Seattle Blog Reviews

It is a powerful thing when a production can elicit frequent bouts of laughter, moments of quiet introspection, and tearful post-show hugs with family and friends, all within a 90-minute runtime. the aves accomplishes just this, transforming what appears to be a simple story of an elderly couple on a park bench observing the world around them into a wonderfully complex tale of aging, memory, sacrifice, and relationships. 

It is challenging to explain the magic of the aves without spoiling “the exchange”, that is so central to the plot, as it is not revealed explicitly until the end of the show. The plot features sci-fi-esque themes, which positively contradicted the assumption I had going into the show, that it would be a typical and realistic tale. the aves skillfully shows, rather than tells, the audience what is happening, which creates an engaging experience as the audience pieces together the puzzle of the plot for themselves. As these pieces finally fall into place and details are revealed, several gasps can be heard from the audience. Varinique "V" Davis and Jerik Fernandez in the aves at Union Arts Center. Photo by Giao Nguyen.

For a ballet built on the dichotomy between two worlds—an idyllic sunlit village by day and eerie moonlit forest by night—Pacific Northwest Ballet’s Giselle is a production of mesmerizing harmony. Despite its 19th-century roots, the Romantic ballet still captivates with its themes of love and heartbreak, brought to a modern audience with haunting elegance under Peter Boal’s artistic direction.

It had been years since I’d seen Giselle when I took my seat in McCaw Hall, but by the time I left, it had risen to the top of my favorites ballets. Unfolding against Jérôme Kaplan’s whimsical sets and French composer Adolphe Adam’s score, the ballet follows Giselle, a charming peasant girl who unwittingly falls in love with a disguised duke, Albert. When her jealous suitor, Hilarion, reveals Albert’s true identity, Giselle dies from heartbreak, only to rise at night as a Wili. Led by their merciless queen, Myrtha, the Wilis are the ghosts of jilted brides who beguile unsuspecting men into dancing to their deaths. Yet Giselle’s love for Albert persists—a love story so compelling that the ballet, too, has persisted for over 180 years.

In 2002, Avril Lavigne spoke her truth: being ordinary is as good as being dead. The Best Damn Thing runs with that message, making its West Coast premiere at 12th Ave Arts just last month. Directed by Kate Drummond, the show follows Missouri teenager Ellie, who has written what she believes is the greatest Avril Lavigne jukebox musical ever conceived. But, she needs her former best friend Rachel to bring it to their school stage. The two-person cast and visually inventive set, designed by Jeremy Hollis, bring an electrifying energy that hooks the audience immediately. From the opening moment, the audience is drawn into Ellie’s room, a cluttered, almost overwhelming space where each object offers a glimpse into her life. However, in the show's attempt to be hyper-meta and its density of ideas, it ends up resembling its protagonist: overwhelmed by ideas, and ultimately unclear.

Before the show even begins, a friendly Dacha staff member hands out a set-themed I-Spy sheet, making it clear that The Best Damn Thing wants the audience to feel involved. The theater itself is tiny, with bleacher-style seating that puts you close enough to feel the anxiety radiating off Ellie. From the moment she steps onstage, Shannon Johnson brings a nervous, rapid-fire energy that captures Ellie’s desperate hopefulness. Moxxy Rogers plays Rachel with sharp contrast: dismissive and poised. When the two explode at each other in an emotional confrontation, both actors tap into something genuine. However, the script doesn’t measure up to the moment. The dialogue leans so heavily on profanity that the scene loses its edge; by mistaking noise for intensity, the cursing fails to convey the rawness of teenage anger.Moxxy Rogers and Shannon Johnson in Dacha Theatre's The Best Damn Thing. Photo by Brett Love.

Despite being created over 75 years ago, Charlie Brown continues to hold cultural and emotional significance today. I remember watching “Peanuts” specials back in elementary school. Whether it was a Thanksgiving party or a Christmas potluck, a classic episode was almost always playing in the background. The Peanuts 75th Anniversary Symphonic Concert at Benaroya Hall, performed by the Seattle Symphony, beautifully encapsulated the nostalgia of childhood that is defined by carefree innocence, quiet loneliness, and a sense of awkwardness.

