this as well? 

TM: 

I feel like there's a Venn diagram, because I have been looking at Scottish things... like Alan Cumming is Scottish. He's fucking incredible, but I feel like like I'll look at Scottish history, and I'll be like - “How come I'm not more interested? I should be more interested in this…” Because it happened with the Hungary side, so shouldn't it happen with the Scottish side? So maybe it will happen at a certain point. But I have figured out there's sort of like a Venn diagram or like an overlay, and it has to do with blood sausage, violin music, and violent colonialist suppression. Maybe that is a lot of cultures… But I guess I haven't found the thing that's like the video of the man walking into the spotlight. 

TB: 

Speaking of lineage, and what we keep and what we don’t… Does this particular project and the way that you're working on it, or the way that you embody it, have any sort of direct lineage to your other performance projects of the past? I mean, you talk about being a dancer. You talk about memoir. So those are two that have come up so far that I would say are likely part of how you are approaching this project. 

TM: 

I think I was really shy for a long time to put myself in my work, so I would like bastardize things, but still put them in my pieces. And now I've just really embraced putting myself in my work for really specific reasons. It just feels really important that I should say - “That thing happened to me like, actually, that happened to me, a real person, not a character that is made-up, but like to me.” But that's just my own personal practice. 

TB: 

Is that hard for you, knowing that you are working on this but also performing it multiple times? 

TM: 

Yeah, yeah. Sometimes it can be emotionally trying but I think I've done enough therapy that I don't find myself reliving these things. Because it's an art piece, right? So it's structured. Sometimes people think that memoir or something that pulls from personal life doesn't have a structure but it has this rich and varied history and you can study it. It has technical things that people write PhDs about, you know? So, it does feel hard sometimes. Like, people approach me who’ve had similar experiences and are in different phases of their own processing around it all, and that can be tough sometimes, because I'm like - “Whoa… Like… Oh, I don't know you. I don't know how to hold space for your feelings right now.” But that's just part of it. Part of my own journey, of knowing where my boundaries are. 

I like fiction and mythologies, but there's certain stories or certain things that happened to me that I feel like I should say - “This happened to me!” - so that people can go and know it happens.

TB: 

Yeah, it feels almost like a responsibility. You know, we're constantly told that every story has already been told, but I'm always surprised at the number of stories I hear that I'd never heard before. 

TM: 

Have you read Body Work by Melissa Febos? 

TB: 

Nope. (So I look it up and it is linked above) 

TM: 

She tells a story about being at a conference with mostly femme people and someone saying - “I want to write a memoir about my story, my trauma.” There's 2 femme people on the panel, and then a cis guy, and he’s like - “Yeah, I think we've heard enough of those stories.” And then Melissa Febos was like - “I just want to take a poll. Who here has experienced any kind of trauma, sexual abuse, humiliation because of your gender?” You know, like listed all these things, and everybody put up their hand. And she says - “I will read every single one of your stories, fuck them and fuck this.” So I guess that's my response. It’s like - No, actually, every person has such a beautiful individual story, and we need to hear all the different aspects of it all… the different ways of telling stories, all the different, interspliced and completely separate ways. Because there's so many different ways to be a human being in the world… gender, class, immigration status, all these things. And then also, just different people. Just see the sunset in a different way, you know? I want to know about that. Like fuck, you. I very much resonate with that story. 

TB: 

That is actually a perfect segue to my next question. What do you like to experience as an audience member? 

TM: 

Oh, wow! There's so much art to see. I really go through phases. I really love all forms of art, from the most abstract thing to the most popular thing. It just depends. Right now. I'm obsessed with films. And all I want to do is watch really obscure films. I don't know why. I mean, it's still Hungarian, but I'm really into Béla Tarr films, for example. He makes these films that are like 7 hours long. I just think there's something about really experimental films. There's something about our attention spans being like taken away from us. You know, I feel like this is an activist practice to be like - “No, I'm going to watch a 7 hour film and I will expand my attention span in spite of everything.” But that's not really about what kind of art I like. 

TB: 

It is. I totally include all of the things like books and movies and theater and dance and music.

TM: 

I really love seeing the thing that you curate. I loved seeing Nile Harris and Lena Engelstein and Lisa Fagan. I mean, it's like, first off, Nile just rides around in a circle on his bike for 5 minutes, and it's not even his bike. And we are watching him. And then he just kind of careens around on his phone reading these things, these thoughts and poems. And then Lena and Lisa come driving in... and then the sunset, as they were doing their piece. It was just like - What is happening? What's going on? 

TB: 

It was really magical. And I recently read a Substack response about it by Alessandra Gomez, who was like - “I'm just gonna start writing about the stuff that I'm seeing.” And I was like - “That's fantastic.” She looked up Spalding Gray after the performance and a bunch of other stuff Nile talked about, which added another dimension to the performance she witnessed. It is a really thoughtful response. 

TM: 

Also, Lena and Lisa really took the piss out of the gentrification of that neighborhood. 

TB: 

Yeah, the most frequent feedback that I got as a curator was - “You really got away with something by going first…” 

TM: 

Hahaha. Yah. I just love watching Nile perform. I think I could watch him wind a ball of yarn, and be like - you're great. 

TB: 

So, your vibe right now is films that challenge your attention span and performers that you would watch do just about anything. 

TM: 

Yeah. And then I listen to music from the 1980s, goth, and girl punk. So I'll listen to Hole. Right now I'm just like on repeat listening to The Cure’s The Funeral Party. I'll listen to it like 3 times in a row on repeat. 

TB: 

Are you working while you do this? Or gardening or biking? 

TM: 

I'm working out usually. But, if I'm writing. I listen to Liszt or Chopin or I like to write in silence, too. I also like Chappell Roan. And 1990s lesbian singers like Melissa Etheridge and k.d. lang. She was hot. I mean she's hot now, but she was hot. She's Canadian. She's from Alberta. 

TB:

Oh! 

TM: 

And then, when you see her, when she's really young, like when she was in her twenties, she wears these like crazy cowboy skirts with cowboy shirts and cowboy hats. I recommend. 

TB: 

Fashion-wise I was always just like - “That's right. Those are good outfits.” And also hair. I had a lot of hair envy of k.d. lang in the nineties. And now. 

TM: 

And now, yeah, she's great. 

TB: 

Those are some good rabbit holes. 

TM: 

For people to go down. 

TB: Okay, I am gonna ask three more things. At this point, the interview is already way too long. But good! Is there anything that you find art-wise, annoying, or unwatchable, or unlistenable? Because I always like to talk about things that people like. But then I also know that you have to not like something. 

TM: 

Okay. Yes. 

(pause) 

I find watching rape really awful. 

TB: 

Yup. 

TM: 

I can't watch violence like that happening to people, and sometimes people do violent things just to do something crazy and violent. I find that really tough. And yet I love talking about horror films … like there's so many horror filmmakers that are commenting on violence and there’s context for it. 

TB: 

Totally. That's probably a whole other essay or interview. Because I love horror movies. They are the greatest form of allegory that we have. 

(Then we talk for the entire length of another interview about horror, 90s thrillers, shot-for-shot remakes, An Act of Killing, Mortal Kombat…)

Yeah, yep, okay. There are so so many spin off interviews that we're gonna have to do… But for now, I do have to cycle back to the question of whether you recall what you were doing 10 years ago in the summer of 2015? And what do you imagine you could be up to in the summer of 2035. 

TM: 

So 10 years ago… I was 2 years sober. I think I was still writing my book. I think it was around 2015 that I realized I was probably gonna live in New York for a long time. And that was a real change. And in 2035, if we're still around, if we're not mid trying to mitigate a climate crisis and 

like figuring out how to use our bare hands to kill food… Okay, let's imagine in 10 years I would like to have published at least 2 more books. I would definitely want to still be making performance. I'm just a lifer I think. So maybe like making work and writing and loving my loves, loving all the things that I love, my family, my lovers, my friends, my colleagues. And doing more gardening, like actual food sovereignty. I'm really interested in food sovereignty right now, like sharing food with people. And also teaching. I do like teaching. I'm not putting in a pool anytime soon, I'll tell you that. 

TB: 

Oh, my God, if you have a pool in 10 years, I'm gonna cackle so hard. 

TM: 

You know, I think I'm one of those lucky people for better and worse. I’m living my own dream. But, I'd always love to be more successful. That'd be nice. 

TB: 

I also feel like that's sort of inevitable. That you will be more successful. Whatever the wibbly wobbly definition of successful may be. So! The very last question that we'll end on, because I feel like people have a lot to chew on here, is just a quick one… Is there anything coming up that's not your project that you'd want to shout out and let people know about? 

TM: 

Well, I do know that Aaron Landsman is showing in the same festival as me and I missed it at The Chocolate Factory, so I need to go! Oh! And very important - Jess Barbagallo has a show at The Brick - Cemetery Soup!! Produced by Adult Film! I'm going on August 6. And it has the best title because Jess lands titles like nobody's business. 

TB: 

I know I should just hire him to come up with titles for all the things I do, because I can't land a title to save my life. But yah, if you are in NY, you gotta go. It's like Nile and Lisa and Lena… anything they all do, I am there. 

TM:

Anything just as long as I can afford it and I am in town. And even if I can’t afford it, I call Jess and ask if we can just figure it out because everything he does is so good. And Jess is very humble... But he is an incredible writer. He's an incredible performer, too. But he is SUCH a great writer. 

I'm very inspired by Jess as a human and as a writer, and just like someone that lives in the world. And I wish he wouldn't be so humble because he's so amazing, and he should just get everything. 

(pause) 

But also I really admire his humility, too. 

TB: 

Yeah, I don't want him to change at all. But I also just want to make sure that he knows how great he is. 

TM: 

Exactly. That's exactly it. 

TB: 

I feel like this is gonna be the interview with the most hyperlinks to various things that people need to look up… but most important is CREATURE! 

I wish I could be there because I like to see every iteration of a thing. I like to see how somebody grows with their art, so I sort of hate missing out, but I know that I won't miss out eternally. So, that is something. 

TM: 

Performing Creature at U500, Budapest Hungary. Photo credit Tamás Szabó Sipos

When Joy sends me the documentation, I'll send it to you, and you can see it because I actually know the dance now! 

TB: 

Oh, that's so cool! Yes, yes, and I feel like that's a running theme of this interview… just because you can't see the thing live doesn't mean you don't get to experience it. Which definitely means we must shout out the best videographer of live performance - Joy Burklund and ZANNI Productions! Hire her! That was the final shout out! 

TM: 

Theresa, you're such a dear, kind friend, and I'm so glad that we did this together. 

TB: 

Me too. I will see you next time I am in town. 

TM: 

Indeed.

laialeah In Conversation with Theresa Buchheister: Box Machine, Real Estate, Taking Care, Jon’s Big Arms, and more

Having a conversation, dare I say “an interview”, with Laia (pronounced LAH-yah and Leah (pronounced LAY-uh) is probably performance art. Impossible to transcribe, but worth trying. I asked them to entertain some questions because, as usual, they are up to some interesting shit. Most recently, they have started hosting shows at Box Machine. What is Box Machine, you ask? Well, the first part of our zoom was a full tour, from entrance to twin closets and back again. It is a room, wrapped in plastic, lined with ephemera, in a home that has cats and is filled with potential, openness and care. And we are about to tell you all about it. For now, if you want to be in the know about upcoming shows, opportunities, rules and documentation, follow @laiaxc and @leah.annia on IG. 

Theresa Buchheister: 

So first question is … who are you? For our reading audience. Like, who the hell are you? What's up? 

