TeenTix LA Blog Reviews

On December 11th, I attended the 2025 WIF Shorts Night at Vidiots in Eagle Rock—one of my favorite spots in LA to catch a film (or in this case, six films). As a film buff, I couldn't pass up the chance to return to a theater that never disappoints.Women In Film (WIF), founded in 1973 as Women In Film Los Angeles, advocates for and advances the careers of women working in the screen industries. They champion women at every level of experience, both in front of and behind the camera, working toward parity and cultural transformation.The evening featured six compelling short films, plus all the perks: free popcorn, fountain drinks, and an impressive spread of charcuterie boards. After the screenings, we got to hear directly from the filmmakers during a Q&A talkback. While tickets were normally $20, my TeenTix membership got me in for just $5—an absolute steal.As an aspiring female director, being surrounded by fellow women filmmakers in my favorite Los Angeles theater felt genuinely inspiring. Hearing the filmmakers share their creative motivations and the real challenges they faced, from tight budgets and scheduling conflicts to unpredictable weather, gave me invaluable insight into what a film shoot actually demands. Sitting in a room full of female cinephiles, I felt welcomed, energized, and excited about what's possibleIf you're looking for more experiences like this, I can't recommend TeenTix LA enough. Sign up for your free TeenTix Pass to access incredible film screenings, Q&As, and other cultural events across the city. These aren't just passive entertainment; they're opportunities to connect with working artists, learn directly from people doing what you dream of doing, and find your creative community. Events like this screening reminded me that the path to filmmaking isn't just about talent or luck; it's about showing up, listening, and letting yourself be inspired by others who've walked the road before you. Your next spark of inspiration might be just one event away.

The moment Terence Blanchard stepped onstage, sporting bedazzled silver sneakers paired with an otherwise casual full-black ensemble, his audience erupted into applause. Blanchard, the esteemed composer and jazz trumpeter, is the first Black composer to premiere an original opera at the Metropolitan Opera. He is also well known for his work scoring films such as Their Eyes Were Watching God (2005), BlacKkKlansman (2018), and Harriet (2019). His performance on April 6, the first in the Soraya’s LA Seen series, served as a sufficient introduction to his range, albeit one that failed to showcase the full breadth of his work’s emotion and storytelling. The performance opened with a collection of tracks from Blanchard’s 2005 album, Flow, performed by Blanchard and his band, the E-collective. There was Charles Altura on electric guitar, Victor Gould on keyboards, Dale Black on bass, and Oscar Seaton on drums. The set opened with the album’s title track, which set a moody, groovy tone for the evening. The first song was swiftly followed by the songs “Benny’s Tune” and “Wandering Wonder,” which gradually built up the energy of the performance. The only pitfall of this section of the night would have to be the distinctly AI generated visuals on screen. The visuals, a myriad of sci-fi-esque images featuring women clad in technological accessories and a manned space exploration mission, ultimately distracted from the performance on stage. The futuristic, space-age aesthetic blurred together as the music became more and more frantic, adding to the atmosphere. However, the AI blunders were hard to overlook. Four-fingered hands, eyeballs with multiple pupils, and humans with one too many limbs adorned the screen, seeming almost comical in the context of the performance. Following Flow, the next portion of the night highlighted a series of selections from Blanchard’s 2013 opera, Champion. Blanchard was joined by baritone Justin Austin, soprano Adrienne Danrich, and the Turtle Island Quartet for the operatic performances. Champion, inspired by the life of boxer Emile Griffith, was done a bit of a disservice during the show. The vocal performance was undoubtedly impressive and emotional, but only a measly four excerpts were featured. Even more confounding was the fact that these selections were sung out of chronological order, detracting from the opera’s storytelling. After intermission came a series of selections from Blanchard’s Fire Shut up in My Bones (2019) – Blanchard’s second opera. The evolution of Blanchard’s operatic composition was evident in the transition between Champion and Fire. These selections incorporated plenty of jazz elements, which distinguished them from the more classical sound of Champion’s excerpts. Fire also occupied 45 minutes of the evening, and this added breathing room contributed to a more cohesive storytelling experience. There was more variation in the selections performed as well. One of the standout selections was a duet from Act Three of the opera. In it, Charles (Austin) reveals to his lover Greta (Danrich) the secret that he was molested by his cousin as a child. The performance reaches its climax when Greta rejects Charles in favor of another man, leaving Charles pleading for her affection. Overall, Fire stood out as a well-thought-out performance, almost eclipsing the Champion selections from the first half of the evening. Blanchard closed out the night with a performance of “Sprocket”, a surprise song dedicated to the legendary Herbie Hancock, who happened to be in the audience. This performance was my personal favorite of the night. It was fun and free, a sharp departure from the more serious atmosphere of the operatic selections. Overall, Blanchard’s night at the Soraya was an engrossing showcase of his impressive body of work. Besides the AI generated visuals and the disjointed presentation of excerpts from Champion, the performance successfully highlighted Blanchard’s range as a performer. While definitely a flawed representation of his talents, Blanchard’s performance truly evidenced his standing as a celebrated figure in modern day jazz. 

