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Beyoncé’s Fourth of July Show Redefined American Music, Legacy, and Spectacle

Posted on July 14, 2025

By Teniola Ayoola

This article was originally published in Washington City Paper here.

On the Fourth of July, Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter stood center stage at Northwest Stadium in Landover and redefined what American music, legacy, and spectacle looks like. Her Cowboy Carter Tour stop wasn’t just a concert—it was a living, breathing art installation, a cultural exegesis, a Black feminist thesis, a family archive, and a stage production worthy of Broadway.

In one of the night’s most visually arresting moments, Beyoncé appeared on screen as a larger-than-life figure, strutting through major cities across the U.S.—from Houston to New York to Las Vegas. But when she arrived in D.C., gliding past the White House, towering over the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial, the stadium erupted.

There is no place more loaded with meaning on July 4 than D.C. For Beyoncé to perform this show—one rooted in Southern Black identity, defiance, and American reclamation—on this date felt like a deliberate choice. The show opened with a knowing wink: Beyoncé at the center of a screen flashing red, white, and blue, performing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Her version, however, was laced with the rebellious instrumental arrangement originally performed by Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock in 1969.

Despite Cowboy Carter’s musical brilliance, some critics and country purists questioned whether Beyoncé belonged in the genre at all—a familiar refrain for Black artists in traditionally White spaces. The song “Texas Hold ’Em” was initially rejected by some country radio stations, reigniting long-standing tensions about gatekeeping in American music. After rejecting a listener’s request for “Texas Hold ’Em,” the manager at Oklahoma radio station KYKC, explained, “We do not play Beyoncé on KYKC as we are a country music station.”

Beyoncé addressed the criticism head-on. The backlash didn’t undermine her message—it amplified it. From the moment fans trickled into the stadium—many clad in denim, fringe, rhinestones, boots, and custom cowboy hats—it was clear this wasn’t just a tour; it was a movement. And when the singer finally emerged, cloaked in a massive American flag robe, Beyoncé made it known: This wasn’t about performing for a nation. This was about reclaiming it.

Backed by pounding drums and glittering visuals, Beyoncé asked the 50,000 or so audience members, “Can you hear me? Do you feel me?” The audience responded loudly. What followed was a dynamic set list that unfolded over roughly two hours. There were songs from Cowboy Carter, but also from 2003’s Dangerously in Love, 2008’s I Am… Sasha Fierce, 2011’s 4, and more. As strangers in the crowd belted out, “To the left, to the left…” in unison, it felt like more than a duet—it felt like community.

Midway through the concert, Beyoncé mused, “Genre is such a weird concept.” In that moment—surrounded by country riffs, rock undertones, voguing interludes, ballet pirouettes, trap beats, tap dancing, the iconic bounce-on-that-shit Riverdance step, and a drop into the gritty “Nigga ask about me” from Crazy in Love (Homecoming Live)—her point landed. She moved from elegant to guttural, soft to sharp, as if to ask: Who said I had to choose?

And in D.C., where musical legacies run deep, Beyoncé’s refusal to be boxed in echoed one of the city’s most defining genres: go-go. Born in the District and pioneered by the legendary Chuck Brown, go-go has never been just one thing. It fuses funk, soul, gospel, and call-and-response rhythms, drawing energy from both pop and percussion-heavy West African traditions.

Back onstage in Landover, Beyoncé honored her lineage. A graphic featured Black icons like Tina Turner. And at the start of “Formation,” her dancers broke into a clean, syncopated hat routine—gyrations and hip thrusts delivered with precision—a quiet, but unmistakable homage to Michael Jackson.

Outside the spectacle, the show struck deeply personal chords for the audience. For many, it was a night of full-bodied joy—dancing in the stands, sipping drinks on the party bus, and bonding with strangers over shared lyrics. Singing “Irreplaceable” together wasn’t just serendipity. It was the communal spirit Beyoncé cultivates—on and off stage.

Through it all, Beyoncé didn’t just perform. She reminded the crowd that she—and Black people, especially Black women—are America. Not in the political sense, as in presidents or lawmakers, but in the mythic one: the soul, rhythm, and story of the nation itself. Her journey from Houston girl group prodigy to global powerhouse is a story of grit, grace, and genre defiance—but also a reflection of Black resilience, ingenuity, and creative power. On July 4 in D.C., Beyoncé didn’t just put on a show—she claimed space. It wasn’t about fitting in. It was about standing firm.

