TeenTix Blog Reviews

After seeing Seattle Rep’s Laughs in Spanish, I was both energized by its lively humor and left with some challenging questions to ponder.  I attended the 90-minunte play, written by Alexis Scheer and directed by Dámaso Rodríguez, as a Spanish student hoping to practice my listening skills and curious about what a “part telenovela, part whodunit” comedy would be like. Although the Spanish portions of the play turned out to only be brief phrases sprinkled into the dialogue, I could not have asked for a production more chock full of jokes, telenovela tropes, and big questions about identity and decision-making.

The drama begins when Mariana (Beth Pollack) discovers that all the paintings have been stolen from her Miami art gallery on the morning of her biggest show of the year. Juan (Gabriell Salgado), a decidedly unhelpful police officer, is on the scene. Juan also happens to be the boyfriend of Mari’s intern, Carolina (Diana Garle), a graduate student studying painting. Both are more focused on getting Mari to show Caro’s paintings in lieu of the intended artist’s work than on solving the crime. Then, Mari’s theatrical telenovela-star mother Estella (Diana Burbano), with whom she has a fraught relationship, arrives unexpectedly, bringing with her a whole new source of drama. Things get even more complicated when Estella’s assistant, Jenny (Cheyenne Barton), turns out to be Mari’s old crush.

In June of 2020, in the wake of the rising Black Lives Matter movement, more than 300 theater artists published the statement, “We See You, White American Theater.” This statement tore into the long-established racism within the theater industry: “Our love of theater has often meant surviving an industry-wide culture of fear poisoned by racism [...] Achieve cultural competency in us. Address your vocabulary, behavior, implicit bias, and lack of understanding. We are the experts, not the accessory.” The letter laid out a clear list of changes that needed to be made, highlighting the inadequate worker rights and representation. 65 years before “We See You” was published, playwright Alice Childress addressed near-identical issues through Trouble in Mind, yet the systemic racism of Broadway prevented its production and mainstream success until 2021. Before becoming a playwright, Childress was involved in years of local theatre, eventually making it to Broadway in the ‘40s. Her first-hand experience makes this play an invaluable perspective on Black actors’ experience prior to and during the civil rights movement. Centerstage Theatre’s production highlights the relevance of Trouble in Mind, playing a crucial role in addressing the long-running and unchanging racism within theatre.

Trouble in Mind is a satirical, challenging critique of racism within the theater, following a primarily Black cast in the rehearsal of an “anti-lynching” Broadway production called “Chaos in Belleville,” directed by a white man. Despite the progressive image of “Chaos in Belleville,” the egotistical director’s racism and biases are ingrained in the characterization and plot. The protagonist, Wiletta, is an experienced, strong actress accustomed to complying with stereotypical roles in the theater to make a decent income. Despite giving similar advice to the newer Black actors in the production (“You either do it and stay or don’t do it and get out”), she gradually becomes more openly opposed to the director, culminating in a heated argument that ultimately ends the production of the play. Trouble in Mind follows a variety of characters that differ in perspective on “Chaos in Belleville,” with a satire that still feels very relevant today. The cast of Trouble in Mind. Photo provided by Centerstage Theatre.

On April 8th at the UW Meany Center, the black Steinway piano and the iconoclastic pianist Lara Downes stood solitary on stage. Yet, as the classical composition began, it would turn out she was far from alone, accompanied by echoing ghosts of American history and identity.

Covering 14 songs plus one encore in two acts, Downes’ album This Land takes viewers on a cross-country road trip of American roots by paying homage to various musical greats of different time periods, from Scott Joplin’s energetic ragtime to Geroge Gershwin’s jazz-infused classical music to Paul Simon’s folk narratives. By “Reflecting a wide diversity of voices, both new and familiar, illustrating the beauty that resides in the broad landscape of American music,” Downes paints an honest picture of the complexities and beauties of American history. Especially considering the current political climate of the U.S., the arrangement feels like a poignant reminder of what it means to be American and explores a sense of pride that emerges even in a country that has undergone. Perhaps Downes said it best in her opening, right after playing a rendition of Paul Simon’s “America”: “The best place to find America is in music.”  

What if five of the greatest female mystery writers from the 20th century banded together to solve a real-life murder? Marie Benedict explores this question in her historical fiction novel The Queens of Crime, which stars Dorothy L. Sayers and Agatha Christie. I picked up my first Agatha Christie detective novel several years ago, and ever since, I have been hooked. So, when I heard about The Queens of Crime, I was intrigued. I realized that despite my love of Christie’s work, I have never delved into the work of her contemporaries. Would reading Benedict’s novel both shed light on these great women writers and weave a murder investigation worthy of these Queens of Crime?

