By Teniola Ayoola

This article was originally published in Washington City Paper here.

Local small theaters may not always have the budget for elaborate sets or mind-bending special effects—especially when tackling mythological fare featuring Roman deities—but what Theatre Prometheus may lack in spectacle, it more than makes up for in heart, humor, and daring reinterpretation. In Galatea, a rarely performed 16th-century pastoral play by John Lyly, director Tracey Erbacher delivers a thoughtful and thematically rich production that reclaims ancient myth to tell a modern story of love unbound by gender or convention.

Set in a coastal village where, every five years, a virgin must be sacrificed to Neptune to prevent his wrath, Galatea opens with a nod to the belief that sexual orientation is predestined and unchangeable: “Destiny may be deferred, not prevented.” The heart of the story centers on two maidens—portrayed as a biracial couple—Galatea (Amber Patrice Coleman) and Phillida (Cate Ginsberg), each disguised as boys by their fathers to avoid becoming the sacrificial offering. Their fateful meeting leads to mutual confusion, comedic asides, and a tender unfolding of desire—performed with warmth and sincerity by both actors.

Most of the characters, including the male roles, are played by women and nonbinary actors—an artistic choice that prompts reflection on the fluidity of gender, identity, and affection. The ever-regal Diana (Rakell Foye), goddess of chastity, faces off with Venus (Marley Kabin), goddess of love, in a divine battle that mirrors the play’s central tension between virtue and passion. Anyone who has wrestled with the age-old tug-of-war between what the heart wants and what the head advises will recognize this mythic conflict—desire pushing against decorum, instinct clashing with expectation.

Yet it’s the lone male actor who arguably steals the show. Neptune, played thunderously and charismatically by Matthew Crawford, commands the stage with a booming voice befitting his volatile mythological persona. His performance strikes a clever balance between gravitas and levity—at one point cheekily polling the audience for an accent, landing on a crowd-requested Scottish brogue—before later delivering one of the play’s most distilled reflections on its core tension: “Diana must I honor for her chastity, and Venus must I worship for her love.”

Cupid, played by Tristin Evans and costumed with cheeky flair in pink and blue Converse and pastel tones (a clever design by Cheyenne Hill), serves as the impish instigator. With a wink and a bow, they enchant Diana’s virginal huntresses, causing the god to fall head over heels for Galatea and Phillida. 

The production design, while modest, supports the storytelling. Simone Schneeberg’s set—featuring a shattered marble temple and glow-in-the-dark painted trees—offers a visually symbolic backdrop of the woods where much of the action unfolds. Sound designer Levi Manners enhances the atmosphere with rolling wave effects, grounding the sea god’s looming presence. A few technical enhancements, however, might have helped streamline the pacing—dimmed lighting or targeted spotlights during the lengthy asides, for instance, could have replaced the repeated back-and-forth sprints across the stage.

Still, these are minor quibbles in a production that excels at making centuries-old language feel accessible and immediate. One particularly memorable moment finds characters breaking the fourth wall to riff on the power of fate, comparing two real-life couples in the audience—one, they joke, bound by materialism; the other, by destiny.

When Galatea and Phillida eventually discover each other’s true identities, they pledge to do whatever it takes to remain together—a testament to how true love adapts and transforms itself in devotion to the other. In a contemporary context, the moment quietly echoes the societal pressures that make gender-affirming health care a necessary act of survival in order to avoid “hard chance in this world.” It’s a scene of radical kindness and quiet defiance, made all the more poignant by the play’s enduring relevance. “Love is greatest in name but lowest in virtue,” Diana proclaims. But in Galatea, though Cupid may meddle and destiny may delay, love—real, soul-deep love—emerges as a powerful force that transcends rules, roles, and even divine interference.

By Eileen Miller

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

A ghost haunts the stage from the opening moments of Woman on Fire. And yet, she is not the only spectre lurking in this Arizona border town. Set in the shadow of the September 11 terror attacks in a country charged with trauma and paranoia, Marisela Treviño Orta’s masterful ghost story explores the intersection between border politics and identity, while entreating its audience to reclaim their empathy.