Shakespeare Theatre Company’s Latest Production Recenters Frankenstein on the Women at Its Heart 

Posted on June 13, 2025

By Teniola Ayoola

This article was originally published in Washington City Paper here.

It is a packed house on opening night of Shakespeare Theatre Company’s production Frankenstein. Onstage angular, dark wood beams frame a tall, imposing fireplace and a singular chair sits with a robe hanging on its back. Atmospheric lighting by Neil Austin and an eerie soundscape by André Pluess create the sense of haunting loss that anchors the production. But no green-skinned monster ever grunts into the frame. Instead, the monster in British director and writer Emily Burns’ adaptation is grief, privilege, and masculine neglect.  

Burns, known for her incisive adaptations and storytelling precision at the National Theatre and with the Royal Shakespeare Company, is making her American directorial debut with Frankenstein. A project that began in 2020, when Burns, who has worked with STC’s artistic director Simon Godwin for nearly a decade and adapted last year’s star-studded Macbeth, submitted a seven-page treatment to STC, envisioning a version of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein told through a feminist lens. The company commissioned her to develop it into a full production. Over the next several years, with input from STC’s dramaturg, Drew Lichtenberg, she worked on her adaptation.

Burns began by interrogating what she saw as a contradiction at the heart of Shelley’s story: Frankenstein is one of the most iconic horror and science fiction novels ever written, and it was authored by a woman—yet both the original text and many of its best-known adaptations revolve almost entirely around male characters. 

“I was thinking about how male-focused Nick Dear’s 2011 stage adaptation is and how male-focused the novel is, and yet how it’s a female writer,” she says, before asking, “Why is it focused on men?”

With the goal of recentering the women in Shelley’s story, Burns turned to the original 1818 Frankenstein, where Victor Frankenstein’s abandonment—both of his wife, Elizabeth, and the Creature—is clearly condemned. Later revisions blurred that line, she says. According to Burns, the original, released anonymously, was far more emotionally raw and politically pointed. “It’s filled with ambitious men who are trying to create a name for themselves in their world,while she [Shelley] is at home trying to conceive, birth, and raise these children,” she says.

Before Victor brought his creature to life, Frankenstein was already a story shaped by maternal loss and abandonment. Shelley wrote the original story while in the throes of pregnancy, nursing, and grieving the death of her first child. The suicide of her sister also likely influenced her writing as did her husband’s—the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley—alleged affairs. It’s no surprise, then, that the 1818 version lays clear blame at Victor’s feet for abandoning the creature he created.

Deemed “too radical for Victorian sensibilities,” the second edition, released in 1823—with a manuscript edited by her husband—and a later version in 1831 softened that critique. Victor’s behavior became more fatalistic, his ambition framed as inevitable rather than negligent. Burns’ adaptation returns to the urgency of Shelley’s original. “Victor’s culpability and acceptance of culpability is kind of the central focus,” she says. “It’s not an immaculate conception. It’s this idea of a man creating life and then not taking responsibility for it.”

The result, now on stage through June 29, is a retelling that shifts the center of gravity—away from Victor’s ambition and toward the emotional, moral, and maternal fallout left in his wake. It’s about men, stitched together by ego and the privilege to walk away—from their partners, their children, their responsibilities—and still be worshipped for what they “created.”

Burns draws a direct line from Shelley’s lived experience—her personal tragedies echo throughout the play—to Elizabeth’s fictional fate. Multi-hyphenate artist Rebecca S’manga Frank, who plays Elizabeth, says she felt those parallels deeply: “I know this woman. This is the woman that’s us. And she wrote that.” 

For Frank, Frankenstein isn’t just a Gothic story—it’s a map of female survival, of turning pain into expression. “Mary had miscarriage after miscarriage, she had children die … she had this incredible husband-lover situation, but then it turned into tragedy.”