Set in 1931, The Queens of Crime centers on the respected mystery novelist Dorothy L. Sayers, creator of the detective Lord Peter Wimsey and co-founder of the real-life Detection Club for crime writers. After being shunned by the club’s male members, Sayers bands together with fellow female authors Agatha Christie, Baroness Emma Orczy, Ngaio Marsh, and Margery Allingham. These self-named “Queens of Crime” plan to solve the real-life murder of a young English nurse named May Daniels, showcasing their worth to the men in the club. They conduct their investigation by traveling to France, where May’s body was found, and interviewing women involved in May’s life. These women were overlooked as witnesses by the police due to their gender and working-class status. Solving the murder becomes increasingly urgent when the police and press seem eager to dismiss May as a drug addict and close the case without proper investigation. The Queens soon realize the reality of the situation as “the only ones, aside from her killer, who know the truth,” and “the only ones who will do right by May” (Chapter 45).

The intensity of Cathy Hiatt’s expression as her gaze seared through the lifeless house she had once shared with her beloved Jamie was unforgettable. The power she harnessed to preach a thousand relentless words without daring to open her mouth magnetized my attention. I felt the world slow down around me as I tried to detect the character’s thoughts in the indefinite silence. Helplessly, I watched the last pittance of hope that Cathy grasped slowly escape her heart as she moved cautiously away from center stage. We simultaneously realized how the trials of romance are unexpectedly vulnerable, opening oneself up to the possibility of either blissful change or weathering agony.

Watching The Last Five Years at ACT Theatre (co-produced with The 5th Avenue Theatre) was undoubtedly a memorable experience. Since I discovered the musical in my freshman year, everything about the production felt captivating: the orchestral fuel and intricate lyricism behind each song, the personal journeys and evolution of Cathy and Jamie both individually and as a couple, and that classic, gut-wrenching question: how did they get here? The theatre-in-the-round staging of ACT’s Allen Theatre added an extra layer of intimacy and immersion to the story, providing the audience with sacred moments where they could almost look straight into the eyes of both characters. Synchronously, the audience could feel the impact of the characters’ current emotional state, whether they be embracing joy, battling fear and insecurity, or simply in constant wonder. The venue maintained a state of constructional simplicity; the furniture of the set was strategically limited so it became unbearable for the audience to observe what seemed like infinite space between Cathy and Jamie as they endured their separate experiences within a slowly deteriorating relationship. This invisible spatial barrier between the two made one particular scene all the more precious.

The Seattle Art Museum’s exhibit Meot (멋) displays an impressive assortment of traditional and contemporary works of Korean art, with a focus on pottery. The collection exhibits an array of Korean art: contemporary porcelain jars, 13th century vases and bottles, and ink-on-paper hanging scrolls. Despite the wide, open rooms of the gallery, the exhibit feels intimate and focused, accentuating the intricate details of the pieces. Meot, however, is most distinctive in its focus on the craft, humanity, and history behind its curation and collection. Meot, meaning elegance, beauty, and refined aesthetic sensibility, primarily exhibits Seattle-local Frank Bayley’s donated collection. Bayley (1939 - 2022) was a prolific art collector with an admirable, lasting impact on the community: besides being a longtime trustee and donor of hundreds of works to the Seattle Art Museum, he also co-founded the San Juan Preservation Trust in 1979, which continues to prevent thousands of acres of shoreline from further development on the San Juan Islands. 

Meot’s design is very intentional. Many of the featured artists emulate techniques and elements from the Korean Joseon dynasty (1392 - 1897), from the use of cobalt and white slip to implementing traditional calligraphy, symbolism, and even poetry. The exhibit’s curator, Hyonjeong Kim, is deliberate in her layout design; contemporary pieces are placed adjacent to traditional Joseon dynasty pieces, juxtaposing the time period while simultaneously emphasising the common motifs and influences. One of the exhibit’s stand-out pieces, Younsook PARK’s towering Moon Jar, directly imitates the Joseon “moon jar,” using traditional methods to replicate the pure-white harmonious form. The exhibit places traditional Joseon moon jars in close proximity, allowing the viewer to directly observe the influences and emulated techniques. Moon Jar, 2007, Youngsook PARK,South Korean, b. 1947, porcelain withclear glaze, 20 x 19 1/2 in. (50.8 x 49.5cm), Gift of Frank S. Bayley III, in honorof the 75th Anniversary of the SeattleArt Museum, 2007.86© Young SookPark. Photo: Susan Cole

