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Content TEATRO CHICANO: THE LOS ANGELES EXPERIENCE
1979-1980
by
Lora Kaye Sauceda
A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(Communi cation/Drama)
December 1982
UMI Number: DP22938
All rights reserved
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789 East Eisenhower Parkway
P.O. Box 1346
Ann Arbor, Ml 4 8 1 0 6 -1 3 4 6
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
T H E GRADUATE SCHOOL
UN IVER SITY PARK
LOS ANGELES. CA LIFO R N IA BO007
This dissertation, w ritten by
.............L0RA KAYE .SAUCEDA..............
under the direction of h.oj-... Dissertation Com
m ittee, and approved by a ll its members, has
been presented to and accepted by T h e G raduate
School, in p a rtia l fu lfillm e n t of requirements of
the degree of
D O C T O R O F P H I L O S O P H Y
si ( _ t
Dean
November 17, 1982
D a te................ .
D ISSE R T ^m O iyC O M M IT T E E
/ -v Chairman
dl O’ v x j j v s ..
...p........... A-...
.............
r
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The writer wishes to acknowledge the assistance and cooperation
of my dissertation committee:
Professor Richard Toscan, Chairman
Professor Janet Bolton
Professor Ed Kaufman
Appreciation is also extended to Dr. Jorge Huerta.
This study is dedicated in love and caring to my husband
James Steven Sauceda, Ph.D., with all wishes for his happiness.
ii
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS............................................... ii
Chapter
I. INTRODUCTION........................................... 1
Statement of the Problem............................. 2
Significance of the Problem........................... 4
Definition of Terms................................... 4
Limitations of the S t u d y ...................... 14
Review of the Literature............................. 15
Methodology................................................26
Preview of Following Chapters ......................... .28
II. THE HISTORICAL PRESENCE OF EL TEATRO CHICANO.......... 33
Introduction......................................... 33
Part I: Historical Antecedents of Teatro.............. 33
Part II: Evolution of Three Los Angeles Teatros .... 53
III. ANALYSIS OF THE ARTIFACTS OF THREE
LOS ANGELES TEATROS................................... 87
Introduction ........ ........... 87
Script: "Beto’s Dream"............................... 89
Performance: "Beto's Dream" ......................... 105
Script; "The Silver Dollar" ......................... 115
Performance: "The Silver Dollar" ..................... 131
Script: "The Illegal Atom"........................... 140
Performance: "The Illegal Atom" ..................... 161
Script: "Justice for Hall" ........................ 167
Performance: "Justice for Hall" ..................... 187
Script: "Angel Death" ............................... 195
Performance: "Angel Death" ........................... 212
Script: "The Story of the Shy Man"................... 221
Performance: "The Story of the Shy M a n " ............ 241
IV. TEATRO CHICANO VIS X VIS MAINSTREAM AMERICAN
AND WORLD THEATER..................................... 253
V. SUMMARY, CONCLUSIONS, AND SUGGESTIONS
FOR FURTHER RESEARCH................................. 272
Summary ....................................... 272
Conclusions...................... 273
Suggestions for Further Research ..................... 283
BIBLIOGRAPHY.................................................... 289
iii
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
Susan Langer has forcefully argued that in theater "a virtual
human destiny is presented."'*' ("Virtual" is a term Langer has borrowed
from physics establishing that an object or image has no material
existence, but is in fact a perceptual illusion. A common example
is a mirror image in which a reflected face appears not only to be
real itself but also placed in real dimensional space, when of course
2
the face exists only in virtual space.)
Langer*s point is that the illusion of art liberates our per
ception to settle on essences felt inside ourselves. In fact Langer
3
defines art as "the creation of forms symbolic of human feeling."
Returning specifically to drama as human destiny on stage, one can
therefore see theater as of elemental importance as an art form, for
it directly concerns the lives of people in action.
So whenever a new form of theater emerges, one that somehow
rearranges the artifice of presenting human destiny before an audience,
it is important to study for it adds a different angle, a fresh per
spective to our ability to view ourselves as a whole and as individuals,
We are fortunate in Los Angeles to have such a theatrical
movement present. For over a decade Teatro Chicano has been actively
presenting original works that explore general human feeling through
the specific lens of ethnicity. Because Los Angeles contains the
1
nation's largest concentration of Chicapos and Mexicans, it provides
the researcher a fertile locale for investigation and analysis of the
Teatro experience.
Unfortunately, up to the present time Teatros have remained an
almost undocumented dramatic phenomenon, completely unrecognized by
our nation's media and press, and possibly still the best-kept secret
in Los Angeles. The "invisible minority" remains invisible even now,
though Teatro calls out for acknowledgment and acceptance.
Statement of the Problem
The purpose of this study is fourfold:
1. To define and assess the contemporary urban phenomenon known as
Teatro Chicano as it manifests itself in the Greater Los Angeles
area.
The major elements that will be taken into account in formulat
ing a comprehensive definition include: the tracing of Teatro's
historical antecedents in general (including an evaluation of the
"Acto" and the ritual basis of Hispanic theater), as well as the
compilation of specific histories of individual Teatro troupes
presently in Los Angeles; production values of today’s Teatros;
aesthetics of performance and thematic dimensions (including
ethnopolitical, philosophical, and poetic) found in Teatro Chicano.
2. The analysis and evaluation of scripts representative of the body
of literature produced by Los Angeles Teatros.
3. The analysis and evaluation of performers, audience, and physical
setting typically found at Teatro events.
2
4. The analysis and evaluation of the impact Teatro has upon its
audience.
To accomplish the above, the questions following need to be
answered:
a. What is Chicano Teatro?
b. What are the social, political, and theatrical precursors of
Los Angeles Teatros?
c. Of what specific elements and production factors are the
Teatros' performances comprised?
d. What are the demographics of the audience?
e. What is the most appropriate criteria for aesthetic appraisal
of Teatro scripts and performances?
f. As a genre and as a movement, how is the output of these
Teatros to be evaluated, both singly and collectively?
In sum (paraphrasing Johann Von Goethe's famous tripartite
criteria for appraisal):
(1) What are the artists/writers trying to do?
(2) How well do they achieve their purposes? (What
elements are used to effect the purpose?)
(3) Was the result worth the effort?
g. What is the state of the art at present?
h. What prospects for future growth and impact do the Los Angeles
Teatros have?
3
Significance of the Problem
In addition to the general significance of theater discussed
in the Introduction, Teatro Chicano warrants study for other compelling
reasons as well.
First, Hispanics (as the nation's fastest-growing minority)
4
may actually become America's dominant minority before 1985. Since
1970 the number of Hispanics in the United States has increased by
one-third to more than 12 million.^ About one-third of that total
(excluding illegal aliens, whose number, needless to say, is formid
able) live in California. And most of California's Hispanics live in
or near Los Angeles, forming about 30 percent of our city's total
populatxon.
Thus Chicanos make a cultural and numerical impact on one of
America's largest cities that is significant and most worthy of study.
Second, while this study seeks to discover all of the identi
fying characteristics of Teatro Chicano, one important aspect is
obvious: it is a bilingual form of theater, and this unique situation
warrants study.
Third and last, Teatro Chicano may contain the seeds for a
new ethnic dimension in American Theater, a prospect which deserves
serious investigation (for American drama could surely benefit from
the Chicano point of view, as well as from its verve and vitality).
Definition of Terms
Several key terms require definition before we proceed any
further, as they form the context for the entire study: the terms
4
Chicano, Mexican American, and the most difficult and involved concept
of ethnicity.
Mexican American" and "Chicano"
There is a major problem one encounters when discussing the
term Mexican American: people often assume the term is somehow an
equivalent of terms such as Irish American, Black American, Italian
American, etc. That is, one might think that Mexican American simply
reflects an historical situation wherein a foreign group has acquired
American citizenship through traditional procedures existing in
United States immigration law.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. There are, in fact,
at least four reasons why the term Mexican American conveys qualita
tively different meanings than any other "hyphenate*’ American group.
First, in no other case (Irish, Black, Italian, etc.) has the
home country been literally conquered through war by the United States,
and, as a result, had American citizenship initially conferred upon
the foreign group as part of a Treaty of Peace. Yet this is precisely
the origin of the term Mexican American (which technically was created
on February 2,1848 by the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo).
Hence from its very inception over 150 years ago, there is a
legacy of Mexican humiliation associated with the term Mexican Ameri
can. This humiliation (of losing the war) was compounded, moreover,
by the knowledge that the war itself, as Abraham Lincoln and Henry Clay
powerfully stated, was nothing but a premeditated and cold-blooded
landgrab by the United States— that is to say, an unconstitutional war7
5
President Polk's aggressive military bid for land was very
successful: fully one-half of Mexican territory (California, Arizona,
New Mexico, Texas, parts of Utah and Nevada) was acquired as a result
g
of Polk's trumped-up war. Not surprisingly, the "new" American
citizens of Mexican ancestry were, after the war ended, categorically
denied almost all rights accorded to other citizens; in particular,
the right to own personal property was disavowed. Thus it happened
that all Mexican land grants were systematically reclaimed by unfair
and illegal retroactive taxes (instituted by the United States Legis
lature) .9
The second reason "Mexican American" connotes uniqueness is
because no other significant foreign group retains such close proxim
ity to its mother country; in many instances the border can be reached
by automobile in just a few hours. Third, only the Mexican American
has a continual influx of nationals entering America (as well as con
tinual access to home radio broadcasts and other media).
Because of the three situations above, the term Mexican
American does not imply any severe physical or psychological break
with ancestral heritage. While the Irish, Black, and Italian American
groups both physically and psychologically left one home for another,
the Mexican was already here; indeed, he had occupied this land for
centuries before his birthright was stolen by military invasion.
Last, no other group (save for the Mexican American) has ever
suffered a massive United States repatriation policy; in the 1950s
American citizens of Mexican ancestry, as well as Mexican nationals,
L
6
were literally rounded up like cattle and deported to their "native"
i j 10
land.
The implications of these four unique aspects, imbedded within
the term Mexican American, are farreaching. They help explain the
complex and often confusing range of identification the term engenders
today. Penalosa, a sociologist who has specifically studied this
term's modern usage, believes that those identifying themselves as
Mexican Americans "are those for whom being of Mexican ancestry is
something of which they are constantly conscious and which looms im
portantly as part of their self-conception. Their Mexican descent
may constitute for them a positive value, a negative value, or more
generally an ambiguous blend of the two."^
Thus, for a second generation of Hispanics living in the
United States, "Mexican American" as a self-defining label may inspire
pride, validating a belief in, and a pursuit of, the American Dream.
It is important to remember that 'the second-generation Hispanic fought
for America in World War II and also fought to be accepted into the
American mainstream.
Yet for a third-generation Hispanic, "Mexican American" is
often viewed as a derogatory label, an ironic reminder of second-class
citizenship, an "Uncle Tom" status. The third generation has wit
nessed Korea and Vietnam abroad and riots at home, as well as the
continued political and social subservience of "Mexicans" within
American society. Hence, the overwhelming preference of third-
generation Hispanics is Chicano as a self-defining label.
7
In some ways the term Chicano is even more confusing and mis
understood than Mexican American. To begin with, the origin of the
term is open to considerable debate. For example, some maintain that
the word can actually be traced all the way back to the 16th century,
specifically thought to be derived from the Nahutal pronunciation of
"Mexicano" ("Me-shi-can-noh").
Though it is possible that the word dates back to such an
early period, it still remains conjecture. We do know for certain,
however, that "Chicano" first appeared in print in the mid-twentieth
century. This was in a sketch of fiction entitled "El Hoyo," pub-
13
lished in 1947. But this (documented) inauguration of the term
does not establish any meaningful usage. For at the time of "El Hoyo,"
14
Chicano was apparently only "a short way of saying Mexicano."
One plausible theory is that the term is derived from the
migration of Mexicans (who were living in the province of Chihuahua)
into Texas. The Texans were known as "Texcanos," and the migrant
group decided to retain "Chi" from the homeland, thus creating
"Chi-cano.
Irrespective of the term's origin, I maintain that Chicano is
clearly preferable over the term Mexican American when one is studying
Teatro. There are several reasons for this preference.
One, Chicano is overwhelmingly the label of self-definition
used throughout the Southwest by practitioners of Teatro. Teatro has,
in fact, been officially designated since its inception as "Teatro
Chicano.
Two, the term is actually self-consciously ethnic. As Meier
8
and Rivera establish in The Chicano: A History of Mexican Americans,
"Chicano [carries] overtones of ethnic nationalism";^ Mexican American
certainly does not.
Penalosa, who places the term Mexican American in the "middle"
of an ethnicity continuum, locates Chicano "at the other end of the
X8
continuum" -- which is to say it connotes an extremely committed,
unambiguous, ethnic identification. Thus according to Penalosa, those
who label themselves Chicano "are those who are not only acutely aware
of their Mexican identity and descent but are committed to work ac-
19
tively for the betterment of their people" (i.e., political activ
ists) .
Given the above connotations of Chicano, it is understandable
that the third-generation Hispanic prefers it to Mexican American.
Second-generation Hispanics, on the other hand, often find the label
Chicano degrading, crude, and indicative of either gang affiliations
or leftist politics.
The point to be made for this study is that "Chicano" consti
tutes the most apt nomenclature in regards to Teatro; the term also
offers insight into the goals and point of view of the Teatro movement
itseif.
Before moving on, there remains one more term to be defined:
ethnicity. The concept of ethnicity is crucial to the understanding
of Teatro Chicane, as Teatro often attempts to distinguish itself
20
ethnically from other American groups. Therefore we need to look
closely at this complex term.
9
The Entangled Definitions
of Ethnicity
In the inaugural issue of Ethnicity, a scholarly journal
solely committed to the exploration and documentation of the concept
of ethnicity, an important article appeared. It was "Definitions of
21
Ethnicity" by Wsevolod W. Isajxw, and it was an attempt to put into
perspective all current interpretations of the term.
Isajiw compiled and analyzed some 65 sociological and anthro
pological studies in order to determine the most cogent definition
available regarding ethnicity. The surprise discovery that Isajiw
made, however, was that about four-fifths of all these studies pro-
22
vided no explicit definition of ethnicity at all. He learned that
researchers have traditionally used the term ethnicity with little
understanding and without meaningful justification.
Five years after Isajiw's article was published, Philip
Gleason, in "Confusion Compounded: The Melting Pot in the 1960's
23
and 1970's," verified that this sad situation had not changed. He
stated the problem this way: "My complaint is not that the reality is
complex and elusive; nor is it that terms like melting pot, pluralism
and ethnicity are ambiguous. My complaint rather is that these am—
24
biguous terms are handled as though they had one univocal meaning."
In one of the first studies attempting to specifically define
the ethnicity of the Chicano, Edward Casavantes echoes the findings of
Isajiw and Gleason. For Casavantes begins his analysis with the admis
sion that any discussion of ethnicity is "handicapped because of the
confusion about what it is that makes a person a member of an ethnic
H25
group."
10
Based upon my own review and research of the wide range of
definitions available, I agree most completely with the position
articulated in "Chicano/a Ethnicity: A Concept in Search of a Con-
26
tent." This article, by James Steven Sauceda (Ph.D.), is the most
recent to be published on the subject; it is also one for which Max
Weber's definition, as well as my own formulations, provided elemental
input.
The definition adopted in the above article differs signifi
cantly from the traditional interpretations of ethnicity. Stated
concisely, it avers that the most essential prerequisite for Chicano
ethnic membership is "one's psychological identification with, and
subjective belief of acceptance into, the presumed identity of the
27
group." This position postulates that instead of objective require
ments for ethnic membership, i.e., common culture, common language,
common race, common ancestral origin, etc., the actual locus of
Chicano ethnicity rests on subjective criteria--specifically, the
psychological constructs of identification and acceptance.
Max Weber, I believe, correctly places ethnicity within the
realm of the mind when he stated:
Ethnic membership . . . differs from the kinship group precisely
by being a presumed identity, not a group with concrete social
action, like the latter. In our sense ethnic membership does
not constitute a group; it only facilitates group formation of
any kind, particularly in the political sphere . . . it is pri
marily the political community, no matter how artifically
organized, that inspires the belief in common ethnicity.28
Weber's definition offers a helpful and practical view of
ethnicity (vis a vis Teatro) for two reasons. First, it frees Chicano
ethnic membership from all objective requirements, such as common
11
ancestry and common language. The fact is, all members of a Teatro
29
often do not have ancestral backgrounds in common. Also, common
language (referring to Spanish) is seldom spoken fluently by all
30
members of a Teatro.
Second, Weber establishes that the political community is the
real source of ethnic inspiration, and this finds verification in the
messages and themes found in Teatro obras and actos.
What Weber is asserting is that ethnicity is a belief system,
not a physical reality (due to traceable objective criteria), but
rather a philosophic point of view. It follows, then, that the
political community most often establishes the observable contours
of an ethnic group. This does not imply, necessarily, that all ethnic
consciousness is trumped up by jargonizers wishing only to mobilize a
population into political action (though this does occur). It gen
erally means that a group of people with political sensitivity often
attempts to discover mutual pride in the cultural contributions
(intellectual as well as artistic) of its more-or-less common ancestry.
The result can be a more humane and astute thrust for social action.
Chicano ethnicity is then basically a metaphysical reality,
and therefore a physical illusion. Those looking to find a "group"
will search in vain; those wishing to quantify Chicano/a traits and
behaviors will only discover endless diversity, not a homogeneous
personality. It must be remembered that all the alleged ethnic
attributes of common culture, religion, etc. are but possible symptoms
or badges of ethnicity, not ethnicity itself. Such commonalities may
foster a feeling of community (often called ethnic), but without the
12
psychological identification and belief of acceptance into the presumed
identity of the group, common culture, religion, etc. are powerless to
establish ethnicity. Whereas, if one does have the identification and
belief of acceptance into the presumed identity of the group, that
person does not need to have a common ancestry or religion etc. to
gain ethnic membership.
I draw support for my subjective definition of ethnicity from
Luis Valdez's exciting play Zoot Suit. In the play certain assump
tions regarding Chicano/a ethnicity are tested, and even though the
referents of the play are in the early 1940s, the questions also apply
to the 1980s. One of the paehucos on trial in the Sleepy Lagoon case,
as dramatized by Valdez, is unique. Though he shares in all the per
sonality behaviors of his "homeboys” in the barrio of East Los Angeles
(i.e., style of dress, speech, walk, etc.), he still stands out. The
reason is that this pachuco is "Anglo" or "White," and not of Mexican
ancestry at all.
Valdez has the character first subjected to ridicule, only to
make the point that being "Anglo" is irrelevant to his also being
Chicano. He is accepted into the group as a "real" Chicano not because
of his similar heritage, but because he has fully identified with and
felt accepted into the presumed identity of the group.
Another example confirming the idea that Chicano/a ethnicity
is psychological was found recently in the Los Angeles Times. In an
article written by Gerald Has lam, the career of one Amado Muro was
explored. Muro, who died in 1971, was considered by many to be "the
31
funniest, brightest, most moving, accomplished and prolific" of
13
modem Chicano writers. Surprisingly, the point of Has lam*s article
was that "there was no Muro: there never had been." The semi-educated
young Chicano turned out to have been Chester Seltzer, a middle-aged
Anglo journalist who had adopted his wife's maiden name (Amada Muro)
32 33
as a nom de plume. Haslam then dubs Seltzer an "honorary Chicano,"
though according to my definition he is a bona fide Chicano like
Valdez's character--or like non-Mexican American members performing in
Teatros.
Limitations of the Study
The selection of specific Teatros chosen for study must satisfy
the following requirements:
1. Their geographic site should be limited to an area that:
a. Hasj for a significant number of years, sustained a variety
of Teatro productions. (Hence, documentation of the pro
gression of production values and different dramaturgical
approaches can be adequately made.)
b. The geographical location should have the largest popula
tion of Chicanos in the country, thus insuring the maximum
interaction of Teatro with its target audience.
c. The site should presently contain at least three Teatro
troupes that have written and fully staged their own
original works. (By using three different Teatros it is
believed an accurate cross section of the phenomenon of
Teatro Chicano can be documented. Also, by studying only
original scripts, a clearer view into the philosophy and
range of ideas of each Teatro can be achieved.)
14
2. Because Teatros began to appear in urban areas in 1969, the study
should focus on troupes that have been in operation from as near
the beginning as possible. (Therefore focusing on the works
appearing in 1979-1980 would approximately reflect the culmi
nation of a first full decade of experience and experimentation
of Teatro Chicano in America.)
We are fortunate that Los Angeles satisfies all requirements.
Therefore this study concentrates on three Los Angeles based Teatro
34 35 3
troupes: Teatro Urbano, Teatro A La Brava, and Teatro Primavera.
The research is not designed to be an all-encompassing analysis of
every acto or performance of these three Teatros; rather the study
will select two key actos from each group. From Teatro Urbano:
"Beto's Dream" and "The Silver Dollar"; from Teatro A La Brava:
"Justice For Hall" and "The Illegal Atom"; from Teatro Primavera:
"Angel Death” and "The Story of the Shy Man."
Review of the Literature
The most monumental oversight in American scholarship must be
the conspicuous absence of relevant studies concerning the Mexican
American or Chicano experience. In 1981, considering the fact that
now one and one-quarter centuries have passed with this large group
living as bona fide American citizens, one would expect or hope that
a higher quality and quantity of research were available. It is not.
In fact, even in the last forty years not much of substance has been
compiled on the Chicano. Sadly enough, to find even a semblance of
data on this group one must speak primarily about the last decade,
from 1970 forward.
15
There are some key articles written before 1970 that effec
tively shed light on the development of Teatro Chicano. Ramparts of
July 1966 published "El Teatro Campesino," written by that group's
founder, director, and principal actor at the time, Luis Miguel Valdez.
In the summer of 1967 Beth Bagby's article "El Teatro Campesino:
Interview with Luis Valdez" appeared in the Tulane Drama Review.
Also, a short article in July 1967 called "New Grapes" found its way
into Newsweek.
Fortunately, the Los Angeles Times reviewed some early per
formances of Valdez's troupe. There is "El Teatro Campesino at Los
Angeles City College (LACC) by Dan Sullivan, March 31 of 1969, and
Sullivan's "Chicano Group at Inner City Cultural Center (ICCC)" for the
Los Angeles Times. September 27, 1969. Still these are the exceptions,
for little else was written during this time.
Stan Steiner's La Raza (1970) ambitiously inaugurates the
decade with a comprehensive account of the Mexican American experience.
It is pleasantly surprising that Steiner's perception was so keen as
to provide one of the first in-depth looks into the origin and goals
of El Teatro Campesino, in his chapter entitled "Viva La Cucarachal"
/
Manuel Servin's An Awakened Minority: The Mexican Americans (1970) is
gauged to explore the Chicano from about 1900-1965. Only the book's
final chapter deals with 1970, but no mention of Teatro is offered.
A concise look at the value and style of Valdez's work in
September of 1970 was presented in "El Teatro Campesino: Keeping the
Revolution on Stage," written by Sylvie Drake for Performing Arts.
Sullivan continued the chronicle in the Los Angeles Times. October 27,
16
1970, in ME1 Teatro Campesino in Halloween Program."
Several valuable articles on Teatro did appear the following
year. "El Teatro Campesino, its Beginnings," written by its founder,
Luis Valdez, appeared in The Chicanos: Mexican American Voices (1971),
edited by Ed Ludwig and James Santibanez. "The Brown Revolution"
appears in Documents for Drama and Revolution by Bernard F. Dukore
(1971), who associates Teatro with earlier militant theater groups in
America. Another important foundation article is Jorge Huerta's
"Chicano Teatro: A Background," appearing in Aztlan: The Chicano
Journal of the Social Sciences and the Arts (Fall 1971). The rare
journal El Teatro, February 1971, is one of the first "in house" pub
lications of Chicanos writing about Teatro.
As far as extant bibliographies on the subject go, probably
the single most comprehensive one is Jorge A. Huerta's A Bibliography
of Chicano and Mexican Dance, Drama and Music (1971) . When consulting
any bibliography on Teatro, however, one must always realize that "el
Teatro" as a label may include all South American Theater movements,
whereas "el Teatro Chicano" refers specially to experiences in the
United States. But even here the line between Mexican, Mexican-
American, Spanish-American, or Latino-living-in-the United States is
not easily drawn. Also, El Teatro Campesino is often considered as
synonymous with el Teatro Chicano. Taking these potential difficulties
into consideration, the researcher must make certain only urban Teatro
Chicano per se is the umbrella subject under study in a particular work
cited in a bibliography.
Ross Cueller's Teatro Chicano: An Annotated Bibliography
17
(1976) further illustrates this dilemma. Herein Ms. Cuellar admits her
debt to Jorge Huerta's bibliography, but even her attempt to produce a
bibliography dealing exclusively with Chicano Teatro fails to exclude
books dealing with theater in general or theater prior to formations of
el Teatro Chicano.
Arguably, the single most important publication ever to appear
on the subject is Actos; El Teatro Campesino. by Luis Valdez. This
book was printed on the premises of El Teatro Campesino's theater
complex at San Juan Bautista, on its own press, "Cucaracha Publica
tions," 1971. The book is significant for several reasons: One, it
is the first compilation of Teatro Chicano actos, and, in fact, the
work represented in its pages spans the entire length of Teatro at that
time, from 1965-1971; second, this volume of 158 pages includes the
most direct dramaturgical statements on Teatro Chicano that Valdez
had ever made; third, it reprints photographs of Campesino productions,
which aids in visualizing the tradition from which today's Teatro has
emerged.
In 1972 The Chicanos: A History of Mexican Americans by
Matt S. Meier and Feliciano Rivera was published, but Teatro is not
included in its pages. The same is true of Pain and Promise: The
Chicano Today, a series of essays edited by Edward Simmen (1972).
A far more fruitful year for research in this area was 1973.
The journal Chicano Theatre appeared March 1973, as did David Copelin's
article "Chicano Theatre: El Festival de los Teatros Chicanos" in
The Drama Review (December 1973). Philip D. Ortego's "The Chicano
Renaissance" in Introduction to Chicano Studies (1973) again provides
18
another in-house summary (albeit a short one) of the qualities of
el Teatro Chicano, which may be especially useful as a contrast to the
Anglo viewpoint of Copelin's article.
Jorge Huerta's study El Teatro de la Esperanza: An Anthology
of Chicano Drama (1973) is a case study model of Chicano Teatro in that
it compiles historical data on one group: El Teatro de la Esperanza.
Huerta's "Concerning Teatro Chicano" in the Latin American Theatre
Review (Spring 1973) is also helpful. This year (1973) also produced
books on the Chicano that would be considered comprehensive, save for
their total omission of Teatro Chicano. A good example is Somos Chi
canos: Strangers in Our Own Land, by David Gomez.
The Los Angeles Times continued to provide reports on Teatro
Chicano in 1973. Dan Sullivan's "Called on the Carpet by a Theater
Guru" appeared in the Calendar Section, September 2, 1973, as did
Sylvie Drake's article "Watching El Teatro Campesino Grow," October 1,
1973. Sullivan’s "For El Teatro, Home Is Where the Heart Is" was
printed in the Los Angeles Times. November 11, 1973.
One of the most consistent contributors to Teatro Chicano,
Jorge Huerta, wrote an article in the spring of 1973 entitled "Concern
ing Teatro Chicano," for the Latin American Theatre Review.