Laia Comas: 

I'm a transexual 

(long pause) 

Full stop. As well as somebody who just got a really cute purse for $3 at my childhood church yard sale. Oh my god and also, sometimes I make theater and performance, but it's mostly those first two things. I'm also a drama therapist in training. And I don't like.. a lot of things. 

TB: 

Great. That's the lens through which we'll experience you for the rest of this interview. So that really works for me. Leah, who the hell are you? 

Leah Plante-Wiener: 

Hello, I am Leah Plante-Wiener. I am a bisexual and I am by trade a playwright, by heart, many other things. Among them, I would say like, I present to the world as playwright, but honestly, like, experimental theater maker is sort of where my heart is these days. Performer, not actor. Performer. That's a big, I mean, maybe actor someday. But, yeah, playwright, performer, curator of performance. That is something that brings me immense joy - bringing community together and platforming the artists that I care about. (I was talking to Laia a bunch and asked) What am I doing? What's my life? Why am I here? And one of my big whys is so that I can bring people together and introduce people to each other and introduce people to artists that blow their heads wide open and make them go - Actually, maybe I am a performance artist, maybe I am a sound artist. Maybe I do want to do projection work. So I would say - enabler of multidisciplinary discovery is how I'm feeling right now. 

I also, you know, I design, I cast. I'm a theater door person. I do all sorts of fun things. 

TB:

How did you begin working together? 

LC:

We met at The Brick in 2023 as interns. January 2023. 

LPW:

We met first officially seeing the Ben Shapiro Project by Ella Davidson and Sarah Finn’s Our Bodies Like Dams. All I remember is like, I said something to Jon Schatzberg and it was incorrect and then Laia corrected me and I went, oh, thank you. And then a week later, we were eating pizza at Brick Aux with you and Harrison? 

TB:

Oh yeah! Harrison gets back to the country this month from Australia. 

LC:

And then we, at the time, lived super close together and took the train back from the brick. 

LPW:

And then we're really like, "Holy shit. We've written all the same plays. Isn't that fun?" 

LC:

Yeah. I described this recently to someone as like the game of pong where we are each one of the little boards that the thing bounces off of. Yeah. That is how it feels. 

LPW:

That is very much how our process feels, but there's never the feeling that anybody's losing. Sometimes it's just the feeling of, "Oh, we need to start the game again. Cool." 

TB:

Your new headshots should just be screenshots of Pong.

LC:

But our head. 

TB:

Yeah. That's it. It's just Pong is your headshot. Go on…

LPW: 

And then we spent a lot of time sitting at Brick Aux together working on things separately and then sometimes together and tormenting Cameron Stuart.

LC:

And then as of August of that year, 2023, which was Bonefruit at The Tank, we've worked together pretty consistently. Pretty much everything. 

India Shea and Sarah-Michele Guei in Bonefruit, The Tank, 2023

LPW:

Pretty much everything. Yeah. I can't think of any long-term project I've worked on in the last two years that you weren't involved in. 

LC:

Yeah. I do a lot more like production gig work than you do. 

LPW:

Right. Right. Because you're a stage manager and a designer. Theresa, you should have seen Queer Butoh. 

LC: 

But just to clear for the record, yes, I'm a stage manager and a designer, but my training is as a director, and I'm primarily a director. I'm interested in material and design. But if I don't make that clarification, all of a sudden, I'm going to be known as a stage manager. 

LPW:

And then everybody's going to want to hire you. 

LC:

Which I'm not opposed to. But if you're going to hire me as your stage manager, you have to know that actually I'm a director. 

LPW:

Yes. And that is a very specific recipe that you are cooking with if you hire that.

LC:

That thing. 

LPW:

Laia is a really great stage manager, but, you know, that's nobody's business. 

TB:

Yeah. Other than everyone reading this interview. 

LC:

Other than literally everyone. Yeah. Redact it.
(Brief pause)

Something I really value about our collaboration is also like the different shapes it has taken. 

LPW:

Like I was involved in Haircut Play :€. Like A, first of all, because that play is my niece. Like - That's my baby girl. I like to joke that I gave her her first glass of wine, and then Laia was like - “Leah, she's two” - and I was like - "Yeah, what about it?" But I did the graphic design for that play. You know I wasn't dramaturg or in rehearsal all the time. 

LC:

Well, and  you did publicity. You totally sold the show. It wasn't just the graphic design. 

LPW:

Okay. I did the publicity. I did the publicity. I did all the posting. Yeah. Yeah. 

Oh, redacted. 

I don’t do social media for people any more. However, I do design!

And Haircut Play :€ felt natural to me. 

LC: 

And I recently, while stage managing at The Brick, said to patrons, "No, actually, I'm not box office staff. I can't sell you a drink." So we've both been drawing boundaries more recently. 

TB:

This is honestly a good segue into the next question because it’s about that kind of specificity that you develop over time because you sort of have to. You might not think you need to, but then you wander into a situation where you're like, "Actually, yes, I do need to define why I'm doing this”. People are so concerned with finding opportunities to which they can say “yes” and chasing that “yes” that they forget that they're going to have to say “no” a lot as well and understand why.

LPW:

I feel like Laia and I have both, in our careers together and separately, just made it out of the woods of that period where everybody's like, "You have to say ‘yes’ to everything." And you're like, "Yeah, totally. Yes. I need exposure. I need money. I need connections." I feel like we are just at the end of that now, and now we're saying “no”. And it feels good. It feels really good to say no. Yeah. Yeah.

TB:

And you know Peter (Mills Weiss) brought this up with me a while back on one of my visits… the importance of a no is almost more important than the yeses, the way that you say them to other people, the way that you receive them. And if you don't know that, you might not need to be in a position of artistic leadership. 

(Pause)

Which brings me to - What is this project? And how did you come up with it? Why are you doing it? You've had one so far…

LPW:

We have one coming up. 

TB:

Yeah. We'll get to what's coming. But where did it come from? So, the origin story of Box Machine and what you think it is right now. 

LC:

Okay. So I'm going to start because you're the only person I talk less than, Leah.

TB:

Hahaha… That is so true. I will say that everything that that statement implies is so true. 

LC:

Okay. So Box Machine, which is this venue project that we're doing, started I would say specifically because during the rehearsal slash devising process for Warm Science (Laia and Leah’s project in the 2024 ?!:New Works at The Brick), we did the majority of those rehearsals in Leah's apartment. And that was a team of 11 people, I think,  including performers, stage manager, assistant director. 

LPW:

Important context is that I used to live here with a girlfriend. I no longer live here with said girlfriend, but I still live here. And I have very kind and generous parents who are patrons of the arts and of my life. And they said, "Hey, we know this apartment's too big for you. Don't worry about it. Don't get a roommate." And I was in my first year of grad school, and I was like, "Okay, sure." And then before I knew it, I had this room, this strange second room. And the first time it really got used was for Warm Science. So that was when we first started doing things in the space. And that wasn't necessarily public.

LC:

And at the time, we referred to it as the litter box, which then was renamed as Box Machine. 

LPW:

Exhibit A and B. 

(Leah shows us the litter boxes in Box Machine)

LC:

Yeah. They don't live in there for actual shows. Unless the artist would like for them to. 

LPW:

Yes. We don't recommend it.

box machine in the making

LC:

I think the genealogy… when I was in college, myself and some friends ran a dinner performance salon semi-weekly out of my and my friend Ellis's apartment. And that was really where most of my artistic curatorial interests lay during college - like at the intersection of food and performance. I'm grateful that early on I was like, "Oh, yeah, theater is not confined to a stage. This is also a possibility." And I think as soon as I moved to the city and was starting to look for people and spaces to do stuff, I had it in the back of my head, like what are the apartments that will work? Because the problem is real estate. 

LPW:

Yeah. There is no real estate. More recently, we just were kind of like, "Yeah, let's fucking do it at this point." I think because okay, so similarly for me in college, I did a lot of casting in college, and I did a lot of curation because I was on the board of the NYU Broke People Festival, and I was their marketing director. But as all college play festival boards work, I was also involved in curation and involved in casting. And it was like I loved the math of it. I loved the people-math of it. I loved that it was like this very strange specific alchemy, both in the curation of a season of plays and in the casting of said plays. I just fell completely, completely in love with that process. And throughout my time at Columbia, where I just got my playwriting MFA, I was also always casting our class readings, which my classmates very generously thanked me for with a bottle of bourbon at the end of our time at Columbia. So this element of thinking hard and thinking about who fits where and what's the chemistry is like a part of my brain that is active, honestly, more often than not. And then in the spring, in March, I want to say it was March, we threw a party for my thesis to raise money. And we raised $1,000, which was incredible. We raised $1,000 over the course of six hours, which was kind of unbelievable.

LC:

Yeah. And what we had done to raise funds for Warm Science is that we had also thrown a party and we used the old Makers Ensemble space. We did the same thing for Haircut Play :€, where we had members of the team perform and do whatever strange in-between performance medium really called to them.

LPW:

And the parties themselves always felt like just a little bit elevated, like, "Ooh, it's all performance." And then like Laia and I would get to MC and whatnot. And we did another one in Jonathan Schatzberg's yard. And the exercise of that just like set my brain on fire. I loved doing it. I loved thinking about who would be right for the space. I was just like delighted and surprised and shocked by everything I saw that night. And I was like, "Laia, we need to do this again. We need to do this again. We need to be putting artists in a space. We know the people. We have the network. We have the pull. People take us seriously. If we ask them to perform at a thing, they'll be like - yeah - they won't be like - Who are you?" And so I don't remember exactly at what moment it was like, "Oh, and is this what the room is for?" But Laia and I had also been discussing doing a show, specifically for the two of us. Which is actually going to happen this summer. It's called Mobile Wash Female Locker Room. And we're doing it, if all goes according to plan, the last week of August for seven days straight, like every night for a week, Sunday to Saturday. And so at some point, we caught the bug of like, "Oh, we can also produce other artists. And actually, it's just a matter of space, and it's actually really easy, and people will want to make it happen, and people will work with you…” And it's just like such a beautiful collaborative effort. And I don't remember when the switch clicked to, "Oh, we can do this, and we can offer other artists that we love, our friends, individual one-night-only slots at Box Machine." And it just like all made sense. 

LC:

I would also like to say in terms of vision, the intention is not that it's limited to people who we would describe as our friends. That's the community that you see. 

LPW:

But it's our launch pad. 

LC:

In terms of collaboration, I sort of am like the tech and design curator, and I'm like, "Okay, how are we going to fit into this space?" It’s fun! And I think in terms of what is Box Machine, like I think it's truthfully a very difficult space, and that's what is exciting and interesting. And as we're starting to think of programming, obviously, there's no need to make a board happy or cover overhead costs or anything like that. At least at this point. So we have the flexibility to sort of figure it out as we go and learn the lessons from each one. We're trying to get people in there to to help us think about this difficult space. And how can you use that difficulty? It is low-tech. Like, Abuela lives below the room. 

LPW:

Yeah, she does. We're always like, "Sorry, Abuela. Sorry, Abuela.” It can't be that loud. 

LC:

We’re approaching it sort of like Brick Aux. We'll slowly see how loud we can get, but we can't just like out the gate do a noise concert. 

LPW:

Exactly. And then it's also like, if people are exclusively using the room that is Box Machine and not the whole apartment…

LC:

You really can't have a comfortable audience of more than 12. 

