 I'm Cat Rodriguez, co-dramaturg of Carnaval. I'm Isaac Gomez, co-dramaturg of Carnaval. That's 4. A morning of excerpts by 4 amazingly talented playwrights. As you know, the call was for a feature of 8 plays showcasing Latino-Latina voices and a range of styles, aesthetics, and storytelling. And the steering committee and the selection committee were just so amazed and just wanted to show just more and more that we couldn't really whittle it down to 8. So... 12! 12. And the 4 playwrights with whom you'll be experiencing this morning. Also, as I'm sure you've noticed from the last few days that you've seen, the level of stories, of form, of structure that this play has presented really demonstrate the level of breadth and depth that a play that are being written by Latino playwrights in the American theater today. And these 4 excerpts are no exception. Our Latino and Latina community is very diverse, and it's very true of the writing that you're going to be experiencing all through Carnaval and today as well as Isaac is saying. We have today writings by Midalia Cruz, by Virginia Grace, by Amparo Garcia-Cruz, and by Diane Rodriguez. So, I think we're ready to start it off. I think we're ready. Rock and roll, y'all. All right. Pull onto your chairs and let's get started. Which is a wonderful adaptation by Midalia Cruz of Satyikong and Fellini's film by the same name. Also inspired by different proverbs, quips, cultural references, news items, perhaps a modern-day politician or two. And it takes place both on the island of disenchantment, Puerto Rico, and on the mainland in the capital. So, I'm going to just let the work kind of speak for itself. We have Midalia in the house and we'll have a brief conversation afterwards just so you know, following each excerpt there will be a brief conversation with the playwright to kind of get a little bit more of the taste. But without further ado, Satyikong. Satyikong by Midalia Cruz. Enko, the president, scribe and speech writer, in love with his servant assistant, Junior. Silvio, Enko's best friend, also in love with Junior. Junior, the bastard son of the president of the ignited dominions of America. A servant for now, but his star is rising. A master of reggaeton, rap, and hip-hop. Musically and sexually, he does it all. Foderosa, Junior's mother. A matriarch with big ambitions, takes only younger lovers. Arroz con gandules. Gandules is soft. Twenty-four years. Empilomena, Octavio's wife. First lady of the Republic, a hermaphrodite. Seen sixty-four. Enko's plexiglass bathtub. The water is pink with blood. I could take it as shit. A dying heart is biblical fit. That should not take your own life in vain. But who cares about him? With the world so insane. Living in the biblical brain. I maintain. There's something going on in my brain. Nobody cares about us. Here on the downer, there's them and theirs. And that's the show. Junior gets up, lights a match. The walls begin to burn. Fire! Junior's bedroom. The morning of the nightclub opening. He speaks to a poster of Octavio. There's something I need to tell you. I'm gonna make you explode. Whoosh! You got that! Like a tick on crack. You'll be up hard until you're shattered into tiny shards of black glass. I know that you know what I'm here to do. And you owe me. I should just take it. But I'm gonna wait a little to see if you do right by me. You know, some people don't. And those are the people you don't see for long. They disappear. They vanish. Like white girls in wedding dresses. Now why don't white nana? There's not what we aim for. Now we aim to be seen in all colors. And you know what I'm saying? All that interstellar like galaxy colors where there's nothing but darkness so complete that earth looks like blue. Dark blue, like my heart. That you abandoned to misery. Oh, whoa. Why are you keeping up on me all the time? Damn, trying to catch me with my pants and my ankles? One of your boyfriend's mouths and sucking on me with his dentures out. Just wanted to do what you wanted for dinner. For show. I was going to scramble up some eggs with spinach. Or maybe kale. My greens. Temperature. Get out. I only let them do that so I could buy new things. Get the fuck out! Mr. Arroz and Mr. Gondules are having something they even got sick. Mother, you make me sick. Sick? Sick is a good thing. Like, you should see this beautiful new car. It's sick. I keep you alive. I gave you everything I had. The Maya's invented that shit. Zero. Nothing. You. This town is making you sass. Get the mother fuck out of here! Polarosa exits. Yeah, I can't even talk to myself alone. That's why I keep this. He takes out a tape recorder. It's old school, but I like it. I like how I can see the tape and see my voice. See how it gets turned into plastic ribbons. And when it gets all filled up, I can just tape over and then it has layers of me all in there. And then I can rewind and unwind and rewind. I can point to my own voice and see where I've been. It's proof that I'm going to set myself on fire one day. Tape burns fast. It turns to liquid. And that'll be me. The puddle on the floor, flowing into the ocean, all of me and all of that, all of me is water. I found some tangerine juice. Do this with it. That's the old way to stop sperm from taking. Sperm hates citrus. I hate you. You didn't used to. This is what happens to mothers and sons in new places. They end up fighting about nothing and stabbing each other in the eye. My friend Mina told me about it. She knows everything. That girl could be a dentist or something. You know the best people, mother? I know, right? She's so smart and shit. Maybe you should marry her. I think she's got money too. Damn. Maybe I'll marry her myself. Well, you should right now, tonight. I have to open the club first. You sure you don't want some? It's good for your blood sugar. Junior, jump some further or I'll stop choking her. This is what happens when you don't drink your juice. I thought you were going to make us some chow chow boogie. Don't kill the cook till after the meal, son. Okay, backup dancers should