TeenTix Blog Reviews

The best way to capture my experience at Cambodian Rock Band, playing at ACT Theatre from September 29 to November 5, was the elderly woman who sat two spots down from me. As we all came back to our seats at the end of intermission, a ginormous version of the Cambodian flag during the period of Khmer Rouge was draped over the small stage. The red stage lights lit up the flag in a way that made it appear bloody and threatening, and the entire fifteen-minute intermission took place over a recording of uniform military marching, immersing the audience in a fear of the looming Khmer Rouge. As we tried to make small talk, a small elderly woman offered us lumpia out of a bag she had brought into the theater, for, I presume, her grandson. Separated by a language barrier and a general principle of not accepting food from strangers, I politely declined, but my friend, who was hungry, eagerly took one. The smell of fried crunchy carbs overwhelmed me and I also took one. We showed our appreciation the best we could before the lights started to dim again and the show unpaused. What is true to both the play and reality is that even in the brutal conditions and mere threat of the Khmer Rouge, the soul and spirit of the Cambodian people went undeterred. Brooke Ishibashi, Jane Lui, Abraham Kim and Tim Liu in Cambodian Rock Band at Arena Stage at the Mead Center for American Theater. Photo by Margot Schulman.

Cambodian Rock Band, written by Lauren Yee and directed by Chay Yew, tells the story of former musician Chum, through the narration of both Chum himself and the cynical war criminal, Duch. The story starts when Chum returns to Cambodia for the first time since the regime of Pol Pot to convince his American daughter, Neary, to drop her case against Duch, the prison manager of the infamously lethal S-21, and become a lawyer in the U.S. After finding out her father is the eighth survivor of S-21 and her key to indicting Duch, Neary and Chum have a huge fight over victimhood, assimilation, and accountability, leading Neary to disappear. Over voicemail, Chum jumps back in time to explain to his daughter the plights, pride, and nuanced events of his youth.

With her unfettered ability to enthrall an audience, playwright Julieta Vitullo is no stranger to eclectic artistry. Her most recent composition titled Two Big Black Bags has begun its performances on the welcoming stage at West of Lenin in Fremont. Vitullo, an award-winning author and playwright, brings her unique perspectives and expertise to stage in a nostalgic yet lighthearted production that centers on a veteran in search of a way to amend the past.

After a night of carousing, James (Tadd Morgan) awakens to two black bags in his living room and no clue as to how they got there. This sparks a journey of self-introspection and healing as he travels all the way down to South America and the path to confronting his burdens. This performance and its theatrical constituents resonate and evoke genuine emotions in the audience, and highlight what life is like for those who endure life that follows war.

Content Warning: Mentions of homophobia, self-harm, and bullying“There are gaps in Queer history because we haven’t focused so much on telling our own stories, and we’ve lost a lot of history that way. I think [storytelling] is a way to leave a record of who we are,” says Jen Markowitz, the director of Summer Qamp. At the Seattle Queer Film Festival, hundreds of filmmakers worked to fill these gaps, making visible the stories of the Queer community. The Seattle Queer Arts Film Festival took place October 12 to 22, showcasing Queer films from around the world. The festival's focus this year was Queer Joy and its significance to the Queer experience. It explored this theme through a range of perspectives and styles, moving from comedy to drama and national issues to small, mundane moments in a person's life. Through their portrayals of diverse experiences, the films managed to build bridges across the past, present, and future of the Queer community to tell the timeless stories of Queer pain, perseverance, and, most profoundly, personal and communal joy. 

From the hundreds of selections the festival offered, I was able to watch Summer Qamp, directed by Jen Markowitz, and LGBTQ: From Gen A(lpha) to Z, a series of short films including The Last Gay in Indiana (Olivia Fouser), Piece by Piece (Reza Rasouli), My Life at the Beginning (Ana Puentes Margarito), Tater Tots (Julia Berkey), Bruno (Michael Dean Wilkins), Zeke’s Magic Plant Shop (Lucas Marchu and  Keaton Hanna), To All That We Are (Kristian Cahatol), and Carly Dolls (Maudie Schmid and Jaxson Power).