Woman on Fire, directed by Elena Velasco, is making its regional debut at Creative Cauldron as a “Bold New Voices” production. Treviño Orta’s play is inspired by the ancient Greek drama Antigone, building on the tragedy’s themes and transposing them to a 2002 Arizona border town. It is to this town that Juanita (Odette Gutiérrez del Arroyo), a Mexican-American woman, has recently moved, hoping to salvage her marriage to her white border patrol agent husband Jared (Evan Crump). Latent tensions in their relationship are amplified after Paola (Lenny Mendez), the ghost of a woman who died trying to cross the border, begins visiting Juanita. When Paola asks her to complete a daunting task, Juanita is forced to reckon with the border politics and her Mexican-American identity.

Mendez’s haunting portrayal of the dead Paola is a wonder to watch. In the production’s opening moments, her ragged breathing and tormented stare capture the audience’s attention. In later scenes, she deftly conveys Paola’s pain and bitterness at her death and her frustration at Juanita’s unwillingness to release her from her suffering.

Juanita’s fear and desperation to distance herself from both the politics of the border and the ghost who died there are also central to the show. Del Arroyo delivered a nuanced performance, capturing Juanita’s naïveté and obstinacy as she clings to her husband’s politics and tries to ignore both the realities of the borderlands and their intersection with her Mexican-American identity.

Contrasts abound in this play. Juanita’s husband is a Republican border patrol agent; her sister Araceli (Nadia Palacios) is a staunch liberal and a professor of Cultural Identity and Politics at U.C. Berkeley. The living Juanita and dead Paola may have ancestors from a shared homeland, but the decision of Juanita’s to migrate north while Paola’s remained in the south led to their diverging classifications as “illegal” and “American.”

The characters’ wardrobes, designed by Nyasha Klusmann and each defined by a specific color or color palette, were masterfully employed to further reflect the contrasts between characters. Jared dresses in dark navy and military olive, reflecting his job in the border patrol. Meanwhile, practically every outfit of Juanita’s falls within a narrow range of delicate pinks, alluding to her inner naïveté. In contrast to her sister’s pale pinks, Araceli’s wardrobe consists of stronger jewel tones in orange and red, a reflection of her headstrong nature and self-confidence. The ghost Paola wears pale blue, a nod to her status as a soul who has faded from the world of the living. These costume choices skillfully supplemented the different portrayals, giving each character a distinct visual presence on stage.

And yet, through skillfully constructed monologues, Treviño Orta hints at the commonalities that lurk beneath their differences. Throughout the play, Woman on Fire’s characters — living and dead, Democrat and Republican, American and “illegal” — speak using language that echoes that of earlier monologues by other characters. At other times, they recount experiences that mirror those shared onstage by others. Despite all the characters’ differences, the parallels Treviño Orta incorporates into the dialogue reflect all that they have in common and drive them to reconnect with their empathy for one another.

Other elements of the production design are deserving of praise as well. Woman on Fire’s simple set, designed by Margie Jervis, has an understated beauty.With the principle “less is more,” the largely empty stage evokes both the Southern Arizona landscape and the gaping chasm in Juanita and Jared’s marriage.

Dark and reddish browns dominate the color scheme. Two boulder-like set pieces are the primary scenery. A blanket draped over one boulder transforms it into a couch, while a pot of marigolds and two black stools turn the other into a kitchen island. Remove these props, and the stage transfigures from Juanita and Juan’s house to the inhospitable Arizona desert. Through these simple yet effective set choices, the stage shifts between house and desert, giving the production a dreamlike quality.

Another element that contributed to this dreamlike aura was the production’s most entrancing: a sheet draped from ceiling to floor, upon which various images — designed by Julian Kelley — are projected throughout the play. At certain moments, these images bleed down the screen, amplifying the supernatural element of the production and creating an evocative visual experience.

Treviño Orta’s play is a masterful adaptation of a Greek classic, yet it is also a brilliant work in its own right. Though set over two decades in the past and based on a play written over two millennia ago, Woman on Fire is profoundly relevant to the current moment. Notably, Treviño Orta does not let the differences that divide her characters drive them apart. Instead, she humanizes border politics and sends the message that it is only through remembering our shared humanity and rediscovering empathy that we can find peace.