never get between a man and his mother. Come on. Were you threatening us? Or is that more like a saying, that the anus but agile by way of the mouth like that? Marry and quits. You think that makes you so smart? You think this is funny? That I'm joking here? I will end her. And you won't stop me. They won't, but I will. I do. I try to kill you, you try to kill me. That's how we show how much we love each other. It's such darkness to keep our love real. I know what you want from me, and maybe one day you'll get it and you'll leave me alone. I need a new life. Something that's not floating on shit. I think the Sumerians knew a lot about shit. Okay, what's with you two in the Sumerians? They understood the importance of backup. They wrote things down. We're keeping a record of all this. One day we'll be a part of history. Everything repeats. That's how the will gets reinvented. Let it go powder my nose. Enko is looking in his bathroom mirror. He was shaving with a straight razor in his white boxer briefs that are now bloody, since he decided to cut small pieces of flesh from his arms and neck. He watches himself bleed. Enko, what is it to be mean? I just keep doing this. I can make myself into a patchwork quilt and start all over again. You could sew those pieces so you would. You would never say die type. And you say it so often it has no meaning. You could make a suit of me wear me once a year on my birthday. It could work this time. Just let me. I didn't know you could kick like that. Type O. Is that still a thing? I think it was a person. Who could kick? Who could kick really hard? My dears. I won't be here someday. They will really bleed to death. What are you saying? Are you ill? Yes. That's enough about that. A new virus? It must be since we cured the old stuff. How did you contract that disease? Never mind. Oh, please give it to me. It doesn't work that fast. It won't save you from the execution pot. Just take the plane. Get lost. Get lost. Flying over the Java Sea. Go to Nicaragua. Go to Bermuda. No one looks there. You know I hate heights. You're so lucky to be dying. I think you'll lose. No wonder you're such a jolly fellow. I'd like to help you, Inko. I would, but your attitude has been bad for a long time. There's no way, no way for you to escape your fate without hope. Thank you, Dr. Settle. That was gratuitous and sentimental. I have hope. I hope I die without being murdered. I'm sorry, Settle. I didn't mean to yell. Settle your boat and go into a headlock choking camera. I'll do it. I'll do it. I'll do it. Is this what you want? Huh? Too much hope. It keeps me from ending your self-concerned blather. I think Shirley, he'll hear himself one day. He'll hear, and Shirley, he'll see that there are people who love him. And then stop hurting them. In Octavia's closet, the white palace. My suits ring. I'll make sure our dear republics stay for faith and want to be conservatists. Listen, dear hearts, I don't have much time. My station is closing in. I won't be able to give you many more pep talk. Warnings are whimsical song stylings. So help me, there's a storm coming over Greater Antilles. It will vortex over the isthmus of my tassel. They say that is where the Spartans defeated the Roman legion just by digging to the water and flooding the lawn where the Romans tried to cross. Know where that is? Then you're butt-fucked by a beaver's fur. What are precautions? Lock your basins. Something is coming up from below. Danger, this bit can't be kept behind walls and under concrete floors anymore. It has to come to your house, under your bed. Be afraid, my darling. Keep your third eye open to change and it will take you to the future. You follow that third eye into the seventh chakra of the world and sleep with it inside you. Shhh. Go to sleep now. I won't bother you anymore. Shhh. Go to sleep. And then go listen to some music and the truth will be in the song. I'll do it. I'll close my eyes. I'll listen, Mina. Why don't you have a stay? I'll make room for you right here in my... Why don't you come out and we can get ready? Wearing my Alexandra McQueen. The one you love with the cutouts that matches your sandals. You want to go out tonight? It's the full worm moon. Birds will be back soon and all those earthworms will love me again. I can smell it in the cold air. Please come out. You always know where to find me. The scent of your bathwater. Lavender in time. Hurts my eyes sometimes. I'll try to remember that. Our chariot awaits. Will you let me hold it in a color? You want, but I've answered it all up so it wouldn't show through the dress, so... Can you just cup it? We'll see. It cuts through such things. You'll be careful. Always. They exit to go to the nightclub. End of excerpt. These are very important things to you. So in this adaptation, how did you integrate that and then what was your impetus in looking towards the island of Puerto Rico? That's a big question, but how did you infuse the original source material with your specific Hidalya Cruz style of writing? I think that's what I do. If you have a go-to Hidalya Cruz play, it's a beautiful Hidalya Cruz rhythm. You know, I'm New Yorker from the Bronx and my parents were Cubanos from Puerto Rico. So I think all my language, all my criticism about trying to show and find a home. Where is home? And I started this play after the election of George Bush, the first one, at the end of the world coming. I didn't have this idea to do the impossible things. I want to adapt. The movie is impossible and it's an adaptation of an impossible book. Everything's fragmented. But I wanted it to be about what would happen if the bastard son of the president decides to kill him and make it very Julius Caesar, make it very Roman. This actually scenes with a vacation because he wants to see where Nero came from. And so the satirica is about Nero. It's about how his scribe, the person who wrote his speeches and also planned his parties, Arbitr Elegantai, who was what Julius was, wrote the play in response right before he committed suicide. Because he could see the end