TeenTix Blog Reviews

In the play, This Girl Laughs, This Girl Cries, and This Girl Does Nothing by Finnegan Kruckemeyer, three sisters grow up with their father until they are thirteen years old. In a dark night, the three sisters got lost in the woods so each one decided to go a different way. As time passed the sisters had different lives that they did not imagine they would have. But as the years passed and they found their own way, they noticed that they missed their previous lives with their father and their sisters.

One theme of this play is about growing up alone. Growing up can be so difficult because sometimes you have no idea how to face situations on your own without help, without anyone else who can explain the things you don't understand. But also over time things may change the situation because we can find ourselves that we like, the different opportunities that we have and learn to be independent. For example, in the play when the father abandoned them in the forest, all of them took different paths. At the beginning it was not easy because they spent many years apart. But they found a way to do well in life. That is what the play also wants to show.

In the play, This Girl Laughs, This Girl Cries, and This Girl Does Nothing by Finnegan Kruckemeyer, there were three sisters who lived with their dad and mom. They were a family at first but then somehow they separated and they all wanted to get back together, so at the end they found each other again.

The theme of this play is that family is important.

The 5th Avenue Theatre has historically been the first residence of many productions. The newest addition to its repertoire of world premieres is called Afterwords by Zoe Sarnak and Emily Kaczmarek. It follows sisters Kali and Simone as they struggle to piece their life back together following the death of their mother. With the new burden of ever-mounting bills and the house mortgage, they rent out their attic to news journalist Jo, who is similarly in the midst of wading through the churning sea of loss. As they get to know each other, a complex history of intersecting stories unravels and new relationships form. The show bounces between modern-day and the past as we meet our characters and explore their stories. This story is one of love and loss, grieving and healing, hardships and family.

Afterwords was very reminiscent of Rent. A newer, less rock, version of Rent, but Rent nonetheless. It has some of that raw and truthful emotion that Rent’s composer Jonathan Larson loved to utilize in his work. As I sat down in the theater, the first song “After” came on it immediately engaged me. The use of bold harmonies straight off the bat to build the music and draw the viewer in immediately gave me goosebumps and a sense of total encompassment. Now, as we evolve as a music loving society, Broadway evolves with us—Six embraces our pop side, Hadestown our love of folk and jazz and of course Hamilton the popularity of rap. So Afterwords’ pop/rock/folk score was not new per se, but still thrilling, and surprisingly cohesive throughout the show given the differing genres.

Despite being overwhelmingly enjoyable to view, Afterwords disappointed on more than one front. After having thoughtfully contemplated the story, I felt the characters lacked development around the mental health issues they faced, and the plot had a very disheartening resolution. The musical opens with a well-delivered monologue, from a character named Jo, then progresses into the story of two young sisters, arty Simone, and Kali, the older, Grammy-nominated sister. They live in their recently deceased mother’s home together. They both struggle with grief in a realistic way—Simone tries to push it down, and Kali is deeply bitter. When Simone brings up the fact that they really need another source of income and suggests they get a roommate, Kali is extremely defensive, but eventually relents when Jo, a war reporter, shows up on their doorstep to apply to be a tenant; she recently lost someone very important too.

The 5th Avenue Theatre’s Afterwords, a new musical about three women working through an unexpectedly intertwined grief, is a bone-shaking masterpiece.

The show follows sisters Kali and Simone six months after their mom has passed, living together in their childhood home. When finances get tight, they search for a roommate. Jo, a journalist mourning the loss of her mentor, moves in, hoping the change in scenery will help her write his eulogy. The show switches from past to present—it follows Kali and Simone’s mother as she falls in love and cares for her daughters in the months leading to her death, and how Jo’s mentor shapes who she will become—to the women trying to navigate the space they left. The final twist completed the tragedy of the relationship of these five.

CRASH

Once the lights dimmed, I was silent until confusion came over me; I had not recognized the dull hum of the ocean as the starting music for this piece. But soon I settled again once a faint spotlight outlined a body on stage: a man. The sound of waves rose as he moved his arm up and rolled, his legs up, and rolled. Maybe the movement of his body wasn’t to the music, but rather mimicking where the sounds derived from: crashing waves. Other dancers sprang out of the dark of the back of the stage and simultaneously swayed with him. They continuously worked as a whole to create the illusion of ripples. When performing with one another, the atypical collaboration of dancers flush against each other on the floor had them almost toppling over one another, though fortunately that was avoided. They flowed apart as my eyes adjusted to the light that was gradually brightening.