LPW:

You could fit more people than that, uncomfortably. For Wonderful Cringe, we had like, I think, 36 people. And that was kind of crazy. It was insane. It worked for the piece. It was hallucinatory. Like how I explained the night to people is that there were 35 people in my apartment. It was really, really hot. There was a man on TV, and then the man from the TV was inside my apartment. That is how I explained it.

Wonderful Cringe at box machine / photo: Tess Walsh

LC:

And we're glad we did that. And also, probably, we will curate things that require cramming more people into the space in the winter when it's not 96 degrees outside. So I think, in some ways, like all of the things we learned about making work in a space, like The Brick, like the spaces that we make work in.. 

LPW:

Like The tank, a 56-seater, when there's another set underneath that we have to work with that can't be taken down, is helping. Like the dial is turned up to plus 15. And that's what we're excited about curatorially. 

LPW:

And I mean, like Laia and I, both as Laia/Leah and separately, we are both obsessed with form and the challenges of form and the way in which…

LC:

Whatever the hell that means. 

LPW:

You know, like the way in which form constricts, but then through that, you find a very strange pocket of, "Oh, this is what the piece is." Like, there are two closets in that room. And there's a world in which that's bothersome. But in our world, we're like, "Okay, so we're staging theater inside of the closets." Awesome. 

LC:

This is what the one wall looks like. And so there's these two alcoves with depth. And so for our piece, in particular, like Leah's going to be in one of them and Laia's going to be in the other. And we probably break that form at a certain point, but yeah. 

(Pause)

So anyways, that's Box Machine.

Wonderful Cringe at box machine / photo: Tess Walsh

LPW:

Also, the shower was used. Like I told you, Theresa. Multiple people took showers at the show. And I was like, "This is crazy. Where else can that happen?" 

TB:

Any space that has a shower is such a gift to an artist. The number of times I've had to figure out with Hannah Kallenbach how to clean them up after a show without a shower…So interestingly, my next question was, what are the details of the space, size, outlets, windows, rafters, chairs, etc. 

LPW:

So many outlets. 

TB:

Which I've sort of gotten a little bit of from the tour (that preceded this interview). So just contextually, I'll say that we got a tour and you can look at the video that will be underscored by Evanescence. But, for those who don’t want to watch that hahaha… There are two closets next to each other. There's a fire escape. There's ephemera. There's pipe with plastic curtains so far. 

LC:

Not weight bearing whatsoever. 

TB:

Great. No aerial silks going on. 

LPW:

No air conditioning in the room, but we have some bladeless Dyson fans, one of which is 10 years old and really holding on and trying her best. We also have bodies to lift said fans, which I did. Well, Laia did it and then I took it and I brought it further into the room. So I just had this air purifying tower in my arms. 

LC:

The fan was honestly bullshit. It didn't do anything. 

LPW:

Emotionally, it does something for people. 

LC:

Emotionally it does something for you and me because we feel like we're making people feel less hot, but it actually, in fact, does absolutely nothing. I'm putting my “we-re director and playwright in the room together” hat on to shut you up, Leah. In terms of actual tech specs, we can send that to you, and we can pretend that we said it nicely in conversation. 

TECH SPECS:

- let's call it 9x12x8 (it's not quite that but that's close enough and we’ll be more specific with folks programmed in the space)

- printer

- random bluetooth speakers

- many edison outlets

- no dimmable lights

box machine (virgin)

TB:

I love it. That's so much of what you were just talking about - what is the form? What's the container? And how does that limit you but also release and expose things that you might not otherwise discover? 

LPW:

Right. And what's super cool as well is that our tech abilities and our stock will build with every show we have in the space, depending on what the artists need. So first of all, we only work with creative problem solvers. That is who we're working with in this space. Second of all, you know we will go to materials for the arts with them. We'll go to materials for the arts for them. It's like serving in this role of facilitator, I think. Like How do we make your dreams happen? And if that's not possible, how do we approximate or find something that's just as exciting for you? And as we do that for our different artists, well, then our stock grows, and then we can offer more to the next artists. And then all the pieces sort of come in conversation with themselves because then you're like, "Oh, there's the fake blood from Wonderful Cringe," or like, "Oh, I remember this projector being used in X, Y, Z," or like, "Oh, this desk, which the cat tree was on last time I was in, is now being used in the room." So yeah, it's really kind of delicious and like ooh, a little spicy thing to create this continuum of performance where, in a space like this, where it never really is a blank slate, everything is part of the same world and everything is in conversation. And to me, everything that I have in this apartment, like once again, it's fair game. And the artist can include it as much or as little as they want. I don't know. It feels like an artist jungle gym where it's quite difficult, actually. Like the bars are far apart, and the rope's a little skinny, and you have to climb pretty high. But it's a workout, and it's a workout for us, and it's a workout for the artists. 

LC:

And also sorry… Some five-year-old will probably fall and break their arm, and then there's going to be a lawsuit in the local municipality…

LPW:

And then we have to write a statement. 

LC:

Yeah. They're going to remove the jungle gym. 

LPW:

The liability. 

LC:

All of the above. But also a big part of it is that we are interested in work that is ambitious. 

LPW:

I mean, the Wonderful Cringe piece was certainly ambitious, and I mean, it was thrilling, and it was scary, and it was like kind of dangerous, but also like a warm embrace at the same time. And it's like, "Oh, God, under no circumstances, should we ever have this many people in this space?" But we did. And it created this really heightened sensual experience. Laia and I are now talking a lot about theater in hot spaces and how can we create theater in hot spaces because it does just put the brain in such a state, especially when experienced together.

LC:

It's also like an inevitability of our world now. It’s getting hot. We’re making the planet hotter. We don't have spaces that have large theaters that are air conditioned that are just available for us to fuck around in. You know? We don't have that. So we do it in our backyards. We do it in the weird spare room in the apartment that your friends’ mom and dad are paying for. 

LPW:

Like, you do it in someone's basement where there's definitely mold and maybe lead in the walls. The reality is our world is hostile to us, and we will create art in it in spite of it. And we will grow stronger and we will experience many challenges. And I am really excited about it. I mean, like I have a really difficult relationship with heat. I've been super medicated since I was 14. It's been a decade of just like no heat regulation whatsoever. But since Wonderful Cringe, where we were all collectively completely overheated and sweaty, and then the man from the TV was inside the apartment, and then there was blood everywhere and multiple people had their shirts off… I was like, "Oh, this feels similar to almost like an ancient rite where we all sit in a room together and sweat our balls off, and like our brains all enter this jello state of consciousness together. And that's the sort of thing you can do in an unconventional performance space. Anyways, some upcoming artists are interested in doing durational performance, which they can get away with because it's my apartment. And I'm not going to be the one to be like, "No, you can't be here now." 

LC:

Yes, we can get away with it, but also like what the fuck does that mean for you when you go to bed? You know? And I'm interested in that. 

LPW:

Right. That is inevitably part of it. I see you and me taking shifts. That's what I imagine happening. Or I also see myself just not sleeping at all. That is absolutely the sort of thing I see putting myself through. 

TB:

Get volunteers! You know, probably the longest performance I did was 28 hours, I think. And I was the only one who was awake the whole time. Though I did lay down at about 8:00 a.m. on the first day. I should have gotten volunteers. Cautionary tale! You know, there's a great history of not only shows in unconventional spaces that are also uncomfortable and inaccessible in New York, but also a great deal of durational shows. The theater needs this kind of thing because musicians do it. Comedians do it. Performance artists do it. Shea Stadium would host the 24-hour show that Smhoak Mosheein did for years. 

LPW:

And Chris Gethard just did it, right? He just hosted his 24 hour show. We know a whole bunch of people who were involved in that. 

TB:

Yah! There's a great history of that. And so there's a lot of people to learn from when it comes to that. And I think that it is also part of that hallucinatory thing. I remember performing this Peter Mills Weiss idea at 6:00 a.m.at the Silent Barn in one of the apartments. At that point, I think it was called Pleasure Jail, but it also had a bunch of different names… Champagne Room was one of them. We performed the pilot episode of Pretty Little Liars at 6:00 a.m. in that apartment, me and my friend Joey LePage. 

LPW:

And that was a PMW idea? 

TB:

Yeah. 

LPW:

Pretty Little Liars specifically was a PMW idea? 

TB:

Mm-hmm. 

LPW:

That's hysterical. That is so funny. 

TB:

And it was people that had already been at a show for soooo long. There were some people sleeping, some people heavily intoxicated. But it was also right when the sun was coming up… you know there's weird shit that happens when you have that flexibility and there's also a lot of risks. So, you know, take care. 

LPW:

Oh, yes, yes, yes. As my mother loves to remind me - Have a first aid kit. 

LC:

Oh, we need to get one of those. That's so true. 

TB:

Yeah, please get a first aid kit. 

LPW:

How did we not have a first aid kit for Wonderful Cringe?

LC:

Anyways, you live, you learn. Because my first aid kit that was part of my SM kit was stolen from me by, say it with me, The Brick Theater. 

TB:

Well, steal one back. 

LC:

I know. Actually, I almost did because I was just there, but it's depleted now. 

LPW:

What I am really also very intrigued by about this hallucinatory state that we're talking about, this theater of altered consciousness, I guess you could say, is that when you enter a performance space that is a home and does not pretend to be not a home, that immediately puts you in a very specific headspace. And it's a headspace that exists to be disrupted, to be surprised. It's a blurring of the boundaries of public and private dichotomies. And that is so, so, so, so awesome to me. I, like as a theater maker, sure, but like especially as a performance artist, I am a really big fan of taking my junk, putting it on stage, dressing it up, and then being like, "Here you go." And you can't tell what's real and you can't tell what is. But I think one of the things that it was interesting to watch happen at the Wonderful Cringe performance was exactly what you're talking about, Laia. People coming in down the long hallway. “Take a look at this.” 

LC:

Partially because of the space and because it's an apartment, but also partially because in the marketing of the show, it wasn't like “Wonderful Cringe at Box Machine”.  

LPW:

People immediately walked in and had no clue how to behave, what was expected of them. And it was dark. It was pretty much completely dark except for the light of the TV. So you come in and it's the strange familiarity of like, "Oh, this is a home, but also I'm incredibly destabilized because the expectations for how to behave in a performance space and how to behave in a home are like bumping up against each other. And it's not clear where the separation is, you know especially with a performance like Wonderful Cringe, which used pretty much the entire apartment other than my room. And people were standing in my room. They had to. There was not enough room for people in the living room to be able to see the screen. So some people stood in my bedroom. And that, to me, was going to happen. And I knew it was going to happen. And the only thing I hide are my meds because nobody's taking my Vyvanse, not on my watch. Yeah. 

LPW:

And once again, not to be like, "And this is an extension of our form." But Laia and I, not so long ago, came into the language of noise theater to describe what we do, which really does exist, like right in the middle of, like, is it a noise show? Is it a short play? Is it performance art? Is it experimental theater?


LC:
Like, where's the boundary?


LPW:
Do we care about the boundary?

LC:

Like, actually, we do care a lot about the boundary. We like to exist right in the boundary. We like the border. We care about how the boundary gets moved and manipulated and negotiated.

LPW:

And it is really awesome to me to see that happen to my home. And like for me as an artist, that just feels like a natural extension of what I do. 

Laia and Nick Sanchez (Wonderful Cringe) working in box machine.

(Pause for a time check)

I wanted to put a button on this beat super quick, which is just that so much of my, I feel mostly in retrospect, like so much of my training as a theater artist and also, especially now that I'm halfway through my clinical training as a drama therapist, like so much of my training has been how do you take care of audiences and how do you you know in the first minutes of a show and train them to the expectations that they should have or maybe should isn't the right word there, but a professor of mine would always talk about in training the audience, like two pendulums. Audience has the potential to be in sync. And it’s not that we're putting people intentionally in danger or not taking care of people, but for the audience to come in and have no idea what to do. And that is a disruption of the dominant logic of how you are as an audience member and it is very exciting. 