In 1974, though books on the Chicano were evident, nothing
elemental was added for Teatro Chicano. Chicano Power: The Emergence
of Mexican America by Tony Castro covers the full range of the Chicano
movement, except for Teatro. The same situation can be seen in the
four hundred page thematic issue on "Politics and the Chicano" in
Aztlan: Chicano Journal of the Social Sciences and the Arts. Either
19
Teatro is not thought of as qualifying as political theater, or it is
not included because more pressing political issues needed to be ad
dressed .
The year 1975 saw a small gain for Teatro in print, for actos
seldom reach publication. Chicano Voices. edited by Carlota Cardenas
de Dwyer, offered a forum for Chicano playwrights. Also in this year
an important in-house publication became available. It was Platicas
del Sixth Festival de Teatros Chicanos en San Antonio, sponsored by
El Teatro Nacional de Aztlan (TENAZ), an organizational confederacy
uniting Teatros across the United States which will be discussed in
Chapter II. Platicas presented an article on "The Evolution of TENAZ"
and the "Difference between Chicano and Traditional Theatre."
A healthy review of Teatro up until 1976 may be found in
Nicolas Kassello1s "Notes on Chicano Theatre: The Present State of
the Art," published in Tejidos. spring 1976. It is important to note
that a book called Mexican American: Movements and Leaders (1976) by
Carlos Larralde fails to view Teatro Chicano as a "movement," or any
of its playwrights as "leaders." This epitomizes the lack of attention
this area of study has usually suffered (even by authors dedicated to
exploring and expressing the spectrum of Chicano presence in America) .
It took until 1977 before the majority segment of the Chicano
population received any study. I am referring to its female members,
known as Cbicanas. This is significant, for while Chicana women pre
sumably have contributed to Teatro (and are certainly important members
of all the Los Angeles Teatros under study), nothing chronicling their
participation in Teatro seems to exist. Unfortunately, Essays on
20
La Mujer, edited by Rosaura Sanchez and Rosa Martinez Cruz, while
solely spotlighting the facets of La Chicana, fails to include a single
essay on Chicanas in Teatro. Once again, the scarcity of material on
Teatro exists even within the already highly circumscribed publication
on the Chicano.
An interesting contribution to the study of Teatro (albeit
indirect) also appeared in 1977. It is a report prepared by the Com
mission on Civil Rights, called Window Dressing on the Set: Women and
Minorities in Television. The volume is useful because it documents
and isolates stereotypes that the media projects regarding Chicanos;
certainly Teatro is highly sensitive to such stereotypes.
A recent and important book on the subject is Nuevos Pasos:
Chicano and Puerto Rican Drama, edited by Nicolas Kassellos and Jorge
Huerta (1979). It features the works of Chicanos almost fifteen years
since Valdez's first acto.
However, the most current full-length book on our topic is
Chicano Theater: Themes and Forms. 1982, by, not surprisingly, Jorge
Huerta. In this book Professor Huerta presents a short history of the
development of Chicano Theater since the late 1960s. He also discusses
the historical antecedents of Chicano Theater and highlights the con
tributions of Luis Valdez and El Teatro Campesino. Also indispensable
for keeping current on Chicano Theatre and Chicano literature, respec
tively, are: the newsletters TENAZ Talks Teatro. again by Jorge
Huerta(until recently the artistic coordinator of El Teatro Nacional
de Aztlan), produced by the Drama Department of the University of
California at La Jolla, and Carta Abierta. edited by Juan Rodriguez,
21
Chicano Studies Department, University of California at Berkeley.
One can see that the subject area is not without research,
though it is highly limited. The main difficulties lie in the incon
sistent flow of material and in the predominance of focus on El Teatro
Campesino (with almost no documentation on any other Teatros). I will
now move from the general review of the literature to the specific
review of dissertations.
A problem exists in reviewing the body of dissertations relating;
to the Los Angeles Teatro. Many flirt with the subject on a peripheral
level; none, however, hit right on target. On March 22, 1978, a
computer-assisted search was conducted using the following computer
descriptors:
1 3913 Theater 13 17354 Political
2 995 Theatre 14 336 Minority
3 69 Teatro 15 568 Ethnic
4 4371 1-3/+ 16 50 4*(12+13+14+15)
5 28 Third World 17 128 Working Class
6 0 Urbano 18 0 4*17
7 72 Chicano 19 328 Mexican-American
8 6 Campesino 20 0 10*4
9 106 5-8/+ 21 12 Latino
10 0 4*9 22 82 Documentary
11 0 Agitprop 23 68 Dissent
12 354 Revolutionary 24 8 (1+2+3) *22+23)
The reader's attention should be drawn to items 3, 7, and 19
in the above computer printout. These three particular items represent
collectively all the dissertations whose focus could potentially have
bearing upon ray topic. Of the total number of dissertation titles
scanned by the computer, only seven are of limited cross-referent
value to the study at hand. It is partially owing to this fact that
22
the ethnopolitical theater movement which provides the impetus of this
study, Teatro Chicano, is herein explored as a specific model of
Politi-cartoon Theater with its own unique aims, achievements, and
limitations.
Robin Belinda Endres wrote her dissertation at York University
(Canada) in 1976, entitling the work Plays and Politics: An Analysis
of Various Models of Twentieth Century Political Theatre and providing
us with "a demonstration of a variety of ways in which a given movement
of political theatre can be related to the social conditions in which
37
it existed." She evaluated different movements in terms of their
political ideology, but she made no mention of Chicano Theater as such
a movement. What she did do, however, was relate various types of
American guerrilla street theater to various political currents which
surrounded and propelled them; she also explored the relationship of
various people’s theater groups (such as El Teatro Campesino) to their
audiences.
Paul Dexter Lion in A Critical Study of the Origins and Charac
teristics of Documentary Theater of Dissent in the United States (Diss.
University of Southern California, 1975) explored "dramatic works which
expose relatively recent signal cases of alleged evils committed by
38
institutions and representatives of the state"; he analyzed the plays
and the genre "according to theme/purpose, documentation, style, form
39
and structure, plot, characters, language and stage effects." In
the sense that Lion’s study focused on the demythologizing/remyth-
ologizing power of documentary theater in its attempt to "reawaken
awe, gratitude, and rapture about ourselves, and to eliminate fear,
23
worship, reverence, and insatiability directed toward other people and
40
things,'1 Lion's study is a useful tool for the researcher; however,
it does not discuss Teatro Chicano.
The only pertinent study on Teatro per se is Jorge Huerta's
1974 dissertation, done at the University of California at Santa
Barbara: The Evolution of Chicano Theater. Though this study is an
important one for its foundational research and documentation of Teatro
its scope is too general (as well as too specific) to be of much help
in this present project: too general because it seeks to trace,
literally, the evolution of today's Teatro from its roots in meso-
American, Spanish, and Mexican rituals and theater, and too specific
in that it focuses on two troupes, El Teatro Campesino and El Teatro
de la Esperanza (the latter based on Santa Barbara).
However, Huerta's study effectively discusses Brechtian influ
ences manifested in the style of presentation of El Teatro de la
Esperanza, which began as a Chicano student group at the University of
California at Santa Barbara. Of special interest is Huerta's commen
tary on this Teatro's relationship to its audience, plus the evolution
of various sociopolitical scenarios from preliminary investigation up
through collective scripting of documentary drama coordinated with
song and narration. Therefore it is the scope of Huerta's treatment
of one of California's Teatros which provides an effective and workable
pattern for the researcher in her Los Angeles based study.
The only other near-target source that even parenthetically
mentions Teatro (Valdez's) is Claudio Vicentini's 1976 dissertation
entitled The American Political Theatre of the Sixties. Political
24
theater is defined as "theatre specifically produced as a weapon to be
used in the struggle carried on by a political party, organization or
41
movement." This work would provide a helpful contemporary framework
in which to view Chicano Theater as a specific offshoot of the 1960s'
brand of American political theater, to which the Campesino belongs.
From the perspective of this researcher, the literature becomes
diffuse in focus from this point on. Mention may be made of Clyde Gene
Sumpter's 1970 dissertation from the University of Kansas entitled
Militating for Change: The Black Revolutionary Theatre Movement in the
United States, in which Sumpter discusses in depth the attempts made
42
"to replace the white aesthetic with a truly Black aesthetic" in
"one of the tools of the Black Revolution— the Black Revolutionary
43
Theatre." This study interests the researcher, as it explores the
sociopolitical conditions which led from protest to revolution in
Black America, with emphasis on the concerted need/push for creating
a subculture "which would reflect the distinctive heritage and life-
44
style" of a major ethnoracial minority in this country.
Similarly, Elsie Galbreath Haley in her 1971 dissertation for
the University of Denver, The Black Revolutionary Theatre: LeRoi Jones,
Ed Bullins and Minor Playwrights, discussed the militant artists' re
jection of white values and their attempt to evolve a new set of
values. Academia's rejection of anything other than white values is
explored by Dana Carpenter in her 1977 dissertation for Kansas State
University. A Study of the Selected Ethnic Theatrical Experience In
corporated in the Theatre Programs of American Colleges and Universi
ties sheds some light on why Teatro Chicano is by and large a homeless,
25
sporadic creative enterprise and not indigenous to institutionalized
theater. This dissertation also offers evidence of "the nature of the
research, plays, or articles, relative to the Black, Mexican-American,
and American Indian theatrical experiences, published by chairpersons
45
and faculties of Speech and/or Theatre Departments." This is of
special interest to the researcher, as Teatro Buena Yerba may be traced
back to a signal group of Chicano students organized in 1969 at Cali
fornia State University, Long Beach.
Indeed, to present the subject matter of Teatro Chicano in
Los Angeles is to deliver a pastiche of diverse inputs overlaid onto
a skeletal topic about which next to nothing has been written. There
fore, although some small evidence of the contemporary Chicano Teatro
experience exists in the dissertations cited and in the articles re
viewed, the bulk of research will be generated by attending and per
sonally documenting the Teatros of Los Angeles.
Methodology
Strategy for this study of Teatro Chicano is threefold:
1. Analysis of the written word: Treating the short play or
acto as a blueprint for dramatic action, the script then to be tele
scoped into a reflection of the attitudes, mores, fears, and motives
of an entire segment of our population. Thus the plays themselves will
be viewed not only for the language and physical movement they contain,
but will be dissected and then enlarged upon as specimens of socio
political commentary.
2. Analysis of the performance: Treating the Teatro produc
tions as individual "opening nights," each with its own highlights and
26
handicaps, successes, and shortcomings. Thus the performances them
selves will be viewed not only in terms of execution of the script,
but will be discussed in terms of individual artistic contributions,
both behind-the-scenes technically and in the parlance of actor/
ensemble dynamics.
3. Analysis of individual contribution: Treating the Chicanos
involved in each production from the standpoint of each individual's
interest in and input to the overall value of the theatrical event.
Thus an ongoing one-to-one dialogue between researcher and writer/
actor/technician will be viewed as an inside look into the entire
process of formulating the theatrical event and translating it into
production values. Interviews will be conducted on unifying themes
as far as possible, same or similar questions will be asked of the
interviewees, basic historical information will be provided, and
private opinions will be expressed on or about the same aesthetic/
practical problems.
In this way the researcher hopes to provide a view of Teatro
Chicano that is clearly not based on this outsider's biases nor con
fined to only one level of investigation. The truth or essence of
this unique kind of theater will thus have a maximum chance of emerg
ing from the inside out, of overcoming any possible predisposition of
the researcher, and of surfacing as an ingenuous look into a subject
relatively foreign to us all.
27
Preview of Following Chapters
Chapter II
This chapter will document the history of El Teatro Chicano
from its inception in 1965 to the present. In addition to presenting
a general history of El Teatro Chicano, this chapter will present in
dividual histories of the Teatro troupe under study: Teatro Urbano,
Teatro A La Brava, and Teatro Primavera.
Chapter III
This chapter will analyze two works (and their productions)
from each Teatro mentioned above. In each case a work will be probed
for the unity, complexity, and intensity to be found in its plot con
struction, character development, and theme, as well as all theatrical
values witnessed during performance.
Chapter IV
In this chapter comparisons and contrasts will be made in order
to place Teatro Chicano in perspective vis a vis "mainstream" or tra
ditional American drama. The idea of this chapter is to evaluate or
appraise Teatro in light of the theatrical context of Los Angeles in
particular and the United States in general.
The goal of this chapter is the discovery, confirmation, or
disconfirmation of the acto as creating a new genre. That is, from
analysis of six Teatro artifacts, do the contours of a distinct genre
emerge? Or can the actos be explained fully using the traditional
standards of dramaturgy?
28
Chapter V
This final chapter will offer summary and conclusions regarding
all aspects of the study. This includes a prospectus for future study
and a position regarding the ultimate importance of El Teatro Chicano.
29
NOTES
"^Susanne Langer, Feeling and Form (New York: Charles Scribner's
Sons, 1963), p. 308.
2
Samuel Bufford, "Langer Evaluated: Susanne Langer1s Two Phil
osophies of Art," in Aesthetics: A Critical Anthology, ed. George
Dickie and Richard J. Sclafani (New York: St. Martins Press, 1977),
p. 169.
3
Susanne Langer, "Art as Symbolic Expression: From Feeling and
Form," in Aesthetics: A Critical Anthology, ed. George Dickie and
Richard J. Sclafani (New York: St. Martins Press, 1977), p. 158.
4
Robert Lindsey, "Hispanics Lead U.S. Minorities in Growth
Rate," New York Times. Sunday, 18 Feb. 1979, p. 94.
"^Lindsey, p. 96.
^Lindsey, p. 96.
^Glenn W. Price, Origins of the War with Mexico (Austin: Uni
versity of Texas Press, 1970), pp. 89, 90-92.
O
Price, p. 58.
9
Price, p. 104.
^Tomas Almaguer, "Historical Notes on Chicano Oppression: The
Dialectics of Racial and Class Domination in North America," Aztlan:
Chicano Journal of the Social Sciences and the Arts. 5, Nos. 1 and 2
(Spring-Fall 1974), 41.
11
Fernando Penalosa, "Toward an Operational Definition of the
Mexican American," Aztlan: Chicano Journal of the Social Sciences and
the Arts. 1, No. 1 (Spring 1970), 4.
12
Edward Simmen, ed., "Chicano: Origin and Meaning," Pain and
Promise: The Chicano Today (New York: New American Library, 1972),
p. 53.
13
Simmen, p. 54.
14
Simmen, p. 54.
15
Personal interview with Fernando Sanchez, California State
University, Long Beach, 5 May 1980.
16
The official publication of El Centro Campesino Cultural
El Teatro. beginning Summer 1970, repeatedly establishes this fact.
30
17
Matt S. Meier and Feliciano Rivera, The Chicanos: A History of
Mexican Americans (New York: Hill and Wang, 1972), p. viii.
^Penalosa, p. 4.
^^Penalosa, p. 4.
20
Luis Valdez, Actos: El Teatro Campesino (San Juan Bautista,
Calif.: Cucaracha Press, 1971), et al.
2*Wsevolod W. Isajiw, "Definitions of Ethnicity," Ethnicity.
1, No. 2 (1974), 111.
22Isajiw, p. 111.
23
Philip Gleason, "Confusion Compounded: The Melting Pot in the
1960’s and 1970's," Ethnicity. 6, No. 1 (1979), 17.
24
Gleas on, p. 18.
25
Edward Casavantes, "Pride and Prejudice: A Mexican American
Dilemma," Chicanos: Social and Psychological Perspectives, ed.
Carrol A. Hernandez, Marsha J. Haug, and Nathaniel N. Wagner
(St. Louis: C. V. Mosby, 1976), p. 9.
26
James Sauceda, "Chicano/a Ethnicity: A Concept in Search of
a Content," Intercultural Communication: A Reader, ed. Larry A.
Samovar and Richard E. Porter (Belmont, Calif.: Wadsworth, 1982,
et al.
27
Weber cited in Sauceda, p. 189.
28Weber cited in Sauceda, p. 190.
29
A review of the personal history of the Teatros under study
confirms that this situation is common.
30
A case in point is Teatro Urbano which, when invited to per
form in Mexico in the Spanish language, has had to teach its members
a Spanish translation of the scripts.
^^Womack cited in "The Strange Case of Chester Seltzer, Honorary
Chicano," by Gerald Haslam, Los Angeles Times. West View, 27 April
1980, p. 3.
32
Haslam, p. 3.
33
Haslam, p. 3.
31
* 5 /
The present leadership of this Teatro includes: Rene
Rodriguez, Playwright and Principal Director; Rosemary (Soto) Rodriguez,
Principal Actress, Assistant Director. The group has had a permanent
location in El Sereno for several years, but is presently negotiating
for a new facility.
35
The leadership of Teatro A La Brava is Ron Rodarte, Playwright
and Director, and Ginger Garrido, Principal Actress. There is no
permanent address for this group.
36
Teatro Primavera's leadership consists of Guillermo Loo, Play
wright and Director, and Ray Serna, Principal Actor. There is no
permanent address for this group.
37
Robin Belinda Endres, "Plays and Politics: An Analysis of
Various Models of Twentieth-Century Political Theatre," DAI, 37/12-A
(1976), 7742 (York Univ., Canada).
38
Paul Dexter Lion, "A Critical Study of the Origins and Char
acteristics of Documentary Theater of Dissent in the United States,"
DAI, 36/03-A (1975), 1173 (Univ. of Southern California).
39
Lion, p. 1173.
40
Lion, p. 1173.
41
Claudio Vicentini, "The American Political Theatre of the
Sixties," DAI. 37/09-A (1976), 5449 (New York Univ.).
42
Clyde Gene Sumpter, "Militating for Change: The Black Revolu
tionary Theatre Movement in the United States," DAI, 31/11-A (1970),
6210 (Univ. of Kansas).
43
Sumpter, p. 6210.
44
Sumpter, p. 6210.
45
Dana Carpenter, "A Study in the Selected Ethnic Theatrical
Experience Incorporated in the Theatre Programs of American Colleges
and Universities," DAI. 37/07-A (1977), 3143 (Kansas State Univ.).
32
CHAPTER II
THE HISTORICAL PRESENCE OF EL TEATRO CHICANO
Introduction
Chapter II progresses in two stages. First, the history of
El Teatro Chicano will be documented from its inception in 1965 to
the present. Part II will then offer individual histories of the
Los Angeles based Teatro troupes under study: Teatro Urbano, Teatro
A La Brava, and Teatro Primavera.
Part I:
Historical Antecedents of Teatro
As was previously stated in Chapter I, the term "Chicano" is,
in any technical sense, a designation of people of Mexican ancestry
living within the borders of the United States— a designation which
was, in effect, created by the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848.
Therefore, the true roots of Teatro Chicano began in the mid-nineteenth
century.
Still, a problem of documentation exists when one attempts to
trace Teatro to its presence In America before the 1960s, for while
Spanish religious plays are available from an early period, experts
on Teatro actually discount their significance, viewing Teatro as
secular drama in general and as sociopolitical drama in particular.^-
The earliest antecedent of an Hispanic sociopolitical play
2
dates back towards the end of the eighteenth century. The play has
been popular with New Mexicans for centuries and is entitled Los
Comanches. It is interesting that even at this early date the "Indio"
33
is portrayed in a derogatory and stereotypic fashion (a practice still
in currency today).
Recently, researchers like Rosemary Gipson and Nicolas Kanellos
have broken ground in documenting Chicano sociopolitical theater in
3 4
other regions, i.e., in Arizona and in East Chicago, respectively.
Undoubtedly, however, the most significant precursor to today's
Teatro Chicano is a troupe that toured the Southwest from 1920-1927.
This troupe, headed by Marcus Glodell, came to researchers' attention
just a few years ago,^ and all the facts are not yet compiled. What
is known, however, is that this Teatro extensively canvassed Arizona,
California, and Texas with theatrical works that expressed anger and
rage against the "gavacho" (a derogatory term used against all
"Whites" or members of the mainstream power structure). In addition
to venting Chicano range, this Teatro (according to Glodell's testi
mony) attempted to engender concrete political action from La Raza,
which exclusively formed its audience.
One might expect that the Federal Theatre (which flourished in
the thirties, and, of course, existed at the behest of government sub
sidy) could have provided the Chicano a forum for theatrical express
sion. But as Jorge Huerta has stated, "a search for records of
Mexican-American theatrical activity under this program proved rather
fruitless
All sources agree, however, that the official birthdate of
El Teatro Chicano is recorded as November 1965, when El Teatro
Campesino was created by Luis Miguel Valdez. In tracing the forming
34
of El Teatro Campesino, one finds the same story repeated over and over
again in today's Teatros in Los Angeles.
The three most consistent evolutionary phases of the Teatro
Chicano "story," from its inception with Luis Valdez, are the follow
ing: One, college campuses provided the educational backdrop and
literally the first stages for Teatro. Two, Teatro techniques have
always been directly influenced by other political forms of theater.
Three, specific Chicano issues of social injustice have grown into
continuing explorations of Chicano identity and community values.
The educational background of Luis Valdez, son of a migrant
laborer, is unique not only because he finished high school, but par
ticularly because he attended college. Luis Valdez received a scholar
ship to attend San Jose State College, and for two years he studied
biology. By his second year, however, a different vocation, that of
playwriting, convinced him to change his major to English. From that
point Valdez packed his schedule with as many drama courses as he
could, and he also set himself the task of reading the great plays of
the world.
Valdez was still a sophomore when he penned his first play,
a one-act entitled "The Theft." This play won Valdez immediate
recognition; not only did "The Theft" win a college prize, but more
importantly, it received a production by the San Jose Theater Guild.
Playwright Valdez committed his attention over the next two
years to his first full-length work. The result of his labor, a play
called "The Shrunken Head of Pancho Villa," again saw immediate pro
duction. In fact, it was chosen to represent San Jose State when it
__________ 35
hosted the Northwest Drama Conference, and later it was performed by
El Teatro Campesino at the Festival of Radical Theatre in San Francisco
What is particularly noteworthy cf the San Jose College production is
that it featured the directorial debut of a man whose reputation is
now international--Luis Valdez himself.
Thus we can see how a college education and available facili
ties provided Valdez an aesthetic foundation and workshop from which
to pursue his theatrical vision. But, as we will see in the case of
subsequent Teatros, the college scene must be transcended in order to
accommodate the development of an independent and more community-
oriented base.
The second evolutionary phase of Teatro, the influence of
other political forms of theater, lured Luis Valdez from college to
join the San Francisco Mime Troupe in 1964. While in college Valdez
became familiar with the theories of Brecht; and, now, on the streets
of San Francisco, Valdez discovered a confrontation form of performance
whose immediate impact was at once political, bawdy, and highly
theatrical.
For one year Valdez performed regularly with the Mime Troupe
(whose agitprop format was often based on improvised skits, akin to
Commedia dell'Arte's "scenari" and to which the Chicano "acto" is
beholden).
Even though Valdez agreed with the Mime Troupe's theatrical
assaults on American injustices, he also felt that his own personal
passion, the plight of the migrant worker, could not be fully explored
within the Troupe. So in 1965, when Cesar Chavez declared the Huelga
36
(strike) of the Delano farmworkers, Valdez moved from performing in the
Mime Troupe to creating a Teatro of his own.
Of course, initially Valdez only physically left the Mime
Troupe, for philosophically he wished to transplant the lively tech
niques of the Troupe to Delano. Valdez acknowledged his appreciation
and the seminal influence of the San Francisco Mime Troupe on his own
Teatro when he stated, "I figured if any theater could turn on the
g
farmworker, it would be that type of theater."
We are fortunate to have Valdez's early recollection of the
night El Teatro Campesino was bom:
X talked for about ten minutes, and then realized that talking
wasn't going to accomplish anything. The thing to do was to do
it, so I called three of them over, and on two I hung "Huelgista"
(striker) signs. Then I gave one an "Esquirol" (scab) sign and
told him to stand up there and act like an "Esquirol"— a scab.
He didn't want to at first, because it was a dirty word at that
time, but he did it in good spirits. Then the two Huelgistas
started shouting at him, and everybody started cracking up.
All of a sudden people started coming into the pink house from
I don't know where; they filled up the whole kitchen. We started
changing signs around and people started volunteering, "Let me
play so and so," "Look, this is what I did," imitating all kinds
of things.^
From that evening forward the now familiar format of Teatro,
the acto, became the basis for creating a Chicano consciousness on
stage. The acto itself is the result of various influences; as Valdez
himself describes the acto, its aesthetic may be found "somewhere
between Brecht and Cantinf las The most important historical
precursor to the acto is, not surprisingly, found in the work of
Bertolt Brecht. Professor Huerta, in fact, has succinctly summarized
Valdez's debt to Brecht by asserting "Actos are Chicano lehrs tilcke
The lehrstiicke or "didactic pieces," as H. F. Garten has
37
commented, form the "most outspoken" of Brecht’s propagandist pur-
12
poses . The politically pointed pieces appeared in the years follow-
13
ing Dreigroschenopen, the first being Badener Lehrstucke, 1929. It
is important to remember that Brecht never believed didacticism on
stage should limit an audience's enjoyment of theater. "Theatre
remains theatre, even when it is didactic theatre, and if it is good
14
theatre, it will entertain."
For Valdez, the acto's comedic point of view keeps the audi
ence entertained while still allowing a serious political purpose.
Xn the summer of 1967, Valdez explained the importance of using comedy
in actos:
Humor can stand up on its own. . . . We use comedy because it
stems from a necessary situation— the necessity of lifting the
morals of our strikers. . . . This leads us into satire and the
underlying tragedy of it all--the fact that human beings have
been wasted in farm labor for generations.15
A few years later, Valdez clarified his views on the acto in
a rare essay entitled "Notes on Chicano Theater."^ From Valdez's
perspective, the acto should: "Inspire the audience to social action.
Illuminate specific points about social problems. Satirize the oppo
sition. Show or hint at a solution. Express what people are think
ing. Valdez also admits that the "acto" might have simply been
called political "skits, but we lived and talked in San Joaquin Valley
18
Spanish . . . so we needed a name that made sense to La Raza."
We can now affirm that the Valdezian "acto," a form of the
lehrs tiicke, or didactic skit, was first influenced by Valdez’s college
study (of Brecht) and then later refined by his residency with the
San Francisco Mime Troupe. If the acto, however, is the result of
38
such identifiable sources, can it be said that there are any truly
unique aspects that separate an "acto" from a political skit per se?
The answer comes from Professor Huerta, who maintains that
such a distinction does exist for the acto: "What makes an acto
Chicano, however, is simply that it deals solely with Chicano experi-
19
ences, addressing itself to the particular needs of the Chicano.”
More particularly, Huerta continues, the acto features a decidedly
20
unique "trilingualityThat is to say, the acto is usually per
formed in a combination of three languages: English, Spanish, and
Calo. Huerta explains that Calo has developed in barrios all around
the country to give each region its own particular idioms and phrases.
"The first problem a non-Chicano encounters viewing a teatro perfor
mance is this 'trilinguality'; even people who have studied Spanish
. . . have difficulty following the quick transitions from English
2 * i
to Spanish to Calo."
Valdez, in order to more clearly explore the Chicano experi
ence in acto form, developed various archetypes or stock characters.
But before moving ahead on the subject of Chicano archetypes, it
should be pointed out how a Renaissance form of theater, Commedia
dell'Arte, serves as an important precursor to El Teatro Campesino.