A shard of light in the darkness. The constant movement of the ocean, drifting in and out like the guitar’s melody. Swirling whitewater becomes the mesmerizing limbs of a dancer, their rolls across the stage becoming the crest of a wave. Two dancers entangle themselves in a complicated lift, like a whale fluke slipping beneath the surface. Large, sweeping movements echo down the line until the dancers fall and slap the ground loudly, suggesting not just the motion of waves, but also emotion connected with the powerful crash. Okaidja Afroso’s song reverberates, his low voice both emotional and nostalgic, fitting exactly with the background sound of the sea. There are no elaborate costumes, and one musician accompanies the dance. Yet, the elements come together to communicate a personal message that anyone could understand, and in a different way than reading a book or watching a movie. The story painted by Jacob Jonas The Company’s Crash is the ocean, both in its simplicity and its mystery.

Lead Photo: Image of dancers in Crash presented by Jacob Jonas The Company’s at ECA. Photo by Matthew Brush.

The TeenTix Press Corps promotes critical thinking, communication, and information literacy through criticism and journalism practice for teens. For more information about the Press Corps program see HERE.

This review was written as part of a Dance Journalism Workshop at Edmonds Center for the Arts which was held April 30-May 14, 2022. The workshop was taught by Press Corps teaching artist Omar Willey.

The moon pulls the tides to and fro on the shores. Just a few blocks away, flawless choreography pulls the dancers in Jacob Jonas The Company’s production of Crash back and forth across the stage at Edmonds Center for the Arts. The dancers’ movements are synchronized as they duck and bend with the fluid and seamless spirit of the ocean, never stopping for a moment’s rest. The stage is always taken up by the flourishing and spinning of dancers fanning out like a wave smashing on the sand, followed by the gentler movements of calmer moments in the sea. The restlessness of the ocean is the key inspiration behind the work, and indeed shines masterfully throughout the performance. It’s so invigorating, full of emotion and energy, that I could hardly take my eyes off it.

As soon as the audience members took their seats and the lights dimmed to near complete darkness, Crash began a transition into a completely different world from the theater lobby. Speakers started playing, gently and almost imperceptibly at first, the sounds of crashing waves and the calming ambience of the ocean. Then, the first dancers started making an appearance, joining the sounds of the ocean in gentle, rolling movements across the stage. The dim stage lighting illuminated just the sides of the stage, and seemed to simulate morning light. From the very beginning, the lighting and sound design gave the audience a keen sense of the passage of time and the sun’s cycle through the sky. The early show’s silence and emptiness represented perfectly the feel of the dark early morning, and as the show went on, it progressed into more emotive daytime scenes. In the otherwise silent hall, I was taken by just how overwhelming yet tranquil the combination of the dancers’ repetitive movements and the now loud crashing of the waves was. The entire scene started the night off with an unconventional type of bang, filling one’s senses and setting the mood of the whole piece.

I have known about Jacob Jonas The Company for a little bit. When I found out that they were coming to Seattle, I had to go and see their show called Crash. The waves off of the Santa Monica Pier inspired this show and it included the waves and their height/positions that were scientifically researched. For him, Jacob Jonas said that the ocean was a place of healing and relief. This show offered precisely that.

Crash began in the darkness and silence, and you could tell people were afraid to make even the slightest noise not to destroy the pre-show mood. The light slowly came on from the left of the stage, it was a soft white light. This was the sunrise; the dancer's bodies were covered with this one-sided light, and they looked so peaceful. A couple of solos started, then more and more joined in laying on the ground and making wave shapes with their body. It looked exactly like a wave shape you would see in the ocean. The waves were formed with their legs in their hands, moving in ½ second counts. Gradually, dancers got up one by one, with each performing a solo before they went back into the ocean formation. This reminded me of big waves hitting the beach and then going back in the water. The music was the kind you hear in morning meditations: slow, twinkly, and full of energy. The dancers' movements were soft, and they expressed the music perfectly. It was more like the music wasn't for them, but they were there for the music.

The Seattle Shakespeare Company took the title of Much Ado About Nothing very literally in a half-hearted, Bachelor-esque adaptation with very little to say. Arriving home from a vague war to a country club romance, Benedict and Claudio are looking for love. Beatrice is trying to get back at Benedict for breaking her heart, and Hero is looking for a husband. A reality TV-esque web of lies and rumors twist through this island summer setting.

The one thing that makes this adaptation worth watching is the acting. Unconventional casting asserted the dignity of the female characters with entirely non-male love interests. The adaptation had a new and holistic take on the sweet, sought after Hero (Joellen Sweeney), who is usually a helpless damsel type in the original source material. Her anti-heroic love interest, Claudio (Meme García), proves that regardless of gender, leaving someone at the altar is always a dick move. Sweeney preserves the grace and kindness of Hero throughout the second act without taking away her agency, which proves to be an impressive balancing act. Sweeney’s Hero did not shrink when upstaged by her more grandiose family. When her reputation is on the line in Act Two, you can feel the rage radiating off of Hero, who is so typically played as a submissive damsel-in-distress. She does not take Claudio back because she thinks she deserves his treatment; rather, she does so out of the kindness of her heart and her belief in redemption. Sweeney is a powerful force on stage, bringing a new life to this previously bland, shrinking violet.