That transformation—of tragedy into art—is something Frank sees as a uniquely powerful human instinct, and often a feminine one. “The potential to take something dark or tragic and to turn it into something beautiful—that is a choice,” she says. “Because you could choose to stay in the darkness … or you could choose to follow the light.”

She likens it to alchemy: composting what’s been discarded or devalued and repurposing it into something luminous. “You bring it back up to the light and transform it.”

With Frank at the helm, Burns has created a play that doesn’t just reinterpret Shelley—it reclaims her. Her adaptation captures what was always there but rarely centered. It honors the trauma of motherhood, the clarity of womanhood, and the slow, devastating truths about the men we mythologize as geniuses—without asking who was sacrificed along the way.

District Fringe to pick up where Capital Fringe Festival left off

Posted on May 14, 2025

By Leah Cohen

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

After nearly two decades of spotlighting local theater, the Capital Fringe Festival went dark, just when the arts needed it most. District Fringe is picking up where Capital Fringe left off.

“There’s a vibrant community of artists. They deserve a place where they can afford to do it. They deserve a chance to get on stage,” said Karen Lange (artistic director, Pinky Swear Productions), one of District Fringe’s leaders.

Not unlike Capital Fringe, District Fringe will work to unite the DC theater collective but with a stronger emphasis on community and collaboration. Led by three artistic directors and longtime Capital Fringe supporters, Tracey Erbacher (artistic director, Theater Prometheus), Aubri O’Connor (artistic director, Nu Sass Productions), and Lange, District Fringe is on a mission to “promote and propel the strong independent theater tradition in the DC area.”

When the news broke in December that Capital Fringe would not be returning, the now leaders went to work to begin production of District Fringe — recruiting applications, fundraising, and searching for spaces to hold the festival, which will take place in July.

District Fringe is coming at a time when the Trump administration is targeting performing arts and diversity initiatives, particularly in once-vibrant cultural spaces like The Kennedy Center.

“Part of what fuels me is they wouldn’t be bothering with the arts if the arts weren’t important,” Erbacher said. “This is an opportunity to expand outward and support those voices.”

Because of the original festival’s finances and space availability, Capital Fringe accepted applications from artists on a first-come, first-served basis. Being in its first year, District Fringe will limit the number of shows to about 10 to 20, depending on space, following an application process. After receiving over 40 applications, the festival’s leaders and team of readers ultimately made decisions based on what excites them most and reflects DC’s diverse artistic collective.

While the team is still working to secure a venue or venues to host the festival, no matter where they choose, there will be a community space for festival goers and artists to gather. Lange recalled having a similar space during the early years of Capital Fringe.

“Most of us met each other there. We actually got to hang out and have a drink and party late into the night, dancing together. That was really special and one of the things we really want to bring back,” Lange said.

District Fringe will be an opportunity to celebrate not only the artists but also the volunteers and donors who have helped with the festival’s production.

“I’ve been running a company for 11 years and I’ve never had this level of community support where people are coming out of the woodwork to be like, ‘Hi, I care about this, this is important, how can we help?’ Which is really moving,” Lange said.

The District Fringe team is looking for volunteers with experiences doing artistic producing, media and press outreach, technical support, and on-the-ground support when the festival begins. And, donations big and small.

“Donations have such a direct impact. A little bit of money goes so far given how low our fundraising goal is compared to other big theater efforts, and that’s going straight to making art possible for more artists,” said Erbacher.

With one of the main goals of the festival being to make local art as accessible as possible, the team has set admission at $15 per show (including fees), with additional options like discounted ticket bundles, buy-one-get-one offers, and an all-access festival pass.

“Everybody’s art makes everyone else’s stronger because you might not hear about one individual company making one small show, but you hear about Fringe and everyone’s working together,” Erbacher said. “It’s about the power of the community there banding together and making a festival.”

For those looking to get involved and volunteer with District Fringe, reach out to info@districtfringe.com for more information.

Galatea: A Mythical Love Story, Playfully Reimagined by Theatre Prometheus

Posted on May 9, 2025

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.

Buried secrets, unburied souls: ‘Woman on Fire’ stuns at Creative Cauldron

Posted on May 5, 2025

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.


Clever farce ‘Fake It Until You Make It’ at Arena sends up the absurdity of identity

Posted on April 19, 2025

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.