Actos resemble the loosely applied story premises of Commedia's
"scenari" (or "canovaccio"). Both are developed entirely through
improvisation, and early Campesino (like Commedia) essentially "con
sisted of a constellation of characters who remained the same regard-
22
less of the plot they found themselves embroiled in." Thus the use
of certain stock characters was the byword of Commedia dell'Arte:
39
Harlequin:
Brighella:
Pantalone:
II Doctori:
A lazybones, but also a busybody. It
was Harlequin ("Arlecchino") who com
mented on contemporary events, later
to become "the wise fool."
The unscrupulous and cynical servant.
The "old man's" humorous senility, along
with frequent outbursts of fury and
curses, were his trademark.
A satiric model for all learned men
(doctors, lawyers, etc.).
Valdez also developed a set of stock characters through im
provisation- -characters with whom Chicano audiences could easily
identify and from whom they could expect consistent behaviors. Valdez
has said that such archetypes symbolize "the desired unity and group
identity through Chicano heroes and heroines. One character can thus
represent the entire Raza, and the Chicano audience will gladly re-
23
spond to his triumphs or defeats."
The earliest archetypes consisted of:
Esquirol:
Huelgista:
Patron:
The "scab" laborer, the strike breaker,
an unscrupulous and bumbling person
ality.
The honest, hardworking, politically
aware striker. The first Hispanic
hero in Teatro.
The big bad boss. Drawn in hyperbolic
proportions, he may be easily ridiculed
by the audience. This is the first
antagonist in Teatro (patrons often
wore a yellow pig mask).
The turncoat Chicano, a farm labor
contractor who would go into barrios
to recruit stoop labor and deliver
them to the fields.
It is obvious that all the above stereotypes were bom
directly from Delano's Huelga. But as El Teatro Campesino developed,
___________ 40
Contratis tas:
interesting variations of early archetypes came about, as well as
Juan Raza:
Johnny Pachuco:
important additions:
Don Coyote: A variation of the old Contratista.
This is the generalized ethnic sell
out; thoroughly ashamed of his heri
tage, he connives to be accepted by
the White establishment. (Note, how
ever, that the Huelga connection has
been eliminated, as Don Coyote now
is any sellout [a student, government
worker, etc.])
The Chicano Everyman, an honest seeker
of truth willing to assume personal
risk in order to find identity and
unity with La Raza.
The precursor to El Pachuco of Zoot
Suit. This is a complex character
of the street (a "vato"), the grass
roots symbol of fighting "la systema."
It is with this archetype that another
aspect of Commedia dell'Arte, the
"lazzi" (certain conceits, quips, and
stage business associated with stock
characters) is almost identifiable.
That is to say Pachuco has a highly
predictable posture, walk, speech
inflection, and manner of insulting
others, etc. closely akin to the
lazzi.
The similarities between Teatro and Commedia dell'Arte have
been pointed out in order to put Teatro within an historical drama
turgical context. It is doubtful that any conscious connection was
applied when Valdez formed El Teatro Campesino (though the legacy of
Commedia dell'Arte is inherent in the Teatro's method and work).
The conscious elements of Teatro include the comedic style of
Cantinflas. Dr. Jorge Huerta aptly reveals the connection between
Cantinflas and Teatro: "Cantinflas, Mexico's greatest comic for
years, has come to represent the Chaplinesque underdog, somehow
41
surviving each new onslaught, just as the Chicano has had to do for
generations
And so we return to the idea that Mexican and Chicano referents
define the distinct parameters of the acto. In sum, it is an improvi-
sational form that seeks to explore all areas of Chicano experience.
Because actual or documented events form the basis of the acto, Valdez
25
believes that "the reality reflected .. . is thus a social reality."
Additionally, Valdez feels that while an acto may be aligned with a
particular author, it nonetheless is "a social vision, as opposed to
the individual artist or playwright's vision."
Returning now to the chronological progression of El Teatro
Campesino, only one month after its inception, El Teatro was invited
(and agreed) to perform at Stanford University. (Again we observe
how the university has provided a forum for Teatros' early expression
and experimentation.) Shortly after this successful performance,
El Teatro Campesino began touring surrounding cities, spreading the
message of the Delano strike. Valdez summarized the philosophy and
mobility of the group at this time:
In a Mexican way, we have discovered what Brecht is all about.
If you want unbourgeois theater, find unbourgeois people to do
it. Your head could burst at the simplicity of the acto . . .
but that's the way it is in Delano. Real theater lies in the
excited laughter (or silence) of recognition in the audience,
not in all the paraphernalia on the stage. Minus actors, the
entire Teatro can be packed into one truck, and when the Teatro
goes on tour, the spirit of the Delano grape strikers goes with
it.27
El Teatro Campesino made its first national tour during July
and August, 1967. The group performed on numerous college campuses,
at a variety of union halls, and in public auditoriums throughout the
42
country. While this tour steadily improved the Teatro performance, the
real goal was, of course, to raise money for "La Causa." (The Cause
was, specifically, the Delano strike.) Even the federal government
officially hosted El Teatro Campesino before its return home (through
the auspices of the United States Senate Committee on Migratory Labor
in Washington, D.C.).
From the group's inception in November of 1965 to mid-1967,
El Teatro Campesino performed only as a wing of the organized union
of farmworkers. That is to say, every acto was circumscribed by the
Huelga; the characters were therefore rural Chicanos, and the super
objective of performance was to win supporters for the United Farm
workers Organizing Committee (UFWOC). At this point only the early
archetypes (Esquirol, Huelgista, Patron,Contrastistas, etc.) were seen
onstage. Valdez realized that over ninety percent of Chicanos were
urban dwellers, and that a pig-faced Patron offered little immediate
release to the vato from East Los Angeles.
In mid-1967 Luis Valdez left the UFWOC and Delano. He would
now begin to pursue a progressively more nonpolitical, artistically
oriented kind of theater. Also in 1967, Valdez created the idea of
bringing Teatro to the college campus, when he became the first in
structor in Chicano Theater in the United States via a workshop at
28
Fresno State College. He also instructed students in Chicano cul
ture .
Officially, El Teatro Campesino left Delano in September 1967
to form El Centro Campesino Cultural Inc., in Del Rey, California.
Now an independent, nonprofit cultural center, El Teatro Campesino
43
worked full time to more completely develop its members as performers.
Also, Luis Valdez began writing actos that reflected the experience
of the vast majority of urban Chicanos. So 65 miles from Delano, in
a small rural town, El Centro Campesino Cultural began creating a va
riety of acting workshops, art courses, guitar classes, etc., as well
as rigorously rehearsing and performing new actos.
As can be expected, the acto changed significantly at this
time; whereas, early actos ("Los Dos Caras Del Patroncito," "The Two
Faces of the Boss," 1965 or "Quinta Temporada," "The Fifth Season,"
1966) were strictly Huelga-based, explicitly criticizing the cruelty
of the Patron, etc., "Los Vendidos" ("The Sellouts," 1967) sets out
in a new direction.
"Los Vendidos" effectively broadens the search for Chicano
identity beyond any contours previously established in the acto. To
begin with, the scene is no longer set in migrant labor camps or
fields, but rather in a major city. The acto specifically concerns
the search for a token Chicano Political Appointment with which to
decorate (then) Governor Ronald Reagan's Office in Sacramento.
Appropriate to this present study is the fact that this criti
cal acto had its debut in our own barrio, Elysian Park in East Los
Angeles. It is also important to point out that the performance sig
nificantly impressed the audience, several of whom would themselves
become founders and cast members of Los Angeles Teatros a few years
later.
"Los Vendidos" also put Johnny Pachuco on the stage for the
first time, and Los Angeles would again be the site, over a decade
44
later, of this character's ultimate incarnation: El Pachuco in Zpot
Suit. Valdez, from 1967 forward, would keep increasing the range of
portrayals of his "gente" (or "people"):
Pachucos, campesinos, low-riders, pintos, chavalonas, familias,
cunados, tios, primos, Mexican-Americans, all the human essence
of the barrio is starting to appear in the mirror of our theater.
With them come the joys, sufferings, disappointments and aspira
tions of our gente.29
Valdez also makes it clear that actos must truly confront the
Chicano audience: "Audience participation is no cute production trick
with us; it is a pre-established, pre-assumed privilege. . . . We
challenge Chicanos to become involved in the art, the life style, the
30
political and religious act of teatro."
In 1968 new courses of study could be found at El Centro
Campesino Cultural: history, English, Spanish, politics, and puppet
making. (In fact this latter course led to an ambitious puppet play,
"La Conquista de Mexico," in the latter part of the year.)
The beginning of 1969 saw El Teatro Campesino making another
move, this time to a semi-urban area in Fresno, California. El Teatro,
in order to survive, would keep touring up and down the state until
April, when the Teatro accepted an invitation to attend the Seventh
World Theatre Festival at Nancy, France. El Teatro Campesino was very
well received by the European audiences. Later in 1969 (October, to
be precise), the Campesino moved to another location in Fresno.
It is interesting to note that while El Teatro Campesino was,
of course, independent of the Farmworkers Union in 1970, a new acto,
"Huelgistaswas developed in continued support of the farmworkers'
struggle. This acto was also noteworthy because the action was
45
combined with music. Thus we have (in a sense) witnessed El Teatro
Campesino come full circle in the first five years of its existence--
beginning its life with Delano strikers, and yet retaining its spiri
tual ties to that struggle even years after officially severing from
the United Farmworkers.
Another aspect of El Teatro Campesino may now be documented:
its inspirational impact upon its audience. As early as 1968, sepa
rate Teatros began to develop as a result of El Teatro Campesino's
rigorous touring schedules. The "spontaneous” growth of new Teatros
was increased significantly by still another influence--the emergence
of Ethnic Studies curricula in high schools, community colleges, and
universities. This latter situation, which began around 1969-1970,
clearly increased the number of active Teatro troupes.
On many university campuses in particular, "Mexican-American"
or Chicano Studies Departments began offering Teatro Chicano "courses
These loosely organized workshops usually consisted of students ac
tually forming a Teatro for a semester. These Teatros would then
perform on campuses, in barrios, at parks and protest rallies, etc.
It is safe to say that such courses were created in direct response
to the influence of El Teatro Campesino; in fact, university Teatros
often used Campesino1s actos as a point of departure.
Some of these Teatros disbanded after the semester was over;
others fused with on-campus organizations such as MECHA; and still
other students went on to form Teatros in the barrios (often at the
behest of Chicano political organizations based in the community such
as CASA and LULAC).
By 1970 Luis Valdez was well aware that a forum should be
46
provided to bring together this new life force of Teatro. Thus on
May 8-10, the first Festival de los Teatros de Aztlan was held in
31
Fresno, California. There were 15 troupes in attendance, as well
as representatives from other Teatros. The festival was not at all
confined to California groups; performers from Seattle, New York,
Puerto Rico, and even a troupe from Mexico effectively broadened the
base of Teatro at this important gathering.
It is interesting to see how Luis Valdez himself was respon
sible for creating a university Teatro when, early in 1971, he accepted
a position at the University of California at Berkeley. Here he taught
a course in Chicano Theater, and his students called their group Los
Hijos del Sol (The Children of the Sun).
When the second Festival de los Teatros was held April 5-10,
1971 in Santa Cruz, California, Luis Valdez directed the work of one
of his students. (It was "La Ultima Pendejada," or "The Ultimate
Stupidity".) At this time most of the Teatros at the festival were
not independent groups, but student troupes. The need for an organized
way for Teatros to exchange ideas and gain a unified sense of direc
tion became evident. So in the spring of 1971, directors of eight
Teatros came together in Fresno to form El Teatro Nacional de Aztlan
(TENAZ), The National Theater of Aztlan. The acronym, as Valdez
smilingly pointed out to a reporter, also means tenacious in Spanish,
32
because "That’s what it takes!"
Before TENAZ, the only publication relating the development of
El Teatro Campesino and other groups was El Teatro. Now El Teatro
became El TENAZ. and Teatros were formally asked to contribute
47
information to make the publication a contemporary chronicle and
33
dialogue of Chicano issues.
In 1971 El Teatro Campesino moved to to San Juan Bautista,
where, during the summer, the first TENAZ workshop was sponsored.
Meanwhile, the directors' conferences continued; it was decided they
meet four times a year in different locations in California.
Therefore it was six years after the humble inauguration of
El Teatro Campesino that an impressive coalition of groups was unified
under the purposeful banner of TENAZ. At this point Los Angeles re
turns to the picture, as the first TENAZ production would take place
at our own Inner City Cultural Center: Fiesta de los Teatros, Septem
ber 16-26, 1971.
The above Fiesta included the world premiere of Valdez's "Dark
Root of a Scream" and the first real theatrical use of traditional
Mexican folktales known as corridos (a result of the TENAZ summer work
shop) .
The third Festival de los Teatros was held during the week of
March 27 to April 1, 1972, in Orange County, California. Approximately
30 Teatros, from all over America, participated in this event. The
festival featured a retrospective of early actos by El Teatro Campe
sino as well as new work from first-time participants.
It is worth noting that after the festival, representatives
from nine California Teatros met to discuss the event. What emerged
was a criticism that El Teatro Campesino had "hogged" attention and
34
discussion. In short, other Teatros felt the need for personal
recognition, not merely the desire to observe and praise the "founders"
48
of Teatro: the "offspring" now chided the "parents."
The second TENAZ summer workshop, during July and August, was
held at San Juan Bautista. There the representatives of attending
Teatros continued to expand and experiment with all facets of theater.
One of the unanticipated results of this workshop, however, was the
fact that several participants chose to leave their own Teatros in
order to join El Teatro Campesino. Exposure to the Campesino complex
and to the full-time lifestyle that went with it proved irresistible
to many representatives at the workshop; this became a time for "de
fection." In fact, by 1973 the majority of workshop alumni had become
members of El Teatro Campesino.
The third TENAZ summer workshop was cancelled due to a very
special guest of Luis Valdez: Peter Brook and his International Centre
of Theatre Research. Thus the 1973 workshop was restricted to members
of El Teatro Campesino. Needless to say, the presence of one of
Europe's most accomplished directors engaged in an exchange of ideas
with El Teatro Campesino was an exciting addition to San Juan Bautista.
The interaction culminated in a Chicano version of a Persian
myth entitled "The Conference of the Birds." Also, two symposia were
held, demonstrating the two groups' summer work. One took place in
San Francisco, the other at Santa Barbara, August 17-19, 1973. The
latter symposium consisted of about 30 invited guests, mainly from
the Los Angeles area.
The following summer was dedicated to improving the physical
plant at San Juan Bautista; hence no workshop took place. However,
the fourth Festival de los Teatros did occur, bringing together the
49
largest assembly of Teatros to date (June 15-24, 1973 in San Jose).
By 1975, one decade after the inauguration of El Teatro Campesino,
more than 75 Teatros were active members of TENAZ.
Though the phenomenon of El Teatro Chicano can be seen as a
real and potent force, it is enlightening to realize that the first
article on the subject did not appear in a national American theater
35
journal until December of 1973. Even this groundbreaking article
was significantly cut by the editors, so its readership was denied
much needed documentation of El Teatro Chicano. The author of the
article, David Copelin, was compelled to quote Professor Huerta's own
words, lamenting that "Teatro Chicano is perhaps one of the best kept
36
secrets in North American theatre today."
Thus far the evolution of El Teatro Chicano can be capsulized
in three major stages. Stage One is itself most accurately conceived
in two separate phases. The first phase spans the period from 1965-
1967 when El Teatro Campesino was completely subsumed by the farm
workers ' struggle. Phase Two begins in September 1967-1969 when the
Campesino became an independent theater, able to explore all avenues
of Chicano experience.
Stage Two is also broken down into two phases. Phase One
dates from 1969-1970 when other Teatros began operating, primarily
under the auspices of Ethnic Studies programs at community colleges and
universities. This phase culminated in the first Festival de los Tea
tros de Aztlan. Phase Two covers 1971-1977, from the formulation of
TENAZ to its consistent expansion over the years.
We may now embark upon the two phases of Stage Three of the
50
Teatro Chicano movement. Phase One begins in the spring of 1977 when
Luis Valdez began discussing (with Gordon Davidson and Ken Brecher) a
new play for the New Theatre for Now Series at the Mark Taper Forum
in Los Angeles. This dialogue led to the first full-length "Chicano"
drama ever produced on a professional stage.
Zoot Suit was first presented for 14 performances, as part of
the Taper's New Theatre for Now Series in April 1978. It reopened on
August 17-0ctober 1 as the first play of the 1978-1979 season at the
Mark Taper Forum. In spite of the auspiciousness of the occasion, or
perhaps adding to it, it should be stressed that Zoot Suit did not
appear "outside" of the Chicano Theater movement chronicled thus far.
In fact, Zoot Suit shares ideological and structural characteristics
that are traceable to 1965 in Delano.
It is certain that Valdez has steadily matured in his play-
writing and directing, for Zoot Suit has proven itself stageworthy of
Broadway (which would have been absurd to claim of his early actos).
But regardless of the fact Valdez no longer rejects the "White Western
37
European (gavacho) proscenium theater," he is no political or phil
osophical sellout; Valdez's revolutionary principles have not changed.
His assault on the American system in Zoot Suit is relentless, cunning,
and uncompromising. That such an attack is at the same time entertain
ing, dramatically engaging, and even humorous makes the entire produc
tion "respectable," but no less revolutionary.
In 1970 Valdez wrote: "The nature of Chicanismo calls for a
revolutionary turn in the arts as well as society. Chicano theater
must be revolutionary in techniques as well as in content . . . it
51
must also educate the Pueblo toward an appreciation of social change,
38
on and off the stage." As previously stated, Valdez felt that the
work of Teatros should "Inspire the audience to social action. Il
luminate specific points about social problems. Satirize the opposi-
39
tion. Show or hint at a solution." I believe Zoot Suit satisfies
these requirements.
Phase Two is dated July 24, 1981, the inauguration of El Tea
tro Campesino's new theater in San Juan Bautista. Now more than ever,
Valdez has a physical plant worthy of staging new works. Also El
Teatro Campesino has signed a contract with Actors Equity, making the
40
group the first Chicano Teatro to do so.
The movement of El Teatro Chicano continues. The 11th Inter
national Chicano Latino Teatro Festival was held in San Francisco,
California from September 11-20, 1981. TENAZ is now a seasoned or
ganization which greatly aids in the continued health and evolution
of Teatro.
Recently, July 10-11, 1982, California State University,
Los Angeles presented a multimedia, historical exhibit entitled "Two
Centuries of Hispanic Theatre in the Southwest." The exhibit, com
piled by Dr. Nicolas Kanellos of the University of Houston, is the
result of nine years of research documenting Hispanic theater, from
early Spanish secular drama, "zarzuelas," to Zoot Suit.
The exhibit serves to inform the general public of the endur
ing presence of Teatro; fortunately, this fine collection will have
toured not only California, but also Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona.
As it relates to this study, the above exhibit documents that the
52
Los Angeles Hispanic conraunity has housed its own productions since
41
the 1840s. Also, Kanellos informs us that "the professional stage
in California had become so established and important to the Spanish
speaking community, that by the 1860s theatre companies that once
toured Mexico, settled down to serve as repertory companies, choosing
42
Los Angeles and San Francisco as their home bases."
Of course, the above early Hispanic theater staged Spanish
43
melodrama and an occasional Mexican or Cuban play (and not original
"acto" type works found in the modern Chicano theater). Still, this
exhibit shows that Los Angeles has a rich heritage of Hispanic theater;
indeed, "by 1923 Los Angeles had become a center for Mexican play-
writing probably unparalleled in the history of Hispanic communities
A A
in the United States ."
The evolution of Chicano Teatro from 1965-1982 has been com
pleted; what follows is a documentation of the individual histories
of the Teatros under study.
Part II: ^
Evolution of Three Los Angeles Teatros
Teatro Urbano, the oldest Los Angeles-based Teatro, still ac
tive and producing original work, was the brainchild of Rene Rodriguez.
From Urbano's inception in 1971, Rodriguez (pen name Alejandro Nany-
alii) has been the Teatro's guiding light and resident director-
playwright.
Rene Rodriguez is a product of the East Los Angeles community.
His educational background has always centered on theater arts, from
the eighth grade forward— through Garfield High School, East Los
53
Angeles College, and the University of California at Los Angeles. The
reader must realize, however, that at the time Rodriguez was in second
ary school, there was no offering of a bona fide theater arts "major,"
and the fact is that Rene and a friend literally were the first Chi-
canos at Garfield High to devise such a major.
Rodriguez’s study at East Los Angeles College was rudely inter
rupted by his receipt of a draft notice; Rene completed a full tour of
duty in Vietnam. Upon his return, Rene found that his commitment to
bettering the Chicano community had been strengthened by his own per
sonal experiences; he had witnessed, firsthand, how minorities were
being used as cannon fodder in Vietnam.
From the start Teatro Urbano established the goals of develop
ing the concept of popular theater and of bringing cultural and politi
cal awareness to its community. The name Teatro Urbano has its own
history; in fact, probably the first offshoot of El Teatro Campesino
was Teatro Urbano, led by Luis Valdez's brother Daniel in June of 1968.
Daniel based his group in San Jose (an urban setting vis a vis Delano).
But there was a significant difference between the two groups. For
while the Campesino was completely ensconced in the farmworkers' strike,
this original Teatro Urbano created actos which related "the attitudes
with which the police, the judges, and various government agencies
(welfare, unemployment, government-funded programs) were dealing with
our people in the barrio.
Daniel Valdez's Teatro Urbano went on tour in 1969, traveling
through the midwest states. The group did not survive much longer,
however, and stopped functioning altogether in 1970. While Daniel
54
returned to El Teatro Campesino, the remaining members stayed in San
Jose to form Teatro de la Gente (a group still very much alive today
and producing ambitious work).
When Rene Rodriguez and his then nameless group participated in
a Teatro Festival in 1971 at the Campesino, Luis and Daniel Valdez sat
down with Rene to discuss an appropriate name for his group. The
brothers felt that Los Angeles was a true urban area, so the former
name of Daniel's own troupe, Teatro Urbano, could henceforward be car
ried on by Rene's new group. Everyone was pleased. Thus Teatro
Urano was officially named by the very founders of El Teatro Campesino.
This direct influence of El Teatro Campesino upon Teatro Urbano
was to continue, for Urbano's first outing onstage was a performance
of the Campesino's latest acto, "Soldado Razo" ("Private Soldier,"
which premiered April 3, 1971 in Fresno, California, at the Chicano
Moratorium on the War in Vietnam) . That Teatro Urbano should choose
to do "Soldado Razo" is indicative of the ambitious profile of this
group under Rene's leadership.
Rene had not been back from Vietnam very long when he quickly
became involved in all aspects of the Chicano movement (and the anti
war protest arena was the first to arrest Rene’s attention). Of
"Private Soldier," Professor Huerta tells us: "Developed in the tea-
tro's sixth year, this work represents the ultimate acto, a culmina
tion of all that was done before it. 'Soldado Razo' is the exemplary
acto, a slice of Chicano history which universalizes the Chicano war
experience.
We can see that "Soldado Razo" provided Teatro Urbano and
55
Rene Rodriguez impressive performance and directorial debuts. The
acto was performed at political rallies, high schools, in the streets,
on the backs of trucks, etc. The first semi-formal playing space used
by Urbano for a production of "Soldado Razo" was East Los Angeles *
Euclid Center. At this time the members of Urbano included Chicano
militants (members of the Brown Berets), people from the Euclid Center
itself, and other community people.
The concerns of Teatro Urbano did not exclude the plight of
the farmworker, and so the group in its inaugural year participated
in the Second Conference of the United Farmworkers, held in Oxnard,
California. The group performed "Soldado Razo" before a crowd of
about 8,000 people, including Cesar Chavez.
The production of "Soldado Razo" was not an imitation of the
Campesino style, for Rene had not even seen the acto performed prior
to his own mounting of it. Still, Rene wanted Teatro Urbano to move
directly into the staging of original works. This they did, for the
second presentation by Urbano was a collective creation, an acto
called "El Tecato y la Cucaracha" ("The Addict and the Cockroach,"
1972) .
As the name of the acto implies, the subject explored in this
work was drug abuse in the barrio, particularly the use of heroin.
While the plot is highly realistic, showing the ruthless effects of
the pusher on the addict, and in turn the rough relationship of the
addict to his family, the acto also has comic relief in the form of
the narrator.
The narrator of "El Tecato y la Cucaracha" is in fact an
56
enormous cockroach1 The female actress was dressed in a red bathing
suit, her body was painted red, and she was wearing a red skullcap
with two antennae bobbing about. The choice of a Cucaracha as narrator
is indicative of the poverty of the barrio, for cockroaches are com
monplace, and as Rodriguez stated: "They're around everywhere and
48
they kind of see everything that happens." Both clever and colorful,
this acto was well received in its "run" of about one year.
As is typical of casts of Teatro in general, there was a con
stant flux of actors involved in this ongoing production. Basically,
members from the student organization MECHA at East Los Angeles Col
lege came in and out of Urbano during this time. It is important to
realize that Teatro Urbano was very much connected to the larger
Chicano movement; i.e., it maintained close affiliations with political
groups in the barrios (such as CASA). The issues thought suitable for
an acto, then, must pertain to the general causa of la Movimiento
Chicano.
It is instructive to realize further that Urbano at this time
was a collectivity:
When an issue would develop, everyone in the Teatro would kind
of just gather around and work on that issue. . . . When an
issue developed, it was kind of a consensus in the community. . . .
East L.A., El Monte, Long Beach, etc.--we just felt the energy
of all these people working on an issue. . . . It was handled
in demonstrations, phone conversations . . . many ways. There
was just this whole energy going on everywhere; the Chicano
community was so heated up and so united at that particular
time.49
Ons such issue had to do with exploitation of Mexican/Chicano
labor--in the garment district factories in general, but in the Farrah
factory in El Paso, Texas, in particular. The "Farrah Factory," 1973,
57
was developed around the strike then taking place in El Faso. The acto
had a cast of 15 and dramatized the unfair treatment of the factory
worker by Uncle Willy Farrah. The production made the usual rounds
at parks, political rallies, etc. It was even singled out (favorably)
in The Theatre Review, an international publication. Urbano, it
seemed, was finding a voice.
At this point Teatro Urbano brought the "Farrah Factory" and
"El Tecato y la Cucaracha" to the Fourth Festival de los Teatros,
June 15-24, 1973, held at San Jose. From that time forward, Teatro
Urbano has participated yearly in the festival.
In 1974-1975 an important new Phase developed. Rene Rodriguez,
who heretofore had only supervised and monitored the collective writ
ing process of Urbano's actos, now became, for the first time, the
sole author of an acto; it was entitled "Who's to Blame?" The cast
still offered a healthy input of ideas, but Rodriguez is its undis
puted author, and he has been the Teatro's playwright-in-resideiice
ever since.
"Who's to Blame?" is also noteworthy for two other reasons.
First, it broke the pattern of exploring a single issue, i.e., drug
abuse or labor exploitation. Rather it was, stated Rodriguez, "an
accumulation of all issues . . . how corporate America affects prob
lems in general . . . from drugs all the way up to housing.
