TeenTix Blog by TeenTix Newsroom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fall has fallen upon us, and with it comes a new batch of exciting art to be covered on the TeenTix blog in October. This month, our writers are covering a range of films and plays that seek to tell stories usually left untold, in styles never before seen. Dust off your TeenTix pass, bundle up against the dropping temperatures and check out the unique and international perspectives showcased in Seattle this month.

SIFF’s 31st annual Seattle Polish Film Festival will kick into full gear on October 13 with a selection of the last couple of years’ best Polish films. Included among them is Anna Jadowska’s Woman on the Roof, screening on October 15 at the SIFF Film Center, a visually stunning existential drama following a 60 year-old woman as she makes the desperate decision to rob a bank at knifepoint.

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

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

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

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

With the first installment of articles from the TeenTix Newsroom coming out in the next few weeks, the Press Corps is writing about works that talk about the tensions between one’s dreams and one’s past as well as the different forms that one’s dreams may take.

At ArtsWest, we’ll be covering Matt & Ben, a look at Matt Damon and Ben Affleck before their fame, in their Good Will Hunting era, pursuing their dreams. Though being a comedic take on the two Hollywood headliners, Matt & Ben reminds us to not let our dreams be deferred but to take on the oncoming year in storm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pacific Northwest Ballet recently celebrated its 50th anniversary, a fact evident to anyone passing McCaw Hall’s front-door sign. Part of this commemoration included an experimental new performance: Worlds to Come, displayed every time I passed by the hall on my way to TeenTix meetings in the Seattle Center. Despite having little experience with PNB, or with ballet at all, this celebration drew in my curiosity—later, I found myself celebrating 50 years with them and anticipating many years to come.

Worlds to Come presents exactly what the name implies: choreographers on the cutting edge of the ballet world, imagining what the art form may yield in the coming century. Altogether the three segments of the performance—two of them world premieres—came together at about two hours long. Although the three varied in terms of tone, style, and classicality, all came together for a remarkably inspiring experience that toed the line between classical and innovative.

From the moment the lights dimmed in Benaroya Hall and the anticipatory applause echoed throughout the room, I felt as though the rest of the audience knew something I didn’t, as someone who had never before been to a Moth Mainstage show. I would later discover that the secret they were all privy to was the specific type of magic that comes with sharing intimate stories. The Moth is an organization that emphasizes the importance of storytelling through their podcast and their live events. Moth events are generally composed of a few storytellers, and this event included five speakers, professional and otherwise. The atmosphere at the show was immediately larger than life, aided by the enigmatic host, Jon Goode.

Knowing that I had to write an article at the end of the show, I diligently pulled up a notes page on my phone and dimmed the screen brightness. My plans were foiled by Goode. He started the show by having the audience pull out their phones and turn on their flashlights, mimicking fireflies - and then asked us to turn them off. I’m immensely glad I did, as the stories told at the Moth can only be experienced with one’s full attention.

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

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

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

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

The month of May is the last month of spring—enjoy it before the hot waves of summer hit us with our exclusive curation of art to experience this month!

If you’re in the business of unfiltered, unscripted stories, then The Moth Mainstage is the May event you’re looking for! Watch five storytellers develop and shape their stories with the Moth’s directors.

Taproot Theater is a small theater staged sort of like a blackbox—there are three sides to the stage and a balcony to watch from above. This leads to a uniquely intimate theater experience and complicated, interesting movement from the actors who need to speak to all areas of the audience. As It is in Heaven, their performance for April, was no exception. As It is in Heaven, premiered in 2009, is as moving as it is witty. It follows the story of nine Shaker women navigating the troubles of their supposedly utopian life—led by three girls supposedly receiving messages from ethereal angels. Tradition battles faith, passion battles reality, and the women faithful must choose between rebellion and safety.

Taproot’s productions typically induce the same feeling as watching a Wes Anderson movie or an opera—sleepy, beautiful, and perfectly executed. All performances there are polished and smooth, but this piece in particular showed off how impressive creating such an immaculate performance really is. Every single movement is thought of, every word spoken perfectly. The show was full of intricate dancing, a dozen songs, and snappy dialogue that seemed precarious—one wrong phrase and everything would have unraveled. However, this amusing, intellectually challenging piece was handled beautifully, creating an impressive, immersive experience. Kristen Natalia, Jenny Vaughn Hall, Chloe Michele, Ashleigh Coe, and Justine Davis in As It is in Heaven at Taproot Theatre. Photo by Robert Wade.