Right from the start, the atmosphere inside Benaroya Hall reflected that same warmth and joy. Audience members wore Charlie Brown merchandise: from Uniqlo graphic tees featuring Charlie Brown’s zigzag shirt to Snoopy hats, oversized hoodies, and even carrying plush toys tucked under their arms. At the concession stand, the Seattle Symphony offered Snoopy-decorated sugar cookies along with a variety of other snacks and beverages. Although I did not purchase them, seeing the three-pack of sugar cookies decorated with Snoopy and Woodstock did add a playful charm to the space. It felt like stepping into a shared childhood memory. Once the music started, that feeling only deepened. The concert started with “Peanuts Overture." The piano’s light, flowing lines contrasted with the steady energy of the rhythm section, creating a groove that made it difficult to stay still. The addition of the marimba and bells added a layer of unexpected depth that tied the symphony’s sound together to make it nostalgic and playful at times.Peanuts 75th Anniversary. Photo credit: James Holt/Seattle Symphony.

Duck Pond is a high-flying acrobatic mashup of the beloved ballet classic Swan Lake and the fairy tale “The Ugly Duckling.” Performed by Circa, a very talented group of Australian circus acrobats, Duck Pond captures the drama and emotion of trying to find your place in the world through stunning acrobatic feats. 

The hopeful Ugly Duckling catapults her way into the Prince’s party, seeking to gain respect from the court and the attention of the Prince. She catches the Prince’s eye, but also the critical gaze of the court. Her friendly gift of a tower of pillows ends with a pillow fight and her being left alone to clean up a feathery mess. Abandoned by the glamorous court, the Ugly Duckling is consoled by her loyal tribe of mop-wielding, oversized-overall-wearing duck companions. Hilarity ensues. When the Prince comes to find the Ugly Duckling, he is captivated by a new arrival: the elegant and dangerous Black Swan and her solitary aerial acrobatics. Fueled by her desire for belonging, the Ugly Duckling throws herself into a group of swans and attempts to fly. She tries again and again until the swans accept her and she takes flight, discovering she has been a swan the whole time. Then, in a twist from the anticipated storyline, the Black and White Swans choose each other over the Prince, leaving him confused and self-pitying. The show pares down the plot of the original ballet to focus on daring acrobatic feats, which show inner dialogues and passionate emotions between the characters. Just when the plot seems to be  resolved, an unexpected third act begins with an acrobatic swan fight. After this, the performers dismantle the set and perform a series of delightful circus acts entirely unrelated to the story.Circa in Duck Pond. Photo by Pia Johnson.

Lisa Shriver’s production of Grease at Village Theater is nothing short of a spectacular remake of everybody's favorite classic that will leave you humming catchy hits for days to come. The musical is immersive, entertaining, and comedic, celebrating the high school experience of the 1950s whilst exposing the cruelties of teen culture. 

Grease encapsulates dynamics between friendships, relationships, peers, and teachers that make the audience laugh, and music that makes it hard not to sing along. The story follows the rebellious teenaged Pink Ladies—a gum-chewing, hip-swinging, and sarcastic girl gang in matching pink jackets, and their counterparts—the Burger Palace Boys, greasers sporting leather jackets, obsessed with cars, and not afraid to get into trouble. When Sandy Dumbrowski, a new student at Rydell High School, shares a romantic, innocent romance with Daniel Zuko, a tough-acting Burger Palace Boy with a hidden, vulnerable heart, everything changes. As the characters noted how the Pink Ladies and the Burger Palace Boys decided not to show, the actors spoke directly to the audience, establishing a sense of togetherness, community, and shared experiences later developed within the play. By bringing the audience onstage alongside the characters, Grease developed an immersive and nostalgic atmosphere expanded upon by the set design, choreography, and heartfelt themes.Maya McQueen and Daniel Velasquez in Grease at Village Theatre. Photo by Nikki Womac (2026).