LPW:

And isn't that just what life is these days? Just a constant disruption of dominant logic? And a simultaneous reproduction of it, which is where the cognitive dissonance comes from, I would say. Back to you. 

TB:

And I'd say something that I think you're sort of referencing, Laia, is how to take care of people within that because there is the expectation that you can only take care of people if you have ____, whether it's money or space or resources or whatever, is untrue. We have to do it even if we don't have those things. And so I think that is especially for the communities that we're a part of… the expectation that we'll have what we need, what we hoped for, will probably never be the case. So we still have to figure it out every day. So that's what it is. It's figuring it out every day.

LPW:

And it's how we do that while also making work that is transgressive and that is angry and that is passionate and that has a lot to say and a lot on its sleeve. And that sometimes makes you well, often makes you shudder a bit and makes you want to run away. I think Laia and I are both really interested in work that makes you want to run away. That is something that comes up a lot for us. Work that is not like particularly palatable. Or that convinces you that it's palatable, and then it turns the switch on you or it cranks it slowly, slowly, slowly. And how do we meet our ethos of , "Yeah, we care about the people who come into our space, and we don't want anybody passing out and having nobody tend to them." Or like, "If you need to throw up, the toilet's right there. We'll help you get there." While also being like, "We are drawn to violence, and we are drawn to … not like conservative reactionary work, but reactive work. And we are drawn to things that are aggressive and scary. And you know that's where we're at. I mean, how could it not be? Everything is boiling over all the time. And I think there's something really, really powerful in making work in something that feels like a safe environment or something that is traditionally considered like a safe environment, like a home, like a little domestic space where there are two cats and a Swiffer. And the work inside of it is this boiling, boiling thing. 

LC:

I want to adjust something slightly you said, Leah, in regards to how I relate to it, which is that I don't know necessarily that I would say I'm interested in making work that people want to run away from, but rather the things that in the real world make us want to run away, I want the performance to allow us to drop deeper into it. 

LPW:

I like that. I think that's right.

LC:

Back to you, Theresa. 

TB:

Love it. Well, as we round out this what-I-can-only-assume-will-be-an-impossible-to-transcribe-interview, I guess I'm sort of curious what is next, literally. When is the next show? How do people find out about it? How do people pitch you on things? And two, do you have any important rules to express that you already have? And do you have any fantasies that you'd like to express for the record? And then in 10 years, we'll examine Box Machine and say, "What were those fantasies?” Could be interesting. 

LC:

Can we turn this into a structured sort of checkout where each of us get one sentence to respond to each of those things?

TB:

I love that. Mm-hmm. Okay. All right. So one sentence to respond to literally what is next. 

LPW:

Isa Nicdao, Val Ramirez, July 19th to 20th, durational performance. Follow us. Follow one or both of us on Instagram, if you're not currently. 

TB:

There is not a Box Machine Instagram, so we just follow one or both of you? Great. That is how people find out about shows. A slightly longer scope of what is next after July 19th… Last week of August is your performance? Is there anything between July 19th and that?

LC:

We're sorting out some programming conversations with people, so not yet. But Laia and Leah, as laialeah, will be performing on July 26th at Catch Takes the Hudson Back. 

LPW:

And we'll be spending the week there, which is super cool. And that will be like a small piece in development of what will be us really putting together the first of multiple pieces of Mobile Wash Female Locker Room.

TB:

That's so cool. I've only seen one show up there. Jim Fletcher was in a show with a dog. 

LPW:

Oh, my God. I want to see Jim Fletcher with a dog. Are you kidding? I think this is my ideal theater-going experience. 

TB:

It was January 2022, and it was the only Under the Radar show that could happen because it was just Jim and a dog and another solo monologue with Ismaïl ibn Conner.

It was great. Very worth the trip. It's a very cute town. 

LPW:

Yeah. I'm really looking forward to it. We are excited to be in the grass. We're not excited about the ticks, but we're excited to be out of the city and to just sort of really play. And video work because we got these babies (gestures to a stack of TVs in the closet).

LC:

Oh, and I got some extra BNC cables at the church yard sale. Yes. So $1 each. 

TB:
Special shout-outs to MFTA and Laia’s church yard sale. 

LPW:

Special shout out to Leigh Honigman's Honigman and Son's MFTA account, which keeps this entire city running.

LC: And the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of the Susquehanna Valley.

LPW:

And thank you to Jon Schatzberg's big arms and Isa Nicdao's van. Yeah. Absolutely. 

TB:

Small side note… Jon's big arms reminded me of this. But if you can find a place that's still showing Secret Mall Apartment, it is an amazing documentary about these artists in Providence, Rhode Island that built an apartment in the mall that they had for four years before getting discovered.

LPW:

Wow!

TB:

And it was an art project. It's so inspiring. And I think really speaks to what you two are doing right now. So you should definitely check it out. 

(Pivot pause)

All right. So last questions. 

LC:

We'll try to keep it to one sentence. 

TB:

How do people pitch you? 

Both:

We're still figuring that out. 

TB:

That's all we need to know for now! You'll figure it out. You'll let people know on your Instagram. But also, if people want to reach out to you, they should. 

LPW:

Yeah. Absolutely. They can DM either one of us. 

TB:

I forgot there are two more. Do you have any rules right now? 

LPW:

Sorry, there was just a crazy bolt of lightning. 

LC:

Yeah, I saw it on your face.

(Pause)

This isn't a rule, but there are two cats, and unfortunately, they're not going to leave so if you have a severe cat allergy, that is an area in which we cannot accommodate. 

LPW:

I can swiffer extra hard. I can buy you antihistamines. I can literally bring you a little bowl of Zyrtec, but that is part of the space. 

LC:

I mean, also, like no fire. We can't swing that. 

LPW:

Yeah. No fire. 

TB: Perfect. Great rules. And then fantasy. Each of you gets one fantasy for what  Box Machine is and can be.

LPW:

Well, in the sort of philosophical, what's our ethos, blah, blah, blah, blah sort of dream. I want this to be a space that people feel like they can show up at, that they don't need to be friends with people or have an in or whatever. Like I don't want it to be the kind of environment that you walk into and go, "Oh, there's a specific social hierarchy here.

Or what matters here is my proximity to Laia or Leah or who the artist is." You know? 

LC:

Which I think also, truthfully, is something that'll be a very challenging thing to fight against, just sort of how group dynamics work. And it is literally your apartment. 

LPW:

Literally my apartment. Also my dream is a week of programming where every night it's a different artist. 

LC:

My dream is to get even just like an 8 or 16 channel stage setter dimming console. One of those dinky little things. Because we can't dim anything right now. 

TB:

You know I love an achievable fantasy, right? 

LC:

Yeah.

TB:

And it's also good to express your fantasies because somebody who reads this might be able to help you. 

LC:

I guess to be even more specific about my fantasy, I would love a couple Leviton dimmer packs as well as an 8 or 16 channel stage setting mini console. Please and thank you. 

TB:

I love it. Well, thank you. Let's see what that transcription is. (It was unhinged and this version is EDITED) But yeah, thank you for having this conversation. Thank you to your parents, Leah. 

LPW:

Thank you to my parents. Huge shout out. Truly, truly, truly. And the secret is that you have more friends with rich parents than you think you do. They're just not telling you. They are not disclosing it, but there are so many people in New York City with parents who are giving them money. And the truth is that I think that more of that money could go towards the people, but you know whatever. 

TB:

You know If anyone out there has rich parents that wants to pay for me to come back to New York, Please. That's my fantasy. I'll put it out there too. But yeah. And thank you for doing this work. You know It's so important.This is how the cool shit keeps happening, and people have to be interested and brave and curious enough to actually make the space and make it happen. And a lot of people want somebody else to make it happen for them. And I get that. But that's just not the reality of how cool shit happens. And you have the space. When you have the space, you have the skills and you have the community - Why not? 

Both:

Thanks for putting us in a room together, Theresa.

TB:

It was a very magical room. I'll say that. Can you imagine not having been in a room together? What the fuck? 

LC:

Well, I think there's a certain degree of inevitability. 

LPW:

Yeah. Because also, Laia and I went to the same Shakespeare program in Stratford, Ontario.

LC:

Yeah one week apart. 

LPW:

One week apart in 2016. Yeah.

TB:

You know Sara Holdren and I went to the same Shakespeare camp in Staunton, Virginia. 

LPW:

Really? 

LC:

I have to go. 

(“Goodbyes” and “love yous” and “so good to see yous” and “talk to you soons” are uttered)

laialeah perform “Update For Our Community” at SalON!, 2025

Charlie Wood and Theresa Buchheister Chatting About The Devil’s Eyelash, Inspiration and Impossible Stage Directions

by Theresa Buchheister

This is a conversation with multidisciplinary artist Charlie Wood, who is the playwright behind The Devil’s Eyelash. This play came into my awareness because Charles Quittner was like - You have to read this play it is so great I did it and I will send you video and the script and you have to do it in the US.” I don’t love reading plays by myself, so I got some friends to come read it aloud and we immediately said - “We gotta do this.” So we are! June 15th at The ECM in Lawrence, KS! Just a reading with some design elements and vibes. It will be a fundraiser for fetish org Midnight Menagerie, as well! Come check it out, help us do it more and/or bring it to a city near you!

Theresa: Hi Charlie! Here we go… All right. So I'll just ask a handful of questions. And of course, you can be like, "I don't want to answer that," or you can ask for clarification.

Charlie: Haha ok. Apologies in advance for rambling. I'm such a classic rambler.

Theresa; Honestly, same. I will edit…So! I wanted to start out with the reality that you do so many things. Can you share your creative modes and outlets these days? How do you express yourself artistically? 

Charlie: Yeah. I've got a lot of things going on at the moment. There's three major strands, I think, probably, maybe more. Writing for live performance is very much one of them at the moment, and it's one that I'm trying to push a bit more. But alongside that, there is the cabaret world stuff that I do, which sort of started in a drag place and is moving increasingly away into some other place that involves making a lot of very big headpieces. Yeah. So a sort of performance art, drag, adjacent cabaret stuff. I run my own cabaret night called Miss Ellaneous with Frankie Thompson, who is a genius and whom I don't deserve. And then the other outlet is the band that I'm singing and writing for partially and playing guitar in, but mainly just because we couldn't find anyone else to play guitar. That's a punk band with a cello and a violin called Thwack. And I'm also currently considering trying to start a jewelry making course because I feel like I don't have enough to do. So more is more? Yes. I'm restless or something, but yes. Yeah.

Theresa: I think this is a very undeveloped idea, and I'll talk to my therapist about it later, but I think that there are people who enjoy being busy until they find the sort of edge of that busyness that then becomes sort of awful and dangerous. But up until they get to that edge, it's just like, "Yeah, I have time to do more things, and I'm interested in more things, so why wouldn't I do more things?" 

Charlie: My mindset cycles, I think. I'm just coming out of a bit of a burnout period (after a big gig). And I'm sort of getting excited about things and wanting to start a bunch of new projects and getting inspired by everything. I feel like I'm chronically inspired, I think, is the problem. There's always things that are moving me to do things and make things. 

Theresa: Well, that's a great segue because my next question was going to be, what led you to write The Devil's Eyelash?vWas there a first spark with one of the characters or a scene or one of the trillions of evocative images in the show? Or did it just sort of tumble out all at once? 