Our Blue Planet: Global Visions of Water is a temporary exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum (SAM), chronicling the privileges and powers humanity has over water. The exhibit features works from a wide array of mediums including photography, film, painting, sculpture, and various textiles, analyzing the sustaining role water has played in the past, and what that can mean moving forward.

Pushing the boundaries of what a single exhibit can be, Our Blue Planet contains the works of 74 artists from numerous countries and Indigenous tribes. The exhibit is not limited by a certain medium, location, point of view, age, or history; rather, it embraces the duality of art forms to create an immersive experience. The multitude of forms the exhibit takes emphasizes the universal need for a healthy planet. Ultimately, the exhibit comments there is no place or person who will not be affected by climate change.

Spin Me Round is a comedic fever dream that surprises the audience with its crazy twists, well-rounded cast, and addicting relationships. What seemed like a basic comedy turned out to be a unique film that delivered emotion, depth, and genuine disappointment.

Amber, played by Alison Brie of the popular show Community, works as a manager for a trashy Italian food chain in the small town of Bakersfield. While working there, she is invited on a corporate retreat to the company’s luxurious mansion in Italy. Amber heads off on her trip with hopes of finding love and a life-changing experience.

Swan Lake is one of the most well-known ballets of all time. It is a classic, somber tale of love between Prince Seigfried and Odette, a young woman who transforms into a swan due to a sorcerer’s curse.

As a student of ballet since fourth grade, I was nervous about reviewing Pacific Northwest Ballet’s presentation of Swan Lake, as it was my first time seeing the piece. Would my level of experience do it justice in a review? Would my lofty expectations of it be fulfilled? Tchaikovsky’s music perpetuates just about every ballet class in America, and I was familiar with the performance’s format, but nonetheless, the nerves were there.

Immediately after the lights went down on Teenage Dick, there was complete and utter silence in the theater—silence that carried through the lobby and out the doors. Seattle Repertory Theatre has managed to make Richard III, one of Shakespeare’s many boring histories, worthy of stunned silence.

Shakespeare’s original tragedy features King Richard, a hunchback, who is determined to ascend to the throne by any murderous means necessary. He succeeds, but it comes at the cost of his allies, sanity, popularity, and his young wife Anne.

A common misconception of children's plays is that they are way too simplistic to hold any appeal to anyone over the age of eight years old, but what most people don’t understand is the very fine line that the writers have to maintain of humor and clarity throughout the entire duration of any play aimed towards a younger demographic. Red Riding Hood, written by Allison Gregory and directed by Steven Dietz, does this perfectly. Red Riding Hood is an adaptation of the classic fairy tale in which Little Red Riding Hood ventures into the woods to deliver a basket of food to her sick grandmother. Upon her arrival, she finds a wolf disguised as her grandmother, resulting in Red Riding Hood’s death. Of course, there are hundreds of different retellings of this story, each a little bit different. Still from Red Riding Hood presented by Seattle Children's Theater. Photo by Angela Sterling.

The play begins with Wolfgang (Conner Neddersen) starting to rehearse his one-man show adaptation of Little Red Riding Hood. One of the many things that make this play unique is that it is a play within a play, meaning you, the audience member, are essentially watching these characters while they practice for their upcoming performance. Wolfgang dawns massive furry gloves, this comical accessory setting the stage for many laughs to come. While at the climactic moment where Wolfgang mimes devouring Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother, a delivery woman (Claudine Mboligikpelani Nako) enters the stage holding a mysterious package. This package will be a subject of Wolfgang’s suspicion for practically the entire play, with frequent requests from Wolfgang to see what’s inside. This is when the delivery woman resolves to assist Wolfgang in telling the story because according to her, he was not telling the story accurately. After a good amount of pushback on Wolfgang’s side, he gives in to letting her join his show. For the rest of the play, the two switch parts between Red Riding Hood, the wolf, Red Riding Hood’s mother, and Red Riding Hood’s grandmother, a fantastic direction for the play to take. Once settling on their roles, the delivery woman as Red Riding Hood, and Wolfgang maintaining his role as Wolfgang, the story continues. The pair venture through the forest on the way to Grandmother’s house, Wolfgang attempts to eat Red Riding Hood a few times, and many, many, wolf puns and absurd jokes later, they finally arrive at Grandmother’s house. Still from Red Riding Hood presented by Seattle Children's Theater. Photo by Angela Sterling.