By Eileen Miller

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

In the opening moments of Fake It Until You Make It, a simple jacket quietly hints at what’s to come. The jacket in question is printed with geometric patterns distinctive of Navajo weaving. The person wearing it is — visibly — white. That said, criticism should not be so swift to rain down upon her: there is a line between cultural appreciation and appropriation. She is also, as is soon revealed, the founder of the nonprofit Indigenous Nations Soaring (INS) and has a genuine interest in supporting Indigenous communities. Still, the initial discomfort in seeing a white woman casually wear Indigenous designs serves to subtly signal what’s ahead: a cleverly crafted comedy about identity and ambition that both humanizes and ridicules every perspective.

Directed by Michael John Garcés, Larissa FastHorse’s satirical farce is making its DC debut at Arena Stage after a run in Los Angeles at Center Theatre Group earlier this year. In Fake It Until You Make It, tensions immediately flare between River (Amy Brenneman), the aforementioned founder of INS, and Wynona (Shyla Lefner), founder of N.O.B.U.S.H., who is passionate about butterfly protection and firm in her Indigenous identity.

Disputes over cat custody and plant placement are quickly overshadowed by the primary conflict between the two women: competition over grant funding for their nonprofits. After a serendipitous case of mistaken identity lands Wynona’s boyfriend Theo (Noah Bean) a job with INS, she plots to use him to sabotage River’s grant application. If the plot sounds fairly straightforward, prepare for some curveballs: FastHorse’s masterfully crafted script introduces surprise after surprise, weaving the story into a compelling and hilarious satire of identity and ambition.

The cast of six is excellent. Bean’s Theo is the closest the play has to a comedic foil, both through his attempts to be the voice of reason and his humorous reactions to the other characters’ absurd schemes. He plays Theo with a lovable affability, providing a good-natured and — relatively — calming presence on stage.

Lefner brings an earnestness to Wynona’s self-righteousness. She shows how a lot of passion can be dedicated to a cause as small as butterflies through both her delighted scheming to bring down her rival and her exasperated reactions to calls from people expecting N.O.B.U.S.H. to provide a different kind of service.

Brenneman unfolds River’s complexity well, steering her portrayal away from white savior stereotypes. She excels at comic timing on lines that are unintentionally humorous and infuses River with an earnestness for her cause that mirrors Wynona’s — even if neither woman notices the shared passion they have for their nonprofits.

The rest of the cast is strong, too. Brandon Delsid as Krys shines when his character eagerly joins in the mistaken-identity hijinks, and his performance proves that there can never be too many laughs. Burgandi Trejo Phoenix as Grace is another performance that improves the longer her character is onstage. While it initially seems that her character may be among the saner of the co-working space residents, the reveal of what kind of organization she leads adds a hilarious twist that layers in more identity-related humor to the show. Mark (Eric Stanton Betts) may join the chaos late in the show as one of FastHorse’s curveballs complicating the characters’ schemes, but his time on stage is well used. With a grounded sincerity, Betts evens out the absurdity of the rest of the cast.

The humor in the script is further enhanced by the production’s physical humor. In a play rife with sabotage and cases of mistaken identity, characters frequently flee from each other in mad dashes and near misses. Another hilarious work of choreography was the scuffles that ramp up as the stakes of the schemes increase. These moments use the wild reactions and exaggerated movements of the characters to draw constant laughter from the audience and highlight the absurdity of the characters’ schemes.

This physicality was elevated by Fake It Until You Make It’s set. The stage, representing the colorful co-working space in which Wynona and River’s feud plays out, comes in two parts: a ground-floor common area and the second-floor offices of River and Krys. On the ground level, a wide open floor leaves plenty of room for the characters to run around. One wall prominently features a mural by Indigenous artist River Garza, showcasing the production’s dedication to promoting the work of Indigenous artists.

Through a pair of intricately-furnished glass-windowed offices that are pushed onstage from either side of the stage, the characters travel to the second floor of the co-working space. Large glass windows and glass doors allow the audience to see all that occurs inside, and a connecting door — strategically introduced early in the play — is frequently used to emphasize the farce. This set piece is employed masterfully throughout the show, with each instance of chase or evasion adding in new elements that keeps the choreography feeling fresh.

FastHorse set out to write a farce, and she certainly succeeded. Just when you think that one mistaken identity plotline has run its course, she introduces another to complicate things further. The play’s exaggerated physical humor — a key element of farce — was entertaining without veering into excess. FastHorse’s social commentary was also humorously executed. Pushing the mistaken-identity trope beyond mistaken names to cases of misidentified race, FastHorse elevated the themes of identity and cultural authenticity explored in the play while never exhausting the audience’s laughter.