In the famous Benaroya Hall, home to the Seattle Symphony, the internationally acclaimed show The Music Critic enthralled its packed audience with the first performance of its North American tour. A blend of classical music and comedy, the show creates a unique experience that features the work of some of the best composers in history like Beethoven and Chopin, performed by premier modern artists including pianist Hyung-ki Joo and violinist Aleksey Igudesman, along with renowned actor John Malkovich narrating. This seemingly unlikely trio meshes perfectly along with wonderful supporting musicians to create a show filled with beautiful melodies and hilarious reactions.

The Music Critic holds a collection of critiques of famous musicians presented by Malkovich, the ultimate critic. No matter the fame of the composer, Malkovich’s critic holds a sharp insult for everyone, believing all their music to be worthless. For each piece played, Malkovich speaks, and occasionally even yells, of the horrid music he hears, using quotes from critics in the past and, most hilariously, the internet. After the continuous barrage of insults from Malkovich, Igudesman, and Joo decide they have had enough and fight back. Igudesman crafted a clever musical piece accompanying critiques of Malkovich’s acting ability that provides a feeling of satisfaction as the evil critic gets a taste of his own medicine. After a seemingly fitting conclusion to the show, Igudesman and Joo carry on in the encore, playing Bach as a duet only to be interrupted by Malkvoich with such unintelligible recommendations, like somehow playing the piece more religiously, that made the encore extremely amusing and one of the best parts of the show.

How does one immortalize something impermanent? How does one create a physical form for something theoretical? When confronted with emotions and ideas so inexpressible it’s entirely overwhelming, how does an artist convey them clearly through art? On September 29, I had the privilege of attending the public opening of the Henry Art Gallery’s fall exhibits, where I was able to witness L.A.-based artist Kelly Akashi’s newest exhibition, Encounters. The ethos of Encounters explores humanity’s interaction and connection with its surroundings: nature, the unknown, and each other. These interactions are by definition fleeting; small moments in time in which two bodies, whether human, terrestrial, or celestial, are intertwined through touch. Akashi’s sculptures give these impermanent interactions a permanent existence, creating a body for something formless.

The exhibition can be found on the bottom floor of the Henry, taking up a sizable portion of the space. Visitors are encouraged to walk amongst Akashi’s sculptures, carefully displayed across the gallery space. These sculptures are not displayed on pedestals or behind glass as in a traditional gallery but are rather placed directly on the floor. The proximity to the art makes the viewer feel as if the sculptures they are encircling and studying are merely other members of the crowd. The sculptures themselves are mounds of clay, carefully folded in a way evocative of the very earth the clay came from. Many of the sculptures are topped by bronze casts of the artist’s hands; some hold folded flower-like items, others coiled ropes, and others delicate blown-glass branches. Along the walls of the space are prints of Akashi’s work, showing a unique form of photography in which crystals are grown on film. Finally, projected across the back wall of the gallery is simulated footage of the collision of the Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies, creating an optical illusion as the back wall appears to expand, making the viewer feel miniscule in comparison. Kelly Akashi: Encounters[Installation view, Henry Art Gallery, University of Washington, Seattle.2023]. Photo: Jueqian Fang.

ArtsWest’s production of Mindy Kaling and Brenda Withers’ Matt & Ben is a playfully delightful time. Portraying Matt Damon and Ben Affleck before fame, Matt & Ben exaggerates the archetype that Matt is a tortured intellectual while Ben is just a silly, good-looking guy. In classic Kaling fashion, like in The Office or The Mindy Project, Matt & Ben has an ironic twist: both privileged, white, male characters are actually depicted by women and grapple with the script of Good Will Hunting literally falling into their laps. The play puts the audience through the trials and tribulations of friendship and creates a satire on the difficulties of pursuing a dream.

As soon as I walked into the venue, it was evident that Matt & Ben was a highly anticipated show– Kaling’s name was included in all advertising, and ArtsWest’s cozy waiting area was packed full during the play’s closing weekend. As a huge Kaling fan, the excitement was palpable, and only exacerbated by the incredible set design. The set captures a moment in time, grabbing at the essence of a post-college former frat boy’s apartment (immediately revealed to be Ben’s). Food wrappers and boxes are scattered around, shoes left astray, and laundry covers the floor. The mess feels perfectly intentional, which is almost paradoxical, and provided something to marvel at before the play started (even from the left wing, where I watched).