In Chinese mythology, the dragon and the phoenix are animals that symbolize balance. They are opposite celestial beings bound together, representing power and grace, fierceness and beauty, completing what the other cannot fulfill. The book Sunlight Playing over a Mountain by Selena Li Bi gives these symbols a deeply personal meaning, shaping the fragile, shifting world of Jasmine Cheng, our protagonist, and her mother, where they must chase a sense of belonging and stability across ever-changing terrains. 

The book first introduces us to Jasmine Cheng, a 15-year-old Filipino-Chinese girl growing up in a small town called Briarplace in the Midwest. Her whole life is steeped in a myth. Her mother, Suchou, tells her that the two of them are the dragon and the phoenix, celestial beings who descend from the moon, and that her father is Pangu, the creator of the universe. Her mother’s grandiose myths are her escape from the mourning pressures of Jasmine’s reality- an absent father, an irresponsible and unreliable mother, and the ever-looming presence of being taken away from her mother through Child Protective Services, something she refers to as the “Keeper.” As her mother drifts in and out of her opium-dream world, cycling through boyfriends and herbal remedies, Jasmine is left to fend for herself, caught between devotion and disillusionment.

From a dark room with a green door at the beginning, to "the game is afoot" said in the middle of the show, to the applause of a satisfied audience at the curtain call - Miss Holmes, written by Christopher M. Walsh and directed by Angela M. Bayler of Centerstage Theater, is a clever spin on a classic. Female versions of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson create a feminist mystery with themes of death and betrayal while defying stereotypes of the typical Victorian Era woman by changing what would be proper Victorian Women's attire to pants, hats, and work boots. This was also done through how the women in the show talked and how sure of themselves they were. This show, boosted by excellent acting performances, delivers laughs and lots of whodunnit in a cozy, Federal Way theater. This was my first performance in Federal Way, and I was surprised to find this charming, innovative theater at the end of a long, woodsy road in a beautiful park. While I was eating a cookie from their refreshment table I saw a display portraying the challenges of Victorian womanhood and I appreciated being able to learn a little bit about this period before watching the show because it helped me understand the struggles that the female characters in the show faced. As the lights dimmed, the director stepped on the stage and introduced the show to the audience.  Although Miss Holmes and the 2020 film Enola Holmes are not the same, these female detectives have a few things in common: they both carry the Holmes name and have an overprotective brother named Mycroft. And despite being underestimated, these women use their knowledge and social status to blend into society and rebel against the expectations of the time.  The cast of Miss Holmes. Photo by Michelle Smith-Lewis.

The sets in the show feature the hospital where Dr. Watson works, Miss Holmes’s home, and Scotland Yard, and contain sophisticated portraits and warm furniture against a mysterious London background. The period costumes were chosen thoughtfully and were effective for every character. I especially loved Watson’s tweed buttoned-up dress and her medical bag. The men's button-up suits were fitting and I loved Mycroft's cane but it was used more like a prop than a cane itself. This made me wonder why they used the prop if he was only supposed to hold it and not use it for walking. I only wished for some more wardrobe changes for the two main roles which would have made the show more realistic and brought more personality through the characters.

It's too bad the word ‘opera’ is such a turn-off for young people. If I could have just convinced teens to watch the recent version of The Magic Flute playing at the Seattle Opera, their entire perspective on the art form would have changed, guaranteed. 

As I made my way through the opera house in search of my seat, I noticed that the audience was full of older adults. I was surprised by this, considering how every other performance that I’ve been to at McGraw Hall was seen by people of all ages. I suspect that this all has to do with the word ‘opera.’ The lights shut off, a spotlight hit the conductor, and the show began. For the next two hours, I was transported into a fairytale, but one infinitely more epic than your run-of-the-mill children's story.  

This review contains spoilers for the play Covenant.

From start to finish, ArtsWest’s Covenant was never what I expected it to be. It begins as a fairly standard family drama in 1930’s Georgia: sheltered, innocent Avery (Simone Alene) wants to leave town with charismatic yet mysterious guitarist Johnny (Donovan Mahannah), but Mama (Felicia Loud) and her pious Black-church values won’t approve. The show foreshadows its ominous tone from the start, especially through the narration of neighbor Ruthie (Kaila Towers), but that eeriness is initially masked by punchy humor and charming small-town colloquialisms.