Firebird, an ode to Russian folklore, showcases iconic Slavic characters and the passion of its creators. The ballet originated in the early 1900s as a vision by impresario Sergei Diaghilev, a shrewd producer who brought together leading artists to stage works celebrating Russian culture. It was intended to showcase Russian folklore and music and highlight its unique design and character. This is obvious through the show's set design and music. The backdrop draws from classic Slavic illustrations and archival art, while the score by Igor Stravinsky features folk-inspired melodies and rhythms that heighten the ballet’s emotional arc. Vivid costumes animate the stage, most notably the Firebird’s fiery red plumage, inspired by Léon Bakst’s original designs. These visual elements often communicate more than the narrative itself, and together with the dancers’ portrayals, transform Firebird into a living piece of transported culture.

The ballet consists of four scenes and lasts a mere 30 minutes. Adapted as a slightly more modern interpretation of the 1910 dance, it first acquaints us with our protagonists, Prince Ivan and the Firebird, when the sparkling rhinestone curtain of McCaw Hall's stage lifts. In true folk-story fashion the prince is depicted as a vague figure who is the son of a ruler from a distant unknown kingdom. Firebird, a fierce character danced by Sarah-Gabrielle Ryan, is adorned in red and gold as she fluttered across the stage with precise skittish movements. The plot functioned more as a framework than a focal point: Ivan falls in love with a princess, she is captured by an evil sorcerer, and he ultimately rescues her with the Firebird’s help. This outline is meant to be representative of an average folktale.

Coming-of-age? Done. Homoerotic? Done. Paranormal activity, spine tingling horror, critical examination of the imperial gothic genre? All. Done.

Spoiled Milk is Avery Curran’s debut novel, and what a debut it is! Painfully tender, meaty, and meandering prose, coupled with a flawless understanding (and avant-garde reinvention) of both the boarding-school and gothic novel, the novel effortlessly transports the reader to England, c. 1928. 

Some art moves you, some art challenges you, and some art strikes you so deeply that you lie awake at night with one vivid image plastered against your skull. Jacob Lawrence Legacy Resident indira allegra’s The Book of Zero does all three. The exhibit presents an immersive experience that steadily leads viewers through a sacred end-of-life ritual for oppressive and violent structures that, in allegra’s own words hand-painted on the walls, “haunt the earth,” as these “imitations of freedom could not keep you alive.”

Established in 2015, the Jacob Lawrence Legacy Residency celebrates Black artists, and aids their transformation of an empty gallery into an active studio space with access to all resources and facilities at the School of Art + Art History + Design and the broader University of Washington community. This year, the gallery welcomed indira allegra, a multidisciplinary visual, tactile, and literary artist.

If anyone thought they knew what floral still life is, Wallflowers proves them wrong. At the Frye Art Museum, you will see the traditional oil-painted vase-on-table paintings, but you’ll also notice watercolor splotches reimagined as flowers, intricate wallpapers created on computers, and metal sculptures. Overall, Wallpapers displays art depicting flowers across centuries, artistic styles, and messages in a way that is interesting but difficult to grasp and connect with.

Wallflowers displays a wide variety of visual styles, spanning different artists and time periods, including traditional Dutch still lifes , impressionistic paintings, needle work, and computer distortions. From the Still Life With Tulips, a realistic classic still life depiction of a cactus and lilies, to the brightly colored, cubist Bouquet in Yellow Pot, no matter your artistic taste, you are bound to find something beautiful in the room.John Marshall Gamble . Chrysanthemums , 1889 . Oil on canvas . 28 x 40 in. Frye Art Museum, Gift of George N. Prince, 1999.018.03 . Photo: Jueqian Fang Nick Cave. Grapht , 2024. Vintage metal serving trays, vintage tole on wood panel. 72 x 36 x 10 in. © Nick Cave. Courtesy of the artist and Jack Shainman Gallery, New York

Fire comes naturally: the hunger, the ferocity, the need to prove oneself to a world that refuses to hand you the lead role. Water must be learned.

When we think of Bruce Lee, we often conceptualize soaring kicks and cracking nunchucks—spectacle, velocity, and force. Others recall his philosophical richness: the insistence on adaptability, on becoming “like water.” Young Dragon: A Bruce Lee Story carefully balances both perceptions—the fire of ambition and the water in transformation.