By Eileen Miller

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

There is perhaps no harder time to write political satire sketches than the current moment; there’s simply too much material to work with. How do you decide what to satirize? Hexagon, in its new show Splitting Our Sides!, has decided, through sketch, song, and dance, to dabble in nearly everything.

The volunteer-run performing arts group with a 70-year history of being “Washington’s Only Original Political Satire Musical Comedy Revue” returns to the DC stage this spring after a two-year break. Although the production, a series of sketches and musical numbers satirizing national politics, began development months earlier, it also managed to incorporate multiple digs at recent events, including Pete Hegseth’s Signal group chat scandal and the Vances’ trip to Greenland.

While balancing the absurd, the political, and even the apolitical, Splitting Our Sides! steers clear of the most frightening developments in our political landscape. Instead, the show emphasizes humor in the hopes that laughter is still a potent enough cure for our politics-driven anxieties.

Within the show are some of the staples to be expected in any DC political sketch show. In one musical number, a President Trump played by Edward Hammarlund and backed by a trio of singing dancers in white dress shirts, long red ties, and stockings, triumphantly sings about how he will be “Comin’ After” all of those who wronged him. Hammarlund’s President’s glee is laced with malice, and the jazzy number he croons offers a performance entertaining enough to make you forget for a bit the chilling threats of his agenda.

At other times, the current resident of the White House is alluded to but not mentioned outright.

In one sketch, Gerald Ford (Neil Conway) descends from Heaven to Limbo to chat with Richard Nixon (Neil McElroy) about the GOP’s new affinity for felons. The sketch’s simple yet effective set — consisting of just a direction signpost indicating the locations of Heaven, Hell, and Limbo — allows the focus to be on the two former presidents and their humor-laced ruminations over their nation’s current state.

Other acts find humor in the apolitical. One musical number — based on Oklahoma!’s “The Farmer and the Cowman” — pokes fun at another polarizing rivalry dividing DC: bicyclists vs. drivers. Backed by a lively orchestra and performed with dynamic choreography evoking the chaos of the DC commute, the musical number is an entertaining respite from politics that reminds the audience there is more to complain about in this city than politics. Another musical act, “I sold my soul to ChatGPT,” is a well-sung reminder that these are times not just of turbulent political change but of technological change as well.

Perhaps cognizant of the need to address the greater threats looming over the country, the final performance of the first act is a full-cast musical number about the importance of freedom. This song, built on a rhythmic drumbeat and led by the rich vocals of Hazara Kawah, Lilly Andemicael, and Victoria Williams, adopts a more serious tone to remind the audience of the real threats our democracy faces. Through both its full-cast participation and Kawah’s encouragement of the audience to clap to the beat with her, the performance emphasizes solidarity in the face of unnamed threats that are doubtless clear in the audience’s mind. While showcasing the cast’s vocal prowess, its message felt like an anomaly in a show that was mostly humor and less call to action.

After the intermission, the show returns to its blend of sketches and musical numbers. The humor draws laughter, and the musical numbers are especially impressive, but despite the potential of political satire, the show’s content largely sidesteps the most troubling problems that face our country.

A DC institution, Hexagon has returned to the District at a time when there is much — perhaps too much — to ridicule in our national politics. Many of the acts are well-performed and genuinely entertaining, and yet the show itself seems to belong to a different era. This dissonance is not entirely unpleasant: the musical acts emulate the powerful orchestras and grand dance numbers of the Golden Age of Broadway, a testament to the creative talent of Hexagon’s volunteer creatives.

Their brand of satire, however, harks back to a time when you could laugh about current events, maybe feel a twinge of embarrassment, but ultimately go about your day without dreading what the next day’s news cycle may bring. As our news feeds are overwhelmed by stories of ignored court orders, annexation threats against our allies, and other actions that signal a trend away from democratic practices, is it still possible to simply laugh, clap, and then go on with our lives?

Still, Hexagon’s continued presence after 70 years is a reminder of the persistence and importance of volunteer-run local theater. Splitting Our Sides! may not level thoroughly biting challenges at power, but it will still make you laugh, and maybe that is sufficient; with free expression increasingly under threat, the ability to laugh at our leaders is a power in and of itself.