Charlie: Well, I was doing a playwriting course at Soho Theatre in London. And I knew that there was something in there, and I had sort of strands of ideas for stuff. It was getting further and further into this course, and I still didn't know what the idea that I was actually going to work on. I think the first image was the idea of the extremeness of a Leather Daddy and a Dominatrix sort of on the run together in some context. I also make quite a lot of collages and stuff. So I had a little collage image of those two characters in a car, which I think I've lost the image, but I think it was like a Tom of Finland illustration for the leather daddy. And then I think it was a Vogue shoot where they had a lot of people in full high glam latex that had sort of been back on my old Tumblr, actually. So I just sort of dug that out and went, "Okay, let's try." And then that became that opening scene where they rob the liquor store. 

Theresa: Wow. I love that. And it makes me want to revisit some Tumblr activity. 

Charlie: Yeah. It's still kicking as far as I'm aware. These things stick.

Theresa: Before I forget, I did just see that Christeene is going to be at Soho Theater this weekend. Are you able to go? 

Charlie: I don't think I am, unless I can move things around, but I do adore Christeene. I saw Christeene when I was quite young  because I grew up on David Hoyle, who I think Christine is married to or was married to. And so seeing them at formative ages is probably part of the DNA of this show. Honestly, that's sort of the grotesque and the queer, anti­-everything thing that is probably part of this. Yeah. 

photo: Harry Elletson

Theresa: Yeah. It's amazing how when we're young, we see things that reveal aspects of ourselves that already exist… So on to a way less interesting question, but I think maybe interesting for the theater nerds out there and probably the poets too. Have you added or subtracted anything since first starting writing that you still think about? 

Charlie: Gosh, have I? It's been a minute since I wrote it, so I can't immediately bring anything to mind. At one point, I was sort of thinking, because it's quite an episodic show, I was imagining what it would be like as a sort of more extended podcast or radio show. There was a podcast called The Thrilling Adventure Hour that I used to like and they did it in the style of old-­timey radio. So they did a lot of the sound effects and music live. And I quite like that. And I was imagining what this show would be as part of that. And so I did have vague concepts for two or three other segments, sort of locations that they would end up in the journey. And the one I can bring to mind was (and it never got developed too far), but there was going to be a part where the characters are sort of elite sex workers in their own right. And there was going to be a situation where those skills were very much utilized to escape or to win a situation. It was all going to be very, very explicit and very horrible, but maybe quite fun. And I'm sort of sad in some ways that I never put pen to paper on that because I think it could have been ridiculous. But I was aware that the show is not short. 

Theresa: But I mean, all the more reason to potentially turn it into an episodic podcast. 

Charlie: Yeah. Potentially. Potentially. I mean, yeah, we'll see where it goes, but it would be nice for it to have some life at some point. And that is definitely one thing that it could be. 

Theresa: Yeah. You know adaptation is such a fascinating thing. For example, I just, for some reason, decided to rewatch The Leftovers, which is an HBO show with Justin Thoreau and Carrie Coon about the rapture, sort of. But it's based on a novel. And the novel is so different from what the three seasons of the show turned into. And I was just thinking about how hard that probably was for the writer in many ways, like having worked for a very long time on this novel and some of this stuff just not making it in and how that feels. And then other things, sort of expanding far beyond what he ever thought - like something that was just mentioned then becomes an entire character or through line. But you know stories expand and contract. And this one can certainly expand.

Charlie: And the cool thing about radio is that the level of sort of grotesquery that you can accomplish via sound to me feels sort of limitless because you don't actually have to figure out how to do it. And that was one of the reasons why the show has taken the sort of storytelling form. All of the events are not really happening. They're being talked about. They're being told. And that was partly because it was always a play about extremes, which is obviously really hard to achieve if you're just directly representing those things. You know, some of the earliest performances I did was in the storytelling world. I was part of a queer myth retelling group. And a piece that I did in that probably has the roots of this show. It was a story about Icarus and Frankenstein's monster as two non­binary teenage lovers escaping the heterosexual police and a sort of Mad Max style thing. And that was the first time I realized you can do anything if you're just telling the story rather than trying to physically embody it. I find that I tend towards surrealism and extremes and that kind of thing. So it opened the field to just have anything happen, have the most ridiculous thing you could possibly think of occur. So yeah.

photo: Nona Dutch

Theresa: Yeah, radio and storytelling. Both freeing formats in sorta special ways. Ok! So now I have a sort of two­parter, and don't get too excited about it. But just to provide some context for who you are, I was curious what excites you most about theater. So not storytelling, not music… I mean, all of those things can be part of theater, but theater, as we understand it, AND what annoys you most about theater. 

Charlie: Interesting. Yes. I think theatre has a potential to move me, one. I can't speak for others. But I think theatre shows have moved me more completely than a lot of other mediums. There's something about the aliveness of theatre combined with the telling of a complete or a developed narrative that changes over an amount of time and for that to be channeled through the live performers who are in the room with you. I think it has this absolute potential to be completely moving and it's so whole in its ability to take you and transport you and make you feel something complicated and make you learn something. And yeah, just all of that, all of that.

The political potential of that, the personal potential of that. And it doesn't happen often, but there are shows that have really done that in my life. I'm sure I could list a bunch of them. So yeah, I think theatre has a unique potential to do that that other art forms don't fully have. And it's something that I see as a responsibility in work that I make - like you've got people in a room. I think the thing that annoys me most about theatre is when it doesn't take seriously that responsibility. And that doesn't mean it tries something and fails. I don't mind something failing. Like I'm usually okay with theater, if I can see what it's going for and it just doesn't hit for me, that's fine. It doesn't have to hit for everyone. But when something is self­indulgent or trite or when it's like a money grab or yeah, just something that's designed to entertain at best. Yeah. I think that's what I find most annoying, probably. It's probably a bit pretentious, but I think yeah, art's important. And when people treat it like it's not that makes it not. 

Theresa: Yeah. I think there are times where the perception of seriousness is sort of based on this idea of seriousness. That to be serious means to, you know, sit down in a suit with a pencil and a newspaper and a pipe or something. It's like - I'm very serious about everything that I do, but I also think everything is absurd and stupid as well. It's really, I think, a beautiful balance for artists and particularly theater artists that are sort of navigating all of these different modes of expression of the visual and of the written text and of the embodied and of the sung and the spoken and all of these things, they're finding the balance between those things. And that's a serious work with a lot of responsibility, especially on a macro level, what it's putting out into the world. And on a micro level, the experiences of the people doing it. And so, yeah, I take it very seriously as well. So we can be hoity­toity together. Yeah.

Charlie: And I think some theater people can get a little bit up their own ass of like, "We're going to change the world with this play, and it's going to bring down the government." And it's like, "It's not going to do that." But it's going to do something. And yeah, if it means something to a few people, and if it changes something in someone's heart, that is what it has the potential to do. And that ripples out. And yeah. So it's not going to bring down our various commanders in chiefs, but it's something. And it does have a power, if not complete power. Yeah. Yeah. Mm­hmm. I'll leave it at that.

Theresa: So we're drawing near the end. So the questions are getting a little bit like we're drawing near the end of this interview. What would you love to see on stage that you've never seen? 

Charlie: Oh, I've seen some very good things on stage. You don't mean like extant productions that I would love to have seen…?  

Theresa: I didn't initially, but let's make this a two­part question. Is there a show that you know exists that you would like to see? And is there something, someone, some act, some idea that, as far as you know, has never been done on stage, or at least that you've never seen, that you would like to see happen in front of you?

Charlie: Oh, gosh. There are so many things that I would like to see on stage that I've not had the opportunity to. I'm desperate to see someone stage a Sarah Kane production that I've not yet seen. I would love to have seen Orville Peck as the MC in Cabaret, which is happening in New York at the moment, which is such a perfect casting. I've got quite obsessed with Ride The Cyclone, the musical, at the moment, which I would love to see live. Gosh. I once heard of a production... It's the only Shakespeare production that I'm interested in seeing. It was called Tiny Ninja Macbeth. And I've just heard myth of this. I've never seen anything about it. But apparently, it was just a man in a small room doing the whole of Macbeth with Lego figures. And I've heard someone say like, "It's amazing because you can never have a full army on stage, but he had a full army, just as Lego figures." That always sounded exciting. And in terms of what I would like to see on stage that I've not seen in a more general way, I really love scripts that present the unstageable and then just tell the director like … Sarah Kane has got lines like, "Rats carry his feet away." And there's no way of doing it. You can't do that. And I think that came into the writing of this play a little bit like, "I'm just going to visualize things that I would love to see visualized and then just see." I would like to see what happens if you have just a bunch of different directors with very different visions and ways of working approach a play like mine but not necessarily mine because, yeah, I just really like when the impossible is presented to a group of people who then have to bring it to life in some way. I don't know if that's exactly the answer to that question, but it's within the world of it, hopefully. 

photo: Sinju Hitomi

Theresa: I absolutely love that. And I think there is a whole further interview that we could do about intentionally writing the impossible to stage, you know, because it brings a lot of things into play about shows that I don't like as much now, things that are so intended to be staged and understood and consumed that they're the most bland thing that I could imagine, even if the inspiration started out sort of interesting. And people do that for different reasons. They want it to get published. They want it to get done. They know that they're self­ producing, and so they're already eliminating wild opportunities for themselves. But then it also forces people to not write outside of their experience, which as writers, we can be so much more expansive than our own stories. So there's also a lot of just really personal bio pieces that don't really expand beyond that personal bio, so I'm like, "Oh, I don't care." It's not that I don't care about the person, but I don’t care for the theater. A person that I love that I think you would probably be into Daniil Kharms, who is a Russian absurdist poet. So because most of his stuff in the '30s was not going to ever be staged and probably a lot of it was destroyed by the KGB, he wrote these exquisite things with the idea that “this will never be staged”. And the sort of freedom that unleashed was exciting to read and then exciting to see a company (The Million Underscores_ _) you know nearly 100 years later be like, "I'm going to do it. What is the language of birds? We'll find out." And it turns it into so much more of a collaborative process, as well. This all makes me really want to take The Devil's Eyelash after this reading and have each section staged by a different group. I know that that would probably be like wildly confusing for people, but also who cares? I think that'd be so fascinating. 

Charlie: I think quite a lot of the characters' voices come out of different people at different times. So you could have a sort of rotating cast. It'd be a bit confusing. Yeah. But no, I think it'd be fun. We'll see.

Theresa: I'll keep ruminating on that… So speaking of your play - any advice for audiences of The Devil's Eyelash? Like how would you want people to enter into the experience of your world that you've created? 

Charlie: Gosh. Well, I definitely wouldn't want to be too prescriptive. But I would say it's not about trying to understand it necessarily. Just let yourself be taken on the ride, I think. I don't want to tell people how to experience it, but just allow it to do whatever it's trying to do in your mind.

Theresa: I love that. Yeah. I historically don't read director's notes in a program before I sit down to watch a play. But I'm always open to somebody saying like, "Oh, you know if you open your mind in this way or think in this direction, you'll enjoy yourself more." Or even sometimes telling me the runtime of the show. Just tell me how long the show is so then I can not worry about peeing myself. 

Charlie: Yeah. It's got a lot of words. Not all of them are important. You'll pick up the ones that are meaningful to you and the rest are like, "Yeah, don't try too hard.” Basically, just let it happen to you. 

Theresa: Right on. Ok!  Lastly, are there any shout outs for upcoming shows or projects that we can tell people about?