Goats, women, and paintings: it is hard to predict exactly what the play Alabaster is about when first looking at its poster. This nontraditional Southern play, running at the Fountain Theater until March 30th, elegantly connects these three seemingly unrelated topics to comment on the role of art, relationships, and resilience in our world today.The central plot revolves around two women: June (Virginia Newcomb) and Alice (Erin Pineda). June is a tornado survivor who spends her life painting, talking to her goat Weezy (Carolyn Messina), and tending to her farm, all as a means to isolate herself from the outside world. June invites Alice, a photographer from New York City, to take pictures of her scars so that she can include them in a greater artwork on female survivors. This relationship is initially tense – June’s sudden, awkward outbursts makes Alice uncomfortable and closed off – but as they each gradually reveal their tormenting histories, the two find a comfort in each other that goes beyond the confines of friendship.As June and Alice unravel their histories to each other, another story takes place outside the Alabama farmhouse: Weezy and Bib (Laura Gardner), two goats, experience life on the farm. Although the goats are dressed like humans and can speak to the audience and the human characters, Messina and Gardner’s facial expressions are unmistakably goat-like. While this might sound unsettling, these actresses made their unusual characteristics seem completely natural. Weezy, the younger goat, brings a lightness and humor to this intense play, sometimes revealing June’s inner thoughts, conversing with the humans, or sharing her own opinions to the audience, acting as both a narrator and a character.Although the story is filled with people losing loved ones, the relationships that form as the characters share their grief brings a sense of hope to the narrative. Messina succinctly sums it up: “the whole play is about caregiver connection.” Messina further explains that Weezy is the ultimate caregiver – she provides “tough love” to the characters and the audience, keeping people honest and helping June let go of her traumatic past. Alice also serves as a sort of guide to June, giving her a chance to explore the world beyond her farmhouse while she learns to cope with her own pain as well. Forming relationships is not the only way characters find ways to cope with their past. June’s passion for creating folk art and Alice’s career as a photographer provide an outlet for their suffering. While Alice confronts suffering by documenting its effects on physical bodies, June uses art to escape her trauma, painting idyllic scenes on wood scraps she refuses to display publicly. This makes viewers question the role of art – is it meant to provide a place to escape reality, or confront it? When examining the purpose of this play, it seems the latter is true. After all, this play, written by Audrey Cefaly, depicts a grim and realistic (but hopeful) narrative – with a tone far different from the idyllic scenes in June’s paintings. In fact, the directing by Casey Stangl emphasizes the realism of Cefaly’s play. The characters stay on stage during intermission, stretching, reading, and eating. Weezy wanders into the audience, sitting in the aisles during the play. Fiction meddles with fact. The role of the possibly divine, mind-reading goats further blurs the line between reality and imagination. At several points, one questions the existence of Weezy – is she June’s conscience, a God whispering the truth to Alice, or just a goat with a voice? This question never gets answered, and doesn’t need to. Cefaly and Stangl suggest that reality can blend with fiction to reveal a truth.This play reveals many truths – too many to cover in a single article. As Pineda explains, “there is no core to this play.” Pineda states that the complexity of this play makes it so that everyone interprets it differently when watching it – all watchers can uniquely experience the play as they relate it to their personal circumstances. As a recent mother, Pineda finds this play enriching, and finds endless ways of experiencing the play each night as she plays Alice. The malleability of this play’s message makes its title fitting. The word Alabaster is more than just a tornado-prone town in Alabama – it is a porous rock, Messina points out to me in our interview. The stone is soft: it is easily broken down by natural elements, and therefore serves as an excellent medium for art. In other words, Alabaster is vulnerable to pressure, but a source of beauty when rightly treated – but aren’t we all?