When you sit down in one of seventy seats in the Grand Illusion Cinema, you feel a sense of surreality, when the lights in that small theater dim and a film begins to play on that small screen, all while the Grand Illusion becomes larger than life. That surreality carries over to the screen when you watch a film as bizarre as Emily Mackenzie and Noah Collier’s documentary Carpet Cowboys. In the film, a collection of self-proclaimed cowboys and rugged entrepreneurs find disillusionment in the mystical world of carpet business, design, and production. Immediately, we are made aware that the film’s setting, northwest Georgia’s Dalton, is the “Carpet Capital of the World,” although, throughout the film’s runtime, the audience is never given a clue as to how it got to be that way or what such a title entails.

We do, however, learn about the life and times of one Roderick James, codename “The Scottish Cowboy.” When he isn’t writing jingles for Kid Cool’s patented glue or planning to relocate to the Philippines to be with his wife—a wife whose role is reduced to bystander because the film refuses to include any information that does not involve indulging James—he tells the audience about how he’s been in the Dalton carpet industry for some thirty-odd years.

Walking through Bumbershoot at the Seattle Center, different scents wafted into my nose. Smells of freshly ground coffee beans, juicy tacos with succulent meat from MexiCuban, smokey dough from Candela Pizza, and the sweet scent of popsicles drifted through the hot air. Though the food program at Bumbershoot was excellent, it lacked an international taste. The culinary options were predominantly seafood, Mexican, and Italian. While the seafood was deeply Seattle, giving more space to European, African, and Asian food vendors would have been greatly appreciated and could have better recognized the ethnic and cultural diversity within Seattle. Despite this, I found the food delicious! I tried all sorts of food at the Labor Day weekend festival and here is what really caught my eye.

As I found myself staring at all the beautiful outfits people wore and letting the loud music thrum through my body, Amazon employees handed out Seattle Pops. They had all kinds of flavors including Cookies and Cream as well as Lime. I chose a Cookies and Cream pop and it was the right call! The frozen treat melted in my mouth and the cream slowly trickled down my throat. When I asked the employees why they were out in the heat handing out their little miracles they said, “We’re trying to spread joy.” I smiled and walked on.

If you, like me up until a month ago, have no idea what Bumbershoot is and your knowledge of music festivals is limited to Coachella, this is the perfect article for you. I went into Labor Day weekend at Bumbershoot having done minimal research and expecting a completely different experience than what I actually felt. So you don't fall into the trap that I did: Bumbershoot is an annual arts festival in Seattle, which has been occurring for over fifty years—with this being its first year back since quarantine. It attempts to highlight local creatives, which tend to be mainly indie, rock, and country-leaning when it comes to music. However, it also includes many other kinds of artists, including designers, nail artists, and even cat circus performers!

It seems that somewhere in this massive range, the festival has lost sight of who it is trying to draw in. In 2019, The Seattle Times reported that "Bumbershoot’s target audience has been trending younger and that was clear as ever [that] year, with a lineup boasting enough collective Instagram followers to alter an election." Looking at the lineup now, I recognize each and every single name and would be buzzing with excitement to have the chance to see even one of them. However, this year seems to have taken an abrupt turn with the artists seeming to cater more to an older audience while many festival goers are in their late teens or twenties.

To kick off the 23/24 Newsroom Program, the TEDS each saw the Barbie movie. Check back every month to see art criticism for arts events they select and edit reviews of beginning in September! TAKE 1: Written by Anna Melomed, Edited by Tova Gaster, TED alumna

Barbie was a great in-theater experience and a delightful time.

Ikat: A World of Compelling Cloth is an exhibit that is very easy to brush over, though it is located prominently on the top floor of the Seattle Art Museum (SAM). The grandeur of the traditional European classic pieces awaits just beyond the door to the left, as well as a ceramics exhibit that will take your breath away. Next to these galleries, Ikat seems to be very ordinary indeed. Of course, it does open with a majestic display of woven strands dropping down from the planks at the top, resembling an optical illusion. As you turn around this display, each angle presents you with a different view of the threads and their scale, leaving you feeling somewhat disoriented. Justifiably, the piece takes up much of the entirety of the main room, allowing you to soak in its splendor and intrigue. PONCHO (DETAIL), 20TH CENTURY, AMERICAS (BOLIVIA, CHARAZANI), Photo curtest of SAM

When you move on to much of the rest of the exhibit, though, you see a strikingly different approach being taken with the presentation of the pieces. The first thing you notice is the bright colors of the walls, surrounding and enveloping the pieces they surround. It's almost difficult to view the art on its own, seemingly messily done.

