TeenTix Blog Reviews

In America, gun violence has been rising since the 90’s, taking tens of thousands of lives in the process. It is undeniable that this has become a crisis; some have even called it an epidemic. Gun death has become so common in our culture it’s hard to find the motivation to create change. With another tragedy sweeping through the nation every month, how can there be hope for a better future?

This is especially prevalent for youth. This generation has grown up in a country plagued by gun violence, living with shooter drills, teen suicides, and accidental deaths, making this their everyday life. This makes youth voices critical in the discussion of gun violence.

The loud and constant sound of highway traffic plays over speakers at the Nobody Lives Here exhibit, but they aren’t the first thing you’d notice. After all, the sound is just a continuation of what’s heard through the entirety of the Chinatown-International District (CID): I-5, drowning out conversations across the street, live music, and storefront doorbells.

Multimedia artist and historian Tessa Hulls worked with the Wing Luke Museum (which was established shortly after I-5 was built through the CID in the early 1960s), to create an engaging and extensive collection. Her countless photos, newspaper articles, and interview transcripts explain how the highway fundamentally altered the CID and its residents’ lives. Tacoma Hotel being town down c 1960 Photo courtesy of Wing Luke Museum

Danish sculptor Thomas Dambo dreamed big for the Pacific Northwest—but his dreams took giant, trollish form. His public art project Northwest Trolls: Way of the Bird King seeks to both highlight indigenous Coast Salish cultures and foster connections with his native Denmark. The project features six giant handcrafted sculptures across the region, each with its own pleasantly peculiar presence. From Vashon Island to Portland, Oregon, each troll invites viewers to appreciate the whimsy and beauty nature offers.

In West Seattle, a troll named Bruun Idun stands ready to serenade our resident orca families. This wooden giant has clearly been crafted with intention: everything from the flowing curves of her fingers to the roundness of her face demonstrates proof of Dambo’s artistic prowess.

Anna Jadowska’s 2022 film Woman on the Roof is a movie with a very enticing premise: an elderly woman decides to rob a bank. It’s a simple idea that holds considerable potential for a story. Woman on the Roof proves you don’t need a big plot to tell an effective story. It uses its resources conservatively to weave a deeply impactful narrative teeming with commentary on challenging topics, such as depression, domestic norms, life, and the Polish mental health care system. With its various accolades, stunning washed-out color scheme, and intriguing story, I went into the film with high hopes. Woman on the Roof transcended them in almost every way.

Mira (Dorota Pomykała) is a 60-year-old midwife leading a mundane life. She struggles with deep, existential sorrow, finding little happiness in her relatively stable life and feeling alienated from her family and society. The world shows her the bare minimum of care, keeping her alive but not allowing her to truly live. This is seen on both a personal scale, in her home, and in the systems of her society. She is desperate for connection but is shown only indifference. She feels alienated in her home life and burdened by housework. Out of desperation, she robs a bank with a kitchen knife but runs away. The consequences begin to spiral, and she must reconsider how she lives her life as she grows distant from her family and society.

What appears to be an endless array of people is an ocean of film lovers lined up at SIFF Cinema Egyptian. Cultural Chinese ornaments decorate the theater, and as you enter, you’re welcomed by Chinese Drill Team members. They greet you with respect and friendliness, dressed powerfully yet elegantly. The intricate uniforms are designed with red and gold accents and an elaborate headpiece. Walking around the theater, you’re immersed in a vibrant community. The diverse audience converses with one another, expressing their admiration for and acquaintance with the renowned Chinese Drill Team. They all gather to watch the documentary She Marches in Chinatown, whether they have seen the drill team at festivals and parades, are former members, or simply want to enjoy a film about local culture. She Marches in Chinatown, directed by Della Chen, produced by Amy Benson, and edited by Dina Guttman, is a magical documentary entailing the story and 71-year history of the Seattle Chinese Community Girls Drill Team. The film showcases how the team was brought together and how the organization has empowered a group of young Chinese women. It beautifully tells the story of the team while tying together themes of community and women empowerment.

As the movie starts, the lights dim and the chants of their practice take focus. In unison, they march as the team captain leads. You are automatically allured and intrigued by the cinematography, the flashing fabrics, the vibrant colors, and the precision of their march. This film uses wonderful cinematographic techniques such as birds-eye views, worms-eye views, and slow-motion videography. The combination of birds-eye views and different perspectives makes you focus on their movement. The beginning of this film was aesthetically beautiful. The camera then goes on to show the girls of the team in a Chinatown playground, having fun after their practice, and talking amongst themselves. You are shown how well-bonded these girls are, as they’ve found their community through the team. You feel like a part of them like you’re there with them.