Curled up in the center of a plain with reaching stalks, there is a woman with a rainbow flair. She wears a black traditional Indigenous skirt speckled with white and banded with pinks and greens. There are long strands of colorful braided cloth wrapped around her waist, gracefully spread in the grass behind her. Eyes contemplatively closed, hand caressing her hair gently, and arms and legs protectively held to her chest, her character embodies pure individuality, acceptance, and patience.There is a word in Sauk that describes this photograph by B.A. Van Sise: “opyêninetêhi.” In English, “my heart is taking its time.”In Van Sise’s photography exhibit On the National Language: The Poetry of America’s Endangered Tongues at the Skirball Cultural Center, Native American culture is on full display. One word from various rare Indigenous languages—Tongva, Nahuatl, Plains Sign Language, and more—is interpreted by Van Sise in a photograph. Some words are also accompanied by a poem, titled with the English translation of the word. The beauty of the words lies in the fact that their emotional and poetic connotation only exists in the language in which they were born; through translation, their meanings are lost.My experience at Van Sise’s exhibit is one I hold close to my heart. Van Sise tells the story of each language in a unique and captivating way, transferring emotion between languages. I also admired his creativity with the photography medium, such as printing one photograph on a tree bark and ripping parts of other photographs to reveal another photograph layered underneath.Of Van Sise’s 46 works, there were several photographs that particularly resonated with me:

1. Plains Sign Language

Imagine living in Victorian-era London during the Christmas season. There are decorations placed about—the streets twinkling with fairy lights and colorful ribbons to bring in the festive cheer. A children’s choir can be heard in the distance, going door-to-door and sharing joy in their music. Families are gathered in their houses, laughing, smiling, exchanging gifts, and sharing a Christmas feast. However, one particular home stands out from the rest. No tinsel laced on the roof, no tree put up, no carols to be heard from inside the house. This home belongs to none other than Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge, the very main character of English writer Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. This story was wonderfully brought to the stage by Julia Rodriguez-Elliott and Geoff Elliott, the directors of A Christmas Carol at A Noise Within Theatre. Although I am familiar with this classic, I have never seen a theater-adapted version of it, so this experience was very exciting. On the night of Christmas Eve, Ebenezer Scrooge (Geoff Elliott), an elderly miser who hates the holidays, is haunted by the ghost of his long-dead business partner, Jacob Marley, who warns him about three spirits that will visit him: The Ghost of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come. Throughout these visits, Scrooge witnesses the effects of his ignorance and negativity, and it allows him to feel. The play was divided by one intermission, and the first part before the break had the perfect ending. It captured Scrooge in a moment of emotion—a moment under the spotlight when he realized his own misery in a particular scene with the Ghost of Christmas Present.One thing I noticed throughout the play was the amount of thought that was put into the costumes. Each scene had its colorful contrast—the monochrome palette of the Past, the vivid pop of the Present, and the somberness of the Future communicated the indirect message of the costume designer’s creativity to the audience. I especially adored the chromatic complexity of the Ghost of Christmas Present, played by actor Anthony Adu. Not to mention, he did an amazing job of portraying his character—a majestic and cheerful spirit that guides Scrooge through the events of the holiday season. It completely matched his costume, a robe adorned with fruits and leaves which I believe is supposed to represent the festivities of the “present” Christmas. It is clear that designer Angela Balogh Calin put much effort into styling the cast. Another aspect of the play I would love to mention is the set that brought everything together, and not just the props and pieces themselves. The quick changes that the ensemble was always able to keep up with were so professional. As someone with experience in theater, I was impressed with everything. Although the set in itself was quite simple, the lighting and the way the actors used the space still made the stage come to life. One detail that really caught my attention was during the beginning when a real flame was used to light a candle prop. I found it so interesting how they decided to include this because it added a realistic approach to the set.Although the visuals of the play had their spotlight, the true MVP was the acting itself. The emotion that the actors were able to capture in their performance was absolutely magnificent. Scrooge’s pure terror at the visit of his partner’s ghost, the lively Christmas celebrations of Scrooge’s past, the grief of the Cratchit family’s loss in the Ghost of Christmas Future’s vision—they were all emotions that I could actually feel. One scene that especially struck me was when Scrooge saw his grave in the future. The despair and desperation that he showed the spirit when he realized his fate was something I have never seen before. It really showcased Elliott’s talent as the main character, and even made me realize how well the play was adapted for the original story of A Christmas Carol. The way that the directors were able to implement the onimosity and thrill of the classic tale was perfect. It was something that I was not prepared for—the entire performance exceeded my expectations by so much, especially because it has also been a while since I’ve seen a live theater production as an audience member. The atmosphere of each scene was adapted carefully, and every actor worked together in harmony. There wasn’t a moment where a character looked out of place.If in the mood for a Christmas classic that will place you through both sentiments and thrills, A Christmas Carol is the perfect play—whether it's viewing it at A Noise Within (they put it on every year!) or cozying up and reading it on the couch. Now that I have experienced both options, I think that it’s safe to say that this story, with over 100 adaptations, is something that is always available to bring out every holiday season!