coming and he was tired working for a tyrant. And I kept this going to end it but first I'm going to like really fuck him up with these words. And I was like, that's a nice goal. So that's where it came from. What you saw here is really I just completed the first draft during a beautiful New Works project workshop of Unit 52 at Intar. We ran for only three days and this play is big. It's like you saw it and it wasn't presented linearly at all. It was like we gave you like highlights. But the play is bigger and deeper and it's about how the poor people will rise but it's also about even what the poor people will rise will they also get corrupted by power. Beautiful and important. Thank you so much. You can find the play together. It's all about process here at the Cannava. What does it mean to be found in a place and at a time where it feels that no one can be found? And Vicky Greis is always late always lost. We explore a deeply personal profoundly potent story of a young woman the people that she meets along the way as she transitions into life in a big city. That is from an external point of view the things that are happening around her but in the piece itself we're wrestling with these deep ideas of feeling lost in a place where no one wants her to be. And so that's kind of it. I'm going to let the rest of it speak for itself. Always late, always lost at Virginia Greis. Time New York City right now. Scene one, blue corn of radio crackles static skips between stations and a woman's voice. A piñata flies into the space Siembrana Piada enters sounds of pejas follow her she has a big purse and a cheap suitcase on wheels she is looking for the sky but can't seem to find it. She is lost it starts to rain. Where's your umbrella girl? I've never needed one. Need one now? There's always a drop in Texas. Aren't in Texas anymore honey. You need an umbrella here. And waterproof boots You can't wear chocolate on the street in the dirty. Here let me help you with your bags. Always act like you know where you're going even when you don't. Don't look lost even if you are. Stop looking out, there's nothing to see up there. Keep your hands out of the clouds girl. Where are you going? Nowhere, really. You gotta be going somewhere. You know that right? What's in your bag? Siembrana Piada opens her suitcase huge planks of cactus and pideo and corn husk boxes and boxes and boxes of lard and cacao beans fill everywhere. What are those? Chocolate from the cacao. Oh, and she dumps out her purse. What is that? Well, how can blue corn to help her dream? You're leaving a mess on the streets. She picks up the blue corn, holds it in the palm of her hand and blows it all over Siembrana Piada's feet. You are Yo-Yoon Siem. Take your chocolate flower of the cacao tree, make you drink all of it. Come on girl, do the dance. Do the song. Siem 3, two suitcases. I went to New York City with two suitcases, $300 and nowhere to go. I kept following the work from San Antonio to Austin back to San Antonio, then Los Angeles, Minneapolis, Chicago, back to LA, now here. New York can be a very lonely place. So I called my friend from home. She puts the suitcases down, lights up on local, local, local carrying two suitcases. I create large-scale, conceptually based art dealing with the construction of identity and identification. I collect strength of associations around notions of artifice, accessibility and performativity. A gay boy-girl conceptual artist from South Texas. I was going nowhere fast so I went to New York with two suitcases after traveling two days on the Greyhunt bus. I'm gonna live with my best friend. She is an artist too. At least I have somewhere to go. He puts the two suitcases down and puts on red lipstick. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Do you think New York City is the cultural center of the world? The center. The world is a very big place on the outskirts. I've been asked to write a story about a place I don't know. In a city I'm always lost in. Where is the city center? The center. The city is a very big place. Very far from San Antonio. Hey, is this our train? Loco Loco rushes into the crowded subway platform, leaving Siam-Renofiada on the platform. You can't get on the train just because the door is open. It might be taking you in the wrong direction. Scene four, hope is nowhere. Blood music rises. Siam-Renofiada dances. My first spot in New York was a fifth floor walk-up in the East Village. The bathtub was in the kitchen under the cabinets next to the sink. Look at that. The street is dressed in a suit wearing red lipstick. The suit does not quite fit. He is blindfolded. He turns in circles, getting ready to hit the piñata. Three, seven, eight. Now, I live in an apartment in Bedside with my friend from home. But I never see him much. She's always working. He doesn't work? I like the library. I go there sometimes to read books about how to live in Manhattan. But Bedside... is not Manhattan. It is very hard from the magic, the heat, the money, the city center. Locoloca begins swinging the stick wildly in the air. He can't break the piñata. He stumbles around, blindfolded. The piñata flies out of the space. He takes off his blindfolds, oriented. I close my eyes and try to imagine home. But if they go and burst through her door, home is a or letter word. A concept created by capitalism to keep the working class trapped in an ideology of family that supports patriarchy, capital, and empire. An idealized notion that doesn't really exist and was never really of our choosing to talk about this already. You need to think you're a fascist. You better... You better learn to hustle real fast. If not, you're going to get hustled and trust. I don't want the city to turn you out. Here. Nowhere is the only place that feels like home. I told you. You've got to be going somewhere. Don't you listen? I'm not trying to keep away. I used to live around the corner, two blocks. Nowhere. You mean the gay bar on East Village? It's my favorite gay bar. Which is funny because I don't like gay bars. They play bad music. There's