Faux Flora is an all-encompassing, multisensory exhibit at the National Nordic Museum. Fischersund, the creator, is an Icelandic artist collective that creates using sound, scent, light, and visual art. Faux Flora incorporates these elements to tell the story of human life through made-up plants. The viewer is transported to a place where bouquets grow from cereal boxes and glass tears clink together as they hang from the downturned face of a flower. The exhibition covers four stages of life: birth, childhood, adolescence, and death. These stages are represented through the plant life cycle. It is a story that is foreign in its presentation yet all too familiar. There are many words I could use to describe Faux Flora, yet none quite feel adequate. The exhibit felt like an essay, with masterful prose and a vise grip on tonal shifts. 

The exhibit starts eerie and dark. Neutral-toned goo drips from the petals of an alien-like plant species as it sways with a breeze you can almost feel. Birth, represented by germination, is the beginning of the cycle, shown by only two animated flowers. The flowers are mostly shades of light pink and beige. As the smallest section, I found this stage the least memorable part of the exhibition. However, the darkness and overall biological ‘goopiness’ of the section captured the silence and essence of that stage of life in a way that felt a little uncomfortable. Image courtesy of Fischersund.

My stomach fluttered with anticipation as I entered McCaw Hall. Attending Pacific Northwest Ballet performances has been a special tradition for my family since I was six years old. Now, I was going to see the world premiere of one of the most ambitious productions PNB has ever undertaken: their reinterpretation of The Sleeping Beauty. Would it meet my expectations? I’m happy to say that PNB delivered all the spellbinding glamor and grace I hoped for, along with some unexpected twists.

In the classic fairytale, Princess Aurora, cursed at birth by the spited fairy Carabosse, pricks her finger on a spindle during her 20th birthday and falls into a 100-year sleep. The only one who can wake her up is the dashing Prince Desiree with a true love’s kiss. In addition to preserving the original storyline of The Sleeping Beauty, PNB incorporated elements derived from the original 1890 production: the work of Russian choreographer Marius Petipa and Tchaikovsky’s swelling score. However, artistic director Peter Boal worked to contemporize the ballet by giving Princess Aurora self-agency, personalizing its setting to the Pacific Northwest, and incorporating Northwest Indigenous Coastal designs into the production.

From the first chorus of the opening song “Omigod You Guys!” Village Theatre’s presentation of Legally Blonde The Musical is like being blasted with a pink confetti cannon of positivity. This musical has everything: catchy songs, lovable characters, an upbeat story, and even two adorable real dogs. Fans were decked out, some in all pink, with glowing smiles to see the classic movie brought to life onstage. This musical draws on the enduring appeal of protagonist Elle Woods’ journey to get taken seriously, and it adds a whole new layer of humor and pink pizzazz. Although the plotline seems centered around a typical chick flick romance, the impact of Village Theatre’s production comes from the unique ways it foregrounds subtler themes: sisterhood, hopes and dreams, the illusion of perfection, and keeping a positive outlook through life’s trials. 

Let’s start with the venue! The Everett Performing Arts Center was embellished with pink Legally Blonde paraphernalia. The staff was cheerful and the patrons, many of whom clearly love this story, were excitedly taking selfies in the photo booth. The theater was just big enough to have an astounding set, lighting, and orchestra pit while still maintaining a feeling of community and mutual excitement. Not that they would have had any problem with that anyway; this musical was so upbeat, funny, and heartwarming that it kept me engaged every second. 

Ask yourself: “Where is Here?” 

The answer might seem quite obvious, whether it's your bed, school, or your living room couch. We all have places we deem familiar, where we have put down our “roots.” For Azam, our protagonist, the answer isn’t so clear. 

I first went to the Grand Illusion Cinema two years ago to see a 1937 screwball comedy called The Awful Truth. I was just getting into film, and Grand Illusion was simply perfect: a volunteer-run arthouse theater that harbored a strong community while displaying unique films year-round. Since then, I have attended their events frequently, seeing everything from Fugazi documentaries to their annual showing of It’s a Wonderful Life (1946). The Grand Illusion is moving at the end of January, but I was lucky enough to catch the last of their annual Saturday Secret Matinees at the organization’s current location.