Resisters: A Legacy of Movement from the Japanese American Incarceration is an unintentionally misleading gallery. The impersonal nature from which history is often told is drastically subverted in this exhibit, featured at the Wing Luke Museum of the Asian Pacific American Experience from October 14, 2022, to September 17, 2023. The gallery is a special exhibition designed by Scott Méxcal, written by Tamiko Nimura, and developed by Mikala Woodward. The exhibit is structured similarly to a maze, where you—placed into the shoes of Japanese Americans facing these aggressions—are led through the passage of time without being able to anticipate what will come up next.

Stories in history that are fraught with tragedy are often dulled down into easy, comprehensible individual values when they are retold. Retellings frequently pick and choose their facts simply by virtue of being a retelling. It would be impossible to cover every single event without meticulously recreating it step by step, as some parts are naturally lost over time. To only cover the certain pieces of the exhibit that remain would be an injustice to all the stories left untold—and to cover the entire exhibit as if it is a holistic record of internment camps would do the same. Instead of picking and choosing a few specific stories, this exhibit and review ask the viewer to put themselves through the experience of internment and view each possible story offered through their own lens. You can hear the recorded testimonies throughout the exhibits echoing through history, just as the exhibit is set up as a timeline that prevents you from seeing what's left to come.

The stage is set for a night of glamour and rock at Arts West’s Hedwig and the Angry Inch. A sign in the corner reads “Black Trans Lives Matter”, inclusive pride flags sit on the desk, and the stage emanates Seattle’s Pioneer Square, setting up this modernized and localized interpretation of the show. The actors enter an exit as the audience finds their seats, checking on wigs, the soundboard, and whatever else Hedwig needs to start her show. When the show begins Hedwig (Nicholas Japaul Bernard) enters decked in pride flags and a contrasting American flag slung over her shoulders, but when she takes it off it reveals the confederate flag on the other side, immediately calling out the racist undercurrents of America. The opening speech, full of self-aware comments and Seattle-specific references, sets up a new vision for Hedwig: She exists in the modern day and the past, calling audience members to suspend their disbelief as she carries them through her story.

The modern-day aspects serve Hedwig well in addressing the issues that genderqueer and transgender people, especially those of color, face in America today. While staying true to the historical aspects of the show, Hedwig is timeless, referencing both old and new, reminding us that transgender people have been here and will continue to be here, and their stories deserve to be heard. The show's bones lend themselves to be manipulated and altered to fit the story that needs to be told at the time, and the actors and creative team do a fantastic job of sharing the story in a way that feels true to them and their artistry.

Going into Yellowface, I was immediately enthralled. R. F. Kuang’s hallmarks—suffocating tension, her unflinching eye for critique, and messy-yet-compelling characters that horrify us, yet keep us engrossed in a compulsive, almost shameful pull—were all put on gleaming display.

Day after day on this beautiful stage at the Henry Art Gallery attempts a new take on modern art that unfortunately falls quite flat—despite the interactive 3D aspects of the exhibit. Sarah Cain presents a set with couches positioned for the viewer to look upon the stage, as the name suggests. Viewers are allowed to enter both portions of the exhibit, which takes advantage of the Henry's expansive ceilings to appear all-encompassing. The piece is considered a subversion of serious abstract art, in that much of the strokes that build up the world of this set appear childish and sloppy.

A common critique of abstract art is that it is, in fact, childish. The intention of the exhibit seems to twist this view by intentionally attempting to be less serious, overemphasizing the shock factor of its components in this effort. Cain expends so much energy in trying to convey what the portions of her piece represent, that the overall impact is actually rather underwhelming. Much of the time spent attempting to glean the meaning of the stage simply concludes with "this portion was meant to represent the sky, or the sun, or the grass." Though she clearly tries to launch opposition to the standards of abstract art, Day after day falls short.

In the program for Sweeney Todd at The 5th Avenue Theatre, director Jay Woods states that her team has “been granted the privilege to investigate th[e] text in the way the late great Stephen Sondheim felt was most important,” to put “risk-taking at the heart of creation.” I assume Woods is talking about the production’s use of color-conscious casting, drawing parallels between one of the most famous revenge plots of all time and contemporary race relations. Although the casting is bold and artistically effective, the production is most impressive because of its consistently strong performances and stunning marriage of design and direction.