The 33rd D.C. Environmental Film Festival: Films That Inspire Change

Posted on April 9, 2025

 By Isaac Welch

This article was originally published in DCTrending here.

The 33rd Annual D.C. Environmental Film Festival (DCEFF) kicked off on March 20th, beginning a nine-day showcase of films that highlight developments and discoveries in the natural world, aiming to inspire audiences toward lasting changes for the health of Earth’s ecology. 

The festival showcased various film topics and niches at multiple locations throughout D.C. Museum-goers at the Smithsonian Museum of Asian Art had the opportunity to catch a matinee screening of Nocturnes on March 23rd, a 2024 film and Sundance Award Winner directed by Anirban Dutta and Anupama Srinivasan. 

The film follows quantitative ecologist Mansi Mungee and a small team of her assistants in an enduring study of moth populations in the Eastern Himalayas- specifically, hawk moths in the mountains of Bhutan. From the film’s onset, viewers are immersed in these lush and bouldered valleys with their quiet beckonings away from the preoccupations of human activity and pulled further into a world hidden from those who walk the day. The film’s 83-minute runtime is a hypnotic blend of beautiful compositions and a meditative score, echoing Mungee’s dedicated study. It reveals the hidden importance of the insects and their powerful landscape.

The film’s direction and composition blend elements of a traditional science documentary and an artistic moving picture that creates cinematic storytelling and leaves room for the audience’s curiosity to wander. The film’s narrative is never told directly to the camera itself, but through open dialogue between colleagues, the pace of their theory and discoveries is explained.  This progression is subtly marked by captured natural phenomena that make their way into the film. A rolling mass of fog brings us through the passing morning hours, while lightning trails scattered through the valley show us that a storm has come to blanket the mountains by night. At times, it is unknown if these moments have transpired over months at a time or within a single day. 

The film also earns characterization from the ambience it captures and weaves throughout its pictures. In wide shot, humming with low frequencies, the noise of the jungle night replaces silence and shushes the theatre, repositioning man from supreme being to a humble and vulnerable accompaniment to a community of predator and prey. At daybreak, birdsong ushers in an air of safety where sunrays cut through forest branches. Then, there are the moments where the moths take center stage. They are often displayed on Mungee’s light screens, congregating under a stark blue in numbers a single set of eyes couldn’t count alone. 

As the lens brings the moth in closer view, the rapid flappings of its wings become thunderous thrashings of wind, filling the airspace with the kind of rigor that isn’t often associated with a creature of that size. While working as part of the storytelling, these elements also give the moths and the observers a new perspective, aligning with DCEFF’s mission to inspire positive change by forcing viewers to scale themselves down. 

Though initially bewildering, Mungee and her team’s work is demystified as viewers become more familiar with the techniques and the tools they use throughout the film. The sisyphus boulder-like dedication of setting up their light screens along different intervals through the valley, inventive creation of new research techniques, the meticulous sifting through samples and photo evidence amassing in the thousands, and the moments of contemplation candidly captured between these tasks bring a familiar and human quality to what otherwise may be seen as an obsessive occupation. Slowly, through this meticulous grinding of stone, the audience becomes attuned to see a figure shaping out of the ecologists’ committed efforts. 

Mungee’s findings and the message she’s sought to bring to the world become more clearly revealed. After more than an hour spent watching in awe of these creatures in their habitat, the audience is immediately reminded of the debts and responsibility that mankind owes them. The hawk moths’ vital role in maintaining the thriving Bhutan mountain region has come under threat of climate change, and Mungee makes it clear that though the effect may begin in a subtle manifestation, its ultimate end could be catastrophic if not maintained. 

While most are well aware of the persisting damages that global warming has brought to our planet, for some, it will take the realization of knowing there is much to lose by their actions. Dutta, Srinivasan, and the team behind Nocturne’s capture the vast natural beauty of the Bhutan mountains, and bring light and grandeur to the intricacies of a lesser thought of insect in such a way realizes them truly as works of divine artistry, and allows Mungee and her team’s love and obsessions to be well understood. Their dedicated effort works as a compelling piece demonstrating the worthiness of their cause and the creatures inhabiting this land.