Second, "Who's to Blame?" was Urbano's longest production to
date, with close to an hour in running time. The cast included a
woman of seminal importance to the success of this acto and to all
subsequent productions of Teatro Urbano. Rosemary Soto had majored
58
in theater arts at Rio Hondo College and at California State University,
Long Beach, and had come to Urbano from Teatro Popular de la Vida y
Muerte. The roots of the latter group actually date to the fall sem
ester of 1969 at California State University, Long Beach, when an off-
the-record Teatro course was offered; it became an official course in
the spring of 1970. Teatro Popular had been fashioned after both El
Teatro Campesino and the original Teatro Urbano. Rosemary Soto, then,
was active with Teatro Popular (from 1973-1975) before she officially
joined Rene's Teatro Urbano. (It should be pointed out that while
Teatro Popular de la Vida y Muerte is technically older than Urbano,
its work was sporadic, and it disbanded shortly after Rosemary Soto's
departure.)
The cast of "Who's to Blame?” featured Rosemary Soto, Martin
Pacheco, Hank Fernandez, and Lily and Rene Delgadio. This acto became
the backbone of Teatro Urbano's repertory and went on national tour
the following year, as part of Urbano's Bicentennial Special.
It was also in 1976 that Urbano faced its most difficult de
cision. As was established earlier, Urbano had always maintained
close ties with political arms of the Chicano Movement; Urbano's
founder, and most cast members as well, belonged to Centro Accion
Social Autonimo (CASA). Therefore CASA felt that Urbano was their
personal Teatro--that the organization could rightfully direct Urbano
towards dramatizing issues which CASA members believed to be relevant.
A parallel now develops between El Teatro Campesino in 1967
and Teatro Urbano in 1976; both had to break away from specific organi
zations in order to deem themselves independent theaters. Rodriguez
59
felt it was "more important to work with the group instead of working
with that organization . . . we could no longer limit ourselves to
issues that were oriented to one organization . . . we had to be in
51
control of our Teatro--be our own group, our own organization."
In some ways Luis Valdez's decision to leave the UFWOC was
easier than Rene Rodriguez's break with CASA. This is because the
United Farmworkers' leadership was sensitive to the needs of El Teatro
Campesino and therefore held no malice against Valdez for leaving.
CASA, however, fought to create internal dissension in Teatro Urbano,
seeking to pressure them into staying. CASA asserted that the Teatro
was losing its commitment to the Chicano community, and that Urbano
owed a debt to CASA.
As if CASA's tactics were not enough of a problem for Urbano,
other Chicano political groups quickly came into the debate, attempt
ing to absorb Teatro Urbano into their own organizations. One such
organization, the August 29 Movement, did succeed in convincing
Urbano's principal male actor, Martin Pacheco, to break with Urbano
and to join their people instead.
All of the above petty politics only worked to clarify Rod
riguez's resolve--that no organization would rob Teatro Urbano of its
autonomy. It was time to totally define themselves "as a theater,
52
not as an organizing tool"; and it is both ironic and fortuitous
that Urbano*s own celebration of independence coincided with America's
Bicentennial.
After these "skirmishes,” if you will, the lead role in "Who’s
to Blame?" was recast, and the national tour went on as planned.
60
Teatro Urbano canvased Illinois, Colorado, New York, Texas, and
Arizona. In 1976 Teatro Urbano fully participated in The First Latin-
American Popular Theatre Festival held in New York City; the group's
vitality was definitely growing. Later in the year, on the second of
October, Rene and Rosemary were married--which was to strengthen the
leadership of Urbano in a different way.
The next year some important workshop experiences brought
Rosemary and Rene into the orbit of traditional Los Angeles theater:
the couple had opportunities to study with Lee Strasberg (at the re
nowned Actors Studio), at Ralph Waite's nationally acclaimed L.A.
Actor's Theatre, and with Jaime Jamis (from L.A. Provisional Theatre).
The professional training afforded Urbano's leadership, plus
their formal university education in drama, proved invaluable assets
to the now "seasoned" theater couple. Using all they had learned,
they produced, in 1978, their next work: "Beto's Dream"; it was their
best work to date. Therefore it seems fitting and proper that "Beto's
Dream" is the first work to exhibit Rene's name as playwright; al
though Rodriguez had also written "Who's to Blame?" that production
had, nonetheless, been touted as the product of collective authorship.
Rene's assignation of himself as sole playwright for "Beto's
Dream" caused a major upheaval in the group. The source of the prob
lem lay in the political premise that to be "grass roots," all actions
had to be taken from the collective, by the collective, and for the
collective. Thus the following questions were posed to Rene by his
disgruntled cast: "Are we a collective anymore?" "Aren't the ideas
for actos or plays supposed to come from everybody in the Teatro?"
"Isn't the role of a single writer or a playwright bourgeois?" "If
you are going to define yourself as a playwright and director, and
you are asking for sole authority for putting on the production,
aren't you becoming a dictator, and isn't that going against our
ideals?” And, finally: "To develop professionally--isn't that a
53
bourgeois concept also?"
The cast of "Beto's Dream" was divided over these questions
even as the characters in "Beto's Dream" were addressing another prob
lem: that of Chicano gang violence and its effects on the family and
larger community. And so while internal fighting continued, Teatro
Urbano dealt with this urban tragedy onstage, taking "Beto's Dream"
to the barrios of East Los Angeles.
Rene Rodriguez, playwright and director of "Beto's Dream,"
saw no personal inconsistency or hint of "selling out" the group's
Chicano commitment in his own pursuit of professional excellence. By
the same token, he felt the other actors must develop to their ulti
mate capacity, and that it would be beneficial to everyone concerned
if he himself pursued playwriting as a specialization. Much to the
chagrin of Urbano's members, with the exception of Rosemary, Rene felt
obligated to refine his art by continually challenging the size, scope,
and depth of his writing.
The Teatro found a stopgap solution by agreeing to experiment
for a period of time; they would work with a guest director or, if
Rene wished to direct, they would perform the work of another play
wright. (A real fear of too much creativity consolidated in one per
son continued to plague the group; the leaders of Urbano would take
62
interesting steps to deal with the problem, as we shall see.)
"Beto's Dream" had a direct influence upon this present study,
as this researcher's own initial contact with Teatro Chicano was at
Teatro Urbano's Cinco de Mayo performance at the University of South
ern California (1978). From this production it was felt serious in
vestigation was needed to document such an obviously ongoing theater
movement.
"Beto's Dream" made yet another impact upon Teatro Urbano; it
became their first financially successful production. "'Beto's Dream'
was very popular, particularly in the high schools. We were perform
ing two or three times a week, bringing in three to four hundred dol-
54
lars in each of those performances." Rene estimated that "Beto's
Dream" had "about 100 performances so far with a fluid, constantly
55
changing cast."
The money made from "Beto's Dream" made it possible for Teatro
Urbano to secure a building in which to house future productions, mak
ing them the first and only Los Angeles Teatro to do so.^
In 1979 Teatro Urbano hosted their first, and as yet only,
guest director: Carlos Contreras. Contreras is a noted South Ameri
can director/actor whose work has been seen primarily in his native
Venezuela, He brought with him from Colombia a large-scale, three-act
play entitled "Guadelupe Ano Sincuenta" (the title is a pun meaning
both "1950s" and "Guadelupe Does Not Count"). This production was
unique, for Teatro Urbano created a coalition of actors from several
Teatros in order to cast this epic political drama. Also, "Guadelupe
Ano Sincuenta" was the first three-act work ever performed by Teatro
63
Urbano. (It should be noted that this play is a collective creation
from one of the oldest Hispanic theater collectives in history, "La
Candelaria," from Colombia; they have worked together for nearly three
decades.)
When later in 1979 it came time for Urbano to undertake
another production using their own personnel, director Rene Rodriguez
chose "The Silver Dollar," a new Chicano play by Alejandro Nanyalli.
What the members of Urbano did not realize, however, was that Rodriguez
and Nanyalli were one and the same person; Rene had been forced by the
internal bickering of the group to adopt a pen name. Rene used this
nom de plume to pacify members who were still against his both writing
and directing any single piece.
"The Silver Dollar" was the first "historical" play written by
Rodriguez (though the event it chronicles took place only a decade
earlier) . This one-act is an account of the attack by police on the
Silver Dollar Cafe, Saturday, August 29, 1970. The attack resulted
in the death of Ruben Salazar, the only celebrated Chicano journalist
in Los Angeles.
This work has had the most extensive performance record of any
Teatro Urbano production; it has toured the Southwest and Mexico, and
has also been videotaped on several occasions. In addition, "The
Silver Dollar" marks the first time a professional theater complex,
the modern Center Theatre in Long Beach, has ever housed a Teatro pro
duction (albeit for only a weekend).
"The Silver Dollar," by invitation extended to the company,
enjoyed a special presentation at the Presidential Theatre (Teatro
64
De La Ciudad) in Nexico City; including this singular event, the play
itself has been performed in excess of 200 times.
Teatro Urbano1s most recent production is "Ueuecoyatle--El
Coyote Viejo" ("The Old Coyote"), billed as "A New Chicano Play Written
by Alejandro Nanyalli and Directed by Rene Rodriguez." This is Rod
riguez's (Nanyalli's) first three-act play. It opened August 21, 1981,
and has only had an intermittent number of performances; i.e., it was
featured at the Eleventh International Festival de los Teatros in
San Francisco, 1981, and a selected scene was recently offered, July 2,
1982, at the "Two Centuries of Hispanic Theatre in the Southwest"
exhibit at California State University, Los Angeles.
The ambitious play opens with an Aztec dance (to rid the world
of "ueuecoyatle," a malevolent, twofaced spirit). The dance becomes a
metaphoric plea to the contemporary Chicano, entreating him to rid the
community of destructive and negative forces. The body of the play
is modeled after one of the first strikes in American history, the
Ludlow Strike in Colorado in the 1850s. The play weaves an intriguing
tale by following the adventures of one Mexican family during this
period of time.
Presently Rene Rodriguez has plans to rework "El Coyote Viejo"
and possibly rewrite "Beto's Dream"— the latter as a musicalI Whatever
he does, it is certain that Teatro Urbano will continue to make an
artistic impact not only in Los Angeles, but throughout the Southwest.
Chapter III will analyze, in detail, both "Beto's Dream" and "The
Silver Dollar."
65
Teatro A La Brava
This Teatro began, and for all its formative years remained, a
product of California State University, Los Angeles. Its founder,
Ron Rodarte, recalls how in the spring of 1974 a group of Chicano
students began to meet informally in an open writing workshop. "People
were encouraged to get together and read their poems, discuss ideas,
57
or whatever because we had problems expressing ourselves." These
Chicanos were all members of various campus organizations, MECHA,
EPIC, etc., and therefore shared an awareness of issues affecting
both the campus and the larger Chicano community.
However, unlike California State University, Long Beach (which
by 1974 had had, for five years, its own Teatro group and Teatro
courses), California State University, Los Angeles had yet to estab
lish a single Teatro course. In fact, no one who participated in
Teatro A La Brava's first production had any theater background what
soever. Ron himself was a Chicano Studies/Political Science student;
he remembers that although he "had heard of the concept of Teatro [he^]
58
had never actually seen a Teatro perform."
The "writing workshop" continued to meet and share ideas until
the cutbacks in student services (1975) focused mutual concerns into
an inaugural acto. This unnamed acto was a collective creation; "I
don't know any one person who really sparked it, somehow it was just
there! "** ^
This initial acto required ten performers, and the piece di
rectly parodied the president of the university and his coterie of
bureaucrats. The acto was performed on campus, and afterwards the
66
actors "made a few direct demands from the students regarding the issue
presented
From the beginning, Teatro A La Brava has been a part-time
enterprise. The first acto had accommodated input from 15 students,
but after only two performances, only five "members" were at all in
terested in developing additional actos. Also from the start, they
shared no art-for-art's-sake philosophy. According to Ron,
We were not interested in theater per se but in publicizing our
thing . . . that the minority programs on campus and across the
state were threatened by budgetary cutbacks. Our intention was
not to become good actors; it was simply to publicize the issue
. . . as long as we spoke loud enough to be heard, nothing else
really mattered.61
It was more clearly a case of "Art for Politics' Sake."
The first acto, which ran about one-half hour in playing time,
was performed in Room 313 of the campus student union, a large confer
ence area. Ron learned from audience response that "you can talk to
people all you want, but if you show 'em onstage, in a simple format,
62
they go, 'Oh, yeah, now I get it.'"
The second collective creation of Teatro A La Brava was an acto
called "Amaka." This had a much more extensive performance record,
canvasing various parks, prisons, and community centers; it had one
on-campus presentation and was also featured at the Sixth Annual Fes
tival de los Teatros, 1975, which was held at East Los Angeles College.
"Amaka" dealt with the issue of immigration and attempted to
make visual the political machine, backed by corporate economic inter
ests, that treats the Mexican with utter disregard. Simplicity of
staging was retained from the first acto, in which the actors wore
67
signs (to identify their roles); however, here the signs are gone,
and in their place as a theatrical device is a wind-up robot politican
who plans raids to deport undocumented workers. (After deciding
against the use of signs in "Amaka," the group would never again employ
them.)
"Amaka" was close to 50 minutes in running time and, like all
actos, contained no intermissions. Because of the intense political
activities in the Chicano community during 1975-1976, "Amaka" was fre
quently a staple of rallies and Chicano organizational meetings.
Ron considers the group's next acto, "The Money Cart," to be
the most artistically integrated of their early work. It differs from
the preceding actos primarily because it was not a collective creation;
it resulted from the collaboration of two people only, Ron himself and
Tomas Gonzales. This acto, which had about 40 minutes running time,
made its debut in the summer of 1976.
"The Money Cart" dealt with the effects of the celebrated Bakke
Decision. The story concerns a bright Chicano youth unable to gain
admittance into medical school due to the backlash of so-called "re
verse discrimination." The acto also weaves the immigration theme
through the story, as our hero's mother is deported during a raid on
the factory where she works.
"The Money Cart" broke the mold of hyperbolic, farcical por
traiture displayed in the preceding two actos. The dialogue was now
realistic, and the actors wore contemporary dress. Ron felt that "The
S3
Money Cart" was "very close to a one-act play in style." Another
departure from former productions was the fact that "The Money Cart"
68
was preceded by a shorter acto which functioned as a curtain raiser.
"Get Back Bakke” was Ron's first acto as solo author; though as with
all their work, it was billed as a creation of Teatro A La Brava.
Like "Amaka" and "The Money Cart," "Get Back Bakke" made the rounds
from campuses to community centers throughout the barrio.
During the next two years (1977-1978) Teatro A La Brava had a
unique opportunity to combine the acto with another form of theatrical
presentation--that of the dance. California State University, Los
Angeles was fortunate to have a resident Ballet Folklorico which had
just received funding to mount a History of the Chicano through dance.
This "Chicano Roots" would begin with the Aztecas, then move systema
tically towards the urban reality of contemporary Chicanos. The direc
tor of the Folklorico, having seen Teatro A La Brava's on-campus per
formances, commissioned them to compose and enact onstage four historic
periods (to be interpolated with corresponding dances) .
The fruit of the above interaction was "Desarollo Chicano"
("Growth of the Chicano"). The first year "Desarollo Chicano" was
performed, Teatro A La Brava produced the following four scenes:
1. The encounter of Conquista Cortez with the last Aztec
Emperor.
2. Mexican Independence from Spain.
3. The plotting of President Polk to overtake the Southwest
(a.k.a., The Mexican American War).
4. The French Invasion into Mexico and the repulsion of Maxi-
mi lllan by Mexican forces.
69
"Desarollo Chicano" proved to be quite a success; in 1978,
Teatro A La Brava composed another four scenes continuing the story:
1. A Mexican family crosses the border right after the Mexican
Revolution, experience culture shock, etc.
2. The same family (twenty years later) has endured; the chil
dren fully grown, one son goes to fight in World War II
and is killed.
3. Gang violence runs rampant from the 1940s to the 1970s.
4. The parents, now elderly, review their family history via
flashbacks (there is a retrospective of earlier scenes).
"Desarollo Chicano" was the most ornate, fully-financed produc
tion in which A La Brava has ever participated; the high point of
"Desarollo1s" history was its production at the San Diego Civic Audi
torium.
In 1979 we discover a convergence between Teatro A La Brava
and Teatro Drbano, for Ron Rodarte and Tomas Gonzales joined forces
with Urbano to stage "Guadelupe Ano Sincuenta." After "Guadelupe" had
its run, Teatro A La Brava staged "The Illegal Atom."
"The Illegal Atom" was Ron Rodarte's second outing as a solo
author. Just as before, however, Teatro A La Brava is credited. This
production was in rehearsal for three and a half months, but was con
tinually fraught with internal disruption. As a result, "The Illegal
Atom" was successfully staged for only one performance (at Teatro
Urbano's facility in El Sereno).
The acto is in six scenes and is a satire of the Three Mile
Island accident. It attempts to expose not only the complex ineptitude
70
of the designers and employees at the Harrisburg nuclear power plant,
but also the sensationalism of most media reports. The otherwise "non-
Chicano" theme is "Latinized" because one of the main characters is
Mexican: traditional immigration issues are mixed in with the over
arching crisis.
"The Illegal Atom" marks the first time that the actors played
multiple roles; in fact, each of the four actors in this piece had
several parts to play. The group seems to have enjoyed the challenge;
at any rate, this kind of triple-casting has since become normal work
ing procedure. Also introduced to the group at this time was an
actress who would become a principal performer and driving force behind
Teatro A La Brava: Ginger Garrido.
One final aspect of "The Illegal Atom" worth noting is that,
heretofore, all actos were performed with a single set. Now several
sets were employed in the production. However, as sets were being
built, morale was being destroyed; personnel problems encountered dur
ing "The Illegal Atom" left A La Brava reduced to only three members.
A period of nearly one year passed as this Teatro worked to
regroup. The roster grew from three to ten in 1980. Nonetheless,
Teatro A La Brava is decidedly a part-time venture, and all present
members have jobs full-time (enabling the group to meet weeknights
and weekends only).
In 1979 the remnant group was drawn to the continuing case of
Gordon Castillo Hall, a sixteen-year-old boy convicted of first degree
murder on August 23, 1978. From the start of this affair, the Chicano
community was outraged by the inadequate defense and outright racism
71
demonstrated during the seven-day trial. In late October, 1979, the
Los Angeles Times featured an article that only confirmed what the
Chicano community had known for over a year--that Gordon Hall was
innocent.
After Hall's conviction a committee proclaiming "Justice for
Gordon Castillo Hall" had been formed, and Ginger Garrido made a point
of attending one of the meetings; she wished to gather material for
what would later develop into a provocative acto. As Ron has clearly
established, Teatro A La Brava is "an issue-oriented group. Other
groups are working with different theatrical styles and historical
64
settings and events, whereas we only do today's issues."
It was decided that "the present issue affecting the group
right now is the Gordon Hall case."^ The approach to writing "Jus
tice for Hall" differed from those applied to previous works, for much
of this acto was based directly on court transcripts, newspaper ar
ticles, and material supplied by the Justice for Gordon Castillo Hall
Committee.
"Justice for Hall" was unique for yet another reason: four
writers from the group were used (in various collaborative combina
tions) to create, scene by scene, the A La Brava version of American
"Justice for Hall." It was first mounted at Teatro Urbano's facility
February 3, 1981; it later went on to East Los Angeles College.
Both "The Illegal Atom" and "Justice for Hall" will be docu
mented and analyzed in detail in Chapter III. At present, Teatro A La
Brava is, once again, in yet another period of flux. It remains to be
seen whether or not the group can gather a committed core of people to
72
sustain future productions. To this point, very little technical
training in theater has taken place; perhaps with a more conscious
goal of performance professionalism, Teatro A La Brava may continue
to grow in scope and impact.
Teatro Primavera
Since its inception in September of 1973, this Teatro has stood
apart from both Teatro Urbano and Teatro A La Brava. The key reason is
the uniquely scholastic and outspoken critical posture of its founder,
Guillermo Loo. While Rene Rodriguez of Urbano has instinctively moved
towards developing himself as playwright and director, and whereas Ron
Rodarte of A La Brava has consciously eschewed theatrical training per
se, Guillermo Loo has always espoused very definite creative (and po
litical) positions about Teatro.
Not only has Guillermo Loo consciously developed Teatro Prima
vera in order to fulfill particular preconceived ideas of aesthetics
as well as of governmental and economic processes, he has literally
written treatises documenting each phase of his philosophy. In short,
Guillermo Loo is the only bona fide in-house critic-creator in the col
lective experience of the Los Angeles Teatro. One can find Guillermo's
provocative musings embodied in such speeches and articles as "On
Art,"66 "Crisis of TENAZ,"67 "De Todos Modas Te Llamas Juan,"68 and
69
"Role of the Artist in a Society in Crisis."
In order to present the history of Teatro Primavera, in addi
tion to providing an annotated roster of actos, one must include the
critical context in which Guillermo Loo was working at the time of a
73
given production. The first work Primavera produced after joining
TENAZ in 1973 was "Tlatelolco del Barrio," written by Guillermo and
directed by Raul Carreras (a theater arts major at the University of
California, Los Angeles) .
In keeping with his critical nature, Guillermo Loo characteris
tically provides a rider for each work, an analysis of whatever he has
written. This was also done for "Tlatelolco del Barrio."
"Tlatelolco del Barrio" was a play [20-minute acto] inspired by
the Committee to Free Los Tres and the struggle they waged
against drugs in the barrios of East Los Angeles. It was also
inspired by the 1968 massacre in La Plaza de Tlaleloco in Mexico
City; the bombing of the Crusade for Justice's school in Denver,
Colorado, named La Escuela de Tlateloco; the woman's question
and sexism; U.S. imperialism; the struggle of C.A.S.A. against
deportations; United Farmworkers Union; the struggle against
forced sterilizations— you name it we had it.70
The approach taken by Guillermo in writing "Tlatelolco del
Barrio" would be used repeatedly for almost three years. In his own
words:
We were to be in the new anti-theater, and to operate in the rev
olutionary mode of collectivity . . . where everyone took turns
directing, writing the play, running the acting workshops, the
director had to clean the toilet too; besides, Mao Tse Tung wrote
about petty bourgeois experts and specialist intellectuals, and
we didn't want to fall into that.71
This means that all staged actos must serve a strictly utili
tarian, politically defined purpose.
Our theater believed that art had to be useful to the struggle
of the Mexican people. We even thought that art did not exist.
What our theater produced was propaganda, and the "art" of it
resided only in how polished and funny we could give out in
formation or break down political concepts. . . . We negated
art as an inner creative need to individuals to humanize real
ity and communicate with other men. Art to us was the creative
need of an organization to politicize reality and move the
people to action. Art had to be "useful" and its effect had
to be inmediate.72
74
"Tletelolco del Barrio" was performed for various community
organizations and at political rallies in parks. From these perfor
mances the group concluded that they had "to go through a process of
73
integration with the working masses." What this meant, in practical
terms, was their complete immei’ sion in a progressive political organi
zation; and they choose the Center for Autonomous Social Action (CASA).
Guillermo now admits:
Our schedules became fanatical--five, six, seven days a week
for four years divided into organizational meetings, rehearsals,
Teatro meetings, workshops, study groups, meetings with TENAZ,
festivals, conferences, our jobs and our schools; [we were] in
flamed with the passion to do popular theater.74
Teatro pursuits, of course, could not hamper their duties with
CASA, which were formidable:
We sold Sin Fronteras, the organization's newspaper, every
Sunday in the streets of downtown Los Angeles, or at our per
formances in the park. For large mobilizations each year, we
formed brigades twice a week at four in the morning to paste
up posters and fliers on walls, fences, and antagonistic
businesses.75
Given Teatro Primavera's intense and consuming commitment to
CASA's grass roots politics, it is amazing.that they were able to con
tinue creating actos. Of course, their actos were themselves examples
of grass roots politics and, as such, were extensions of CASA. In
fact, their next work, a collective creation called "Cochino Rodino,"
emerged from a CASA meeting in which the collectivity was then waging
a national mobilization to defeat the Rodino Bill in Congress.
"Cochino Rodino" was directed by Humberto Martinez, a political
exile and director of popular theater. This 40-minute pamphleteering
acto on the Rodino Bill was widely canvased. "We performed at political
75
forums, seminars, conferences, in Mexico City, Chicago, San Francisco
and all over Los Angeles: from parks to community theaters to peo-
76
pie's backyards." "Cochino Rodino" was on the road from 1975 to
October of 1976.
The end of this run of "Cochino Rodino" left Teatro Primavera
in tatters. The members were ready to go their separate ways, to focus
on their regular employment, or to return to school. In short, they
were burned out from such an exhaustive schedule. Guillermo Loo de
cided to invite Teatro Obrero (with whom Primavera had formed the Sub-
Cultural Commission of CASA in 1975) to merge with his people to form
a new El Teatro Primavera.
The resulting juncture provided Guillermo Loo an opportunity
to reassess the dramaturgical underpinnings and political definitions
previously used to develop Primavera. A major philosophical shift
began to occur; Guillermo Loo began to perceive a distinction between
the political activist and the "political artist."
Now Loo asserted that "political activists were against art,
favored the disbursement of information and ideology, knew little of
aesthetic theory or theater, and consequently produced one boring work
77
after another." In short, his own theatrical approach to this point
was now discarded for a new idea: that of the political artist.
The "political artist recognized art, and the need for profes-
78
sionalization, as well as theoretical studies in aesthetics." Fur
thermore, Guillermo Loo eventually stated:
I maintain that the sole indicator of good political theater is
not the method but the work of art iself--its ability to reflect
life, the interrelationships of man to society, to other men,
76
objectively and artistically. We are on the path of a new dialec
tical realism.
In January of 1977, El Teatro Primavera began production on
"Jacobo," a work by Guillermo Loo which traces the experiences of an
illegal immigrant (from his decision to leave Mexico, through his
border encounters, and finally to his eventual settling in Los Angeles)
It is at this time that we find a philosophical convergence with Teatro
Urbano waiting to become full-blown: for just as Urbano found CASA to
be stifling their creativity and independence (causing them to break
with that organization in 1976), Primavera too was now getting some
heat. It seems they had also pricked the ire of CASA.
The problem began because "Jacobo" violated the allotted time
fixed by CASA (a maximum of 40 minutes). Additionally, Primavera de
manded more time for artistic work, less time for organizational work,
and specifically asserted that the production of "Jacobo" should have
priority over Sin Frontera brigades.
Unlike Teatro Urbano, however, Teatro Primavera never wanted
to leave CASA; therefore the continuing debate remained locked within
the organization proper, primarily through Guillermo’s "position
papers." "Jacobo" was rewritten six times and was performed through
June of 1978. Coincidentally, after the final performance of "Jacobo,"
Primavera experienced another major turnover in membership. For the
same year saw the dismantling of CASA as well as Primavera's new
status as an independent, nonprofit corporation.