something about nowhere dark and shady, low ceilings, no windows shaped like a long cantina in Texas. The Butch Bouncer at the door. Who doesn't like a cute Butch? Who doesn't like a cute Butch? Who doesn't like a cute Butch? Who doesn't like a cute Butch? Who doesn't like a cute Butch? But there's something about nowhere. Everyone's coming from somewhere. Going somewhere, watching something. But in a joint like that, it feels like the whole world slows down and you can find yourself. The faces of all the strangers. There's something about nowhere that feels like, like, like home. Home? The truth is, the world don't want us. It never did. Never really want to be free. You have got to let go of the idea that if you don't belong to somewhere, you are nowhere. Wherever you go, there you are. You know that, right? Seen AIDS. Loco Loco on the train platform, suitcase in hand. Sound of the doors opening. The train intercom crackles. Static, then. San Tewan no pizzin. San Yeti yo yonzin. Masho konkwa enkakawat. Enkakawat mayo on iwa in. Maya netotilo. Ma nekwikatilo. Anikantosham. Anikantinamiske. Tonias yeyukan. Yaw awaya yaw. Wiya yaw. Wiya yaw. He begins slowly spinning. Ends up in his apartment. Opens up his suitcase. It is full of strips of cut pieces of paper and handmade miniature piñatas. I will make piñatas. I'll make miniature piñatas. I'll make them from trash. The Basura of New York City. Saw them at the park. That's how I'll survive. Do not bring trash. Things from the street into this apartment. That's how people get bed bugs and you can't get rid of them. They don't want to go away. No, my skin is changing. My skin is changing. I keep my black market estrogen in a clear plastic baggie so that the mice won't need it. They need their shit in the frying pan. They've made a nest behind the refrigerator. I think they live inside the stove. Trapped. I hear them at night trying to escape. Don't bring things in from the streets. Close that window. You shut the window. You're sitting right there. I can't. Why not? I'm scared of men. With the windows closed, there's just silence. I'm scared of the men on the street in this neighborhood. I'm scared of black men. I know I'm not supposed to say that, but it's true. The ones that run up and down the stairs in this building up and down the stairs up and down the stairs up and down the stairs they have too much life and not enough space to live in. I think about it sometimes. Leaving the silence. Getting a job like she says I have to in order to live here in New York City. My friends tell me about jobs but they are meant to scary queens and communists. I think about leaving my room and going someplace other than the library and the trash bins. But there's people everywhere constantly at all times in your face, in your face bombardment. Always. There's a pulsing rhythm. It's dizzying. Never a breath. I can't breathe. I can't. The streets tire you out. Navigating through people. You have to make your path or be prepared to get out of the way. Go away! Go away! It's spinning out of control. I just got tired of it all. The city will do that to you, you know. I tried to leave. To get away. But you can't escape the skin you're in even when it's changing. Here you go. There you are. I don't recommend coming here. Unless you live in a dream on top of Manhattan high-rise. Loco Loka Costume 101. What's your name? Loco Loka. Where do you live? I just died in an apartment. My building has seven floors. I live on the fifth floor. You do know it would be cheaper for you just to walk to the hospital. With our stairs to our outside. Second floor. It's just around the corner. Are you sure you really need an ambulance? Yes, please. Do you have health insurance? Seem 15. Lil Kim is dead. In the sidewalk. A sterile institutional light slicker on an office. I count things when I'm scared. It's a trick I came up with when I was little. Gets my mind off of what's bothering me. Helps me with being young. I'm scared of hospitals. Hospitals are where people go to die. A site board is a lot like a prison. Is a lot like New York City. As an artist. My biggest fear. Is going crazy. And an excerpt. An exploration of moving to places where we can't quite see where we are. And yet wherever I am I will always be. So those are hard lessons to learn. And as a almost two year Chicago transplant. I still face that fear and despise in the mirror every single day. So thank you for your gift. Vicki, let's talk a bit about the piece. You know, your bodies of work are circuitous in general. Much like the lives that we live. And that was something that you articulated very beautifully in the rehearsal earlier this week. I wanted you to touch a bit about that. Especially in context of this play. How and why are we present in this manner? Well I've never arrived at a location in a straight line. And so I feel like I don't know how to tell a story in that way. And so oftentimes the story that I'm telling has already been told before. And I feel like I'm repeating something. And it moves like this. And in Texas, we dance in a circle clockwise. And when I went to LA it was the first time that I realized that not everybody does that. And for me that's always been the movement of story. It's that it picks up, it continues, it will continue after I'm gone. And so in terms of finding a place, I certainly feel that as a tajana, I also feel that as a queer woman, as a woman it doesn't have children. You know, as an artist that grew up in a working class family, I feel finding a place has always been a very difficult thing for me. Because I feel like I've always been on the outside of a lot of circles. And I think that as a queer artist, one of the things that I've learned to do as a queer person, one of the things I've learned to do is how do we make something, even when we're not asked to be at the table. And sometimes we actually don't want to be at certain tables. When I moved to New York I had a very difficult time writing and I started doing all these lucid dreaming exercises. And what I actually