The stage is dim– lit only by a soft white glow. Nine actors breathe in a haunting, rhythmic chorus. Their bodies sway to the chugging of the train. The rise and fall, the side to side, calls to mind deep-seated nostalgia, the feeling of travel that, as a child, felt never-ending. As Passengers progresses, the Seattle Repertory Theatre stops feeling like a theater. The acrobats stop being just actors, their daring stunts transform from just circus spectacle. The audience is pulled into a heart-wrenching and deeply human story, told masterfully with the bodies of the performers. Circus is used as a creative device, where the stunts come second to the story. Passengers is one of the most uniquely beautiful things I have ever seen.

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.

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.

Walking through Bumbershoot at the Seattle Center, different scents wafted into my nose. Smells of freshly ground coffee beans, juicy tacos with succulent meat from MexiCuban, smokey dough from Candela Pizza, and the sweet scent of popsicles drifted through the hot air. Though the food program at Bumbershoot was excellent, it lacked an international taste. The culinary options were predominantly seafood, Mexican, and Italian. While the seafood was deeply Seattle, giving more space to European, African, and Asian food vendors would have been greatly appreciated and could have better recognized the ethnic and cultural diversity within Seattle. Despite this, I found the food delicious! I tried all sorts of food at the Labor Day weekend festival and here is what really caught my eye.

As I found myself staring at all the beautiful outfits people wore and letting the loud music thrum through my body, Amazon employees handed out Seattle Pops. They had all kinds of flavors including Cookies and Cream as well as Lime. I chose a Cookies and Cream pop and it was the right call! The frozen treat melted in my mouth and the cream slowly trickled down my throat. When I asked the employees why they were out in the heat handing out their little miracles they said, “We’re trying to spread joy.” I smiled and walked on.

If you, like me up until a month ago, have no idea what Bumbershoot is and your knowledge of music festivals is limited to Coachella, this is the perfect article for you. I went into Labor Day weekend at Bumbershoot having done minimal research and expecting a completely different experience than what I actually felt. So you don't fall into the trap that I did: Bumbershoot is an annual arts festival in Seattle, which has been occurring for over fifty years—with this being its first year back since quarantine. It attempts to highlight local creatives, which tend to be mainly indie, rock, and country-leaning when it comes to music. However, it also includes many other kinds of artists, including designers, nail artists, and even cat circus performers!

It seems that somewhere in this massive range, the festival has lost sight of who it is trying to draw in. In 2019, The Seattle Times reported that "Bumbershoot’s target audience has been trending younger and that was clear as ever [that] year, with a lineup boasting enough collective Instagram followers to alter an election." Looking at the lineup now, I recognize each and every single name and would be buzzing with excitement to have the chance to see even one of them. However, this year seems to have taken an abrupt turn with the artists seeming to cater more to an older audience while many festival goers are in their late teens or twenties.

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.

The stage is set for a night of glamour and rock at Arts West’s Hedwig and the Angry Inch. A sign in the corner reads “Black Trans Lives Matter”, inclusive pride flags sit on the desk, and the stage emanates Seattle’s Pioneer Square, setting up this modernized and localized interpretation of the show. The actors enter an exit as the audience finds their seats, checking on wigs, the soundboard, and whatever else Hedwig needs to start her show. When the show begins Hedwig (Nicholas Japaul Bernard) enters decked in pride flags and a contrasting American flag slung over her shoulders, but when she takes it off it reveals the confederate flag on the other side, immediately calling out the racist undercurrents of America. The opening speech, full of self-aware comments and Seattle-specific references, sets up a new vision for Hedwig: She exists in the modern day and the past, calling audience members to suspend their disbelief as she carries them through her story.

The modern-day aspects serve Hedwig well in addressing the issues that genderqueer and transgender people, especially those of color, face in America today. While staying true to the historical aspects of the show, Hedwig is timeless, referencing both old and new, reminding us that transgender people have been here and will continue to be here, and their stories deserve to be heard. The show's bones lend themselves to be manipulated and altered to fit the story that needs to be told at the time, and the actors and creative team do a fantastic job of sharing the story in a way that feels true to them and their artistry.

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.