When you walk to the back of Seattle Asian Art Museum, across from the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over Volunteer Park, you experience a neon vision. The museum’s Embodied Change: South Asian Art Across Time starts here with Chila Kumari Singh Burman’s visual art piece Kali (I’m A Mess). With this commencing motif, Burman uses a historically revered Hindu goddess to reflect on societal concerns from the year of its conception, 2020. The words “I’m A Mess” glow above a technicolor image of Kali, eyebrows raised and tongue out. Although this is not a message commonly associated with the figure, Burman uses Kali as a symbol of rebellion and liberation to ask the question—“Can Kali drive time forward into a brave new world where we are no longer a mess?” In the 6th century, the Hindu philosophical text Devi Mahatmyam, or “Glory of the Goddess,” denoted when the worship of the female body became a part of Hindu tradition, which set the stage for works like Burman’s in the 21st century.

Burman’s work demonstrates how historical images, the ones deep rooted in cultural history, can be used to make implications about our modern world. This idea is echoed throughout this exhibit. Although South Asian Art cannot be defined as one thing, as South Asia and South Asian identities do not take a singular form; as she shared in an interview, it was a goal of the curator Natalia di Pietrantonio, “to show the expanse of the South Asian field by purposely including artists from across the diaspora.” This idea of dynamic identity and reclamation are echoed throughout Embodied Change and are told through the lens of the human body, specifically the female form. One thing that I believe unites these works is the burden of inheritance. There are certain things that we inherit through our heritage without us making the choice to do so. What we do choose, however, is how we carry this inheritance.

YA author, Erika Lewis, introduces a variation of the Harry Potter series filled with magic, sorcery, and a Hogwarts-like institution: The Academy of the Unbreakable Arts. As we travel through the tale of the main character, Kelcie Murphy, we question what home truly is and how it builds our identity. While Kelcie Murphy and the Academy for the Unbreakable Arts allows readers to think deeply about the world around them and their own individual lives, it lacks originality as it is nearly identical to the Harry Potter series.

Kelcie was raised in Boston, in what the sorcerers in the book deem the Human World. She was passed on to several foster families throughout her childhood, and like many foster children, Kelcie dealt with uncaring families who treated her with cruelty and inhumanity. Throughout the book, she constantly mentions that she doesn’t like to remember “those times,” emphasizing the trauma her experiences left her with. However, they have also made her a responsible young person. At just 12 years old, Kelcie thinks ahead, knows how to defend herself, and is independent. Her background is very similar to J.K Rowling’s Harry Potter, who grew up with an unfair aunt and uncle who mistreat him within their home.

“The moment you think you understand a great work of art, it's dead for you.” - Oscar Wilde

I enter On The Boards with a friend. After spending a year awaiting the final installment of A Thousand Ways, a series of controlled encounters between strangers, I am thrilled to see what theatremakers Michael Silverstone and Abigail Browde of 600 HIGHWAYMEN have created.

Cannibalism, capitalism, and class struggle come together in Stephen Sondheim’s darkly humorous satire, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, beautifully adapted by director Tim Burton for the screen. Songs are cut down and some slashed altogether, shaving an hour off of the stage show’s runtime. The pacing keeps things engaging, and, unless you’re a diehard fan of the original Broadway production, it’s hard to tell anything’s missing. The film manages to do what many other stage-to-screen adaptations miss the mark on—making a movie that stands on its own.

After spending fifteen years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, mild-mannered barber Benjamin Barker (Johnny Depp) returns home with a thousand-yard stare, a newfound cynicism, and a new name—Sweeney Todd. His last shred of hope is shattered when he discovers his wife Lucy (Laura Michelle Kelly) is dead and his teenage daughter Johanna (Jayne Wisener) is in the custody of the corrupt Judge Turpin (Alan Rickman) who had him sent away. Promising revenge on the aristocrats that ruined their lives, Sweeney and down-on-her-luck baker Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter) hatch a delectable plan. But as they build a business off consuming the rich, they too are consumed—Sweeney by violence and Mrs. Lovett by greed—becoming the very things they swore to destroy. After all, you are what you eat. Johnny Depp in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007) directed by Tim Burton.

Michael Schur in Conversation at Seattle Arts & Lectures explores the intersection of comedy, philosophy, regret, and hope. Although it is not a narrative experience, Schur’s humorous anecdotes and philosophical ramblings are as cohesive and entertaining as most stand-up comedy sets.

Schur is one of the brilliant minds behind many popular modern sitcoms, including The Office (U.S.), Parks and Recreation, and The Good Place. He also served as president of the Harvard Lampoon and led Weekend Update at Saturday Night Live. George Meyer, a former writer of The Simpsons, joins Schur to facilitate the dialogue. If you were wondering, yes, this is what non-denominational comedy heaven looks like. Michael Shur in Michael Shur in Conversation. Photo by Libby Lewis Photography.