For a Teatro like Primavera, whose initial belief was that
truly popular art could be produced only from the ranks of a political
77
organization with a progressive philosophy, being on their own for the
first time marked a major transition. Of course, by this time Prima-
vera's concept of popular theater was significantly different from
their 1973 pronouncements. Five years after the earlier ruminations,
Primavera's thinking went something like this:
The popular theater is involved in artistic production. Artistic
production produces a spiritual product with a spiritual and uni
versal use value. The popular theater does not turn its back on
the struggle of its people. Nor does it . . . produce products
with an immediate material use value. The popular theater is
concerned with taking bits and pieces that filter the air and
making them comprehensible--artistically. It is our task to
awaken in man his instinct to receive pleasure, to question him,
his relationship to his class, his times, and to raise his under
standing on the importance of art, of creative labor and society.®®
Thus, armed with the above credo, in July of 1978 Teatro Prima
vera began its most ambitious venture, "Project UCLATEW." This project
is a joint effort by El Teatro Primavera and the Chicano Studies Center
of the University of California at Los Angeles. The UCLA Chicano
Studies Center participates by providing a supplementary staff through
the UCLA Graduate Advancement Program (GAP) . Project UCLATEW is in
volved in the research on and development of a bibliography on popular
theater and in the direction of Stage, I, II, and III Acting/Production
Workshops.
The Acting/Production Workshops are taught by Guillermo Loo
and consist of the following:
Stage I - These workshops are administered free to
the public during the summer program.
The production of a play is optional.
78
Stage IX - This is an intermediate acting workshop
limited to selected participants. This
stage may be pre-production workshops
with the performance/s of a play.
Stage III - These are strictly production workshops
concentrating on the development, produc
tion, and performance of an original work.
They are limited to selected participants.
Project UCLATEW is a subsidiary endeavor of Teatro Primavera,
but does not supplant the artistic autonomy of the Teatro. Primavera's
personal productions continue, often simultaneously, with the group's
ongoing commitment to UCLATEW.
In August of 1978 Guillermo Loo embarked on the first of a
series of adaptations for El Teatro Primavera. "El Corrido De Johnny
Charasqueado" was adapted from a Mexican folk ballad as an experiment
in stylized performance. It was the first time Primavera incorporated
music into a production. The piece, however, had a very limited per
formance schedule.
"Dorotea La Fea," adapted in December 1978, is based on the
short story by Maxim Gorky entitled. "For Want of Something Better to
Do." Guillermo Loo's version is a rather loose adaptation for the
theater; it is transformed into a Latin musical. But although the
script has been revised several times, Primavera (as of this writing)
has yet to produce it in any form.
In 1979 a major Primavera production was mounted: "Angel
Death." This acto is the collective creation of Teatro Primavera,
79
first developed during Stage II Workshop of Project UCLATEW during the
spring of 1979. The production was directed by Carlos Contreras, a
guest director from Venezuela, with the shared objective of showcasing
the talents of the acting/production workshop.
"Angel Death" is a work dealing with the effects of Angel Dust
and PCP on the lives of barrio victims. The first version of "Angel
Death" was performed during the Cinco De Mayo festivities of 1978 at
various campuses, at the Los Angeles Plaza de la Raza, and at the
Tenth National Chicano Theater Festival of TENAZ in Santa Barbara.
At the festival Teatro Primavera was selected as one of five Teatros
to represent TENAZ at a Chicano Theater Festival in Mexico City (spon
sored by La Universidad Autonoma Metropolitana for October 1979).
During the Stage III workshops, summer 1979, "Angel Death"
was both rewritten and recast, and Guillermo Loo took over as director.
The play was also translated into Spanish. This version was performed
in Mexico City eight times at the Teatro Ricardo Flores Magon and
twice at the Autonomous Metropolitan University (for a total audience
of 4,400 people).
"Angel Death" was also mounted at Teatro Urbano's facility
November-December 1979 (in both English and Spanish versions). This
work continued to play before community groups and at parks and other
recreational facilities throughout 1980.
In 1980 another adaptation by Guillermo Loo, "El Sueno Del
Pongo," was based upon an original story by Jose Maria Arguedas.
Though the script has seen three full revisions, the acto has yet to
be produced.
80
Late 1980 (November 7-16), a new work by Guillermo Loo reached
the stage. This was "El Cuento del Hombre Timido" ("The Story of the
Shy Man"). This work was billed as "A Chicano Theater Musical Comedy"
and was performed at the Stormy Weather Cafe housed within the Los
Angeles Inner City Cultural Center. "Shy Man" combined the corrido
form with a stylized stage presentation. It chronicles the fear of
Chicanos vis a vis the "Temptations" of mainstream society.
Both "Angel Death" and "The Story of the Shy Man" will be
analyzed in detail in Chapter III. One further note on Mr. Loo:
in 1981 he was voted Artistic Coordinator of TENAZ, and his focus
during the 1981-1982 administrative year for that organization has
been precisely that--as administrator and in-house critic; he has not
functioned as producer of original work during that time. Loo recently
was a panelist, July 10, 1982, at the "Two Centuries of Hispanic Thea
tre in the Southwest" weekend conference, and he continues to work on
new projects.
Chapter II has chronicled the history of El Teatro Chicano
from its inception in 1965 to the present. In addition, individual
histories of Teatro Urbano, Teatro A La Brava, and Teatro Primavera
have been presented.
Chapter III will critically analyze two works from each Teatro
under study, delving into aesthetic properties of unity, complexity,
and intensity as well as all theatrical values witnessed during per
formance .
81
NOTES
^Jorge Huerta, "The Evolution of Chicano Theater," Diss. Univ.
of California, Santa Barbara, p. 54.
2
Huerta, p. 54.
3
Rosemary Gipson, "The Mexican Performers: Pioneer Theater Ar
tists of Tuscon," Journal of Arizona History. 13, No. 4 (Winter 1972),
235-52.
4
Nicolas Kanellos, "Mexican Community Theater in a Midwestern
City," Latin American Theatre Review. 7, No. 1 (Fall 1973), 44.
^Huerta, "The Evolution," p. 60.
Huerta, "The Evolution," p. 60.
7
Huerta, "The Evolution," p. 61.
O
Beth Bagby, "El Teatro Campesino: Interview with Luis Valdez,"
Tulane Drama Review, 11, No. 4 (Summer 1967), 73.
9Bagby, pp. 74-75.
^"New Grapes," Newsweek. 31 July 1967, p. 79.
^Huerta, "The Evolution," p. 72.
12
H. F. Garten, Modern German Drama (New York: Grove Press,
1962), p. 207.
13
Garten, p. 207.
14
Bertolt Brecht, "Theatre for Learning," European Theories of
the Drama, ed. Barrett H. Clark (New York: Crown Publishers, 1975),
p. 310.
^Bagby, p. 77.
^Luis Valdez, "Notes on Chicano Theater," Actos: El Teatro
Campesino (San Juan Bautista, Calif.: Cucaracha Press, 1971).
17Valdez, p. 6.
18Valdez, p. 5.
19
Huerta, "The Evolution," p. 65.
82
^Huerta, "The Evolution," p. 67.
21
Huerta, "The Evolution," p. 67.
22
Evert Sprinchora, "Introduction," The Commedia dell'Arte by
Giacomo Oreglia (New York: Hill and Wang, 1968), p. xi.
23
Valdez, "Notes on Chicano Theater," p. 6.
24
Huerta, "The Evolution," p. 72.
25
Valdez, "Notes on Chicano Theater," p. 6.
26
Valdez, "Notes on Chicano Theater," p. 6.
27
Luis Miguel Valdez, "El Teatro Campesino," Ramparts. July 1966,
p. 55.
28
Dr. Richard Toscan hired Valdez through Fresno State's "Experi
mental College," following which word spread through the Chicano com
munity and provided the germ for more elaborate study programs in the
future.
29
Valdez, "Notes on Chicano Theater," p. 4.
30
Valdez, "Notes on Chicano Theater," pp. 1, 4,
31
"Aztldn" is the mythic homeland of the Azteca Indians. Chi-
canos use the term to designate a spiritual place of origin, their
roots. Thus the Festival of the Theater of Aztlan strictly identifies
today's Teatros with the ancient rituals of its Indian forefathers,
pre-conquest, a search for purity and strength.
32
Kimmis Henrick, "Chicanos Stage 'Tenaz': 'That's What it
Takes 1"'. The Christian Science Monitor. October 13, 1971, p. 4.
33
A total of six issues of El Teatro/EL TENAZ were published
between the summer of 1970 and the summer of 1972. These are exceed
ingly rare to find and are fortunately preserved in the TENAZ Histori
cal Library.
^Huerta, "The Evolution," p. 175.
35
David Copelin, "Chicano Theater Festival," The Drama Review.
17, No. 4 (December 1973), 73-89.
36
Copelin, p. 73 from Jorge A. Huerta, "En Torno," Chicano
Theatre I. 1 (Spring 1973), p. 2.
37
Valdez, "Notes on Chicano Theater," p. 6.
83
"^Valdez, p. 6.
"^Valdez, p. 6.
^Jorge Huerta, TENAZ Talks Teatro. 4, Nos. 3-4 (Summer-Fall
1982), 5.
41
Nicolas Kanellos, Two Centuries of Hispanic Theatre in the
Southwest (Gary, Ind.: Revista Chicano-Requena, 1982), p. 1.
42
Kanellos, p. 2.
^Kanellos , p. 3 .
/f - / j
Kanellos, pp. 9-10.
45
This entire section of the chapter has been developed over a
period of two years (1980-1982). Numerous interviews with the found
ing members of Teatro Urbano, Teatro A La Brava, and Teatro Primavera,
as well as access to all printed histories of each group (on pamphlets,
in playbills, personal files, etc.) have made it possible to compile a
comprehensive documentation of the evolution of each of these Los
Angeles Teatros.
46
"Teatro Urbano," in El Teatro. an occasional publication of
El Centro Campesino Cultural from the summer of 1970 to the winter of-
1971 when it became EL TENAZ. There is no date on this issue, which
was published in the fall of 1970. The quoted article is on p. 2.
47
Huerta, "The Evolution of Chicano Theater," p. 104.
48
Quoted from personal interview with Rene Rodriguez, 6 July
1982.
49
Rodriguez interview, 1982.
^Quoted from personal interview with Rene Rodriguez held 14 Dec.
1981.
^^Rodriguez interview, 1981.
"^Rodriguez interview, 1982.
53
Rodriguez interview, 1982.
54
Quoted from personal interview with Rene Rodriguez held 10 May
1980.
' ’■’ Rodriguez interview, 1980.
84
This building was located at 5244 Huntington Drive North,
Los Angeles ("El Sereno"), 90032. Teatro Urbano used this facility
from 1978-1980, whereupon the troupe moved across the street (5471
Huntington Drive North) until late 1981. Presently Urbano is negoti
ating for the most ambitious theater plant ever envisioned by a Los
Angeles Teatro, an 800-seat complex located in East Los Angeles on
Whittier Boulevard.
57
Quoted from personal interview with Ron Rodarte held 30 Nov.
1980.
58
Rodarte interview, 1980.
59
Rodarte interview, 1980.
fin
Rodarte interview, 1980.
^Quoted from personal interview with Ron Rodarte held 9 April
1981.
62
Rodarte interview, 1981.
68
Rodarte interview, 1981.
64
Rodarte interview, 1981.
65
Rodarte interview, 1981.
^Guillermo Loo, "On Art," 24 July 1980. This article has not
been published, but rather was reproduced and distributed among the
members of TENAZ.
67Guillermo Loo, "Crisis of TENAZ," 17 Nov. 1981. This article
has not been published, but rather, as the above, was reproduced and
distributed among the members of TENAZ.
68
Guillermo Loo, "De Todos Modos Te Llamas Juan," Revista
Literaria De El Tecolote. 12, No. 6 (March 1982), 1-4.
69
Guillermo Loo, "Role of the Artist in a Society in Crisis,"
21 May 1982. This article has not been published, but rather was
reproduced and distributed among the members of TENAZ.
7^From an unpublished history of Teatro Primavera (hereinafter
referred to as "Le HLstoria"), found in the exhaustive personal files
of Guillermo Loo. Truly, the archives of Guillermo must be one of the
most complete in the world. The excerpt appears on page 2 of this
20-page history.
71Loo, "Crisis of TENAZ," p. 5.
85
72t
Loo, "La Historia," pp. 1, 3.
73t
Loo, "La Historia," p. 3.
74t
Loo, "La Historia," p. 4.
^Loo, "La Historia," p. 4.
76t
Loo, "La His toria," p. 5 .
77t
Loo, "De Todos Modos Te Llamas Juan," p. 3.
78t
Loo, "De Todos Modos Te Llamas Juan," p. 4.
79. „
Loo, "Crisis of TENAZ," p. 5.
80t
Loo, "La Historia," pp. 12-13.
86
CHAPTER III
ANALYSIS OF THE ARTIFACTS OF THREE
LOS ANGELES TEATROS
This chapter will systematically appraise the scripts, perfor
mances of, and audience reactions to the following productions: Teatro
Urbano's "Beto's Dream" and "The Silver Dollar"; Teatro A La Brava's
"The Illegal Atom" and "Justice for Hall"; Teatro Primavera's "Angel
Death” and "The Story of the Shy Man."
The format used to investigate each production consists of two
major headings, Script and Performance. "Script" is subdivided into
Dramatis Personae, Plot (synopsis and analysis), Character, Thought,
and Diction. "Performance" is subdivided into Setting, Performers,
Music, Spectacle, and Audience.
Introduction
Whenever a critic is moved to evaluate any work of literature,
I believe the most fruitful way to advance is to approach the work
with "informed innocence." "Informed," because one should have an
active intellectual and emotional literary frame of reference, a solid
theoretical and experiential knowledge of the particular medium's
aesthetic properties and potentials, knowledge of the specific genre
thereof, and even acquaintance with the history of the art form itself.
Bringing such a storehouse of information to a new work, however, is
87
critically vapid unless it is also applied with "innocence." By inno
cence I mean that ability to suspend judgment, to first and foremost
allow the artifact to be itself until an organic understanding of the
particular work's content and context is revealed to the critic. Only
after the work has been encountered on its own ground and its territory
appreciated within its chosen boundaries does comparing and contrasting
it to established conventions or traditional theories serve as an ad
ditional critical tool.
Under no circumstances should a new work be dogmatically and
automatically viewed through a prefabricated system of analysis. Not
that an Aristotelian, Burkeian, Freudian, Marxist, etc. interpretation
does not yield insight into a work; it is just that certain works are
intrinsically resistant to certain critical approaches. The critic,
X assert, does a great disservice to a work by simply forcing it to
conform to one essentially closed system of analysis. Such criticism
often produces only a stilted series of imperious or arrogant declara
tions. In short, it seeks to produce rigid "laws."
An open system of investigation, by contrast, seeks to provide
"guidelines" worth considering. Typically it does not castigate a
work, but rather invites our genuine attention to a work's full range
of qualities. Hence aspects of a work are not dichotomized into "good"
or "bad," but are placed on a multi-valent continuum, where aesthetic
qualities shift and are perceived in degrees of their variation. From
this approach (I argue) the work's import is best discovered.
It comes as no surprise to the reader that I will not follow
one narrow system when evaluating the works before us. My approach is
88
decidedly eclectic, for I will select from among many existing critical
opinions and constructs in order to assemble the most compatible criti
cal base for each work. This does not mean that I will forego making
definite judgments; what it does mean is that my judgments (even if
predominantly negative) will be cast as "cautions" based on my experi
ence, and not clothed as dogmatic censure. My most positive conclu
sions will not be given as unfettered praise, but will also be calcu
lated to reveal the limitations of the achievement.
chapter in two succinct sentences: "Criticism is not a circumscription
or set of prohibitions. It provides fixed points of departure."^"
Dramatis Personae
Technically, the cast of characters in "Beto's Dream" is not
part of the script (nor are character descriptions provided in any of
the stage indications). Hence I have extrapolated such information
from the text itself.
Ezra Pound aptly sums up the general approach used in this
Script; "Beto's Dream"
Beto: The protagonist. "Beto is the
character's nickname; his full
name is Albert Pacheco." Beto is
apparently in high school; as such,
he is probably no older than eigh
teen. He does not.seem to live in
the barrio, and he is known to be
nonviolent.
Mother Beto's mother is a housewife, and
probably unschooled.
Father Beto's father is a laborer of some
description, and also lacks education.
Sister; Beto's sister is age sixteen and going
to high school.
Johnny: Johnny, who was killed before the
action of the play begins, was said
to be Beto’s "best friend." Only
the "ghost" of Johnny appears onstage.
Mary: Johnny's girlfriend.
Joker: Close friend of Beto's.
Counselor: Miss Weatherbee, Beto's high school
counselor.
Yoyo: Beto's love interest, the "ruca"
(a barrio chick) who throws a party.
Stone: Unbeknownst to Beto, Yoyo's boy
friend .
Wine: Friend of Yoyo's who had been re
cently raped at another party.
Bubbles: A vato (street dude) at Yoyo's
party.
Vato #1 & #2: The two nameless ones responsible
for murdering Johnny.
Cop #1 & #2: Two nameless policemen who interro
gate Beto.
Gata: A ruca attending Yoyo's party.
All Dramatis Personae were enacted by Teatro Urbano, with the
following cast of nine persons:
Martin Pacheco:
Rene Rodriguez:
Elizabeth Robinson:
Rosemary Rodriguez:
Nancy Mendoza:
Larry Corrales:
Albert Saenz:
Carolina Sauceda:
Thomas Calderon:
Plot Synopsis
Beto
Johnny
Mary and Yoyo
Mrs. Weatherbee and Wine
The Sister and Gata
Joker
Gata's boyfriend and rival gang member
The Mother
The Father/Bubbles/rival gang member
The script opens with the funeral procession for Johnny (a
Chicano who dedicated and gave his life to stopping gang warfare in the
90
barrio). Beto is called out of the funeral parlor to join his friends
in avenging the death of Johnny. After a mental debate, Beto agrees
to join them, but while his friends leave he stays behind, sitting on
a car bumper. He falls fast asleep.
The bulk of the remaining plot is Beto's "Dream." The ghost of
Johnny appears to Beto, explaining "those vatos didn't kill me, the
systema killed me." In order to explain the statement, Johnny takes
Beto to his high school, to his family, and to a party. Each encounter
has the effect of enlightening Beto about how the systema "oppresses
us ... it keeps us at the bottom of society. It's like a monster that
eats part of us, it destroys us everywhere, out in the streets, in the
community, at school."
First Beto learns that the systema in education works "to keep
us ignorant. They want us without an education (because) education is
power and ignorance means death ... They want to control us." Johnny
then explains that "the rich and the government that serves them ...
they and no one else are to blame for our problems." He takes Beto
to his family, showing how the systema works to divide it and cause
internal problems.
At the party Beto makes connections between pregnancy, rape,
drug abuse, and (eventually) Chicano gang warfare, seeing them as re
lated manifestations of the systems. His final recognition comes when
he himself gets caught up in potential violence: "I almost killed a
vato. I almost killed him for a piece of territory, and a ruca that
wasn't even mine."
A literal recapitulation of earlier scenes leads to Beto
91
awakening from his dream. Joker actually wakes him by announcing, "I
got all the homeboys together ... we got to take revenge for Johnny's
death." But Beto is now convinced that changing the systema is pos
sible. "We could do what Johnny was doing. Try and tell the gangs to
stop killing each other. Try and fight for better education, organize
against police brutality."
The homeboys then return to the funeral to pay respects to
Johnny, and they all exit. "Johnny enters, picks up the knife that
Beto had dropped during his fight with Stone, closes it and exits."
Plot Analysis
In analyzing this plot I will restrict myself solely to matters
of organic unity and structural complexity. The script's delineation
of character, thought content, and diction will be taken up at a later
time in order to delay the tendency to evaluate the plot as good or
bad before first firmly establishing "what it is."
One caveat emptor seems necessary at this point: a work-in-
progress may contain numerous inconsistencies due to oversights in
proofing/cross-checking which, when the script is in its "final" state,
are duly attended to. However, this "edition" of "Beto's Dream" is
actually performed with the inconsistencies intact; and as stated at
the opening of my study, I will treat the manuscript as the artifact
(fully realizing its "unfinished" condition). In this way the study
itself may serve as a valuable corrective to the structure and content
of "Beto's Dream."
It seems fair to say, after extensive scrutiny, that the
92
efficient motion of "Beto's" plot is interrupted, and thus marred by
certain recurring inconsistencies.
To begin with, the viewer is given information, albeit indir
ectly, that Beto and his friends (including Johnny) do not live in the
barrio: i.e., Beto's line, "I can't go to any barrio." And later the
police ask Beto, "What are you doing in this neighborhood?" (meaning
the barrio), which substantiates my observation. Yet Beto's line in
response to the Counselor's suggestion that he take a painting course
contradicts this information: "I don't need no continuation for that
painting. I do it on the walls of my barrio."
I speculate that this inconsistency arose in order to have
Beto appeal to the barrio audience. But forcing a line into a charac
ter's mouth without regard to the integrity of the plot weakens its
causality.
The fact that Johnny, Rudy, and Joker "went down to Calle Nueve
Ninth Street" implies that they went from "outside" the barrio to "in
side" the barrio. Yet the funeralJfor Johnny is held "here in the
barrio," and this I take to be an important structural flaw; for it
is unlikely that a non-barrio family has any reason to hold a funeral
in the barrio where their son was murdered. The result is that the
plot loses potential strength from this lack of clarity. Although at
several points the contrast between barrio and non-barrio backgrounds/
support systems is set in relief, differentiation grows hazy to non
existent when the plot is closely cross-referenced with itself.
Another unfortunate ambiguity of plot is the inconsistent
designation of "gang." From the beginning we are unsure as to whether
93
or not Beto's friends constitute a gang. The opening stage directions
vacillate between "the group" and "the gang." This might seem trivial,
but in a work those entire premise (the vicious circle of gang warfare)
rests on Johnny's murder having been the result of gang warfare in a
Chicano barrio, certain bottom-line distinctions must be drawn.
Sometimes it is the case in "Beto's Dream" that the formulaic
demands of the plot will impinge upon the credibility of the character.
For instance, to support the structure of the play Beto must fall
asleep, or there can be no dream. The audience's willful suspension
of disbelief is considerably strained, however, since all events lead
ing to, during, and following the dream are realistic (that is, have
a certain rationale behind them) , whereas it is simply not plausible
Beto would fall asleep in the first place. He is a few feet away from
the funeral of his best friend, and his other friends are primed for
violent revenge; moreover, Beto has agreed to join them in seeking
retribution for Johnny. Surely the demands of plot can be better met
with a plausible reason for "Beto's Dream," occurring as it does on a
stage seemingly poised for action.
Offhand I would suggest that Beto could have taken some "Red
Devils" (barbituates) in order to calm down from the shock of Johnny's
murder. Or that Beto, while trying to convince his friends not to pur
sue Johnny's murderers, was knocked cold in the scuffle. But as is,
Beto's sleep is rather awkward and reduces the scenic metaphor of "look
ing backward" through a dream to the level of contrived, external tech
nique or mannerism rather than authentic, well-integrated expression.
Perhaps the weakest aspect of the entire plot is that it too
94
swiftly moves from scene to scene without sufficiently developing a
credible context. While there are many themes in "Beto's Dream,"
there are no subplots (a condition that tends to allow the work's
thought to become hopelessly diffused). A subplot could have aided
the flow and movement of ideas, but as it stands the structure does
not unify the ideology; the ideology instead is stuffed into a rigid
structure, unaided by characters whose pursuit of personal goals would
form those subplots.
I maintain that the absence of unified character is the key to
the plot having reached an impasse in its development. If the charac
ters had been clearly delineated and set in opposition to each other
prior to the dream, these same figures could have been elevated into
basic cultural archetypes with whom Beto must come to grips once he
has descended into his subconscious "dream" state. The play could
then acquire the stature of a modern allegory ("the play within the
play") in which there is a deep relationship between the content of
the form and the Chicano's emerging conceptions of self and of the
world.
The structure itself is certainly not very original. In fact,
it is almost identical to Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. The
similarities are uncanny, for in both plots:
1. The protagonist is met by a ghost after he has fallen asleep.
(Scrooge's sleep is structurally plausible, unlike Beto's.)
2. The ghost is a close friend (Bob Marley in Dickens and
Johnny in Beto).
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3. The function of the ghost (structurally) is to transport
the protagonist to various locations in order to enlighten
him and alter his attitude.
4. The alteration of the protagonist's attitude is necessary
in order to forestall imminent death of the protagonist.
5. Each location further enliglhtens the protagonist and his
recognition of truth hence grows incrementally. (In
Dickens, of course, this regime of dream-encounters is much
more elaborated, for there are four ghosts, each one sig
nifying a different time, and each location is fully
portrayed and almost self-contained in its atmospheric
integrity.
6. The protagonist at last fully awakens, for he awakens
spiritually, with his energies renewed and positive in
their social implications.
The enduring power of Charles Dickens' A Chris tmas Carol is
partially dependent upon a high order of organic unity and structural
complexity. Therefore when one compares A Christmas Carol with the
nearly identical structure as it appears in "Beto's Dream,” one more
clearly perceives the latter's weaknesses. The movement in Dickens
provides an almost providential certainty to its outcome, whereas
"Beto's Dream" only haphazardly arrives at its climax. Also, "Beto's"
plot does not particularly resolve on any level— literal, moral, meta
physical, or allegorical— while Dickens draws all loose ends into an
accomplished conclusion. This is not to suggest imposing closure on
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"Beto's Dream" if an open-ended form is what is intended; but there is
a large difference between vague, distracted prose, and artistic
ambiguity.
Character
As already previously stated, the plot of "Beto's Dream" often
strains the veracity of its characterizations. In addition, the char
acters often weaken themselves.
Probably the first character's actions to arouse our suspicion
are Mary's. Mary was Johnny's girlfriend, and we see her grieving
for him very early in the work. Yet from her grief ("I miss him,"
"I get chills") she instantly and without external provocation moves
her ego into consideration of dinner plans at her tia's, shaping her
into a superficial character. Surely it does not seem true (in.light
of neo-Aristotelian criticism) for one so grief-stricken to think
about feeding one's stomach.
Also, Mary's explanation to Beto about how Johnny worked to
support her family seems inconsistent with the facts of the story.
For Beto calls Johnny his "best friend," and would not Johnny's best
friend be acquainted with all the information Mary spews forth? And
why is Beto so reserved with Mary (his best friend's girlfriend)?
There is a lack of unity in characters drawn as loosely as these.
Another example of inconsistent characterization may be found
towards the end of the work. One wonders why Beto is asked by the
police, "What are you doing in this neighborhood?" If Beto is Chicano
and in the barrio, the question makes no sense; if he looks out of
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place (in complexion or dress), then there has been no prefiguring or
setting up of this contrast- Indeed, in performance Beto is dressed
in traditional East Los Angeles garb, which further presses the am
biguity of the line.
Unfortunately, aside from such glaring inconsistencies as just
cited, there also appear many philosophical ambiguities. For instance,
if Johnny committed his life to ending gang warfare, why is he (even
in a dream-ghost representation) so quick to say, "Those vatos didn't
kill me, the systema did"? Dr. Richard Santillan in "Are Chicano Gangs
the Consequence of an Unequal Society?" writes as a Chicano educator
2
who, like Johnny, is committed to ending Chicano violence. But he
stated, "Chicano gangs (and for that matter all gangs) must be per
ceived as what they really are: self-destructive units in our com-
3
munity." It seems uncharacteristic that Johnny should actually dis
miss any culpability of his two first-degree murderers; and why has
he further lost any abhorrence of this kind of violence in the barrio?
This strikes me as unclear motivation brought on by forcing the char
acter to fit the dictates and strategy of the work's thought.
Thought
According to the Poetics, thought "is the ability to state the
issues and appropriate points pertaining to a given topic . . . the
passages in which they (characters) try to prove that something is so
4
or not so, or state some general principle."