Sweeney Todd is wildly popular because it is the rare thoughtful musical theater spectacle. It’s also rare as a mainstream musical centered around cannibalism. The plot is structured so the show is always a few steps ahead of the audience, delivering a satisfying and unexpected narrative without relying on shock value. The score is uniquely atmospheric and the text’s use of dramatic irony is delightful. However, the slow pace often took me out of the world of the show.

Told for thousands of years, ancient mythology seems intransigent. How can one alter something so long standingly accepted? Enter Carolynne “Caro '' Wilcox and Hannah Votel: two playwrights who’ve built their careers on challenging rigid narratives. Together, they’ve combined forces to write and direct The Boxes We’re Kept In, which retells--and completely subverts--three Greek myths that each follow a woman who appears to succumb to a unique form of temptation.

There’s Persephone, who eats a pomegranate that traps her in the Underworld despite the fact that she was warned against it. Psyche, who was instructed by the god of love, her husband, to never look upon his face (spoiler: she did anyway). And finally, Pandora, who is said to have been the first woman on Earth. Gifted a box that she could never open, Pandora gives in to her curiosity, only to realize that she’s released every plague on humanity that one could imagine.

“The common thread in these three pieces is these women aren’t necessarily told what would happen if they did the thing. They just expect you to make the right choice,” said Wilcox.

Describing how these mythical women are typically vilified or infantilized for their choices, Votel said, “People have these preconceived notions of these characters.” Their goal with the play is to challenge such notions. Rather than painting a picture in black and white, Wilcox and Votel chose to represent them as complex, relatable characters who possess flaws, strengths, and desires.

Plays in this style aren’t new to Wilcox. Greek theater captivated her early in her life, which led to her decision to do something from Ancient Greece for her graduate school performance thesis. But there was one pitfall: “The thing that’s really annoying,” said Wilcox, ”is that so many of the Greek female characters are so passive and unresponsive. They’re often not the protagonists in their own stories.”

Wilcox knew that instead of following a preexisting Greek story, she had to write one of her own. The result was Loom, which casts the three Fates of Greek myth as its protagonists. Loom explores the agency of these female figures, a theme which is also prevalent in The Boxes We’re Kept In. “With a snap of the fingers,” said Wilcox, “a woman can be deemed as somebody who made a terrible choice that destroyed the entire world and all of its creations because she dared to open a box. Or she dared to follow an intriguing man down into the underworld. Or she dared to have the desire to look upon her husband’s face. These are all very simple choices that anybody could have made. And I think that these stories and these characters would be looked at in a very different light if they were men.”

In addition to subverting mythos of the female archetype, The Boxes We’re Kept In also challenges the notion of what theater can look like. The play is fully relayed in audio format. A singular actor plays a variety of roles through the usage of voice modulation technology. “Theater doesn’t have to look like a proscenium stage where the audience sits in the back and claps their hands and then leaves,” said Votel, who has been acting since the fourth grade. Their desire to overcome “this Eurocentric and able-bodied norm that we have right now” stems from their personal experiences as someone who is physically disabled. “Theater still exists--it’s valid and valued--even when it’s not big and everyone is doing high kicks and twirling around…Just because we don’t usually see [voice modulation], it’s not necessarily lesser than. Part of the goal is to put out a piece of theater that’s unlike something that some people have seen.”

Wilcox and Votel’s commitment to breaking the molds of myth and theater shines in this fresh new piece. The plights of Persephone, Psyche, and Pandora, while immortalized, have never before been told in this way. By pushing the boundaries of storytelling, the two playwrights demonstrate that imagination will allow them to dismantle established narratives and reshape them into meaningful, resonating tales.

The Boxes We’re Kept In is presented as part of the Strawberry Jam Director's Festival running June 8th-July 8th, 2023. With new titles every weekend, SJAM is dedicated to providing local directors with the opportunity to grow their craft through practice. Check out the full SJAM 2023 Line Up Here

The Oregon Shakespeare Festival’s production of August Wilson’s How I Learned What I Learned at the Seattle Rep is a striking one-man show from the moment the Rep’s spacious yet intimate space darkens. It’s then that performer Steven Anthony Jones, in the role of playwright and poet August Wilson himself, walks through the aisle under a spotlight and up the stairs to the stage. On the stage are clusters of grass and stones, a street light, a desk with a glass of water, two chairs, and a formation of brick wall set pieces. On the foremost wall, white serifed letters are projected, reading “How I Learned What I Learned (And How What I Learned Has Led Me To Places I’ve Wanted to Go. That I Have Sometimes Gone Unwillingly is the Crucible in Which Many a Work of Art Has Been Fired).”