 Less than a week before I saw La Cage aux Folles at the Pasadena Playhouse, I went on a school retreat that focused on reflecting on the four types of love as outlined by C.S. Lewis: storge (family love), philia (friendship love), eros (romantic love,) and agape (love for a higher being or calling.) While watching La Cage, I couldn’t help but think about the similarities between the themes of the play and the retreat I had gone on. The two primarily overlapped in emphasis on the importance of having the different types of love in one’s life, and how the purpose of human life is not to simply be an individual but to seek out people who make you feel complete. I think the type of love most present in La Cage are storge (family love) and eros (romantic love). Love is the catalyst for all the events in the musical as it pushes and pulls through the story which goes as such: a married couple, Georges and Albin are the proprietors of a drag club, La Cage aux Folles, on the French riviera. Georges is the club’s MC and director, while Albin is the main drag performer in the club’s nightly cabaret. When Georges’s son Jean-Michel returns from traveling, he announces that he is engaged to a woman called Anne and her parents are coming to visit. As it figures, Anne’s father, Deputy Dindon, is a conservative politician seeking to close down drag clubs, such as La Cage. Trouble arises when Jean-Michel tells Georges that Anne’s parents are under the impression that Georges is a retired diplomat married to Jean-Michel’s absent mother, Sybil. He asks Georges to send Albin away and invite Sybil during the visit so the Dindons can be led to believe Jean-Michel has respectable, heterosexual parents. Georges reluctantly agrees and informs Alban of the plan. Act one culminates in a song, “I Am What I Am," where Albin expresses the hurt he feels by being deliberately excluded from Jean-Michel’s wedding plans. The second act opens with Albin and Georges reuniting on the beach following Alban’s overnight absence. They agree that Albin can attend dinner with the Dindons if he attends as Jean-Michel’s macho Uncle Al. A song follows where Georges instructs Albin on how to correctly perform masculinity and come across as straight. Things begin to fall apart on the night of the dinner when Sybil abruptly cancels and Albin gets spooked right before the Dindons arrive. Georges and Jean-Michel frantically (and hilariously) try to make the situation seem normal until Albin arrives in drag as Jean Michel’s mother. After the butler Jacob fails to prepare dinner, Albin secures a table at a sought after restaurant, Chez Jacqueline, and the party goes to dinner. At Chez Jacqueline, the owner of the restaurant asks Albin for a song and everyone (omitting Deputy Dindon) sings and dances to “The Best of Times” until Albin’s wig gets snatched at the crescendo of the song. After traveling back to Georges and Albin’s home, a horrified Deputy Dindon asks for Anne to not marry Jean-Michel. She doesn’t listen to him, and Dindon and his wife try to leave. Their exit is stopped when they realize there is a crowd of photographers outside of La Cage aux Folles making it impossible to leave without having a picture of himself taken at an establishment his platform seeks to close down. Georges offers to help Dindon escape; he gives his blessing to Anne and Jean-Michel’s marriage. Dindon agrees, and the show culminates in a number where all the Dindons escape by discussing themselves as drag performers at La Cage. 