In "Beto's Dream," Johnny is the mouthpiece of thought, and the
name of that thought is Marxism. Throughout Johnny's instructions to
Beto is imbedded an underlying Marxist philosophy. While Johnny's
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"systema" speeches never explicitly say the "capitalist" system, one
does not have to he a political scientist to discern the Marxist con
tours inside all of Johnny's ideological pronouncements.
That such an ideology should appear in Teatro Urbano's work is
not surprising. The Marxist critique of capitalism makes perfect
sense to Ghicanos who have felt the real and continued oppression of
our materialistic and racist society. That Marxist proselytizers have
gone into barrios to "inform" the oppressed is also not surprising.
(In fact, Marxist writers have penned many books specifically calcu
lated to attract all "oppressed" peoples in the United States, includ
ing Native Americans, Puerto Ricans, and Blacks as well as Chicanos.)
However, as this study is not an analysis of the appearance of Marxist
ideology in the barrio, but instead a dramatic analysis of "Beto's
Dream," I will strive to avoid going on any tangents when discussing
Marxism, making certain to confine my remarks to the text at hand.
Initially Johnny is somewhat elusive about the causative agents
of the systema. He repeatedly warns Beto that "they” want to keep
Chicanos uneducated, on drugs, and killing each other. Beto finally
grows exasperated with Johnny's mysterious "they" and demands, "Who's
they? That's all you talk about is 'they.' Do you know who 'they'
are? Tell me." And Johnny responds with what forms the thesis of
his argument: "The rich and the government that serves them. They
and no one else are to blame for our problems."
According to Marx, in a capitalist society only a few persons
(the rich) dominate and control the masses. Their ability to so domi
nate is based on the fact that the rich own the means of production.
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The average worker (who by definition belongs to the proletariat)
forms the great majority. It is by the physical toil of the proletar
iat that a capitalist society becomes prosperous. But only the rich
receive the rewards of such prosperity. The wealthy do not share
their financial success with "the people," and an ever-widening gulf
(materialistically, politically, and philosophically) divides the pro
letariat from the bourgeoisie. The rich, unchecked by the masses,
will continue to oppress and exploit the majority.
The increasing misery of the proletariat gives rise to a class
consciousness and a class struggle. The intensification of the class
struggle will produce the proletarian revolutions which mark the over
throw of the bourgeoisie and the emergence of communism. Hence the
famous battle cry closing The Gonanunist Manifesto (1948), "Workers of
5
the world, unite I"
But the important question here is the aesthetic one as framed
by Morris Weitz: "Are there any empirical claims about the world in
plays?"*’ As Weitz formulates the situation (when the dialogue or nar
ration in literature shifts from simply forwarding a plot to making
"generalizations about the world"), we have an implicit truth claim
in literature.^ In "Beto's Dream," the text not only sets forth per
sonal opinions, but becomes moralistic and directly exhorts the char
acters onstage (and indirectly, the viewing audience) to accept certain
principles or ideas as guides to thought or conduct. In short, it is
didactic.
Yet if one adopts the traditional willful suspension of dis
belief (necessary in order to accept Johnny’s "ghost" onstage), can
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this acceptance of theatrical convention mitigate a possibly over-
scrupulous accounting of the "veiled” Marxist doctrines appearing in
the work? Can one merely accept Johnny's philosophy as hindsight, a
dead man's reckoning or peace treaty with the facts of his life and
death? I say no, that there appears no way around it: the implicit
truth claims in "Beto's Dream" uttered by Johnny color one's experience
of the play in its entirety, so forcefully do they echo strains of the
>darxist critique of capitalism. This philosophy is traced by Johnny
with a certain degree of logical elaboration as well as emotional
fervor, as he attempts to illustrate capitalist oppression manifested
in the family, in school, and in the larger Chicano community.
Looking up to the quality of argumentation in each of Johnny's
specific examples, as well as to the underlying rhetorical strategy
used (of scapegoatism), Johnny's polemics can be seen as fraught with
logical fallacies and weak reasoning--the most glaring and pervasive
form of such reasoning being the fallacy of reductionism and its hand-
naiden, the hasty generalization. That the complex problems of gang
warfare, inadequate education, drug abuse, poverty, rape, sexism, and
unemployment are reduceable to "the rich . . . and no one else" is
clearly ludicrous. Behind this assertion lies the notion that the
Chicano community can divest itself of any responsibility for these
problems by transferring all the guilt to another group (the rich be
coming its scapegoat).
But let us briefly illustrate specific cases. Returning to my
criticism of character, which hinged on the line, "Beto, those vatos
didn't kill me, the systema killed me," we can now see that it is
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dangerously close to the fallacy of hypothesis contrary to fact. That
is, one ought not start with an hypothesis that is not true (the vatos
did kill Johnny) and then attempt to draw any supportable conclusion
from it.
The aphoristic pronouncement that "education is power and
ignorance means death*’ is an example of the fallacy of Dicto Simplici-
ter, being an argument based on an unqualified generalization. For
education is not always power (witness the statistics of powerless
PhDs pumping gas), nor is an unqualified ignorance equatable with
death.
The entire scene at home (with Beto's father having been fired
from his job) is drenched in the fallacy of Ad Misericordiam. This is
the appeal to sympathy while ignoring the specific issues at hand. If
the requirements for retaining his position were based on education,
then his appeal to the rising costs of living is irrelevant to the
argument.
I could continue this litany of fallacious uses of reasoning
in "Beto's Dream" (other themes like rape are particularly loaded with
illogical reasoning), but I believe the point has been made.
What should be stated here, however, is that none of this
analysis limits the practical effectiveness that "Beto's Dream"
achieves in performance. But to reiterate, my analysis at the moment
is centered in the script, not in audience response. For no one can
deny the power of scapegoatism in a work to mobilize audience aggres
sion towards one clearly marked enemy; but in order to analyze diction
or language in a play, one must proceed not from the effects of certain
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psychological sleights of hand, but from an assessment of issues drawn
in the text and points used in support of them.
Diction
Diction refers to the use of language, figures, or rhetorical
devices in the script.' Typically the theatergoer looks for and expects
to find "heightened language" spoken onstage--that is to say, a richer
texture of language, one that is lifted above pedestrian conversation.
To be more specific, one discovers within the sentence structure a high
degree of fluency in expression and a certain density of meaning
through the use of simile and metaphor. Add to this a uniquely inher
ent theatricality and aurality, and you have dramatic dialogue. The
result is a verbal world of striking intensity, an enduring and com
plex use of words.
Of course, in order to have heightened language, the playwright
need not devise a plot where the characters are of high social station,
nor must the situations these characters encounter be grandiose. In
short, the king's court is as likely a setting for heightened language
as is a junkie's crash pad.
The term heightened language is therefore flexible, for it
means that in whatever situation or station a character may be, his
language is rid of all extraneous elements. It is calculated, and thus
effectively eliminates the accidents and imperfections that mar our
usual speech (ramblings, fragmented ideas, incorrect syntax, etc.).
Certainly a play like Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett
demonstrates how even redundant and circular speech may still achieve
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a heightened level. Beckett's play also clearly reveals that simple
and unadorned words may yet assume the stature of poetry. Arthur
Miller's Death of a Salesman takes what may be described as "regular-
run-of-the-mill" people and successfully manipulates their commonplace
phraseology and vocabulary to reveal deep psychological motivations and
thus rich portrayals of character.
The diction of "Beto's Dream" harkens to the raw, elemental
power of the early actos of El Teatro Campesino. As Sylvie Drake
stated of the latter; "It feels deceptively childlike because it
Q
deals directly from the heart and only indirectly from the head."
In like fashion, the diction of "Beto's Dream" is quite direct,
simple, or straightforward. What is most conspicuous in its language
is the curious sparcity of metaphor and simile. Metaphor allows lan
guage to be freed from limited and limiting denotations. Its unique
function is to multiply meaning to enlarge a statement, thus allowing
many levels of interpretation.
The obvious justification for the paucity of metaphor in
"Beto's Dream" is its audience, that same "popular" audience defined
earlier (in Chapter II). And as such, it would be confused by meta
phors. But certainly such a position is not very forceful, as meta
phors (when properly employed) retain a simple surface meaning while
encouraging (for those with an ear to picking it up) further levels of
meaning.
A recent example of a work mirroring a minority experience but
appealing to and serving a larger audience is Ntosake Shange's choreo-
poem For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow
104
Is Enuf. This work "plays" not only to a universal audience, but to
its particular audience, Black Americans. It uses sophisticated meta
phors that are at once understandable to an uneducated "street brother"
as well as having deeper levels of meaning for the highly educated mem
ber of the audience. I think it is fair to speculate, however, that
Teatro Urbano, still inexperienced in writing, will doubtlessly mature
in its use of metaphor and simile--just as it has grown in performance
expertise.
Performance: "Beto's Dream"
Setting
In the case of "Beto's Dream," setting refers both to the oc
casion and to the physical plant. The (first) performance I witnessed
was in 1979 on Cinco de Mayo ("Fifth of May"), a very special day of
celebration. Cinco de Mayo symbolizes the pride and power of Mexico,
who on that particular day successfully repelled the French in an im
portant battle. By extension, on Cinco de Mayo the Chicano identifies
with the strength and determination of his ancestors. Large gather
ings, both political and spiritual, take place throughout the South
west.
After 1969, Cinco de Mayo festivals found a new locale--the
college campus. Coincidentally, the typical Cinco de Mayo celebration,
when targeted for a secondary school audience, will be held on a col
lege campus that might bring together junior high and high school stu
dents from the barrio and inner city. It is a celebration of change
and growth, for in addition to have dancers, "low-rider" car shows
105
and the like, speakers encourage the young Chicano to prepare for a
college education; in other words, attempts are made to politicize and
motivate the audience towards positive action.
The specific setting for the performance of "Beto's Dream" was
the University of Southern California's Bovard Auditorium. Teatro
Urbano had never before performed upon this stage; nor was there any
rehearsal time available to them before the performance.
The only set used for "Beto's Dream" was a 12 by 12 backdrop or
flat. On the flat was painted a barrio wall and a view of the Chicano
community. The "wall" of the flat was covered with placas (A "placd'is
a form of Chicano calligraphy that, while still "graffiti,” is nonethe
less a decipherable language capable of displaying a wide range of in
formation regarding gang activity.)
The only other stage properties used for "Beto's Dream" were a
trashcan and a few wooden crates. Needless to say "Beto's Dream" was
an extremely portable acto that could, at a moment's notice, be set up
anywhere.
Performers
Prior to the present production, most of the cast members of
"Beto's Dream" performing in Bovard Auditorium had had no previous
acting experience whatsoever. This is common with Teatros, as the
concept of popular theater includes the notion that anyone should be
allowed onstage (irrespective of the amount of real "talent" the indi
vidual might have— or whether that person indeed possessed any acting
ability at all).
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In this case the performers (in general) appeared quite wooden
and self-conscious; to balance the fault, perhaps, the only performance
element apparently stressed by director Rene Rodriguez was a consis
tently strong vocal projection. The style of the entire performance
was presentational; throughout "Beto's Dream" the audience was emphat
ically and continually addressed by the actors.
The exceptions in this instance, in terms of acting experience,
were Rene and Rosemary Rodriguez. As shown by the history of Teatro
Urbano (documented in Chapter II), these two performers had college
training in theater arts. Thus it was not surprising that both of
them displayed a sense of polish and assurity in their performances.
Still, all of the usual problems one might encounter with the
untrained and amateur actor (i.e., upstaging, poor diction, shallow
interpretations, etc.) were strongly evident in "Beto's Dream."
Music
Given the minimal production capability of a performance staged
only once at a facility never before used, about the only portable
production value is music. The existing public address system at
Bovard Auditorium was therefore used to amplify the recorded music
played throughout "Beto's Dream." The songs (on a cassette tape) were
those "oldies but goodies" that are so popular in the Los Angeles bar-
rios--the pop music of the fifties. As Urbano readied themselves for
performance, the tape began playing for the audience.
The only song prominently featured in the perforaance of "Beto's
Dream" was "Desiree," by the Motown group "The Four Tops." It is a
107
"downhome" rhythm and blues love ballad which was played throughout
the "party" scene.
Spectacle
The Poetics places the use of "visual adornment" as "the least
9
artistic element of the sensuous attractions." It is easy to under
stand why an element like costuming (and, by extension, all the other
"adornments," i.e., the audiovisual effects used to enhance today's
productions) was considered the "least connected with the poetic
art."^ It is simply because devices of spectacle most often engage
an audience's attention by the force of gimmickry, novelty, or other
wise ostentatious display. That is to say, they usually offer cheap
thrills for the audience, rather than provide an organic extension of
the artwork. Of course, when elements of spectacle are, in fact,
elaborations of character and action, an uniquely potent force is
created onstage.
In practical terms, modern use of spectacle is dependent upon
the budget of a given production. Therefore, since most Teatros oper
ate with almost no money at all— they are lucky if a single set, inte
gral to an acto, can be constructed, much less subtle lighting effects
or tailor-made costumes, etc.,— costuming, lighting, and special au
diovisual effects are usually minimal in Chicano Teatro.
The costumes used in "Beto's Dream" were in fact the "costumes"
of the audience, i.e., the cholo/chola outfit. For men this consists
of a Pendleton shirt, khaki pants, and often a bandana set low over
the eyes. The cholo or vato attire can, of course, be easily varied
108
with an undershirt in the place of a Pendleton, a hat or wool cap or
dark sunglasses instead of a bandana, etc.
The most conspicuous aspect of the chola's costume is the
overly ornate use of facial makeup (particularly eye makeup). The
cholas also don very tight bluejeans and the simple T-shirt or blouse.
There was no special lighting capability at all for the pro
duction (just the general stage lights of Bovard Auditorium were used) .
Audience
S. H. Butcher’s commentary on the Poetics contains the follow
ing observation: "The end, then, of fine art, according to Aristotle's
doctrine, is a certain pleasurable impression produced upon the mind
of the hearer or the spectator . . . who contemplates the finished
product.Immediately, a potentially disturbing conclusion arises
from Aristotle's doctrine: "If the end of art is to be found in a
certain emotional effect, in a pleasure which is purely subjective,
the end becomes something arbitrary and accidental, and dependent on
12
each individual's moods."
Thus far "Beto's Dream" has been appraised solely as an artis
tic creation with certain eminent and objective characteristics, i.e.,
unity, complexity, and intensity. Whether it be plot, character, or
quality of performance, all of these areas have been judged as wanting
in terms of their perfection of the artwork (though considerable prom
ise was found as well).
If we shift critical focus, however, so that the appraisal of
"Beto's Dream" is based upon audience response, a completely different
109
picture emerges. "Beto's Dream" has consistently received the most
unabashed praise imaginable throughout its performance schedule:
standing ovations, autograph seekers, etc. have characterized the
response to "Beto's Dream."
The actual performance at Bovard Auditorium was no different
in terms of it being a total success--that is, from an audience point
of view. The specific audience in this case was made up of over 600
high school students drawn from eleven inner city campuses throughout
Los Angeles. All of the students were Chicanos who had been bused
over to the University of Southern California to celebrate Cinco de
Mayo.
One might argue that a good deal of the audience response at
Bovard Auditorium was due solely to the highly charged occasion. But
certainly Cinco de Mayo does not automatically ensure that a very large
audience of restless high schoolers will be not only attentive, but
thoroughly engaged by a play.
What then accounts for the overwhelming reactions to "Beto's
Dream," where the audience literally laughs and cries, hoots, and
hollers? I believe there is no mystery here; rather there are definite
reasons for such positive responses.
First, the audience is limited to Chicanos, and the acto it
self is tailored for this special audience. That is, the characters
and their diction are easily related to by the audience because the
characters "are" the audience. Where else do Chicanos see themselves?
A report of the United States Commission on Civil Rights, called
Window Dressing on the Set: Women and Minorities in Television.
110
documents the appalling absence of Chicanos in America's foremost
13
media. No doubt the situation is the same or even worse in cinema
and on the traditional stage.
Thus when an audience that is starved for a mirror of them
selves find a glimpse of their own reflection, jubilation is the re
sult. It is most difficult for a member of the American mainstream to
realize the impact on a largely disenfranchised subculture of seeing
a non-stereotypic portrayal of themselves live onstage (when it has
always been denied).
Then again, the overt simplicity of the action, and the basic
one-dimensionality of the characters, make it easy for the audience
to follow the story (as the narrative line closely resembles that of
the television program in development and style).
Finally, the theme (gang warfare in the barrio) is a highly
emotional one with which the audience is intimately familiar and often
shares a remembered personal loss; as likely as not, friends have died
as a result of such warfare. Thus the emotions of the audience are
deeply stirred on several fronts from a viewing of "Beto's Dream."
The inconsistencies that were found in the script are virtually
nonexistent on the stage, as the audience is not likely to even notice
the obvious aesthetic flaws of the work. For them, there is only the
immediacy of a Teatro performing for and about themselves . A further
example of the unique interrelationship between Teatro and audience
is found in the backdrop used onstage in "Beto's Dream."
The placas that cover this backdrop were actually painted by
gang members from various audiences before whom Teatro Urbano
111
previously played "Beto's Dream." After a perfoimance selected members
of the audience were allowed to add their own placas to the "set." In
this way, a very personal touch was brought to every performance of
"Beto's Dream."
The channel between Teatro Urbano and the audience was open;
in fact when audience members asked to join the group they were ac
tually allowed in (almost all the "newer" members of Teatro Urbano
were recruited, in revolving-door fashion, in precisely this way).
One must also remember that "Beto's Dream" was, in the main, performed
14
"in hardcore cholo neighborhoods." That means a strong rapport with
the audience was not merely desirable, but crucial; violence could
erupt at any moment if the audience felt in the least bit compromised
or attacked.
An anecdote reflecting the audience's initial suspicion of
strangers on their turf was related by Rosemary Rodriguez in a recent
interview. She remembered how Martin Pacheco, the actor playing Beto,
arrived "in costume" to perform in a park in the barrio. He was
greeted with a menacing interrogation by local vatos who wanted to
know, "Where you from, ese?" (meaning from what barrio and what gang) .
Martin replied, "I'm from nowhere, I just came to perform for you,
Homes." ("Homes" is slang for "homeboys" or "street dudes.") Immedi
ately the antagonism melted into deference, and those same cholos who
had sneered at Pacheco now openly admired him: "Sorry, carnal."
("Carnal" is slang for "brother.") The vatos were visibly impressed
that Martin was "an actor."^
Thus, as Butcher stated regarding the Poetics: "The work of
112
art is in its nature an appeal to the senses and imagination of the
person to whom it is presented; its perfection and success depend on
a subjective impress ion.We can therefore conclude that "Beto's
Dream" is skillfully calculated to satisfy the "senses and imagination"
of its target audience (the obvious confirmation being the overwhelm
ingly positive reception which its audiences habitually confer upon
"Beto's Dream").
To summarize, how does one characterize the script of "Beto's
Dream"? To begin with, the plot may be said to be simple. The mark
of a simple plot is a single narrative line that is uncomplicated,
direct, and easily understood. By extension, there are no subplots
(which often add complexity to the text via complications to the nar
rative) .
The characters are not fully developed and are at present in
consistently rendered. Or to state it another way, there is little
more than a recognizable surface (depiction) of any given character,
as opposed to characters who are invested with psychological depth.
The thought of "Beto's Dream" approximates the "spirit" of
Marxism without presenting logical arguments in support of its thesis.
Hence the approach is vague and subject to the use of logical fallacies.
The diction is not sophisticated in its use of rhetorical
devices such as metaphor or simile. The effect is more conversational
than theatrical.
To summarize performance values: The set is minimal, but it
effectively creates a visible locale and thus helps establish the tone
of "Beto's Dream." (Due to the necessity of total mobility for produc-
113
ing this acto, such minimalism is not only aesthetically valid, but
financially prudent.)
In spite of their (for the most part) inexperience, the per
formers nonetheless made an impact upon the audience. However, al
though a certain measure of success was achieved, no subtlety (no
nuances or shadings in levels of performance) was brought to the char
acters, leaving this critic to frown over stilted, one-dimensional
portrayals.
The music, like the set, was minimal but effective. (It was
easy to see direct confirmation of the aptness of Urbano's choice of
music, for the audience instantly voiced their approval as each tune
came over the public address system.)
In any sense of the word, there was little to no spectacle in
"Beto's Dream." As previously noted, this area usually requires funds
or capabilities beyond the grasp of most Teatros. Hence all "visual
adornment" was truly ordinary and created no sense of either surprise
or awe.
The audience was visibly moved and vocally appreciative of the
performance of "Beto's Dream" at Bovard Auditorium. This was typical
of Teatro Urbano's experience with the acto throughout its many perfor
mances . The potentially rowdy audience was truly attentive to and
emotionally engaged by "Beto's Dream," and certainly their standing
ovations and cheers proved its success to Teatro Urbano.
The next work to be studied in our experience with Teatro
Urbano is "The Silver Dollar," also written by Rene Rodriguez (under
his pen name, Alejandro Nanyalli). As with all six works reviewed in
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this chapter, a systematic analysis will be undertaken, under the head
ings of Script and Performance.
Script: "The Silver Dollar"
Dramatis Personae
As with "Beto's Dream," the script for "The Silver Dollar" does
not offer a roster of characters; nor are character descriptions pres
ent in any of the stage indications. Hence I again have extrapolated
such information from the text itself.
Barmaid:
Robert:
Alfonso:
Joe:
Gloria:
Raquel:
The limited omniscient narrator, she is the
only character who breaks the convention of
the fourth wall. She is a trustworthy, hard
working, and generous person by nature, but
she will wield her authority when necessary.
A regular at the Silver Dollar, he is an
unemployed Vietnam veteran who suffers from
Delayed Stress Syndrome. He is also a
racist against his own people (whether they
be Mexican or Chicano) and has tried, un
successfully, to assimilate into the American
mainstream- He is married but has no children.
New to the Silver Dollar, he is an unemployed
Mexican national who has only been in America
for a few weeks. His expectations of golden
opportunity in the United States are quickly
turning into frustration and disillusion
ment .
A regular at the Cafe, he is a married man
with two children. Joe is always in the
company of his girlfriend Gloria. He is
apparently unemployed.
Joe’s girlfriend. She is unemployed and
unhappy with her affair with Joe (demand
ing he either get a divorce or break up
with her). She is also a regular at the
Silver Dollar.
An unmarried young woman living at home. She
is employed, but her wages cannot support her
family. She is a regular at the Cafe.
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Brown Beret: A young Chicano who momentarily enters the
Cafe while marching in the Moratorium taking
place outside. He has long hair and wears
a pseudo-military outfit.
Police Officer: A highly authoritarian and racist individual
who behaves more like a paid assassin than a
"peace" officer.
The next six characters briefly appear in a sequence which
dramatizes Robert's Delayed Stress Syndrome (Scene III):
Drill Sargeant: One of Robert's commanding officers while in
Vietnam. He is a stem, unyielding racist.
Ms. Wetherly;
Mother:
Father:
Vietnamese;
Vato:
Robert's high school counselor. She is so
patronizing that one immediately perceives
her unbridled racism.
Robert's mother. She has totally internalized
the negative stereotypes against Chicanos; she
advocates complete assimilation for son Robert,
Robert's father. He teaches Robert to divest
himself of all external trappings of the Mexi-
cano and to be "an American."
A nonspeaking role; a figure who appears mom
entarily in black pajamas.
A nonspeaking role; also a momentary appear
ance, standing in traditional vato attire.
All Dramatis Personae were enacted by Teatro Urbano, with the
following cast of ten persons:
Beverly Ann Angustain:
German Becerra:
Giovanni Calderon:
David Herrera/
. also Douglas
"Jack" Calderon:
Tomas Calderon:
Henry Guerrero:
Rosemary Soto
Rodriguez:
Charlie Young:
Raquel
Alfonso
Ms. Wetherly/Vietnamese
Joe
Robert Morales
Vato/Ruben Salazar
Barmaid
Drill Sargeant/
Brown Beret/ and
Police Officer
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Plot Synopsis
"The Silver Dollar" is a one-act play in four scenes. It is a
fictitious account of the attack by police, August 29, 1970, on the
Silver Dollar Cafe in East Los Angeles--an attack that took the life
of Chicano journalist Ruben Salazar.
In Scene I the Barmaid directly addresses the audience: "Good
morning, you’re here early. I wasn't expecting anyone until 11:00 ..."
She informs us that her customers "son los mas pobres de barrio" ("are
the poorest souls of the barrio"). Still, "with all their hangups,
they are a great bunch of Chicanos, wait a minute, 'Chicanos,' I'm
using that word too early, it's still an idea, it hasn't become a
reality." Thus we're informed that it is August 29, 1970, a time
when the concept of "Chicanismo" was still very new. Her monologue
closes with "Well, let me get back to work so that I can get this
place cleaned and ready for whatever is going to happen."
Robert enters and immediately makes a sexist remark to the
Barmaid: "I've seen some pretty nice nalgas ("asses"), but yours is
terrific." He is promptly rebuffed and warned that he must behave
better than he did last night. Robert maintains he cannot remember
his recent racist attacks on the clientele, so the Barmaid reminds
him: "You kept on yelling ... what a great American you are and how
everybody else are a bunch of stupid wetbacks."
The two argue as Alfonso enters; the Barmaid perceives Alfonso
to be a Mexican national, so she speaks to him only in Spanish: "Ay
que sympatica, que gustas?" ("Good to have you here, what's your
pleasure?") Alfonso makes it known he really wants sexual favors from
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the Barmaid, but he, like Robert, is promptly rebuffed.
Alfonso then asks, "De acasoleda no sabes de un trabajo por
ay?" ("By chance, do you know of any work?") She replies, "Y de
trabajo no, as que las condiciones estan muy mal." ("As for work,
no— it's because conditions are very bad.") This prompts Robert to
say, "If it wasn't for all you chutaros ("wetbacks") there would be
plenty of jobs," and another argument ensues.
Scene II begins as Joe and Gloria enter. They both taunt
Robert for his actions of the night before and laugh as they recall
how he was thrown out. The Barmaid moves Joe and Gloria over to a
table and warns them not to start any trouble with Robert. Shortly
afterwards, Joe and Gloria have a row over their undefined relation
ship. Gloria demands that Joe divorce his wife and he refuses. An
outraged Gloria slaps Joe, and soon Joe storms out, yelling "Who the
hell do you think you are anyway? I can find any woman I want, you'll
come back crying to me."
The Barmaid comforts Gloria: "We can't let men continue doing
whatever they want ... they have to understand that women have
rights ..." Robert calls the Barmaid a "woman's lib pinko" and is
promptly slapped for his mockery. The focus now shifts; Raquel enters
with news of the Chicano marchers in the rally outside.
Predictably, Robert's response is to call these protestors
against the Vietnam war "stupid communists ... they all should be
shot." Another altercation ensues, until Robert's rage settles on
Alfonso again: "You fuckin' wetback." Robert now attacks Alfonso,
but Alfonso slugs Robert in the face, and Robert falls to the floor.
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The hit in the head triggers Robert’s Delayed Stress Syndrome as we
segue into the next scene.
Scene III opens with an hallucination sequence. Robert sees
his Drill Sargeant and his high school Counselor, as well as his
Father and Mother. Each of these people ’ ’put him down":
Drill Sargeant: "Morales, all you are is shit."