With 67 seasons under its belt, Edmonds Driftwood Players has earned a reputation as a reliable community theater in the Pacific Northwest. Their funny, well-performed production of The Outsider earns its applause.

As I sat down in the cozy seats of the Wade James Theatre, I was greeted by a surprise: a pre-show sponsor message styled as a political ad. That brief comedic gag set the tone perfectly. The Outsider is a show that knows it is a political satire first and a comedy second, and it delivers that understanding from the opening seconds.

Quick—name the best performance you have ever seen. What made it so memorable? Was it perfectly produced, endlessly rehearsed, or meticulously written? Or, maybe it was memorable because of its spontaneity? 

The most recent play I’ve watched fit the description of the latter—and I’d argue that it was one of the best performances I have seen. 

A shining figure appears on the organ balcony, overlooking the orchestra and the audience: the leading vocalist, dressed in a vibrant Peking-style Opera costume, with an ornate headpiece that glows under the overhead light. Outside the concert hall, lanterns hang from the ceiling of Benaroya Hall, alongside a large red banner, decorated with a golden horse to celebrate the Lunar New Year. Moments before, the entryway was packed with excited guests, there to celebrate both Lunar New Year and Valentine’s Day, who watch introductory videos of Chinese Opera performances and linger to chat under the warm lights. After the audience took their seats in the symphony hall and the orchestra finished their warm-up, the night’s guest performers entered the stage, wearing brightly-colored dresses, juxtaposing the all-black outfits of the symphony.

Iris Dévoilée (Iris Unveiled), composed by Qigang Chen, mixes together Western orchestra and Peking opera techniques to create a wonderfully unique and breathtaking performance. The performances at the Seattle Symphony, conducted by Music Director Xian Zhang, were the composition's first in the United States since its showing at Carnegie Hall in 2009. The performance is made up of nine vignettes, each conveying a different mood of the main subject, who is portrayed by the renowned soprano Meng Meng. Its title hints at the varied nature of the vignettes: Iris is the Greek goddess of the rainbow, symbolizing both idealized beauty and strength.

Some shows win you over slowly. Li at Seattle Public Theater is not one of those shows. This one has you hooked as soon as the protagonist emerges from the wings, looks you straight in the eye, and says, “Let me introduce myself.” That bold opening sets the tone for a production that uses humor and direct audience connection to explore what it means to feel unseen and how healing can take place in unexpected ways. In a venue as small and close as Seattle Public Theater, Li is able to comfortably break the fourth wall and speak to the audience again and again throughout the show in a natural extension of the space’s intimacy. Ultimately, that intimacy is the heart of the show: since Li speaks directly to us, the production turns the audience into an active part of her journey. As a result, this world premiere feels less like a debut, and more like a fully realized story that thrives on the intimacy of the space and the unfiltered way Li lets us into her world.

Even before the play begins, the environment truly sets the tone and primes you for the intimacy that the show thrives on. A buzzing crowd squeezes through a congested hallway just outside the performance space. Instead of feeling isolated from the story in your seat, simply sitting in the room allows everyone to become part of a shared energy, part of the same narrative they are watching unfold. That sense of communal presence becomes essential once Li, a thief from Inner Mongolia, introduces herself. Played enthusiastically by Adele Lim, Li is our narrator, and throughout the show, she continues to joke with us and confide her worries with us. Our laughter and shock become part of the rhythm of the play, creating a pure feedback loop of joy where the actors and the audience feed off of each other.

Seeing The Peking Acrobats at the Federal Way Performing Arts and Event Center (PAEC) was a thrilling, one-of-a-kind experience, although there were some hiccups. The Peking Acrobats are a Chinese acrobatics performing group that has been touring across the world for over 30 years and have been featured on many news channels. I went on the only night they were performing at the PAEC, or Washington at all for that matter, so I was quite excited to have the opportunity. 

Going in, the PAEC felt more like a movie theater than anything else. There was a small crowd outside, and even a counter selling popcorn and drinks. I first noticed the troupe when I saw two acrobats, a man and a woman, standing at a table near the wall, selling pamphlets. The woman was wearing a Cheongsam, and the man and Tang suit–a traditional Chinese high collared jacket fastened with knots. Most of the acrobats would wear effectively the same costumes throughout the show, with some changes in color. 