I’ll be honest, when I went in to experience Robbin from the Hood, I was expecting a faithful, modern retelling of Robin Hood. I thought I would find stereotypical references such as capers and forest friends. Instead, I found myself invested in the tale of Robbin, an ambitious, hot-tempered, seventeen year old girl who lives in an inner-city neighborhood. Her hopeless surroundings caused by poverty drives her to look for a way out.The play opens with an elderly man in a wheelchair flipping through newscasts. Sounds of dystopian news reports on the rising poverty rates fill the intimate theater, until the man eventually turns on The Lone Ranger. The relative calm of the scene is quickly interrupted by the boisterous arrival of Robbin (Iesha Daniels). The play only gets more energetic from there, with the first showing of Juan, Robbin’s spirited best friend. His vibrant nature is what kicks this play into high gear, as the two feed on each other’s zeal.  It’s pretty clear from the get-go that you’re in for a ride.  This liveliness carries through the whole first act. It’s here where we learn that Robbin's math genius and Juan’s artistic giftedness have earned them summer-long internships at Kennedy Global, a multi-billion dollar company. Despite the rather menial work they’ve been assigned, it’s still more stimulating than their academic environment, which was underfunded and overpopulated. They hope to climb the corporate ladder out of poverty and finally be able to take care of their families. This is the act that also introduces two Kennedy Global executives, Kyle and Margaret, whose initial generosity contrasts with their ultimate motives.  Despite Kyle’s early misgivings about hiring teens from at-risk neighborhoods, he is reluctantly convinced by an insistent Margaret to let them join the company. Robbin and Juan don’t seem to notice any red flags however, as they quickly settle into their new, high-paying jobs.One thing that really stood out to me was the acting. Robbin’s (Iesha Daniels) confident, sassy attitude is balanced by her moments of vulnerability. The scenes where she worries over her ailing grandfather and financial situation are the ones that best enrich the play. Juan (Enrike Llamas) has complexity as both a funny best friend and a person who’s growing weary of his unpromising surroundings. William L. Warren, who played Grandpa Percy, was convincing in his portrayal of a beloved elderly man facing decline. His shuffling feet, shaky grasp, and weathered voice helped make every moment of his stage time thoroughly believable. There are no stock characters here, every role is complex and well-defined.After a ten minute intermission, I returned to the theater excited for act two. Much to my surprise and delight, I found myself enjoying act two even more than its predecessor. The restless energy of the first act has now subsided. It has been replaced with more reflective moments of emotion that reveal an array of character motivations. I had the opportunity to interview the actors following the show, and as starring actor Iesha Daniels put it, “I think the physical energy of the first half is what drives the emotion in the second half.” This is made clear in the prison scene with Robbin and her incarcerated, yet beloved Uncle Charlie (Joshua R. Lamont). The scene serves as the crucial turning point where Robbin learns deeply disturbing truths about the way Kennedy Global makes their money. The worst part is that these truths harm the ones she loves most. She now faces a conflict of interest between trying to do what’s right, and keeping a job that allows her to financially provide for her family. At only seventeen, our protagonist is forced to ask herself some pretty difficult questions. How far should one go to end cycles of poverty that plague your community? Is it worth the immediate risk, especially when you have been given an opportunity no one else you know has?  An answer to these questions seems to appear in the form of an abandoned community project that Robbin hopes to revitalize. Her quest to do so will have the audience completely invested in the many twists and turns she faces along the way.  While I was pleasantly surprised by the deviations the play took from the original Robin Hood, similarities between the two are still present upon reflection. Beyond the obvious theme of stealing from the grossly wealthy to empower the impoverished, Robbin from the Hood owes a lot of its impact to the original story. Indeed, there are no Merry Men clad in Lincoln green for this retelling, nor are there any crossbows to be slung. But what the two stories do have in common is the scrappy underdog spirit shared by the two protagonists. Both Robins are temprental, with a tendency to scoff in the face of authority. And yet, both Robins have a caring side to them, a side willing to do anything for the ones they love. Juan serves as a combination of Will Scarlet and Little John, Robin Hood’s two most loyal friends. But perhaps one of the strongest parallels is the fact both Robins pay a price for their biggest act. Robin Hood dies after killing the corrupt Guy of Gisbourne, in an effort to protect his community, and Robbin faces a harsh punishment for doing the same. Their final sacrifice makes them all the more noble.The thing that sets Robbin from the Hood apart from its predecessor is the way it portrays the experiences of talented, impoverished youth. Robbin’s potential is ultimately left untapped and punished, simply because she doesn’t obey the corrupt status quo. Iesha M. Daniels, that actor that plays Robbin herself says, “The ending is a really crucial element to the play because it fully grounds us in reality. This is what happens to girls like Robbin. Black and brown girls who are brilliant, compassionate, and want to change the world and support their communities are crushed and suppressed again and again.” Robbin represents the experience of the disadvantaged, those left behind by a system that seems to work against them. She forces us to question our assumptions about people in at-risk communities. Are they all aimless, or simply given nothing to aim for? And what happens to talented youth when they are left unnurtured?  In this way, Robbin exists to remind the audience of an important lesson: not all people get second chances, even when they should. Overall, Robbin from the Hood is definitely a play worth seeing. Its well-crafted plot, strong actor portrayals, and timely message come together to make an engrossing theater experience. Viewers will find themselves shocked at Robbin’s last act of selflessness, which serves as a reminder of how far some will go to level the playing field. This play acts as a  sharp rebuke of capitalism and an eye-opening lesson on how corporations take advantage of poor communities. Robbin from the Hood connects with the audience on an emotional level. In the words of William L. Warren, the actor who plays Grandpa Percy, “I think this play is about grief…and especially the love that comes along with it.”   