Charlie: Oh gosh. Look out for what Miss Ellaneous is doing. Look out for what THWACK! are doing. I'm very proud of both of those projects. I will shout out Charles Quittner!. Brooklyn Rep is a London-­based company that comes out of America that is doing endlessly interesting and experimental things utilizing the drag world in London in a lot of interesting queer spaces. Gosh, what is happening? Panic searching through my friends on IG. I have so many friends who do such interesting work. This is a delightful thing about being immersed in a creative world. Oh! I've been involved in a cabaret project in which a quite wonderful friend of mine has got a bunch of London cabaret artists together. And her background is in flamenco. And she got a bunch of people together whose work has nothing to do with flamenco. And we did a bunch of flamenco workshops and flamenco pieces.

And so we've all made a piece loosely inspired by Lorca and sort of historical queer flamenco. I don't think it's been announced officially, but it is coming back to London in quite a big way in the later part of this year. So yes, keep an eye out for that. 

Theresa: Oh, that's so exciting. See? There's always something. That's what I tell people when they are like, "There's nothing to do." I'm like, "You're not looking." 

Charlie: Yes. You're not looking. Look around. Oh, I just remembered that Edinburgh is coming up, and there's so many things in Edinburgh. Emma Franklin has a show called No Apologies, which is an exploration of the potential that Kurt Cobain was a trans woman, which is fabulous. And my friend Cabbage the Clown is doing a beautiful, ridiculous, draggy little clown show about the shit jobs we have to do while we're trying to make our interesting jobs happen. Those are the only ones I can think of in this moment, but there's some fabulous people doing the Edinburgh fringe. 

Theresa: Oh, yes. Someday, I'll get there.

Charlie: Oh, I wanted to mention - I really love the show poster for this one. I was genuinely touched. It was someone who clearly really engaged with the work and cared about it. So that was very… I was touched. And it's a beautiful little poster too. 

Theresa: I'll let them know! One of the performers, Arlowe, their roommate, Sundae, did the poster. And I was like, I'm sort of used to having to tell an artist what I want. And Arlowe was like, "Oh, no, they'll read the play." And I was like, "Great. Okay. And then we'll see what that means." But yeah, I really love it. It has a lot going on, and yet the eye is really drawn to all these like little treats, and then there are sort of big expressions of what you might get in the show.

Charlie: It looks to me like it's an exciting show if you haven't seen it, and then it rewards you if you have seen it. So. Yeah. Exactly. Yeah. It's like good merch. It's like if you know, you know.

Theresa: And if you don't know, it's still intriguing.

Charlie; Yes indeed.

Theresa: Ok, so I said this was ending a long time ago. So now we are really ending. This has been really fun! And now we do the show!

Charlie: Awesome. Thank you. Fabulous.

photo: James Klug

Staff Picks Reflects on the Past 5 Years: Considering “Slackjaw”, A Turn Inwards by Alexa Stevens and Tommy Gedrich

by kanishk pandey

The first time the work of Alexa Stevens and Tommy Gedrich came to my attention was not in the performance sphere. Rather, it was on my phone, scrolling tiktok, mind in a different place. Alexa and Tommy found viral success in 2020 as the ‘Mamma Mia dancers’ on TikTok, where their high-energy dance style captured global attention. In an age where commercial dance is in immediate contact via digital consciousness, there comes an easy assumption that the dancer, as an artist, has little to comment on in their work. 

“Slackjaw”, which debuted by Stevens and Gedrich at The Fish Bowl in Allentown, reveals another side of their artistry, one that is more introspective, raw, and emotionally nuanced. Where their TikTok performances showcased their precision and charm, Slackjaw demonstrates their ability to strip movement down to its most essential, human form. By incorporating elements of pedestrian movement and gesture, Slackjaw draws audiences into an experience that feels at once personal and universal. Alexa and Tommy’s choreographic approach deconstructs the barriers between performer and spectator, inviting the audience into an unfiltered emotional space. The result is a piece that really makes you think—a testament to the depth of storytelling that Alexa and Tommy achieve as both individuals and an artistic duo.

"Slackjaw" is a masterful exploration of human connection, told through a language of movement that is both deeply intuitive and strikingly original. Alexa Stevens and Tommy Gedrich didn’t just perform—they let us eavesdrop on something deeply intimate. At The Fishbowl in Allentown, the piece unfolded like a whispered conversation, each pedestrian movement heavy with subtext. This dance-theatre piece broke away from traditional structures to present an intimate and profoundly felt exchange between two performers whose artistic synergy is undeniable. 

What makes Slackjaw so compelling is the unspoken yet palpable communication between Alexa and Tommy. Their movement feels instinctive, as if they are in constant dialogue, responding to each other with a fluidity that transcends choreography. The trust and understanding between them allow for moments of tension, release, and unexpected humor—each gesture carries weight, each shift in energy is felt rather than merely seen. Their ability to push and pull within the space, mirroring and countering each other’s impulses, creates a mesmerizing ebb and flow of movement. 

Photo: Audrey Yan Photography

Show Response: The Complicated: STRIPPED

by Katie Walenta

To be in the audience of Cusi Cram’s stripped-back production of The Complicated was to be enveloped in a blanket of earnestness. The audience clapped often throughout the show, an impromptu symphony of anticipation and thrill. Central to both the set and the story was a vast claw-foot bathtub. I’ve been ruminating on how effectively the bathtub both grounded the world and brought us through time. It was kind of like a boat — we were all stationary on the boat, but the boat itself was on an adventure. I’ve also been thinking about a monologue the protagonist gave while propped up against the side of the tub. In the monologue, Manca talks about being away at school and becoming obsessed with a white van in the parking lot of her dormitory, convinced that something vile takes place nightly inside of it. The parallel of the white van’s imagined danger and the white tub’s imagined safety was a lesson in the power of memory. There was a talk-back following the performance, and something Cram said feels like the thesis of not only the script, but the entire theatrical experience the artistic team crafted. Cram talked about the nature of growing up in many different worlds. She expressed that along with the challenges of identity that she faced, her upbringing gave her diplomatic superpowers, and was, in a lot of ways, freeing.

The Complicated ran at LABrynth Theater Company Februuary 20th - March 3rd as part of the LAB:STRIPPED staged works in progress series.

Photo by Monique Carboni

Show Response: DeliaDelia! The flat chested witch!

by Patrick Denney

“I love this D-I-Y Performance Space,” trills DeliaDelia, the titular character of Amando Houser’s latest solo show DeliaDelia! The Flat Chested Witch, “It reminds me of my childhood.” This is an apt comparison. Brick Aux comes across as a cross between a spacious living room and that classic crucible of childhood performance: the cafetorium. “It reminds me of… my trauma,” they proclaim, defining the parameters of what is about to come. For a less nuanced performer, what unfurls might be described as cringe, but in Houser’s capable hands, their creation becomes an experienced musician, playing forever just in front of or behind the beat. 

DeliaDelia may look like Elphaba, but their demeanor is one of a glitched Glinda. Their voice is bright but clipped, punctuated by a Mickey Mouse chordal that tactically denies the audience the reassurance of a smooth narrative flow. The moment the audience teeters on the brink of comfort, Houser explodes with jarring aggression. After anxiously polling the audience about their relationship status, the earnest witch zeroes in on a single man in the audience. A reluctant back and forth with this paramour ensues. The exchange teeters on the verge of teeth-pulling. Several beats past a natural conclusion, something snaps inside DeliaDelia. The timidity falls away and they erupt at the audience member: “What are you, a f*ggot?” The room is clearly jarred by the outburst, some unsettled by twinges of pained familiarity, others by ally-inflected outrage. Others still seem irked by the guilty reminder that anyone old enough to call themselves a 90s kid was privy to the extended death rattle of “that’s so gay” as a socially acceptable insult, and perhaps, a shield. The sunnier side of DeliaDelia quickly returns after this blip. The beau-to-be consents to come on stage and an innocent ball game ensues, accented by Houser’s machismo-tinged dribbling skills. Once something has been released, though, it is almost impossible for it to be forced into a box again.

The show unfolds in this vein through a series of distilled childhood exercises. To be someone’s “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” the words need only to be spoken and they are true. These honorifics become a kind of dress-up clothes — things to be put on, twirled about, and cavorted in before being cast off in favor of something shiny and/or new. Of course there is a sweetly sapphic pillow fight that flows into a pivotal moment of sexual self-discovery. “I think, I think I might like girls?” floats DeliaDelia with the sense that the slightest hesitation could cause them to retreat back to their swampy closest. No hesitation comes.

This discovery flows into a musically motivated glow-up. Houser produces a new dress from behind a screen. The opening strains of Roger and Hammerstein’s “I Enjoy Being a Girl” begins and DeliaDelia mouths along. Throughout, they remove their old frock in favor of the more-detailed, perhaps grown-up option. In this routine, the scars of a double mastectomy are clearly seen. Perhaps the trauma they mentioned at the top, the trauma of carrying a pair of public reminders that the body you’re born into did not necessarily match the person growing inside of it. To add another wrinkle, though, is it still possible to enjoy being a girl while longing for something else? Houser seems to think so, showcasing with deep depth the ability to hold this contraction within themselves. In one of the final moments of the show conflation this new DeliaDelia combines a cable kid’s show kookiness and frat house masculinity, to perform a kind of keg stand. Supported by an uneasy audience member, DeliaDelia drains a radioactive can of Mountain Dew through a beer bong. They seem to enjoy being a boy, or at least, to throw on the costume of stereotyped gender play.

Houser’s character evokes a visceral kind of energetic awkwardness. DeliaDelia seems like an extra-committed Girl Scout on the brink of belting out a tuneless version of “Defying Gravity” for some musical theater merit badge. There is something deeply private about it. This kind of intensity is the purview of basements and bedrooms: secluded, domestic pockets of discovery. In this world, there is only the performer, the cast recording, and the lovingly mongrel mash-up of those two worlds colliding. Off-kilter and earnest, the high notes cannot and will not be hit. It doesn’t matter, though. The space between is glossed over by the specific kind of deep affection borne out of hyper-fixation. A brash, bold choice is the only choice imaginable. Every stumble creates the possibility of stumbling into a deeper sense of self. Close enough is enough, warts and all.

DeliaDelia! The flat chested witch! ran at Brick Aux March 1st - 2nd 2024.

Photo by Arin Sang-urai

Show Response: this house is not a home

by Theresa Buchheister, https://theresabuchheister.com/

This is a response to performance written via memory.

Staff Picks has encouraged audience members to write the response, which has implied (up to this point) an immediacy. That is so valuable. How did you FEEL? What did you EXPERIENCE?

But, as a person who has entered their 20th year in NY and who sees over 400 shows/year, a response that I have become more and more interested in is memory. What sticks in the folds of my brain? What lives with me forever like a little ghost, possessing a part of my insides? What sneaks into my dreams years after the experience of the live show?

When I chose this house is not a home by Nile Harris as one of my Staff Picks, I did it because I saw the show in July and, even though I could not go again in January, I wanted to scream at everyone who missed it 6 months ago to take this opportunity and GO! Second chances are special. They don't come around all that often.

So, what do I remember? 

I remember thinking for the first time - Why do 501c3s exist?

I remember being scared that someone would get hurt in the bouncy castle.

I remember being amazed at that many adults in a bouncy castle.

I remember Crackhead Barney proclaiming that the whole audience was a bunch of theys.

I remember marveling multiple times - I have never seen that before! 

I remember being stunned by a dance moment.

I remember the monologue on the stairs.