By Eileen Miller

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

To enter a therapy office is to expect to open yourself up to vulnerability in front of a stranger. To enter a theater and find a therapy office onstage is to expect — perhaps with excited nosiness — to witness the vulnerability of another while comfortably behind the fourth wall. But to expect such things from Signature Theatre’s Job is to make a gross misjudgement. In this Northern California therapy office, no effort is made to generate a cozy atmosphere. Instead, therapist, client, and audience are presented with the dark side of humanity and forced to consider questions about the cost of the internet.

Job, written by Max Wolf Friedlich and directed by Matthew Gardiner, is making its DC debut at Signature Theatre after a 14-week Broadway run the previous fall. The show features a cast of two and centers around their conversation in a combative therapy session.

Jordan Slattery plays Jane, a “user care” worker whose job scrubbing graphic content from the internet drives her to a viral meltdown at work. Opposite her — often literally as the two converse from far ends of the stage — is Eric Hissom as Loyd, Jane’s work-mandated therapist tasked with determining whether she is fit to return to the office.

The play interrogates the price of the internet through the experience of one of its greatest champions. Jane, whose speech is peppered with Gen Z slang, dismissively denounces “boomers” who chastise youth for screen addictions. She defends the time spent on her phone as vehemently as she defends the job that makes her watch videos of gore and torture.

Slattery plays Jane with a frazzled intensity. She recalls the content she’s seen with disgust in her voice and a detached look on a face that can no longer cry. Slattery is most spirited when expressing Jane’s cult-like dedication to her job. Through this enthusiasm, contrasted with the devastating reality of what her work truly entails, Job presents uncomfortable questions about the tech industry and the human price of the internet.

Hissom’s performance — while initially providing a calming contrast to Slattery — shifts toward hinting at a darker tension as the play progresses. In the beginning, he speaks with a confidence laced with caution. He is not only a therapist but also a hostage negotiating his way out of a cell and a samaritan talking a woman off a bridge. Hissom’s strongest moments come when Loyd’s true feelings burst out in an explosion of anger and frustration, revealing a rage hiding beneath the therapist’s relaxed brown knit sweater and unbuttoned cuffs.

There is a painful irony in Jane’s commitment to her job. If her searing descriptions of the videos — and Slattery’s intense, red-rimmed eyes — could possibly not be enough to shock the audience, the flashbacks she suffers throughout the play also bring in startling moments that force the audience to confront her trauma. And yet Jane fiercely defends her job, craving the power that protecting others from viewing the horrors online gives her.

Job never leaves the confines of Loyd’s office, but in many ways, it ventures far beyond the bounds of that Northern California therapy office. As Jane recounts the videos of sexual and violent content she watched in her role in content moderation —  or user care, as her company euphemistically calls it — she reveals the dark side of humanity that her job tasks her with scrubbing from the internet.

Representing a virtual space onstage is difficult, but Job’s creative team makes inventive use of sound and light design to convey the online realm to which Jane craves return. When moments during the therapy session trigger memories of graphic content Jane witnessed online, a static buzz fills the air, overlaid with the detached click, click, click of a computer mouse. The lights onstage fluctuate brighter and darker — sometimes cutting out entirely — and the screen of a desktop Mac sitting in one corner glows white and draws Jane’s horrified hollow gaze. It is through these scenic modifications that the audience is immersed in Jane’s traumatic flashbacks.

This is where the work of Lighting Designer Colin K. Bills and Sound Designer Kenny Neal shines, linking the comfortable-enough therapy office to the dark world Jane has grown obsessed with. These design choices, set within a plot whose twists and surprises Friedlich gradually reveals, give the production an uneasy edge. Combined with a tension between Jane and Loyd that mounts from the start and never subsides throughout their 90-minute session, the play presents a tense thriller that ruthlessly reminds its audience of the darkness lurking behind every screen.

The thinking behind the show’s title leaves little room for doubt: Jane’s obsession with her job and the cost it wrought on her mental health are the catalysts that brought her to therapy. But it also brings to mind another interpretation that hints at the tragedy behind Jane’s situation: despite being presented with as much suffering as the Biblical Job, she never loses faith in her god — the internet.