Ms. Wetherly: "Robert, you're so dumb ... dumb
means Mexican." (laughs)
Father: "To be something in your life, you
have to forget that you’re Mexican
.... Your people are so dumb."
Mother: "Your Father is right, our people
are so lazy."
Robert’s nightmarish recollection ends when the Viet Cong he
imagines himself stabbing turns into a vato: "What's happening, I
killed one of my own people I It was a VC, then it was a Chicano like
me I" Robert now returns to reality and quickly resumes his own
bigoted s tance.
A Brown Beret enters: "Everyone come out and join us, march
with us against the war in Vietnam and the exploitation of Chicanos in
Aztlan." After his exit Robert replies, "Aztlan? This is America,
asshole ...." Gloria and Raquel then mock Robert: "Hey everyone,
Robert doesn’t know who he is."
The Barmaid stops the taunting in a monologue that claims:
"Gloria, you're no different from Robert, or you Raquel, or me; just
to say we're not ashamed is not enough, you have to do something ...
those kids out there are doing it." The thoughtfulness of the Bar
maid's words is rudely interrupted by Joe’s return: "So now I've seen
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everything, a cheap Barmaid acting like a psychologist 1" The general
uneasiness is somewhat softened when the Barmaid puts music on the
jukebox and Joe convinces Gloria to dance.
Scene IV opens as Raquel points out to everyone that the sound
of the marchers has all but disappeared. Joe remarks that the faces
of the demonstrators he saw showed such strength and unity that he
believed if all Chicanos "could be like that, man? We could do any
thing." But Joe's optimism is fleeting: "It sounds great, but it's
impossible. Our people will never work with each other over anything."
A discussion ensues until Raquel says, "Come on let's dance,
let's party." In the meantime, a man quietly enters and is served a
beer. On the dance floor Joe apologizes to Gloria and earnestly im
plores, "This business with my wife, the only thing I ask is let me
think and settle it with her, OK?"
This time the thoughtful moment is disrupted by Robert, and
another argument erupts. This (mutual) verbal aggression continues
until the sound of police sirens grows so loud that everyone runs to
the door. A voice is heard on a bullhorn. "Everyone in the bar, you
are surrounded, we know there are a couple of snipers in there ...
throw your weapons out the door and come out with your hands up."
A sense of helplessness and panic sets in until a shot is
heard; then smoke and total confusion fill the Cafe. A Police Officer
enters with a rifle apparently poised to shoot anyone he chooses:
"Everyone put your hands up and get the hell outside." Raquel sees
someone lying dead on the floor: it's the man who had just entered.
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The Officer ignores her discovery: "I told all of you greaseballs to
get outside .. . right now*1 1
"The Silver Dollar" closes with Robert saying "They killed that
man for no reason at all." Gloria's reply is ominous: "There was a
reason, he's a Chicano." The Police Officer herds the people outside
as "Robert remains looking at the body, the Barmaid grabs [Robert] by
the arm, they exit, lights fade out."
Plot Analysis
"The Silver Dollar" is a much more unified and structurally
complex work than "Beto's Dream." Whereas the plot of "Beto's Dream"
was shown to be an obvious variation of Dickens' A Christmas Carol.
the storyline of "The Silver Dollar" is quite original. Through
Nanyalli's skillful interaction of the main characters, four stories
are actually told. The central tale is that of Robert Morales, a
Chicano who has been unfortunately guided by family and society to
wards self-hatred. Robert's story, however, is based upon the tragic
fact that thousands of Chicanos tried to prove (to America) their
honorability as citizens by volunteering for front line combat in
Vietnam. As a result, more Chicanos received the Congressional Medal
of Honor than any other minority group; more Chicanos also died as a
17
result.
"The Silver Dollar," however, places Robert alongside all Viet
nam veterans (some 600,000) suffering from Delayed Stress Syndrome.
Also, Robert (although Chicano himself) is the voice of mainstream
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racism against the Chicano; this situation complicates the storyline
cons iderably.
The main subplot in "The Silver Dollar" is the love affair of
Joe and Gloria. Their stormy liaison weaves in and out of Robert's
crisis, adding variety and intensity to the play.
The secondary subplot is the story of Alfonso. Through Alfonso
the plight of illegal aliens is introduced, but only implicitly, for
the play is not a soapbox.
Finally, through an impressive use of theatrical understatement,
the real story of the police killing of Ruben Salazar is told; the
anonymous status Salazar has in the play only works to heighten the
horror of his senseless death. For Salazar's celebrity status is well
established in the Chicano audience, and underplaying his appearance
shows considerable sophistication and maturity on Nanyalli's part.
Thus we observe that, from a plot construction perspective,
"The Silver Dollar" is eminently more complex than "Beto's Dream."
Additionally, "The Silver Dollar" brings us a crucial ingredient sorely
missing from "Beto's Dream": conflict.
The reader will recall that "the systema" was supposedly the
antagonist in "Beto’s Dream," but in order for an abstraction to be
dramatically effective, it must be embodied in the implicit and ex
plicit behavior of a character. Otherwise the playwright is simply
imposing his political views upon the audience by using characters
nerely as puppets or partisan speech makers, not as people living
in action (and reaction) onstage.
Of course, one might assume that any concept of Popular Theater
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implies sloganeering and overt politicking onstage. Yet this is not
so, as Terry Eagleton's analysis of Marxist aesthetics attests:
Engles wrote that he was by no means averse to fiction with a
political " tendency" but that it was wrong for an author to be
openly partisan. The political tendency must emerge unobtrus
ively from the dramatized situation . . . by conscientiously
describing the real mutual relations, breaking down conventional
illusions about them, it shatters the optimism of the bourgeois
world, instills doubt as to the internal character of the bour
geois world, although the author does not offer any definite ^g
solution or does not even line up openly on any particular side.
[Italics not in original.]
Nanyalli achieves the above brand of Popular Theater in "The
Silver Dollar" because a full range of political viewpoints coexists
onstage, and because he offers no simplistic solution to Crisis wit
nessed onstage. The plot serves as a source of provocation for the
audience to ponder as they leave the theater, not as a clearcut didac
tic piece.
"The Silver Dollar" moves upon a series of dyadic and triadic
clusters of conflict and partial reconciliations (a pitch and yawl of
interaction): Robert versus Barmaid, Barmaid versus Alfonso, Alfonso
reconciled to Barmaid, Robert versus Alfonso, Joe and Gloria versus
Robert, Gloria versus Joe; Robert supports Gloria, Gloria slaps Joe,
Barmaid slaps Robert; Robert versus Marchers, Alfonso slugs Robert,
Robert versus Vietnam experience , Joe versus Barmaid, Alfonso recon
ciled to Robert, Joe supports Marchers, Joe versus the Marchers; Joe
reconciled to Gloria, Robert reconciled to Marchers, Robert versus
the Marchers, etc.
Though having so many points of conflict could unduly clutter
a play, Nanyalli has integrated these networks so that most of them
appear as plausible interactions. Furthermore, the conflicts often
123
take on added meaning when set in ironic counterpoint to each other.
For example, just as Robert's racism boils to the breaking point and
he grabs Alfonso yelling, "I'm going to kill you!” the commotion in
side the Cafe is drowned out by the sound of the marchers outside (a
march against the killing of Chicanos by a racist military!).
Another effective instance of irony occurs as Robert tells
everyone, "I'm not dumb. I know that all of you don't know what you're
talking about, the conditions here [in the United States] aren't bad
... you never had it so good." At that precise moment a police bull
horn declares "Everyone in the bar, you are surrounded!" and soon
Ruben Salazar is dead.
The weakest areas in the overall plot structure are found in
the Gloria/Joe affair, and in the way Robert's horrifying flashback
is handled. In the first case, there is often little to no motivation
for Gloria's exhibition of the intimate details of her affair with
Joe. Much of the time their relationship is purely melodramatic
(though Nanyalli does successfully integrate Joe into a larger theme
and suggests a poignant friendship between Gloria and the Barmaid).
The problem with Robert's flashback scene is that it is not
foreshadowed nor reacted to fully by any of the characters. In addi
tion, the scene is expressionistic in style, while all the other scenes
are in the main naturalistic; the effect is jarring. More importantly,
after several minutes of intense and frightening flashback, the entire
episode is summarily dismissed:
Barmaid: It's OK. Everything is alright, Robert.
Gloria: You were just dreaming, Robert. Forget it.
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The Delayed Stress Syndrome is never again apparent in the
play; nor is any empathy shown to Robert for his crippling legacy from
Vietnam.
Character
For the most part, there is significantly deeper character de
velopment in ’ ’ The Silver Dollar" than there was in "Beto's Dream."
What was missing in the former work is a sense of psychological com
plexity in the characters, particularly in the protagonist (Beto).
Robert, the protagonist in "The Silver Dollar," is on the other hand
three-dimensionalized, a man in deep turmoil; his onstage actions are
the result of his life experiences.
Robert is also complex because he is, in fact, an anti-hero--
one whose behavior, in many instances, repels the audience even as he
remains the most engaging personality onstage. The audience identifies
with Robert, but our inherent allegiance is constantly threatened by
the ugliness of his actions (though we understand he has been per
verted or made ugly by outside forces).
The character of Robert, though richly drawn by Nanyalli, is
not without certain minor flaws. We are informed, for example, througjh
Robert's flashback, that both his parents pushed an extremely assimila-
tionist perspective onto their son. If this is so, why does Robert
understand and speak Spanish? (Robert clearly follows everything
Alfonso or the Barmaid says in Spanish--why?). More to the point, why
does Robert say in the opening of Scene One, "I know what I am, I'm an
American, a Mexican American"? Later in the same scene he says, "I'm
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no Mexican, I'm an American." The former line is completely inconsis
tent with his assimilationist point of view. In Scene Three he again
betrays a sellout mentality following Gloria's question "Gome on,
Robert, I bet they [his parents] are from Mexico, huh?" Robert com
pletely denies any Mexican ancestry in his reply: "I'm an American."
The only time Robert's racism is actually penetrated, and the
single instance in which Robert openly admits to being "Chicano,"
occurs during the denouement of the flashback scene. But this is after
Robert's exceptionally wrenching mental aberration unleashes the deep
rage and self-hatred he carries, following which he scapegoats the
Vietnamese and the vatos. Thus Robert's line, "I just killed one of
my own people, it was a VC, then it was a Chicano like me," is not
only plausible but inevitable in the context and aftermath of the
flashback.
Nanyalli is never so subtle as in this flashback scene, for he
intentionally blurs and then fuses Robert's patriotic, anti-Communist
stance with the American stereotypes of Mexicans and Chicanos instilled
in him by Robert's family and by society. Robert cries out, "You cul-
tureless, dumb lazy Commie, your people should be destroyed!"
The Barmaid is another complex character, for she far exceeds
the literal boundaries usually associated with such a role. She is, in
fact, the moderating and mystical force of reason and wisdom. Thus her
function in "The Silver Dollar" is much the same as that of the Shake
spearian court jester: the "wise fool," the truthsayer, the "lowly"
one with heightened awareness.
The Barmaid's prescience is first seen in her greeting to the
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audience where "Chicano" is playfully introduced as a futuristic idea,
not as a present reality. Furthermore, the Barmaid immediately con
fronts Robert with the truth: "You're always coming out with your
pendejadas" ["stupidities"]. She also rightfully indicts him for his
insensitivity to others: "Ya ni la fuegas" ["You just don't give a
damn"]. Only the Barmaid perceives Joe's sexism and the incalculable
promise of the Moratorium (the latter representing a spiritual turning
point and an ongoing political activism crucial to the struggle of
La Raza).
As was pointed out in the plot analysis, the affair of Joe and
Gloria tends to be rendered as melodrama. There is little depth to
either role; the deep love Gloria supposedly has for Joe is not
founded on any qualities of his character that the audience can see.
Also, if Joe has heretofore refused to consider leaving his wife, and
if he and Gloria have "been through all of this hundreds of times,"
what accounts for his change of heart at the end of the play? "From
now on things will be different with me,"Joe promises, but why? There
is no real recognition or reversal. In fact, when Joe returns to the
Cafe, he immediately insults the Barmaid for supporting Gloria in
standing up for her rights; this certainly does not indicate any break
in his chauvinism. There is no contrition whatsoever on Joe's part,
and all Gloria does is willingly accept his dogmatism and insults and
then seal their differences with a kiss on the dance floor.
The character of Alfonso is generally well-defined and func
tions in continual counterpoint to Robert. There is one glaring in
consistency, however, in the character. Since he represents the
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Mexican national looking for work in America (having been in the United
States for only two weeks), why does he understand English? There are
many examples that further underscore this curious inconsistency. For
instance, when Robert in Scene One is ranting, "I’m no Mexican, I'm an
American, I fought in Vietnam," Alfonso tells the Barmaid, in Spanish,
"I believe, besides that, I've seen other people who think the same
way. It's a problem of identification. He doesn't understand his
culture." Now, this sounds like an American sociologist rather than
an illiterate Mexican national experiencing culture shock. Yet at
other times Alfonso says, "I don't understand" ["No intiendo"3 after
Robert says something quite simple to him. As the script stands, no
internal explanation is offered to account for Alfonso's on-again, off-
again understanding of English.
"The Silver Dollar" presents some flat characters who help widen
the number of personality types onstage. Raquel's character is that
of a young single woman still living at home. She functions, however,
as narrator of the events outside the Cafe. This role helps establish
some commerce between the bar regulars and revolutionary events beyond
their little circle.
The character of the Brown Beret is similar in function to
Raquel's. He is^ the outside, a Moratorium marcher who momentarily
attempts to solicit everyone's participation. Nanyalli thus uses
every character in "The Silver Dollar" for an express purpose, whether
they be flat or round.
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Thought
You will recall that the thought in "Beto's Dream" was a vague
form of Marxism channeled through the fallacy of reductionism. In "The
Silver Dollar" thought emerges from character, and there are several
competing ideas which remain unresolved by the end of the play. This
is a major improvement over the singular and simplistic thought in
"Beto's Dream." Instead of overgeneralizing about "la systema" in
words, "The Silver Dollar" shows one facet of the system, the police,
in action. In this way the audience feels anger because people on
stage whom they care about are being subjected to a form of fascism.
This is much more persuasive than mounting self-conscious soliloquies
on "the oppressor" and pamphleteering for "unity."
Another improvement in this area is the fact that the charac
ters leave the stage confused and frightened. Thus no easy solutions
are offered to the audience as in "Beto's Dream"; there are no illu
sions that "everything will be fine." Real danger exists, not only
for "Chicanos" who are determined to actively pursue their grievances
in a political fashion, but for all Hispanics, irrespective of their
own personal views on ethnicity or politics.
Importantly, the thought in "The Silver Dollar" is raised to
the psychology of behavior; it is not a transparent treatise on Marx
ism. The Barmaid, for instance, says to the group, "That's what I’m
trying to tell you, we've been conditioned not to succeed, to fight
for every piece of bone that is thrown at us ... It’s a game ... we
fight for a chance to play the game, then we cheat, lie, and even kill
to be part of the game." Hence the Barmaid locates the crux of the
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issue psychologically, not politically. The "oppressor" is one's own
blind acceptance of any dysfunctional conditioning, whether that con
ditioning comes from family, friends, or the mainstream society.
All in all, it is safe to conclude that the thought present in
"The Silver Dollar" is quite sophisticated and universal in point of
view (though, of course, its specific referent is the Chicano).
Diction
The use of language in "The Silver Dollar" achieves a greater
subtlety and naturalistic potency than that of "Beto's Dream." For
example, Robert's diction is simple, but accurately reflects his char
acter and background (particularly in conveying his rage). Here
Robert inveighs against Alfonso: "You know something? I'm a Vietnam
veteran and I can't find shit because of you and your damned wetback
people." As was mentioned earlier, Nanyalli's finest writing is in
Robert's flashback scene. This is because he effectively demonstrates
Robert's transference: "Come out of your dirty barrios, you dirty
cultureless gooks, we're here to show you what democracy is, you dumb
bas tards!"
The Barmaid's manner of speech occasionally verges on the mys
tical (though she is never overly poetic or out of character). For
instance, she tells Robert, "Sometimes dreams really seem real because
they're telling us something. In fact, sometimes our dreams tell us
to change, change the way we live." The Barmaid also becomes the
voice of destiny, speaking directly to the audience:
I'm gonna tell you a secret, que secret! You already know
what's going on outside, well it's just that I don't want
them to hear cause it will ruin the whole play. You see
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what's happening outside is going to affect everyone, it's gonna
be a big change, and I think for the better. What do you think?
Well, I've got to get back on the play.
Nanyalli never becomes maudlin; nor does he over-extend any
monologue. In fact, throughout the play the language retains a taut
"street" sense necessary for the clientele of an East Los Angeles bar.
Yet the diction also has a metaphoric level that truly raises the
meaning of the dialogue to an intellectually provocative plane. Wit
ness Joe's remembrance of the Moratorium marchers:
You know, when I was standing outside and I looked at their
faces, I could see the anger each one had, but what I could
see the most was the unity in them. I was thinking if we,
I'm talking about all of us, the Chicanos, could be like them,
man, si puedemos mover mountainas.
"The Silver Dollar's" language is generally much more mature
than that of "Beto's Dream"; there is no strident didacticism here,
but rather a fluid style of speech flowing from each character.
Performance: "The Silver Dollar"
Setting
In contrast to the Spartan stage setting of "Beto's Dream,"
"The Silver Dollar," produced at Teatro Urbano's own theater in El
Sereno, was accorded a full range of values for theatrical presenta
tion. The centerpiece of "The Silver Dollar" was an ingenious single
set effectively recreating the interior of the Cafe. Specifically,
the set consisted of a seven-foot wooden bar with a linoleum top.
The bar had a built-in footrest and was semicircular. Behind the bar
was a thirteen-foot long counter which supported a real cash register
and telephone. Rising seven feet above the counter was a painted wall
flat "cluttered" with shelves of bottles, trophies, tacked-on messages,
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etc. Crowning the wall was a perfectly kitsch painting of a nude
woman, supine, and smiling at the audience. The only sign legible to
the audience declared: "Mistakes are Embarrassing— Please Pay When
Served."
The center stage floor space contained three tables (actually
large wooden "spools" that are used to wrap telephone cables. The
spools were set on their sides, becoming tables). On the tables were
red glasses, each holding a candle. There were two chairs per table.
Offstage right was an old jukebox and the dance floor.
John Valadez, from the Los Angeles Public Art Center, was the
visiting set designer for "The Silver Dollar" and deserves commenda
tion for his fine contribution to this production.
The physical plant itself was the first permanent home and
theater for any Los Angeles Teatro, and was equipped with a primitive,
but effective, lighting board, various audiovisual capabilities, and
bleachers for audience seating. Unlike "Beto's Dream," which was a
portable show performed mainly outdoors, "The Silver Dollar" was,
from its inception, created for Teatro Urbano's own theater.
Performers
As is usually the case with Teatros, membership rosters are
very flexible (people are both coming in and going out with each pro
duction); it was the same with "The Silver Dollar." This play, how
ever, does feature four members who were also in "Beto's Dream":
Tomas Calderon, Sandy Mendosa, Rosemary Soto Rodriguez, and Rene
Rodriguez. Of the new members, two had sane theater experience--
German Becerra (an actor from Colombia) and David Herrera (a theater
132
arts student at East Los Angeles College). The remaining members made
their acting debuts with "The Silver Dollar": Beverly Ann Angustain,
Giovanni Calderon (the youngest member at age fifteen), Douglas
Calderon, Henry Guerrero, and Charlie Young.
From an acting standpoint, Rosemary Soto Rodriguez as the Bar
maid was, without a doubt, the highlight of the show. She handled her
narrative function deftly, and her character had both humor and poi
gnancy. The Barmaid is always onstage; it is a particularly demanding
role also because she moderates all of the action. But Rosemary
Rodriguez not only fulfilled the extraordinary requirements of the
Barmaid, she actually exceeded them, and all with the appearance of
effortlessness.
Certainly the most intense characterization in "The Silver
Dollar" is that of Robert. Unfortunately, Tomcis Calderon was unable
to bring any subtlety to this central role. Throughout "The Silver
Dollar," Tomis was "betraying" emotion (or "indicating") and not merely
pursuing the needs of the character--that is to say, not "expressing"
emotion.
(R. G. Collingwood in The Principles of Art offers a helpful
clarification of these two terms. In "expressing" onstage, the actor
is "aiming not to produce a preconceived emotional effect on his au
dience, but by means of a system of expressions, or language, composed
partly of speech and partly of gesture, to explore his own emotions:
to discover emotions in himself of which he was unaware, and, by per
mitting the audience to witness the discovery, enable them to make a
similar discovery about themselves. In that case it is not her ability
133
to weep real tears that would mark out a good actress; it is her abil
ity to make it clear to herself and her audience what the tears are
about.")
The "betraying" of emotion is when an actor is only "exhibiting
20
symptoms of it" (usually stereotypic and overly dramatic badges of
feeling, not the feelings themselves). This is precisely what Tom£s
Calderon did, in my judgment, in his performance of Robert. As Col-
lingwood succinctly puts the matter, "The characteristic mark of ex
pression proper is lucidity or intelligibility; a person who expresses
something thereby becomes conscious of what it is that he is express
ing and enables others to become conscious of it in himself and in
21
them." Whereas Rosemary Rodriguez attained "lucidity" of expression,
Tom£s did not.
German Becerra (as Alfonso) was quite natural and accurate in
his portrayal of a Mexican national new to the United States. (Be
cerra was doubtless able to use his own experience as a basis for this
role.) The Gloria/Joe affair (Sandy Mendoza and Douglas Calderon) was
satisfactorily performed (given the inherent limitations of the dia
logue) .
The minor roles were only adequately handled by Charlie Young,
Giovanni Calderon, and Henry Guerrero (the actors' amateur status
being clearly evident throughout).
Music
Most of the music for "The Silver Dollar," unlike its counter
part in "Beto's Dream," was original, having been composed specifically
134
for this production by Ramon "Tigre" Rodriguez. The play opens, how
ever, with the Barmaid humming and singing snatches from Mexican folk
ballads (establishing a common ground for older members of the audi
ence) .
The two original times appear as jukebox music at the end of
Scene Three. The first is a low love ballad (appropriate to the
reconciliation taking place between Joe and Gloria). Shortly after
wards , a fast-paced salsa swing is heard (providing a momentary sense
of celebration). The latter tune is used to ironically punctuate the
disaster that awaits outside the door.
The use of commissioned original music marks an important step
in Urbano's quest for total self-sufficiency as a theater group. In
both cases, the music added variety and incisiveness to the action at
hand.
Spectacle
Aside from the use of one wig (Gloria's) and an apron (used by
the Barmaid), all visual adornment of the actors was provided by "ordi
nary dress." The costuming requirements of "The Silver Dollar" were
similar (though not identical) to those of "Beto's Dream." In both
cases, working class clothes were all that were necessary; actors'
personal wardrobes readily provided all the costuming.
However, "The Silver Dollar" did offer its audience signifi
cantly more in the area of spectacle than did "Beto's Dream.” Writer/
Director Rene Rodriguez developed an elaborate multimedia aspect to
the telling of "The Silver Dollar." As the audience enters, slide
135
projections (over three walls of the theater) depict the actual Mora
torium in progress, August 29, 1970. The visuals are backed by a loud
documentary soundtrack narrated by Rodriguez. This historical slide
show goes on until curtain.
When Robert has his flashback (Scene Three), bold sound effects
accompany the action. Also special lighting effects are used to create
the chaos of Robert's recollection. Anthony Baltazar was the lighting
technician and Lena Calderon handled sound cues.
All of the above experimentation with media effectively
heightened the overall experience of the audience watching this produc
tion of "The Silver Dollar." Importantly, the spectacle was always
integrated into the action, and thus added a level of surprise and
fascination to the play (deepening the audience's involvement, not
distracting it by gratuitous gimmicry).
Audience
On July 10, 1979, I joined the audience to see Teatro Urbano's
"The Silver Dollar." All members of the approximately 99-seat house
were paying customers drawn to the El Sereno theater by local ads or
word of mouth. Aside from the researcher, all members of the audience
were Chicano, ranging in age from infancy to late sixties (the median
age was around twenty).
As with the audience of "Beto's Dream," approval was rather
vocal and much more raucous than the traditional decorum of mainstream
theater audiences. Comments regarding the play's action were often
made aloud and with no apparent reserve or embarrassment.
136
It was obvious that all of the ribald humor in "The Silver
Dollar" (whether in English, Spanish, or Calo) made an instant hit
with the audience. Therefore the play's opening (which features
Robert's "flirtation" with the Barmaid, followed closely by Alfonso's
macho come-on to her) really grabbed the audience's attention. Fur
thermore, the insults and obscenity (mainly in Spanish) made the audi
ence howl with approval, i.e., "Vete a la pura chingada, babosol"
["Hey you perfect asshole, fool!"]
The recurring affair of Joe and Gloria also seized the audi
ence's attention, as did all of the special effects discussed earlier.
At the play's end, vociferous applause and then a standing ovation
sealed their approval of the cast. One could see and hear that many
audience members had never attended a play before that night, and most
were vocalizing their intentions to return to Teatro Urbano.
The only time the audience was unsure how to respond was during
the flashback scene. Robert's instantaneous and intense return to
Vietnam was jarring and caused some nervous laughter. Once the scene
segued back to reality and the Cafe, the audience was again comfortable
To summarize, the script values consisted of a complex plot
(which included, therefore, well-developed subplots and highly inte
grated action). The plot worked on both a literal and metaphoric level
(which added intensity to the play's overall structure).
The two main characters, the Barmaid and Robert, were fully
three-dimensionalized, and imbued with considerable psychological
depth. There were two melodramatic renderings, Gloria and Joe, but
the remaining roster was effectively drawn.
137
The thought of "The Silver Dollar" was sophisticated and open-
ended. No easy solutions were presented, and a wide range of political
points of view was offered. The nexus of the thought was psycholog
ically based, finding its center in an individual's exercise of free
will and self-awareness. The need to raise one’s self-esteem, rather
than join a particular political bandwagon, was forwarded throughout
the play.
The diction, while working-class and conversational, still
achieved metaphoric power and was rather sensitive to nuances of char
acter. There was also a variety of diction; the Police Officer,
Vietnam Drill Sargeant, Mexican national, Brown Beret, etc. all had
distinct and accurate manners of speech.
To summarize the performance values: The set design for "The
Silver Dollar" was well conceived and theatrically effective in creat
ing the interior of the Cafe. The physical plant itself, though make
shift, nonetheless provided light and sound capabilities (including
special effects), as well as adequate seating and satisfactory acous
tics .
In general the performers were more than adequate in conveying
the substance of their characters. In particular, however, the role
of the Barmaid, assayed by Rosemary Soto Rodriguez, was noteworthy for
its lucidity and subtlety of character. The protagonist (Robert),
*
played by Tomas Calderon, was not without a certain raw intensity,
but needed to "express" emotion (as did Rosemary Rodriguez) and not
"betray" it (as did Doug Calderon and Beverly Ann Angus tain in the
roles of Joe and Gloria, respectively).
138
The music was the work of composer Ramon "Tigre" Rodriguez,
and was as well conceived as it was well executed. The two original
works underscored and elaborated upon both mood and character in "The
Silver Dollar" and in general helped unify the play.