How does an average American father become a dangerous insurrectionist pursued by the FBI? Fatherland, conceived and directed by Stephen Sachs at the Fountain Theatre, portrays the sociopolitical process, as well as the human experience, of polarization. The play follows a character referred to as “The Son”(Patrick Keleher) testifying against “The Father” (Ron Bottita) in court for his presence at the insurrection on January 6th, 2021. It is a true story, with every line taken from real court transcripts, case evidence, and public statements. This is the art of verbatim theater, in which plays are written and produced without a single line added to or edited, straight from the original source.

The narrative begins in the courtroom as the son gives his testimony, and then moves into his memories of the years prior to the attack, as well as events of January 6th from his father’s perspective. The show shifts between these three time frames seamlessly, often portraying multiple simultaneously. The set by Joel Daavid is built upon a few sparsely painted metallic walls, which change in mood along with the lighting design and plot. The lighting by Allison Brummer and sound design by Stewart Blackwood further immerse the audience into the hearts and minds of the tragic duo. Verbatim theater creates this visceral resonance because it is so close to our reality, only a few steps away from the real events it portrays. These characters are our fellow citizens, our neighbors, our friends, and our family.

Although most of Fatherland is told from the son’s perspective, both of the duo’s experiences are shown just as they were. As the son begins his statement, a flashback brings us into the early 2010s. Our main characters sing along to Taylor Swift on the radio. The son and his father hold political positions that he defines as moderately left and moderately right, respectively. Soon, the audience starts to see the father frustrated. In a tough financial situation with a family to care for, a promised American Dream feels like it’s been stolen from him. An explanation for his troubles is given to him by presidential hopeful Donald Trump, who promises a solution, a better country, that American dream. The Father and Son continue to disagree, slowly drifting farther apart. When Trump wins the election the situation continues to escalate. He tells his son about how they’re going to take their country back. But surely it’s all talk, the son convinces himself. His dad would never actually do that.

When the son wakes up one day, the pickup truck his father had loaded with weapons the night before is gone. He had actually gone to do it. The son makes an online tip to the FBI, and soon watches his father on the news, standing on the United States capitol. The rest is American history.

The son’s story of losing his father, being the one to turn him in, and being shunned from his family afterwards is heartbreaking. But what struck me even more was just how much I felt for the father. I’m sure that many Americans could understand his emotions as well. There is this narrative around the United States, a utopian opportunity to grow and thrive and live a fulfilling life if you just put in the hard work. When that dream feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, you feel cheated. People feel that someone must be out to get them. And when a politician comes along to give those vulnerable people a scapegoat and a promised solution, they often follow.

As I watched Fatherland, what became clear to me was the full extent that extremist politicians intentionally manipulated vulnerable citizens, turning them into pawns in a selfish plan to take down the free democracy they convinced people they were fighting for. Stephen Sachs’ execution of the script brilliantly pieced together the information surrounding January 6th, which currently exists as a disjointed mess in the collective consciousness of most of the country. Who said what, what happened when, and was it really orchestrated or just an unfortunate effect of mob mentality? When you watch the slow descent of this regular human person against the political backdrop of the time, it becomes abundantly clear that it was all intentional.

By giving the audience a view into the father’s experiences with the knowledge that he is a real person, Fatherland connects uswith his humanity, as well as the humanity of other January 6th participants. Actor Ron Bottita, when discussing his role in Fatherland, commented how his goal was to portray the role in a fair and balanced way, and allow the audience to come to their own conclusions. The whole cast and crew communicate that same important quality: truth, without judgment. We see firsthand the dangers of the extremism pipeline that he went through. Fatherland is a masterpiece of humanity, family, and America, which utilizes verbatim theater to connect the audience with the January 6th insurrectionists in a way no other media could. It allows the audience to draw their own conclusions based on the exact events that occurred.

Events like January 6th are so horrific that the easiest way to console ourselves is by framing the people involved in them as crazy, evil, and inhuman. This feels better than confronting the fact that they are real people, usually with good intentions within their warped reality. And while it does not excuse their actions, dehumanizing the people who are radicalized by fascism, as well as their leaders, leads us blind into letting it happen again. In a time when our democracy is under attack, we must recognize that no one is immune to propaganda, and focus our energy towards the people pulling the strings of radicalization. If we don’t, they will continue to tear us apart like father from son.

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