really believe that Simpano Gala is about is how do we stay in the dream? How do we keep staying in the dream? Even if the world is telling us something different, even if we elected George Bush twice, how do we stay in the dream? Thank, that's real. And you know, making this piece itself, I mean almost all of your works are very deep and personal, but this one feels almost semi-autobiographical because of sort of the circumstances we see Simpano Gala in and the people that she surrounds herself with. Can you talk a little bit about the intersection of this place specifically? You know, again, I think it came from that place of not knowing, not being able to write, trying to find the familiarity. I have a good big one in my life. I have lots of yajitas in my life of all different races, especially Chinese and African American that like to hit me, push me, you know, push me to go stronger and go harder. I have a lot of yajitas in my life, and I have to always have a sauna in my life. And so I feel like those types of people are always circling in my world. And so also the circle becomes how people come in and out of my world and what the communications are. And I think that for me, writing is always about trying to understand something. And I think that question of what New York means or symbolizes, it's less like little girl in a big city and it's more like, what does it mean to be in this belly of the beast? And I think that that was the beginning of it for me. Thank you. And then my last question for you. I've got a lot of questions. Sure, I think so. But everyone's given the same amount of time. If you were to sum up in a series of five to seven words of what you call people take away from San Diego, what would those be? And it can be a phrase too, but they also can't be answered. Dad, do that dance, do that song, girl. Well, it's the only musical we're featuring here at Cardinabelle. But music is obviously very, very important to our culture. And significantly what Appeal does in telling the story of Gustavo Garcia, who was a civil rights activist, who was born in 1915, who argued before the Supreme Court the first case brought by Mexican-Americans to the Supreme Court to actually be heard. In telling his story, his life story, she also has integrated the story of Macarra Garcia, which is the first political kind of tent theater from our Chicano-Chicano Tejano communities. So very, very significant case, time in our history, and one that's not often told, right? This is during the civil rights movement, Quednandes versus Texas. Sure, we all know Brown versus Board of Education, but this is a contemporary and also a very, very significant case that's of that time. So without further ado, Appeal. Appeal, the new American musical of Mexican descent by Amparo Garcia Crow. Act two, scene three, Mama's Boy. At Gus Garcia's home in San Antonio, Texas, 1949, Gus approaches the front door. He checks his mailbox, which is stopped. He opens one letter. It's obvious he's been drinking. If I only had a life for every death thread I get. Save to you, buddy. He tries to open the front door. The key does not work. He has been sleeping. She checks the clock. Gus keeps knocking. She doesn't move. Another light comes on. It's Maria Teresa. Goddamn door! Don't want him here. Maria Teresa goes to the door to open it for Gus. Edenin follows her. She tries to stop Maria Teresa from opening the door. He's gonna dull her, Amma. Pregnant. He's bringing in children into this world in sin. And you slap me. I thought it's better to bring something than nothing at all. Oh, Maria Teresa opens the door. Mama. I blame you. Oh, of course you do. He can do no wrong. Irene. Other of you are welcome here any longer. I know this. He tries to physically lead his mother out of the room. Please, for once, let me handle this. You cannot handle anything. You are drunk! Perhaps. But right now. Shut up! For once. Gus, when he stops her, he pushes her into her room and closes the door. He spots a wooden chair at the end of the hallway. Irene has also spotted it. And she hurries to grab it and hands it to him. He places the chair underneath the doorknob to hold his mother in her room. Gus, stop! Just leave, please. I felt the divorce. She's very overwhelmed. Mexican American is a United States citizen. Granted that privilege on February 2nd, 1848, by the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, which adopted the Rio Grande as the Texas border, guaranteeing that the Mexicans living in the lost territories in the southwest were granted. And I quote, the enjoyment of all the rights of citizens of the United States according to the principles of the U.S. Constitution. Bill Bow. The justices grant Gus an additional 16 minutes to present his case. Historically, this remains unprecedented. Mr. Garcia, do Mexican immigrants speak enough English to serve on juries? Your Honor, my people were in Texas 100 years before San Houston arrived. San Houston was just a wetback from Tennessee to the real citizens of Texas. Wetback is a derogatory term that originated with those who entered Texas illegally by crossing the Rio Grande, presumably by swimming and wading across and getting their backs wet in the process. Historically, for the record, San Houston was the original wetback when he crossed the river under Mexican rule to acquire a land grant. And although Mr. Houston considered the native Mexicans already living there, the intruders, the reality was the Mexican inhabitants who would soon after become Texans never crossed the river. The river crossed them. He's right. The status quo is not an option. I heed on my own. In our history that it's free to them, the first time I heard about Gus's story, I was not a writer yet, but I was amazed because it's got such a Greek tragic hero art in that he dies homeless on a park mansion center. And if you actually do the research, you gotta wonder as that was, you know, because he had FBI, CIA, and they were really afraid that he was going to start a revolution, sort of. He did have an alcohol problem, but