Some stories feel like you’ve known them forever. “Cinderella” is a story that will always be associated with certain images: a clock that won’t stop ticking, a family whose cruelty has no bounds, a shoe that only fits one, and a humble wish for kindness to be enough. Often called a tale as old as time, the story is rooted in origins beyond glass slippers. One of its earliest known versions appears in the story of Ye Xian in ninth-century China, where a young girl’s lost golden shoe becomes her exit out of hardship. Across centuries and continents, many cultures have retold this story of hope. Pacific Northwest Ballet’s Cinderella, choreographed by Kent Stowell, adds a sparkle that grounds the story’s familiar magic in memory and motion at a human scale, reshaping the fairy tale as inner transformation.

Before the characters even appear on stage, the word “Cinderella” is spotlighted across the lowered curtain, acting as both an invitation and a subtle warning. The title glows with familiarity, and when the curtain rises, Act I places the real world and the dream world side by side: one in which Cinderella is pushed into servant work by her stepfamily, and another that draws us into her interior life. Act I’s palette leans into dusty blues and faded earth tones, grounding her world in something restrained and practical.

The lights dim and the story unfolds onto a grey void. Two figures walk out towards each other, meeting in the center. One of them, Marrick Smith, plays an eerily joyous tune on the accordion, and the other, Folami Williams, turns to confront the audience. Behind them, a series of photos flash over the grey screen: Germans in airy summer clothing, enjoying the beach, reveling in leisure activities, all while Williams continues throughout with her chipper narration describing life as a non-Jewish German to the audience.

In a sharp turn of events, the audience is presented with images of children wearing swastikas and hordes of people heiling Hitler, an extreme juxtaposition to the shallow but upbeat mood of the actors. Suddenly, a camera flashes, and the room goes dark. 

Have you ever felt transported back in time because of the detailed sets and convincing performances in a play? Directed by Sunam Ellis and starring Becca Q. Co and Seoyoung Park The Heart Sellers takes place in a mid-size city during Thanksgiving 1973. It follows the story of Luna (Co) and Jane (Park) in Luna’s apartment. Over the course of the show, the two become close as they bond over the struggles of being immigrants in an unfamiliar country after the passing of the Hart-Celler Act, a law passed in 1965 that changed U.S. immigration policy and allowed more immigrants from Asia, Africa, and Latin America to enter the country. Also, they discover similarities in each other’s lives as well as their longing to see their families in Korea and in the Philippines. Incorporating themes such as friendship, family, and courage, The Heart Sellers represents the transcending of cultural and linguistic barriers by creating marvelous set design, elaborate costumes, and showcasing fabulous performances by the leading actresses.

To begin with, the audience was transported into 1973 through Luna’s small apartment. Clothes were scattered across the floor and magazines piled in front of the retro 70s television. The outside of the apartment surrounded the central set, making it so the audience felt they had a snapshot into the setting’s inner workings. Throughout the show, the two women talked more about their lives and became friends. It provided the necessary space for the characters to develop and move through the plot. However, I felt my mind starting to drift due to the lack of set variety in each scene, causing me to miss pieces of dialogue or monologues.

It is rare to see the tremors from a passing memory fully reflected on someone's face. Rarer still to watch the memory play out in their mind. With a small but talented cast and a stage that lies amidst the audience in unique intimacy, Taproot Theater’s production of Till We Have Faces provides an opportunity to do both simultaneously.

This play is the premier adaptation of C.S. Lewis’s novel of the same name, which reimagines the myth of Psyche and Cupid. In the original myth, Psyche is sacrificed by her people and rescued by the god Cupid. She becomes his bride but is forbidden to see his face when he visits each night. Her sister, envious of Psyche, convinces Psyche to betray Cupid's trust by looking at him. This causes Psyche to be exiled, forced by Aphrodite to complete tasks in order to be reunited with Cupid. Written by Karen Lund and directed by Marianne Savell, the show not only captures the essence of Lewis’s story, which explores sisterhood, identity, and what it really means to love sacrificially, but also enriches it through visual metaphor and excellent acting.