I remember the rollgate going down in the back.

I remember getting fixated on the pressure to deliver.

As I try to type out what I remember, I am fixated on the pressure to deliver. I am deleting A LOT. I am fixated on trying to write eloquently about a show that is a full experience and is meant to be experienced. It feels heavy and like I cannot do it justice. Like the google doc that inspired it, the show is living and present and impossible to freeze. It is important and hard to grasp. It is layered with absurdity and truth. It is a creation of this time and these artists, but it is also epic enough to reverberate forever.

this house is not a home ran from January 6th - January 14th at Abrons Arts Center as part of Under the Radar

Photo by Alex Munro

Show Response: Open Mic Night

by kanishk pandey, https://kanishkpandey.com/

Here is your day. You start it early to make it to an allergy shot appointment. You do this weekly to one day not suffer at the hands of everything. You schedule these early so that you can go to work unbothered. You go in. You get the shot. You leave for work. Yet, at one point, you notice an itchiness beginning to spread across your arm. Strange. A look down reveals a set of hives traveling down from your shots. Shit. You’re now in urgent care, where they’ve given you Benadryl and Prednisone, which relieve your hives but make you feel insane since it’s mixing a drowsy medication with something that sets your brain on fire. The doctor lets you know you luckily caught it before it progressed to anaphylaxis. Sick. Done being so close to death, you walk back to work alone.

Your day goes on. As if it never began, the work day is done. You stepped through it solo, dragging your feet to see if it speeds things up. But your day isn’t done. A friend invited you weeks ago to come see a show. You agreed and now you can’t say no - and you don’t particularly want to say no either. So you take the train into Manhattan, walk 20 minutes from the station rather than transfer, and end up at Performance Space New York, where you head to the fourth floor. You wave hi to your friends, who’ve arrived already, take your seat, and settle in.

Open Mic Night then begins. The show is by Peter Mills Weiss and Julia Mounsey. The two are also the only performers. The show begins with a simple ode to a space long gone, an illegal DIY venue that has now disappeared. It was where the duo met each other. Mounsey performed poetry, and Weiss performed stand-up. Mounsey tells all of this to you, and the rest of the audience, simply and quietly, stating it all as fact before Weiss enters onstage to hang a light and take his place for most of the performance. Suddenly, the lights change, from performance to as if it’s time to go. You are now within the show, as Weiss points at audience members asking preference questions, then stomps into the stands to hand the microphone to others for more detailed questions, then finally takes a few people onstage to give shoutouts to their friends before they’re shuffled back to their seats. All in the effort to get to know everyone better. Weiss claims that he needs to do this since he gets anxious on stage. You are asked, at one point, to pick between a tough cookie and a soft slice of cake. You know which you picked. It’s an onslaught of questions, tone shifts, intermixed with abrasive sound cues, that lead you, and the audience around you, to laugh the whole way through, as if your stomach is about to burst. 

And then the tone shifts. Weiss now announces he’s tired of playing this character, and shifts into sincerity. You, and the audience, now find yourselves back at the beginning, when Mounsey first mentioned the long lost venue where the two met. Weiss recounts the feeling of loss, and recites everything he will remember to keep that space alive. And suddenly, you are very much in contact with the grief being expressed by this piece. You’ve never been to that venue. Yet, you’ve been in contact with people. And there’s a central concept suddenly fully clear - that, in the space of performance, where unique experiences are created rather than simply refurbished for consumption, a performer may stand alone on stage. But the whole experience is filled with other people. There is no loneliness, and even with the vicious entropy of time and money that swallows spaces and people and words, the collective within a performance experience will ensure everything to live on in memory. Even now, you find yourself with the memory of this venue now imprinted into your being. In the face of a world where things meant to help you may kill you, and where small spaces are so quickly devoured by massive real estate firms, there is still the unique theatrical experience where you can be not alone, for even just an hour and change, and feel fulfilled by the presence of other human beings, alive despite it all, together despite it all.

Weiss and Mounsey both accuse each other of having an addiction for performance. Despite sporting all the signs of discomfort with the setting, they nonetheless perform. Yet, perhaps that addiction is not to performance per se - but to the people and the connection inherent to the practice. Even in the most negative of settings, no one is truly alone in the world of live performance.

The show ends. You step out onto First Avenue. You face the cold. And the day suddenly feels worth it. You can go home or out, renewed again. You weren’t alone for a moment, and, at some point in the future, you won’t be alone again. 

Open Mic Night ran from January 5th to January 18th, 2024 at Performance Space New York as part of Under The Radar

Photo by Walter Włodarczyk

Show Response: Rose: You Are Who You Eat

by Travis Amiel, https://travisamiel.com/

As I turn the corner to the basement space at La MaMa there is a surprise. A group of women offer "hugs from a mom". I receive a very good hug. In my seat, waiting for the show to start I stare at the projection on a translucent curtain right at the separation of stage and audience. There are two elements to it: a slideshow of a youngster, and live feed of the star John Jarboe's face sitting just a bit behind the curtain, with the effect that Jarboe is staring at these same photos. And John is masticating on bucket of chicken.

John tells us about recently learning that early on in utero, there was another fetus(!) and John ate her!! Through songs and anecdotes we the audience laugh about the implications of cannibalism. At times, we are implicated to portray John's Midwestern mother, always blaming tax season for everything.

I have heard so many stories of transitions, queer realizations, years of repression, the signs missed that in retrospect are obvious. As a person that takes things literally, Jarboe telling this coming out story connected through these dots is most satisfying to me. Of course it’s one person’s story, and simply a metaphor.

My favorite moment from the show is a reperformance of a piece John did at a young age for her parents (referring to them as "subscribers, donors") wearing only gloves and white underpants flagellating around the stage and seating, mumbling in a high pitched voice.

I say to myself the title of the show a few times throughout it. In the final scene, we the audience have a role, to tie things together, to learn new language, and practice acceptance. And as I leave the theatre, I appreciate the metaphors we create to figure out why we are who we are.

Rose: You Are Who You Eat ran January 10th - January 20th, 2024 at La Mama Experimental Theater Club as part of Under the Radar

Preview 2024: Staff Picks Special Editon

When I think about the nuances of my personal taste, the most undeniable factor in that development has been living in New York for nearly 20 years. I visited in January of 2004 during the winter break of my senior year in college to see some shows and discover what living in NY "is really like" from my friends who had graduated the year before and been in Brooklyn for less than a year. Retrospect renders that mission truly adorable. 

I got to see the opening night of Richard Foreman's King Cowboy Rufus Rules the Universe and the following night see David Greenspan as Mephistopheles in Target Margin's Faust Part One. Needless to say, I moved here in the fall.

Coming from Kansas and being a self-proclaimed intellectual, I had no idea what live performance could do or be, no idea what it meant to make art in a city where venues close and collaborators die and capitalism dictates opportunity, and definitely no idea how to get from place to place. 

As I shimmy my less youthful self into 2024, I am thinking a great deal about the past 20 years and the next 20 years. It is with that in mind that I want to highlight some things I am deeply fucking stoked to experience this January. 

PROJECTS BY ARTISTS WHO HAVE CEMENTED THEMSELVES IN MY HEART AND MIND AS ICONIC 

I love meeting new artists and seeing first/second/third experiments. OF COURSE. But, it is one of the most meaningful and deepest pleasures for me to have the honor of a journey with an artist or group. To have multiple points of reference. To have favorite shows and least favorite shows. To have full top ten lists of just their creations. Who are those gems that are presenting this January?

Banana Bag and Bodice at The Doxsee at Target Margin Theater with Hubris Always Gets You In The End - It would be pretty impossible for Banana Bag to ever fall off of my top ten companies of all time list. I honestly do not think it is possible. Even if they never made another show. But they ARE making a show. And there is nobody like them. I am screaming at the top of my lungs - DO NOT MISS THIS SHOW!

The Million Underscores at We Are Here with Those Moveable Pieces - TMU are the truest artists in Brooklyn. I am being super superlative today and that is just my vibe. It is also something I have been lucky to witness for ten years, as they never stop creating, innovating, working in the actual realities of this world and their lives and through their own special sorcery, presenting their fascinating projects to us instead of languishing in development. Their Gestating Baby piece in April was unanimously dubbed the sexiest show that has ever happened at The Brick. The Passenger broke every rule. The Observatory made me sit back in full wonder. Whatever happens in January will live in the folds of my brain forever.

Yuki Kawahisa at The Brick with ten dreams of metamorphoses or me talk dirty some day - Yuki is an artist that I have seen elevate, expand and infuse multiple other peoples' projects with an impeccable ease for years. This is HER project. This is HER voice. This is HER unique approach. 

PROJECTS THAT ARE A REALLY GREAT TIME AND EFFORTLESSLY WEIRD (ie probably a little gross, a little sexy, a little funny, a little virtuosic) - 

This is thingNY in a nutshell. Yes, it is experimental opera and that can feel either like it was made for you OR you are not gonna get it. But this group is different. There is so much tenderness under that shell of extreme talent. There is a lot of goofiness rippling through the thematic intensity and serious practice. Natural Studies is at The Brick. If you have never felt invited into the realm of experimental music, come on in. If you think narrative theater is over, come on in. If you need to vibe out, please, come on in.

PROJECTS I AM THANKING THE STARS THAT I GET TO EXPERIENCE A SECOND TIME - 

Deepe Darknesse by Lisa Fagan, Lena Engelstein and Hannah Mitchell and Open Mic Night by Julia Mounsey and Peter Mills Weiss are two shows that you could not stop me from seeing again. People are like - But Theresa, your January is so busy and you have already seen those shows... And I am like - I know what I like and I am seeing these shows again and nobody can stop me. It is one of my favorite things in the world to get a second chance.

All of these shows are in January. Look em up. Get tickets. Have an experience or two. And then let those experiences build and form relationships. 

- Theresa Buchheister

Staff Picks’ Picker’s End-o-Year Lists

Dear Staff Picks Readers-

We want to thank you for following our Picks as we ponder, write, attend, and respond to the wide world of performance going on around us. It has been a wonderful way to learn about artists and venues for all of us, as well! Every week we are amazed and delighted by the wide-ranging Picks of the Staff. As we round out 2023, we wanted to participate in the honored tradition of making end-of-year lists, so here we go! Some will be shared today and some next week. We must note that Staff are only making Lists from their own Picks. Staff Picks began in June AND often Staff would not Pick a show that had already been Picked. Some Pickers may make other lists on their own socials that cover the full year and maybe movies, too... Next week, we will also share some exciting Previews for 2024 here on the ol' Soap Box, too! Have fun reading and share your lists with us, if you like!

-Staff Picks 

The staff were asked their top five shows (1-5):

Billy McEntee:
1. Odyssey 1: Telemachus at Home
2. Grief Hotel
3. Sad Boys in Harpy Land
4. cryptochrome
5. How to Make a Revolution Without Giving Offense or Arousing Resentment

hillary gao:
1. Boy mother / faceless bloom
2. Faust (The Broken Show)
3. Prometheus Firebringer
4. Timelapse
5. TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH / 땅끝까지

Theresa Buchheister:
1. The Dastardly Thornes v. The Town of Goldhaven
2. Disney Adult
3 . Faust (The Broken Show)
4. Dance Die Crucify
5. would you set the table if I asked you to?