it was, I think, his bipolar, bipolar and ideas like ability. And it was our own community in a way that neither party did anything because there was so much shame to have lost the rising sun in such a tragic way. And so it's about class structure, because he was actually a very privileged man. They had money coming from a little but he fought for the young, for the people that did not. In many ways, his rebellion was just his mother's story. Because she was a little freaky when I was young, yellow. And so I really loved how could that happen. So I've been living this story, it's like a nine-life story. I have the one-moment show. I have the short two-person show. Any which way to get the story told, but really, and I was like, I had to write a film script for it, but that didn't write it small because it's a Spielberg-level story, a huge proportion, because it starts in a session all the way to the sixth week. And we and JFK were buddies. They saw each other as, hey, you're my other me, basically. So oddly, they died two months ago. So again, I don't know what I'm hearing. I think something that's also, thank you for bringing up these other historical happenings. Something that's really beautiful in what you've done here. And you should check out the script again, just another little plug for it. It's a trap, hey? What did it happen? But in telling the story of Gus Garcia, not only is it telling his story, is it telling the story of, you know, another side of the civil rights movement. It's also telling the legacy, you know, the history of Latino-Latina storytelling and theater movements, right, like Africa Garcia, but also our greater American history, right? You see, you know, he's born in 1915. We get the Great Depression. We have World War II in there. We have, you know, all the way up through the civil rights movement. Just think that's really kind of a remarkable thing that you've done. Thank you. And I guess one of the significant things that I wanted to tell in this story, again, people aren't aware, is that the Brown versus Board of Education case and this case were decided at the same time. And why this one fell by the wayside and when you do the history, they lost the transcript. Yeah. How do you lose the transcript of its landmark case again, subversive and of real fears about McCarthyism at that point and some significant hiding story. But yeah, there's a lot here. But La Carta, its birthday was 1915. And I guess it's birthday. And maybe went away about 1947. But this is San Antonio and Los Ranchitos. And so I love the metaphor of the Cascacias attention to do the undersigned story. And of course, I should just mention that the Hernandez versus Texas case is the trial by peers. Which, you know, yeah. Oh, yes, yes. That's a reminder. I just want to put this up. Rare. And that is, in the Brown versus Board of Education, every single case that made that case possible was present was Mexican. All the precedent cases were Mexican. Because Mexicans have been trying to go to white school and have that privilege. Interestingly, all the precedent cases were the Hernandez case for black. So that's another story in this case where the Thurgood Marshall had him freed up and the whole black and Chicano and how so many of the professional Chicano, never Chicano, were Spanish. They did not really want to be associated with the black cause. They wanted to remain white on the census. So it's kind of like, it pushes all these issues about inner racism in any class. And intro racism, too. Right, yeah. And how our communities are actually, you know, I think kind of thematically if I could drama her at the festival. It's how we can lift each other up. Right. And how our stories are all the same, you know, story. And how, in looking to our communities, looking to the black community, looking at, you know, how are we mobilizing in this corner of the country or here. Knowing our stories is so important. So I'm so grateful to you for telling Gus Garcia's story, for telling the story of La Carta Garcia, and for telling all those other stories which are interwoven. Just really quickly, if there's a thought, a last thought, or a takeaway that you have here, or something that people would glean from reading the full script that we didn't get from this excerpt. And I think we have this conversation before because you've been on Broadway, you know. The idea of creating a big story that describes a big-ass musical. You know, it's a white genre. I mean, and thank God for Hamilton, but even, you know, the musical before and behind, you have to kind of do the well-made play, sort of. You know, it's like, you have to dumb it down a little time yet. You know what I'm talking about? Yeah. So that's been the challenge, but to still stay in integrity, the magic field is still there, but not to make it un-cycle while we have another translator. Or, you know, the charter buses are coming from Idaho or whatever. There's no... Okay, down here, boy. It is with great pleasure and, for me, a personal honor to introduce our final selection for the morning. It is 1970, and Cesar Chavez has just wrangled up. We're at the peak of what is probably considered one of the most pivotal moments in the Chicano social movement of the century. And we're following the journey of a young couple as they work their way to volunteer for El Macriado, which is an underground newspaper affiliated with the United Farm Workers Union. Dan Rodriguez's Sweet Heart Deal explores our tumultuous past to give a deeper understanding of our current presence. And it is through two forms of storytelling, both dramatic realism and the use of actos, which is a sort of sketch, political performance piece created and fostered by Luis Valdez as a casino to explore the journey of these two characters and the people around them. And then Dan's beautiful stage directions articulate everything else that you should know. So we're just going to jump into it. The Sweet Heart Deal by Dan Rodriguez. The characters and story in this play are fictional. What is not fictional is