The Saturday Secret Matinees are a long-running program presented by the Sprocket Society, a film appreciation group that curates and screens various eccentric programs, all on 16mm film, a historically popular and accessible form of analog film. The Sprocket Society frequently makes historical callbacks in their programs. For instance, in the first half of the 20th century, the moviegoing experience was inseparable from serial films. These serials were continuous narratives split into short chapters, played at a theater weekly until completion. A typical Saturday matinee at the time would include a serial episode, often shown among other short items, along with a feature-length film. The Sprocket Society recreates this experience yearly, showing an entire serial on film over a few months, along with mystery classic movies to accompany them. I was fortunate enough to speak with Spencer Sundell, the lead projectionist at Grand Illusion, founder of the Sprocket Society, and creator of the Saturday Secret Matinees.

In a humble exhibit spanning only three rooms, the Wing Luke Museum brought to light the storied work of 20th century Japanese-American Seattle artists Kamekichi Tokita, Kenjiro Nomura, and Tukuichi Fujii. Although highly regarded in their time, their work has since fallen into relative obscurity. Their burgeoning careers were cut short and their lives shattered by the internment of Japanese-Americans during WWII, from which only Nomura recovered and rebuilt his artistic life. Although their work has reemerged in recent years, their stories remain ones of tragedy that will forever be incomplete. One cannot help but feel frustration at the injustice they faced, and the toll it took on their art. But, along with this lost potential, there is undoubtable beauty and historical significance that we must be grateful for. In a better world, each artist would have soared to greater heights, but in this one all we can do is appreciate what we are left with. 

After coming to the US during a major period of Japanese immigration, these three painters settled in Nihonmachi –or Japantown– during the peak of its artistic ethos. In this cultural microcosm, over 900 businesses operated, five Japanese newspapers were in print, and a vast world of theater, poetry, dance, and music flourished. Nomura and Tokita opened a sign-painting shop on the steep hillside of 6th Avenue, which grew from a small business to a studio and meeting place for local artists. Fujii also started a small business nearby, becoming a fish merchant with his family. The men would often meet one another on weekend sketching trips outside of Nihonmachi.

Eyes are always present in Hayv Kahraman’s work. The viewer is confronted as the walls of the Frye Art Gallery stare back at them: contorted figures with empty scleras and plants sprouting eyes as if they were fruits all gaze attentively at attendants of Kahraman’s exhibit Look Me in the Eyes. Kahraman’s work is heavily autobiographical, drawing from her experiences as an Iraqi refugee in Sweden and incorporating the isolation, dehumanization, and perpetual surveillance she endured as an immigrant. Look Me in the Eyes makes the viewer feel as Kahraman felt; watched, scrutinized, and standing opposite a wall of unfeeling onlookers. While one might assume this makes for an uncomfortable gallery experience, Kahraman’s undeniable artistry, sincere emotional honesty, and control over her themes formed an enrapturing exhibit.

Look Me in the Eyes sprawls across three rooms of the Frye’s gallery, walls lined with Kahraman’s portraits of distorted, blank-eyed women. These figures huddle together and grasp for branches pullulating with eyes and mouths, an attempt to reassemble themselves by claiming the irises and bright lips they lack. Her paintings are countered by large sculptures utilizing industrial materials like brick and metal beams. 

Death has never been more lighthearted or absurd than in Noël Coward’s comedy Blithe Spirit. Directed by Allison Narver, Seattle Rep’s production stays true to the “spirit” of the classic play, transforming darkness into light through humor. Despite being written in 1941, Blithe Spirit possesses a timeless appeal, transporting modern audiences into an old-fashioned, mystical, and outrageous world where their worries can be temporarily forgotten.

Blithe Spirit revolves around a supernatural love triangle. Novelist Charles Condomine (Arlando Smith) and his wife Ruth (Gin Hammond) invite the medium Madame Arcati (Anne Allgood) and their friends Dr. and Mrs. Bradman (Nate Tenenbaum and Sara Waisanen) to dinner. Seeking inspiration for his newest novel, Charles asks Madame Arcati to perform a séance. However, he gets more than he bargained for when Madame Arcati accidentally manifests the ghost of his late wife Elvira (Kirsten Potter). Charles must then contend with the complicated reality of having both Ruth and Elvira in the house. Meanwhile, Elvira, who is visible only to Charles, has her own plans for making him hers once more…Lead photo: Gin Hammond, Kirsten Potter, and Arlando Smith in Blithe Spirit (2024). Photo by Nate Watters.