Travis Amiel:
1. SHABOOM!
2. Sad Boys in Harpy Land*
3. KŌSA
4. In Hell with Jesus/Top 40
5. O Come Let Us Adore Them

*(Top because I was able to discuss this the most with people I loved)

Lena Engelstein:
1. Sad Boys in Harpy Land @ Abrons & Playwrights by Alex Tatarsky
2. Food @ BAM by Geoff Sobell
3. Weathering @ the NYLA studio showing APAP 2023 by Faye Driscoll
4. Open Mic Night by Peter Mills Weiss & Julia Mounsey;
5. The Rite of Spring @ The Armory by Pina Bausch

…and asked what they were saddest they could not attend…

Billy: I did not attend any La Mama shows this year, and that is a sin.
hillary: im a pause im a fiction im a pervert im a dream: Barnett Cohen
Theresa: BAC Open House
Travis: CEREMONIA
Lena: Psychic Self Defense

…and what the weirdest moment they saw was…

Billy: Letting my mind wander to stop interpreting the text in The Complaint Society
hillary: A fully cooked chicken being held (fisted? if I remember correctly) during Chicken Sister.
Theresa: reverse strip tease in Disney Adult
Travis: Every second of SHABOOM!
Lena: This category is so daunting. Every single day is the strangest experience of my life.

…and their biggest revelation…

Billy: Discovering, only when Becca Blackwell was before me in a vagina costume, that I did not know where a clitorist was.
hillary: Matthew Antoci and Meaghan Robichaud’s remix of “They Wanna Fuck” (by Kim Petras) during MEOW.
Theresa: Can Yasar playing huge Steinway piano and singing as part of the VISA Mon Amor event at Prelude
Travis: The way that time figurateively slowed down in KŌSA
Lena: Of all the weeks of the year, I take the best care of myself during the ones in which I am performing (baths after every night, eating well, sleeping enough) except for the 3 hours after a show where I smoke and drink and scream at a bar.

…and a category they feel is missing…

Theresa: Trend I Want To Support - Creating ambitious and opinionated design outside of the trappings of proper theater.
Travis: Most Uncomfortable (in a good way) Moment: Crackhead Barney's crowdwork in this house is not a home.

Soapbox Special! Two festivals happening in October our staff want you to know about

This month, there are two exciting theater and performance festivals taking place in the city, and here at Staff Picks we just can’t stop talking about them. We’ve already highlighted a few shows from both these lineups in the past two Weekly Picks, so a rogue and errant editor thought it would be nice to do a feature on what’s especially piquing us.

The Breaking The Binary Theatre Festival
L Morgan Lee, George Strus
3 Dollar Bill; The Public's Shiva Theater
October 23rd - October 29th 2023

B2B's star is rising, as it should be: its shows are written by and for trans, non-binary, and Two-Spirit+ artists; their events build community in ways exemplary and organic; and their second annual festival showcases seven new plays — all entirely FREE. Go support, friends.

Staffer: Billy McEntee

Prelude Festival 2023
Artists listed below
Segal Theater
October 7th - October 28th 2023

I'm too busy this week to individually do justice to the whole PRELUDE line-up, so I'm collecting here for you the shows and panels I'm going to see this upcoming week (or would if I could), which is not the exclusive "what to see" list...just what I happen to know as a dancer-admiring(envying)-theater girl. And again it's all FREE! Can you even believe that...what are you waiting for?? Gorge yourself on shows!

AND! I got a preview of the festival vibes this Saturday at Radiohole's kickoff variety night. It was electric: my catch all description for a night that feels like theater and dance are alive and well with a pulse, an edge, and well-endowed with a hot and cool community.

Weds: Will Eno, Lisa Fagan + Marianne Rendón + Lena Engelstein (me) (bias)
Thurs: James La Bella, Richard Maxwell + The New York City Player, Sauda Aziza Jackson & April Sweeny
Fri: Nature Theater of Oaklahoma, ERS
Sat: Wooster Group, Ahn Vo

Staffer: Lena Engelstein

Show Response: Bonefruit

by Ali Sousa

Leah Plante-Wiener’s Bonefruit brings us into a stunningly expansive world in its thirtyish-minute runtime. There's a chapel in the desert; a young, solitary priestess; and a traveler, returning to the chapel for the first time in two years. Lark, the priestess, is reading a favorite passage from her scripture about a Beast, whose teeth, when planted, bore fruit for hungry villagers. Anhedonia, the traveler, has come to give her a gift: dried flowers, a rarity in the arid wasteland. Anhedonia is a harvester of teeth and farmer of bonefruit; Lark’s father recently died after consuming it.

There’s a weighty, complicated, beautiful thing between these young women — Anhedonia’s yearning to be good despite her sometimes violent, morally grey lifestyle that’s necessitated by the world they live in, and Lark’s pain and isolation contrasted with her hope for something better; specifically, her belief in Anhedonia’s capacity to be better, or maybe that she has always been good despite it all. Anhedonia comes to the chapel in the hopes of receiving Lark’s absolution despite not being sure she deserves it; Lark makes it clear there’s nothing to absolve.

Plante-Wiener’s writing is poetic, dense, mythical in its worldbuilding — but easily comprehensive and inviting even at its most complex. (Laia Comas’ appropriately sparse direction at the Tank allowed the rich text to be the focal point of the play.) We don’t get the full story of Lark and Anhedonia or their world, but what we do get is so gorgeous and expressive that it feels like we’ve known them for as long as they’ve known each other.

I return to Bonefruit the way Lark returns to her favorite passage. I would watch a whole season of TV set in this universe if I could. For now, after also seeing the play performed at NYU this spring, I’m content to see Lark and Anhedonia’s tender reconciliation again and again in various cozy, unconventional spaces. 

Bonefruit ran at The Tank August 17-19 as part of LimeFest.

Soapbox Special!! Philly Fringe 🥳 🫵

You’re celebrating! You!!!

Staff picker Lena Engelstein is shouting out three shows in the New York City of Pennsylvania, so we are highlighting them here in an ephemerally-instantiated adaptation of the staff picks format. You’ll never seen this again. Until you will.

Catholic Guilt: Kelly McCaughan
https://phillyfringe.org/events/kelly-mccaughan-catholic-guilt/

I bet you're like me and didn't go to Edinburgh's fringe festival this year. Instead, you followed your friends as they somehow did a show every night of August on haggis alone. I saw that this show made the best newcomer shortlist and heard that it was "brave, moving, and slutty." Now it's in Philly for you to see while you eat a cheesesteak.

non-binary pussy: Anh Vo and Kristel Baldoz
https://phillyfringe.org/events/non-binary-pussy/

Is wanting to see a dance based on the title the same as judging a book by its cover? I haven't seen this show so I will put the description as written on the website here: Part music, part dance, part propaganda, the work delivers explicit political and sexual language that is rooted in Marxist rhetoric and black female rap history. I mean... did you see that coming? What I can attest to is that Anh Vo has been pushing at the edges of dance work for years and we are better for it.

Das Sofortvergnügen (THE INSTANT PLEASURE)
https://phillyfringe.org/events/das-sofortvergnugen-the-instant-pleasure/

It's Philly's month: Philly Fringe and Cannonball are happening in Sept and this show can be how you kick that off. This show is a delightful, irreverent joy-scroll about insatiable desire straddling dance and theater in that rythmic-gymnast flexible way so dear to me. Travis and Cosimo are a pleasure to watch as they do dirty things like fuck up the serenity prayer.

Show Response: Radio Man

by Tess Walsh

This is a play about a twenty-one-year old girl named Helena and her fourteen-year-old sister. Seven years ago, an explosion destroyed the natural world. The sisters have been camping in what’s left of a national park for the past month after an instance of sexual assault sent them on the run. The little sister, prophetically named Mary-Grace, is obsessed with a voice in her handheld she calls Radio Man, who quotes Robert Frost and dwells on the doom all around him, not necessarily that of the ecological disaster, but more so of the loneliness it has produced. While he lists his woes, another young woman, Vera, approaches the sisters’ camp seeking a bandage. She stays for two weeks. What happens in the time the three of them spend together can only be described as earth-shattering, both literally and figuratively. 

This is a play about a miseducation. To watch the consequences of any miseducation is always soul crushing to an extent, even if set in a world that has moved past what we consider today to be knowledge. Still, the fable that Sarah Groustra has carved out of a trope that will continue to be apt until it becomes our reality borders on the biblical, and speaks to our general struggle to successfully teach younger generations how to navigate the environments they’ve been forced into. 

There is a moment at the play’s climax during which we come to believe that love and intimacy may still be possible in this landscape, a moment where things stand still and maybe won’t move anymore. But then they tragically do, and we’re back on the run. I can't put into words what happens during this breaking apart, in an attempt to both not spoil the plot and to honor the sanctity of it, but: it changed my perspective of the piece entirely. Shortly after this shift happens, you wonder why you didn’t expect it with everything that had led up to it, and then you realize that you had developed the same hope that the girls in this play had come to know and cherish, even if for a short time. The feeling this play’s end leaves you with is one that sticks around for a while, one that forces you to look back at a fourteen-year-old you and wonder what they would’ve done with the knowledge they had in a world that refuses to give them anymore.

Radio Man was presented as part of the 2023 SheNYC Festival at The Connelly Theater. Learn more about Sarah Groustra here.

Photo by Danielle DeMatteo

Show Response: The Dastardly Thornes v. The Town of Goldhaven

by Allyson Dwyer

My adorable father doesn't understand streaming, can't really share YouTube videos, but he loves to DVR stuff for me. Recently he recorded a program about Shakespearean times narrated by Leonard Nemoy and the experience of being a groundling. Despite the medieval filth and heckling, I found myself so curious about a world where entertainment, "media," aka our little treats were still a novelty, and thus its occasion demanded not just your attention but your entire being. 

In Ben Holbrook & Nate Weida's hysterical, transformative musical The Dastardly Thornes v. The Town of Goldhaven, the lines between stage and spectator are blurred beyond recognition. For a few hours, I may have very well been a groundling of Goldhaven, Arizona, where the entertainment was the spectacle of justice. Amped up by a very justice-loving Mayor Baron Goldenteef (Leon Schwendener, who made me laugh til I cried), this is a kangaroo court blown up 500% to the point that you're observing every crack, every thorny bizarre bug, in the facade of American Exceptionalism.

Benjamin Viertel's direction is that of someone who has created a curtain without there ever being a proscenium. Like a frog in a slow boiling pot, you begin to understand. I'm not just observing, I'm melting into this story. The actors (a stunning brilliant ensemble of animated characters) are not acting for me, in fact, I think they're stuck between me and the town. These people live in this space, and they'll be cracking jokes and singing these songs long after I've left. The most brilliant device that ties this all together is the inclusion of Steakhouse (Gio Naarendorp, the gem at the center of an already stacked cast), a self-made man gone corporate with his string of Steakhouses and canned baked beans. Steakhouse takes not so much a seat as a throne with the audience, and from there heckles the performance, I mean trial. His voice becomes ours, as we are all the almighty consumer, ready to dole out judgements as needed, second by second. This is a beer-in-hand show. Justice will be served. 

I will always laugh at a fart joke, I will always laugh at the word beans. But don't be fooled, the humor is both high-brow and low-brow. Every ingredient, all eleven herbs and spices, are mixed in and out Ben Holbrook's intricate script for maximum brain massaging. Total sublimation, and a demand from the viewer that they be engaged in a way that cannot happen anywhere else but in that room. Go, go with friends, go with the need for a (beautiful, harmonic) country folk song in your heart. Go and be a groundling, phoneless and ready to howl and laugh with those around you, in real time, like a very good dream.

The Dastardly Thornes v. The Town of Goldhaven is running at The Brick Theater until August 12th.

Photo credit: Ben Holbrook