that Cesar Chavez Valores Huerta and Larry Edelon founded the United Farm Workers Union and changed the course of history. Throughout, various characters are played by the ensemble. There are two playing areas. The story unfolds primarily in the Office of El Macriado, the voice of the farm worker, the underground newspaper of the United Farm Workers Union in Delano, California. There is also a playing space outside of both offices that is neutral and transformative. The play is vital. Cesar Chavez is never seen only heard in snippets during the soundscape of rallies. And finally, a note about the company and the actos. The piece functions within two realities, the play and the acto. The actos are performed by a theater company or also the actors in the play. We see the company change costumes, help each other set up for subsequent scenes, change set pieces, etc. There are four agit-prop sketches created by Luis Valdez and Teatro Capacino and used to educate the farm workers on the issues of the strike. The farm workers and the organizers performed them in a Brechtian style. Think Brecht crossed with Comedia Verante, performed by Quentin Flas. The villains wore masks, the farm workers and the SCAD characters did not. All characters wore signs around their next character, boss, SCAD, farm worker, etc. Highly theatrical in style, the actos should be approached with the skill it takes to do Comedia Verante and the soul it takes to perform Brecht. As the play progresses, the acto and the play merge. Scene eight, acto, grower and teamster, a teamster sweetheart enter arm-in-arm real lovebirds. Both wore masks and signs around their neck the grower and teamster sweetheart. Teamster sweetheart wears a wedding veil. Oh cupcakes! It's been five years since we tied the knot and I'm still so looopsy-woopsy. My darling has been so quiet here and Selina is our honeymoon valley where we do naughty things together. Strug those naughty things to me and make it dirty. We can undercut farm worker wages over and over and over again. We beat it into them harder and harder that we're the only union of choice and we make it so hard for them and we make it so hard for them to do anything else and there's beatings and fashions and burnings and oh yeah. Oh girl you're speaking my language. Yes. After who is playing the UFW enters with a tiny wake-up flag and a long pudding poll as if in the distance the UFW starts chanting The UFW and the ability to flag as if it is a pesky fly wasn't around. Pesky little bugger swatted for me honey. Shoo there, shoo, shoo there you go poops, there you go now back tonight. Turns this time with a larger flag on a pole does the same thing this time we hear the chanting louder and closer. Wake up, wake up, wake up Swat that thing. I just did. Hell I'll call it my dogs so you don't have to get your pretty little hats dirty. Gora whistles and Teamster Goon enters wearing a mask and a sign that reads Goon. UFW now enters full-sized with a normal-sized well that flag. Teamster raids are an act of treason against the aspirations of farm workers, traders, traders, traders. What's he saying about us? In a choreographed move the Teamster Goon with a prop baton or baseball bat begins to hit the UFW as the grower and sweeper, Ekman. Hit a barter. Hit a barter. The move goes to Realistic. As this transition happens the actors throw off their costume pieces and acto props as the lights ship to a realistic scene. It has turned dark and real. The actors start kicking the actor who has been playing the UFW. Hit a barter. Hit a barter. Hit a barter. The actual character's scatter leaving will on the ground. Lights up on Maddie dealing over will in the Salinas' Field Office. Oh my god, who did this? What happened to him? We found him outside. He must have driven him south back here. Charlie and Charlie enter from outside. Someone drove him back and carried his body to the front door of the office. There's blood on the passenger side. The truck looks pretty beat up. He doesn't make a statement. Don't move. An ambulance! I'm fine. You look pretty worked over. Do you remember anything? Charlie, not now, please. The Ramirez brothers. They were at the Tiamati Ranch when I went to serve papers to their two foremen. Court talks, they've been hiring scabs illegally. The old Filipino volunteer. Juan. Yeah, Juan, he wasn't feeling well, so I volunteered to deliver the paper. I thought you were going to have a beer with Mac. I never made it. It seems simple enough. Just serve the papers, get the hell out of it. You had no business there. So what happened? I drove my truck onto the ranch and then I saw a cloud of dust behind me and someone following me. When I stopped and got out, they squirred around me and stopped it and then started to back up and I, like, they're gonna hit me. So I jumped on my front foot hood to avoid the hit and I jumped off. I went to the driver's side to get in the truck but the impact must have made the door stick because I couldn't get it open which gave them time to grab me and knock me to the ground. Oh wow. You must have known who you are. How? The papers that target you because we call people out on their shit. And it's all out there for all to see. No one knows us here. It was the two older Ramirez brothers, Jesus. Once they threw me to the ground the Tiamatis showed up and it looked like irritation piping. They brought a couple of scabs back up. They put a match to the cork docks and threw them at me. I felt the hits from the pipes on my arms, my back, my side, everywhere. They stepped on my hands. They hit me. I blacked out. I can't believe you moved here. No, we didn't think about it. Okay, the ambulance will be here soon. Meanwhile, I'll call the main office and let them know what happened. This isn't an isolated incident. It's been happening all over. We don't have any control over how the grovers or even the teamsters conduct themselves. It's going to the hospital. It may not be as bad as it looks. My, I saw a truck parked in the distance with a guy and sitting stone faced. Just watching