A magnificent mess of great multitudes, The Dina Martina Christmas Show at ACT Theatre is a performance that perfectly encompasses the holiday season. Full of personality and unapologetic flair, ecstatic raconteur Dina Martina, accompanied by her talented pianist Chris Jeffries, puts on a colorful show full of impeccable humor that will knock your socks off. Her boisterous first segment is filled to the brim with personalized Christmas caroling and hilarious anecdotes, and her second echoes her appreciation for her local audience by honoring the history of Seattle and looking back on the beginnings of her career. From the very moment she bursts onto the stage, Dina Martina is sure to keep audiences captivated with her distinct and unforgettable charm for a night of holiday shenanigans.

Throughout the show, Dina Martina establishes her classic, sporadic persona that is especially relatable when facing the pandemonium of the Christmas agenda. Her loud songs paired with flashy costumes transformed her image, characterizing her as the belle of the ball and immediately grabbing the attention of the audience. The manner in which she hastily fiddles with ornaments, jingle bells, and other classic Christmas decorations while dancing freely on the stage enhances her frenzied energy that zaps the audiences with giddiness and joy as if they were on the dance floor themselves. While satisfying the spontaneity and volume of her character, I enjoyed how Dina Martina presented a myriad of layered plotlines without pressuring the audience to follow a mentally exhaustive story. Each of the components that compile the obscure yet engrossing details of her stories are not necessarily connected like the chapters of a book; rather, they sprout like individual nuggets of information that the audience can digest at an upbeat yet comfortable pace. Especially after a long week of 9 to 5 work days, Dina Martina’s lighthearted and humorous stories are refreshing and easy to listen to. In her scattered recollections of holiday seasons past, she also provokes a reemergence of contagious holiday cheer. With comedy, she energizes her listeners like a bolt of lightning and powers the triumphant sound of hearty laughs that ring constant throughout the night. The evening I attended, the December 13 show, was particularly powerful; I’ve attended many Dina Martina performances before but cannot recall the last instance I witnessed and interacted with such a passionate and united crowd. The liveliness of the show, however, must also be accredited to the set and lighting design. I felt like a welcomed guest when faced with the coziness of an intricately crafted living room filled with garlands, wreaths, and illuminated family photos. The Christmas tree was a bold presence in the room, and it protected the perfectly-placed presents that symbolized the gifts of entertainment, memories, and love that would reveal themselves as the night progressed. Each and every one of these elements electrified the venue with elevated spirits and mirrored the vibrancy of Dina Martina’s performance. The lighting design extended the divine visual ambience and aesthetics of the set; fast-moving golden spotlights followed Martina as she performed her musical pieces, projected sprinkling snowflakes framed her as she recalled memories from her winters, and a periwinkle spotlight set the sentimental tone for the second act. These technical elements matched the vitality of Dina Martina’s character without overwhelming her stage presence, perfecting a balance that is often difficult to obtain with dynamic stand-up performances.Dina Martina in The Dina Martina Christmas Show. Photo by Giao Nguyen.

Having grown up Catholic, the Nativity story always surrounded me. Whether it be through slowly reading the Gospel verses in our advent calendar, picture books with sheep smiling joyfully at a cartoon baby Jesus, or simply seeing the Nativity decorations around my house, the story became a routine part of my holiday season. Over time, it slowly lost its magic for me. It simply seemed ordinary; that is, until I saw Intiman Theatre’s reimagined production of  Black Nativity. This song-play by Langston Hughes combines touching poetry, enthralling dance, and powerful gospel renditions of familiar Christmas carols to bring the Christmas story to life and imbue each audience member with true Christmas spirit.  The cast of Black Nativity. Photo by Joe Moore.

When my parents and I first got to Broadway Performance Hall, located in the Fine Arts Building of Seattle Central College, I was meant by a wave of warmth. “Funky Little Drummer Boy” by Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings played as the ticket sales-woman wished my family and I happy holidays and pointed us towards the cozy waiting room. From there, we entered the intimate theater, where even from the back row, I could clearly see the intricate panels lining the back of the stage. The panels gave the illusion of glowing frames of stained glass, a vibrant mosaic coming together to create a nativity scene. Soon, the house lights began to dim. While I was prepared for beautiful singing and poetry, what first struck me was the dancing included throughout the show. At the start of the show, a group of dancers appeared on stage in a theater of near silence. As they began a series of mesmerizing movements, sounds of their steps echoed into the audience, creating an intimate and energized atmosphere. Similarly, the towering shadows of the dancers were cast onto the walls by the soft lighting, surrounding the audience in the movement and drawing everyone closer.