Jones, as Wilson, finishes his ascent and stands beneath the words projected on the bricks. He stands still in the silence before he begins speaking, his voice sounding through the theater with the strength and conviction of a storyteller with something to say. From these first moments, How I Learned What I Learned makes it clear that it is not simply an extended monologue; it’s a back-and-forth between performer, script, and audience, in which Jones brings the intricacies of Wilson’s writing to the theater, and the audience responds with rapt attention. Steven Anthony Jones in August Wilson’s How I Learned What I Learned at Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Photo by Jenny Graham.

Into the Woods is a very famous musical, following the story of four very famous fairy tales, Cinderella, Rapunzel, Jack and the Beanstalk and Little Red Riding Hood. This play takes place in a forest most of the time.

This musical is about a baker and a wife who have always wanted to have a child of their own, when unexpectedly the witch from next door comes to them and tells them if they really want to have a child they have to find four special items, which are, a cape as red as blood, a cow as white as milk, hair as yellow as corn and lastly a slipper as pure as gold. From there it’s the baker’s and wife’s mission to find those missing items before the time limit or else they will never get their child.

90s teen sitcoms find a new home on the stage with “Zach” by Christian St. Croix at Artswest. The play follows Gina (Amber Walker) and PJ (Michael Nevárez) as they traverse their newfound popularity when Zach, a new student, selects them to be part of his clique. Gina is a fashionista, a secretly skilled carpenter, and one of the few black students in her school. PJ is goofy, a great dancer, and Latino. Zach, who is “American. Caucasian. Heterosexual. Capricorn,” creates many problems for Gina and PJ as they traverse through their primarily white high school. The two face average teenage problems such as dating, friendships, and popularity, along with blatant racism from those around them. This element is woven throughout familiar sitcom tropes, blending the two together to point out harmful stereotypes and real-world struggles that marginalized people face. Throughout the play, the two help each other to find themselves and navigate Zach’s oppressive domination of the school’s social scene.

Actors Amber Walker and Michael Nevárez shine in this production, playing over 10 characters throughout the play. The direction and minimal set/costume changes allowed for these actors to quickly jump from one character to the next, often switching back and forth between who is playing who. This was incredibly effective as each actor made strong distinctions between characters, bringing the world to life. This innovative choice also aided the comedy throughout, as the actors were able to switch their voices, personalities, and demeanors on a dime. The two played besties, lovers, enemies, and more, all with eminent chemistry. The play was fast-paced, clocking in at 75 minutes, keeping the audience thoroughly entertained. The 90s sitcom effect was achieved with laugh tracks, montage sequences, and (at times) goofy over-the-top exaggerations. I was laughing throughout the show during both moments of genuine comedy and so-bad-it’s-funny one-liners.

The more serious elements of the play point out the struggles that low-income, nonwhite, and queer teenagers face, marking something that is starkly left out of 90’s sitcoms: diversity. St. Croix brings Gina and PJ’s stories into the conversation and shows how they would really face the high school worlds portrayed in films. In doing this, “Zach” takes the tropes of well-known films and flips them on their head as commentary. Though this was generally effective, certain moments felt simplistic and left without nuance. In order to keep the lighthearted and comedic tone, the topics discussed were often right on the nose. Though this did serve to call out the biases that many people hold, I also felt that these portrayals were at times simplistic, dividing the world into two categories: Good Guys and Bad Guys, and leaving no room for those who are subtly or even unintentionally discriminatory. This choice was effective for capturing the feeling of a sitcom but made certain issues seem overly simple. However, the main goal of this play is achieved by bringing comedy, joy, and friendship to the stage in a new way, which can often be as powerful as tragic stories. The effervescence of “Zach” is what makes it special, and it brings an important representation of joy to the stage while still acknowledging real-world issues.

“Zach” is a wonderful story brought to life by two thoughtful actors and an innovative creative team. This play offers its spin on the world it inhabits, bringing back memories without missing a single trope, while also offering a new and previously overlooked perspective. Gina and PJ are lovable and they make the perfect team, hitting you with familiar sitcom bits from the start. If you are looking for a funny, joyful, and important story, “Zach” is the way to go!