the pipes swinging with blood spurting. Where's your brother, Matt? Sound of an ambulance siren louder and louder as Marty holds will. Lights shift slowly, end of scene. I love how interesting we're examining an older form of theater used to her political sketch to create a message, pulling new contemporary forms of theater in this traumatic realism, merged into one place in one time so that we can gain a deeper understanding of not only how hard the realistic circumstances were then, but how a lot of this is still very relevant today. Can you talk a bit about the inception of the piece? What is your idea? Well, a couple of reasons. My aunt and uncle Frank and Liz Rodriguez were very, very glamorous. And to live in San Jose in the 60s, I had two Mercedes parked in a driveway, lived in a two story house and my uncle would watch on television what was happening in Delano. And he kept telling my aunt, you know, those are our people, we should go and my aunt's like, you know, right, sure. And he convinced her to sell everything, close their house and move to Delano to volunteer for a love triangle. And they took their four children with them. And they lasted for two years. So the emphasis of the story was that. I said that aside, but that's the general and everything beyond that is fiction. The second is that my husband, as you know, all of us in Delano, was a very, very funny octo actor. And kind of a master at it. And he, so it was like, I have a master octo actor and conceiving was great. I mean, obviously, Luis was the impotentist and we all trained under him, but you know, Luis and Socorro Valdes, Luis's sister, really took the form to another place. And they were very skilled and they never really overacted. And so I thought, look, that's the kind of genre that I want to explore. That it is a kind of American genre, very indigenous to California, theatrical. And it's ours. And how can I explore that? Let everyone know that it was something that we did in the 70s and that we can claim as our legacy. I love that. It's out of it. It's not as dramatic a festival as we had to be a few moments ago. They say, do you have claiming our stories? It's a thing that's pretty pulling throughout the weekend. And one that is also obviously kidney resonance, we've heard, we all. Have you shared the play with Luis? No, Luis is not, Luis Valdez? Yes. No, Luis has not played it. You're not gonna play it? But a now walk and if you don't have. Oh, okay. So now I'm thinking on, you know, read the play. I've read it for me many, many times in an afternoon that I was just developing it. So yeah, they haven't read it yet. Well. Maybe it just hasn't been. Yeah. I'm gonna play it home. Just play it in. So Dan, I'd love for you to talk about the merging of the forms. How and why was it important? I mean, we're talking about reclaiming that form of theater, but why not? You could have gone either way. You could have isolated it and not go. Right. Right. Because I was interested in writing a play. Yeah. And interested in the dramatic form of how to tell a story through playwriting. I mean, I make a living developing the work of ensembles and non-linear plays. And so I thought it would be interesting for me and scary to try to write a play. And I've been trying to do the, you know, write a play for about the last eight years. And so I thought it was important to do that. And to not take it so broadly that people couldn't connect to the story and find an emotional resonance to the work. So those transitions into the, from the octo into the play are very important. And I think, you know, it's something that I would continue to work on like that. Yeah. And I think that was pretty resonant in the evenness in the excerpt we saw. Right. I think sometimes, I think Lois Moffio said this so beautifully. She said, reality is so wrapped that we have to use highly forms of theatrical devices in order to access it sometimes. And for those of us with moments like this are so still deeply personal. And it's, I mean, sure, a lot of time it's passed between them now, but not really. And even still, again, we're seeing it happen again and again and again in various forms in various ways. So thank you for that. And I think the other thing is that, I mean, my parents were both farm workers when they were moved. And I think by the time they were both 17 they were out of the fields and trying to go to school, both dropped out of school. And so finished school after. But then a generation later I had much more privilege than they have. I went to college. And I had a professional career. And so I thought it was interesting to explore how so many of us who were raised in middle class but our parents were not. And how we can move between both. I can go and to my, visit my cousins in India where working class and feel very comfortable there and go that, that. And so it's also the story about the middle class and how we struggle to either continue to feel of belonging there or some trying to reject it. So it's also about that. And then the other is that it's a story about the troops of volunteers who create who support a movement. And what, and they're faceless, generally faceless individuals who we don't really know. And so this story about Mady and Will who go to volunteer for the UFW, you never know them. And yet their story, which is fiction but based on many people who volunteered are an important pillar to any social movement. And so that's also what I'm trying to explore. Thank you, Dan. My last question for you, Dan, is so we're leaving, thank you, Leigh. Milwaukee downstairs, we're getting ready to embrace the genetic estuary suite. And as we're, you know, getting some coffee, some water going to the bathroom. What is the one question people here will be asking themselves about what we just saw? Continue to live in a personal world live in a personal world as well as a community world. And what is that space in the middle that connects us? So it's personal, it's community, and we live in a space in the middle in which we are intertwined. Woo! Yes.