There was, despite limited financial resources, a significant
use of spectacle in "The Silver Dollar." The agency for the spectacle
was not costuming, but rather was found in a mixed media/special ef
fects capability. Lighting, during the flashback scene, also added
to the overall spectacle of the production.
The audience was impressed and quite generous in its applause
and approval of "The Silver Dollar." The play was engaging, particu
larly in its humor and spectacle. Though the audience was Chicano,
there was yet a considerable range of age represented, and all members
seemed touched by the piece.
All in all, in every facet of analysis and aesthetic appraisal,
"The Silver Dollar" proved to be a significantly better production
than "Beto’s Dream." Given the relatively short gestation period be
tween the two projects, Alejandro Nanyalli, AKA Rene Rodriguez, may
be viewed as an impressive writer/director of Teatro Chicano; his
talent continues to grow with each new work.
The next two artifacts to be studied in the arena of Los
Angeles Teatro Chicano are; "The Illegal Atom" and "Justice for Hall."
Both of these works derive from Teatro A La Brava.
139
Script: "The Illegal Atom"
Dramatis Personae
The script of ”The Illegal Atom" does provide a list of char
acter names, but offers no descriptions. Hence I have extrapolated
descriptive information from the text.
Newsroom Personnel:
Jack: The "cue-card" man. A go-fer who acts
as if he is the director.
Tom: The cameraman. Like Jack, his manner is
that of director rather than a subordinate.
Merle: The makeup artist, he is personable and
professional.
Jerry Dummy: News Anchorman for B.S. News ("Sign On"
Edition).
Christine Lewd: News Co. Anchorwoman for B.S. News ("Sign On"
Edition as well as reporter for "On the
Spot” Edition).
Mary Triggs: Press person representing IJPI.
Sarah Barnes: Press person representing the Los Angeles
Times.
Miguel
Conteras:
Press person representing Los Angeles
Opinion, East Los Angeles.
Two FBI
Agents:
They follow Christine Lewd to "the story"
and arrest Roberto on the Air.
Bodyguard: Unnamed man who is assigned to protect the
Attorney General during Press Conferences.
Though a burly bodyguard, he functions
more like a Press Secretary, and in the
same manner.
Attorney
General:
A mendacious politician.
140
Family:
Roberto
Gonzales:
The protagonist, a Mexican national who is
working in America on a Resident Visa (but
presently applying for U.S. Citizenship).
This former migrant grape picker is now
employed at Armageddon Nuclear Power Plant
in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania on the day
shift as a maintenance man.
Theresa
Gonzales:
Roberto has worked at Armageddon for five
years and has proven himself a bona fide
workaholic (putting in a 60-hour, seven-
day week for the past four months). He
is married and has one son. Roberto may
he described as a "fatalist."
Wife of Roberto. Although a housewife,
she is nonetheless politically active and
aware (yet she still defers to Roberto's
"authority” in the home). She (like her
husband) is on a Resident Visa.
Son: The unnamed sibling. He is out of work
and lovesick for a girl named Maria. He
is not politically aware, though he is
"open" when confronted with the facts
of the matter.
Power Plant Personnel:
Professor Nurd
Von Automaton:
Head of the Armageddon Nuclear Power Plant,
Said to be the inventor of the hula hoop
and a Distinguished Professor of Physics
from the University of Wisconsin. He is
married; however it is to another man.
Assistant Nurd
Von Automaton:
A bizarre helper to Professor Nurd Von
Automaton. He never speaks; he only
mumbles.
Secretary: This unnamed character is secretary to
the Professor.
141
Bar Personnel;
Johnny:
Roberto "Bob"
Martinez:
Cookie:
Jose Flores:
John Jones:
Jail Personnel:
Jailer:
Bartender at an unnamed bar in Fresno,
California.
A regular at the bar. He is trying to patch
up his relationship with Cookie, the bar
maid. He loves to play various games (i.e.,
dots and arm wrestling).
Roberto’s erstwhile girlfriend, and a
barmaid.
Drinking partner of Roberto Martinez.
"The Mad Gasser," a suburban, middle-class
type. He was just traveling through town
on his way to Selma, Alabama when he ran
out of gas.
Unnamed jailer at a small Fresno, California
facility. He is described simply as a "red
neck ."
Roberts: A local policeman, a friend of the jailer.
All Dramatis Personae were enacted by Teatro A La Brava, with
the following cast of four persons:
Ron Rodarte
Ginger (Virginia) Garrido
Gregorio Barba
Anne Whatley
The roles were fluidly exchanged among the actors during re
hearsal and in each performance; hence no specific roles are listed.
Plot Synopsis
"The Illegal Atom" is an acto in six scenes. It is a farcical
and fictitious account of the accident at the Three Mile Island Nuclear
Power Plant in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
142
Scene One opens in the B.S. Newsroom; with only four minutes
to go before they are on the air, we witness the usual bustle of cam
eraman, makeup artist, and news team. The special in-studio guest,
the U.S. Attorney General, has not yet arrived.
The "broadcast’' begins with Christine Lewd presenting the
National "Oil Crisis" story and a police shooting in South Central
Los Angeles. Jerry Dummy then briefly covers weather and sports .
After a false start, Christine announces that the Attorney General has
only just arrived: "We'll be having a question and answer period when
he meets the press right after the station break, so stay tuned!"
Following a commercial for McDonalds Divorce System ("For
$29.95 I'll paint any marriage any color"), we return to the live
press conference. Mary Triggs, UPI, asks the Attorney General if "any
precautionary steps to insure against . . . any nuclear waste" have
been taken by his office. His reply is totally flippant: "First of
all, let me say this, that a little radiation never killed anybody."
The next question is whether or not America can afford to
subject itself to the dangers of nuclear radiation. "Certainly we
can afford it, why we're the richest country in the world," states
the Attorney General. Miguel Contreras asks for elaboration regarding
our guest’s belief that undocumented workers should be denied non
emergency medical care; "If we allow them to receive medical services,
the next thing we'll allow them is their rights." And this response
summarily closes the conference.
Scene Two takes place in the living room of the Gonzales home.
Roberto, after reading the newspaper account of the Nuclear Accident,
143
has his son turn on the television to get more information. We hear
that an in-depth study of safety measures for the plant will be under
taken by "the distinguished professor, physicist, and sometime comedian
Soupy SalesWe also discover that Immigration raids in Los Angeles
have rounded up "14,296 illegal aliens . . . in the garment district."
Roberto remarks, "I just read that. It seems that the same people who
write the news, write the papers." Mother then joins in on a discus
sion about the gasoline shortage. She feels that a "few individuals
try to make us believe that there isn't enough, so they can charge
us more." Her son feels she "might be right," but Dad is fatalistic:
"Things are the way they are, and that's all." The father's attitude
also accounts for the fact that he hasn't boycotted Chiquita Bananas
in support of the United Farmworkers: "Well, I like that brand."
Roberto briefly remembers his migrant labor days and then
states: "Those days are gone now, son, since your mother and I
settled in the city. I was fortunate to get a good job at the nuclear
power plant." When his son asks, "Isn't it dangerous?" Theresa says
yes and Roberto says no: "El Secretary Schlessinger says there is
nothing to be worried about."
The son soon agrees to drive his dad to work. As they prepare
to leave, the son glances at the newspaper. "Dad, look at this, they
raided another garment factory." The father then recalls how he and
his wife were once deported and says, "They'll never deport us . . .
we've been here too long." As they exit, Roberto tells his wife,
"Don't buy any more bananas."
Scene Three takes place in the control room of the nuclear
___________________ 144
power plant. The Professor is worried, since he has yet to isolate
the malfunction, and one John Petho of the Nuclear Regulation Commis
sion is set to arrive momentarily "to inspect the place, and he wants
answers." The Professor complains to Rogi, "Hell, I can't even figure ;
out where the switch that was supposed to have been pulled is I" (and
this despite the fact that the Professor designed the system, "but
that was years ago, and I don't remember
When Mr. Gonzales enters, the Professor tells Rogi to "watch
him like a hawk." The Professor then realizes that "someone forgot to
put in the coolant," and he does so before the reactor overheats. Just
then Mr. Gonzales informs the Professor: "Don't forget to put in the
coolant .... You forgot ... last week." But before the Professor can
say anything, his secretary rushes in with an urgent telegram from
John Petho of the NRC: "A problem at the border" has cancelled the
inspection; "Enclosed you will find a form that asks exactly what we
want."
The Professor is reminded by Mr. Gonzales to "send in my work
report to the Immigration and Naturalization Service." It then fully
dawns on the Professor: he will frame Mr. Gonzales! He achieves this
by dictating a letter to Rogi, in which he gleefully reports: "We
have located the malfunction ... a foreign agent ... we've informed
the INS of his illegal status and he will soon be deported."
As the Professor gloats, his secretary rushes in with the
announcement that Christine Lewd of B.S. News has arrived to do a
live "On the Spot" interview. The Professor tells Rogi, "Remember,
let's keep our story straight!" During the interview the Professor
145
tells Christine the news: "The person who actually is at fault is
standing right over there" (points to Mr. Gonzales and waves).
Christine then attempts to interview Mr. Gonzales and is sur
prised that he speaks English, that he can think, and that he is pro
nuclear safety. Before long two FBI agents enter and arrest Roberto;
before leaving one of them presents both the Professor and Rogi with
"the J. Edgar Hoover Award, which symbolizes American justice, and
football." At this point Christine Lewd signs off the air.
Scene Four moves us from Harrisburg to a bar in Fresno, Cali
fornia. Jose calls out to his friend Bob, challenging him to a g^une
of darts. Bob accepts only after he unsuccessfully attempts to recon
cile with his girlfriend, Cookie the barmaid.
The dart game ends in an argument, with Jose accusing Bob of
cheating. Their raucous behavior, however, is preempted by the tele
vision news. An airplane crash, Vietnamese Boat People, tighter border
controls, and the arrest of Roberto Gonzales all headline the broad
cast.
After the news the Bartender hears John Jones1 story of run
ning out of gas on the way to Selma, California. John is then told
that the local gas station is closed until tomorrow. At the same
time Jose and Bob are now primed for an arm wrestling match. The Bar
tender joins in the fun, announcing "the Fresno Invitational Arm
Wrestling Contest."
Jose wins the match and stands a round of drinks. Bob and Jose
strike up a conversation with John and learn of his situation. Bob
jokingly suggests that all John need do is break the lock on the gaso-
146
line pump. As the group becomes progressively more drunk, John de
clares that he is in fact going to take up Bob's suggestion. John
leaves, and all the people in the bar grab their keys and head outside
for free gas.
Scene Five is the Fresno jailhouse where John Jones is incar
cerated for his misdeed. Police Officer Roberts enters with none
other than Roberto Gonzales: "Just another spic, all the way from
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania." After enduring a barrage of insults
from the Police Officer and the Jailer, Roberto is thrown into the
cell with Jones who promptly charges, "You ... take jobs from Ameri
cans, bring disease and raise taxes ...."
The scene comes to a close after Roberto and Jones have had a
few minutes to talk. Jones comes to the partial realization that
Roberto is a hardworking man who, although not a citizen, nonetheless
pays taxes. Thus when both men are eventually ushered out of their
cell, "Jones and Roberto turn heads and look at each other with under
standing for a few seconds. Black out."
Scene Six (the final scene) brings us back to the B.S. News
room, where (as in Scene One) we witness the pre-broadcast bustle of
personnel. Christine and Jerry confer and decide that even though
the Professor is at fault for the accident, they will still report
that Roberto is the cause. We also are privy to our Anchorperson's.
bigotry regarding the Delano Strike: "We oughta get rid of them all,"
says Jerry. "The one we ought to get rid of is Chavez," adds Christine,
They then both decide to carpool for the next Gallo Wine stockholders'
meeting the following week.
147
The newscast begins with Senator Henry Jackson's rejection of
SALT II, the Sandanista victory in Nicaragua, and a local marriage.
Just then the Professor walks on camera, saying "Rogi, where are you?
Skylab is falling." Jerry continues the broadcast, informing the view
ing audience that Roberto Gonzales has been extradited back from Mexico
to face charges of espionage (along with Rogil). It is also reported
that Professor Nurd Von Automaton "has disappeared and was last seen
in East Los Angeles looking for skylab."
The last bit of news is that John Jones is out of prison and
has joined the Rogi and Gonzales Support Committee (whose slogan is
"Free Gonzales and Free Nalgas!"). The newscast is cut short when
pieces of skylab fall onto the set. Christine then closes the show
by demurring, "Sorry ladies and gentlemen, but we'll have to end our
broadcast here because, as you can see, Skylab is falling."
Plot Analysis
Ic was Samuel Taylor Coleridge who, in 1817, defined poetic
faith as the "transfer from our inward nature a human interest and a
semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagina-
22
tion that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment." In the
case of dramatic genres, probably the most complete "suspension of
disbelief" is required for farce. This is because farce by definition
"is a sort of comedy based not on clever language or subtleties of
character, but on broadly humorous situations. It usually is full of
surprises, improbabilities, complications, and speed, plot outdistanc-
23
ing characterizat ion."
148
The goal of farce is ‘'simple, hearty laughter--'belly laughs.’
To do so it commonly employs highly exaggerated or caricatured charac
ter types, puts them into improbable and ludicrous situations, and
24
makes free use of broad verbal humor and physical horseplay." Thus
there are decidedly several implications for analysis when one is deal
ing with farce.
First, the usual scrutiny of plot for its rational unfolding
and coherent interconnectedness is, for farce, irrelevant. Rather its
unity must be located in the consistency of its irrationality, the
evenness of its unevenness, so to speak. Second, complexity is not
so much dependent on the development of integrated subplots, for ex
ample: complexity in farce is better defined as the variety of comedic
devices used to move the central storyline. Third, intensity in farce
has little to do with depth of human emotion as such, but instead
refers to the effectiveness of the glossy comic surface of ridiculous
and empty show.
Given the above critical adjustments necessary to properly
appraise farce, we may now analyze the plot of "The Illegal Atom."
From the beginning there is established a consistent tone of chaos
which effectively communicates the madness of those empowered with
the regulation of twentieth century technology. The newsroom is pre
sented as a bizarre, confused, and unorganized environment where camera
men call "for a cue left right angle shot" and anchormen walk to their
on-camera positions still combing their hair and brushing their teeth I
The actual live broadcast is no more sane than the preparation
scene. For example, although the co-anchors, Christine and Jerry, are
________ 149|
sitting side by side when the news begins, the broadcast opens with,
"This is Christine Lewd in Los Angeles. And Jerry Dummy in Washing
ton."
Authority figures are portrayed throughout "The Illegal Atom"
as incompetent and thoroughly insensitive people. The Attorney General
is therefore no different from the Professor; the ineptitude we witness
during both newscast and press conference is qualitatively the same as
we see taking place at the Nuclear Power Plant. Yet concurrent in
"The Illegal Atom" is the theme that while these people representing
the power structure are supremely foolish, the individuals representing
the "people’s right to know" are decidedly not. For example, all the
press corps members interrogating the Attorney General ask relevant
and penetrating questions.
This highlights one of the key ingredients of good farce: a
bit of calculated sanity in the storyline to offset its patently lu
dicrous premises. Of course it is absurd to think that the safe
operation of any nuclear power plant depends solely on a weekly "cool
ant" (as if it were an automobile radiator) to prevent a meltdown or
that a migrant laborer could not only be hired at Armageddon, but be
in a position to give orders to its chief nuclear physicistI It is
equally untenable that skylab could be falling through studio ceilings
and onto camera view, etc.
The balancing factors in this farce are primarily found in the
political realities of 1979. The gasoline shortage was indeed no joks
to the average consumer who waited hours to fill up his car. The con
tinuing United Farmworkers' boycott and general Chicano boycott of
150
Coors Beer were hot issues at the time. The apparent and over-arching
duel issue of "The Illegal Atom" is found in the double entendre of
its title: The irresponsible, unethical, and dangerous mismanagement
of the Harrisburg Nuclear Facility constitutes "The Illegal Atom," and
throughout this work the illegal alien is equally subjected to irres
ponsible, unethical, and dangerous management by the American govern
ment and television media.
The essential plot problem of this farce is its multiplicity
of topics: no single or even dual issue is truly featured or explored
in "The Illegal Atom." In its present state the plot only holds the
basis for several actos; it never develops a humorous point of view
linked to a consolidating theme. Therefore it dissipates its own
potential potency.
One often feels this is a farce that was straining to become
a satire. But satire uses laughter as a weapon; it derisively evokes
25
"attitudes of contempt, indignation, or scorn" for its subject. The
comic elements in "The Illegal Atom," however, evoke laughter as an
end in itself. Thus the work never ascends to true satire.
Another problem or deficiency in the plot is that no one
individual's story is told per se. What we do get are fragmented epi
sodes of Jerry and Christine, the Attorney General John Jones, and,
of course, Roberto Gonzales. But there is no follow-through with any
of these people; no closure is brought to these fragments (and cer
tainly no justice). Thus even on the level of an adventure related
as a serial or a cartoon, we are robbed of satisfaction. The confusing
plot, I believe, is the result of an elemental confusion on the part of
151
the author regarding what "The Illegal Atom" is supposed to be about.
"We were satirizing Three Mile Island," reports Ron Rodarte
26
when first asked to identify the core idea of the work. However
Ron also admitted that he started "adding different elements" to this
particular theme so that "it became a story about the news media ...
27
how the news media twists things around." As "The Illegal Atom"
stands at present, it is about neither subject in particular; or put
another way, it is just as much about unfair immigration practices,
the gasoline shortage, etc. as it is about Three Mile Island or the
distortions of television news media.
Character
One of the inherent aspects of farce is brisk character devel
opment; one expects to find caricature and not three dimensionalized
personalities. The key question is whether or not these flat or stock
delineations of character are funny or not.
The humor generated by our newscasters is primarily due to two
factors only. First, their names are insulting, and therefore always
good for a laugh; they are also incongruous to the roles they play.
And second, their characters are burlesques of two local Los Angeles
broadcasters--Channel 7's Jerry Dunphy and Christine Lund. Decidedly
the laughter in both cases is hardly elevated above the schoolboy
snigger. Christine Lund is a total professional, dignified, and forth
right; calling her "Christine Lewd" and having her say "Why don't you
get your shit together?" on the air is merely going for a cheap laugh.
Likewise, Jerry Dummy's megalomania is not based on anything discern-
152
ible in his prototype Jerry Dunphy; therefore there is nothing par
ticularly witty going on, just a bit of silliness.
The Attorney General, however, is made into a target for
laughter by the extremity of his own political philosophy. Hence the
humor is rooted to character and does not rest in physical business
or obscene innuendo:
Press Person (UPI): Mr. Attorney General, in view of the
recent nuclear spillage in Harrisburg,
has your office taken any precautionary
steps to insure against the possibility
of any nuclear waste escaping our nu
clear plants?
Attorney General: First of all, let me say this, that a
little radiation never killed anybody
I
• • • *
Also, the Attorney General is rendered in such a way that the
myopic and redundant rhetoric of politicians is easily conveyed. When
asked to elaborate upon the needs of undocumented workers, his reply
is "First of all let me say this, that they are alien and second,
they are illegal. Which makes them illegal aliens."
It seems unfortunate that a minor character (the Attorney Gen
eral) is satirized, while the major characters are mere cartoons.
Certainly the more likely targets of satire are the Professor and his
assistant (as they represent the horrendous mismanagement of America's
most potentially dangerous power source, nuclear energy). But rather
than offering a criticism of these white collar criminals, "The Illegal
Atom" portrays them as harmless oafs in a lighthearted send-up of
"Frankenstein" movies; thus the stereotypic "mad scientist" and his
perennial assistant "Igor" ("Rogi" is "Igor" spelled backwards) are
153
only buffoons in a piece which purports to make a socially relevant
statement. Cross purposes are everywhere. (Rogi is also derivative
of the Harpo Marx persona— a mute, irrepressible personality— whose
last name, once again, is "Nalgas." Also, the Professor's name is
the equally ludicrous "Nurd Von Automaton, " which sets the tone of
this focal role as laughable idiot, not dangerous clown.)
Professor Von Automaton and Rogi simply play out the Franken
stein burlesque, coupled with the Professor's melodramatic "Snidely
Whiplash" role of Arch Villain. For instance, after the Professor
receives the letter from John Petho of the NRC, his frame-up of Roberto
is communicated to the audience in this very heavy-handed manner:
(Professor turns to Rogi and looks at Mr. Gonzales):
Professor: Rogi, I think we've figured out what actually
caused the nuclear waste to escape. Don't you?
(Rogi agrees.)
The character of Roberto Gonzales in "The Illegal Atom" is,
to our surprise and dismay, never drawn as a hero, but rather as a
simpleton, an easy pawn. This is a flaw because the audience is in
different to him; if the story of Roberto vs. "The System" is supposed
to be tinged with melodrama, then where is the "hero" we need to coun
teract the malevolence? Additionally, the work actually forwards the
stereotype of the illegal alien as being stupid--something one would
expect a Teatro to thwart, not promote. Kindly but dumb, Roberto is
unaware of his family's needs, oblivious to the dangers at his work
place, blind to issues directly affecting Hispanics, and utterly power
less to escape imprisonment--thus managing to be both ineffectual and
disagreeable at the same tdime.
154
Roberto Gonzales simply has no mind of his own. Even when he
is in jail and theoretically enlightening John Jones about illegal
aliens, the information he gives, although true, comes secondhand
(from his wife). Finally, there is no vindication of Roberto's char
acter in "The Illegal Atom." We are left with nothing more than
Roberto "facing charges of espionage," which is hardly a satisfying
conclusion for a farce.
Ironically the only character in "The Illegal Atom" who argu
ably demonstrates any heroic behavior is John Jones, "The Mad Gasser."
He fulfills the Howard Beale function in Paddy Chayevsky's Network,
i.e., "I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!" Thus we
empathize most with Jones and not at all with Gonzales; Jones's singu
lar, illegal act was, after all, a righteous revenge against the oil
companies' exploitation of all of us. Jones himself puts the matter
this way: "I did something for people instead of taking advantage
of them. I gave them free gas." We therefore admire Jones not only
for his act of defiance, but also for his ability to outsmart the
authorities in several states: "They caught me, but they couldn't
catch me till I got to this town" (having eluded the police from
Pennsylvania to California).
The character of Jones (unlike that of Gonzales) is, to our
satisfaction, given some kind of closure: "John Jones ... was released
from Lompoc after serving six months for stealing gas from a Standard
Oil Station." So even though Jones pays a penalty, the audience is
left with the knowledge of his freedom and told that Jones will now
fight to free Gonzales. Thus the character of Jones, a "suburban
155
middle-class type," is the only hero of "The Illegal Atom" (not any
illegal alien, as the title suggests).
Thought
While ludicrous situations and irrational actions are true
to the genre of farce, this does not necessarily imply that the same
genre will not accommodate or demonstrate meaningful thought. In Kauf
man and Hart's You Can't Take It with You (1937), the general principle
(that people often lose the vitality and joy of life in their worka
holic pursuits of financial security and success) is a valid one:
What do you think you get your indigestion from? Happiness?
No, sir. You get it because most of your time is spent in
doing things you don't want to do. . . . You've got all the
money you need. You can't take it with you.^8
More recently Blake Edwards' film Victor-Victoria (1982) suc
cessfully articulated the issue of "homophobia" and the need for
tolerance and understanding of different sexual lifestyles. Here
again serious thought is well expressed within the form of farce.
Unfortunately, "The Illegal Atom" plays fast and loose with vital
issues, completely neglecting their import. The distortion of facts
by the media, the ongoing boycotts of produce and beer by Chicanos,
the exploitation of illegal aliens by the American power structure,
the danger of nuclear power plants, and the ability of oil companies
to create "shortages" and raise prices--these are all suggested, but
never explored.
As was pointed out in the analysis of plot, there are simply
too many issues competing for attention in "The Illegal Atom." The
result is that no one issue is ever given a clear voice through a
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distinct character. The Professor's line, "We must be very careful
in this house of madness, Rogi" implies that he is conscious of the
chaos he has created; yet at no time does the Professor's perception
of nuclear "madness" ever filter through his poorly drawn character
into his behavior.
The boycott issues are given but fleeting focus. Roberto does
reluctantly join in the Chiquita banana boycott, but it is out of
embarrassment and guilt, not from a reasoned commitment. John Jones
joins the Coors boycott because he is surrounded by Chicanos inside
the bar, and they would naturally be angry if he did not comply. In
both cases neither logic nor persuasive data inherent to the issue
is applied or revealed. Decisions are based on irrelevant factors.
The issue of media distortion is given the most effective
treatment, in that the audience is first allowed to perceive an event
for themselves before hearing it "reported" in a comically biased
fashion by the newscasters. For instance, Christine Lewd is told
that one illegal alien is responsible for the nuclear accident. Yet
she sensationalizes the facts by stating on the air that an "illegal
horde" has been stopped before bringing America to "the brink of near
destruction." She continues to unethically editorialize by broadcast
ing this misinformation as fact: "Illegal aliens are employed in what
seems to be the illegal invasion." Later on this "illegal invasion"
is taken for granted, and never is any evidence offered to substantiate
her statements.
This kind of hyperbolic reporting has been theatrically dealt
with, of course, in Valdez's Zppt Suit (and undoubtedly Teatro A La
157
Brava was influenced by that work). Yet in Zppt Suit the media dis
tortion was always feeding into the one issue at hand: the trial; in
"The Illegal Atom," however, media distortion is almost casually tossed
about, and never takes us anywhere.
It is unfortunate that the quality of thought in "The Illegal
Atom" is so diluted, because these interesting issues certainly warrant
a modicum of clever treatment; if their number had been reduced to one
or two, perhaps, and then consistently channeled through character, a
potent message might have been conveyed.
Diction
Because of its broad characters and often bizarre situations,
farce affords a wide variety of diction. Thus one can accept the ex
tremely aphoristic one-liners found in Wilde's The Importance of Being
Earnest, or just as easily laugh at the long and convoluted diatribes
that frequently inhabit Tom Stoppard's Travesties. The only rule in
farce is that the language be funny.
"The Illegal Atom" offers its own range of diction. There is
the humor of sexual innuendo found in lines like "Free Nalgas! Free
Nalgas!" vociferously proclaimed by Christine Lewd; she is yelling
for "Free Ass!" (uninhibited sexual behavior from her audience), and
not for Rogi’s release.
More often than not, however, the diction embodies perfectly
ludicrous notions: "Professor Nurd Von Automaton, a staff member at
Harrisburg, has disappeared and was last seen in East Los Angeles look
ing for skylab!" And we laugh at the act of revenge of "the mad gas-
ser": John Jones's attempt to "liberate" gas for all. The jailer says
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to him "You stole gas, broke the lock on the pump--didn*t only fill up
your car but did your duty for twenty-five more cars that lined up
behind you.” Now the tag line is heard when Roberto asks John, "Who
did they catch, you?" His dry reply is, "I ran out of gas!"
Much of the full-length news reports contain humor of hyper
bole; yet in the following case, it is the truth of the matter that
provokes sardonic laughter:
Washington. Today Senator Henry Jackson called on the senate to
reject the SALT II Agreement with the Soviet Union, saying that
it puts Russia in the forefront of the nuclear race. Commenting
on the signing of the agreement, he stated that Russia can blow
us up 30 times over, while we can only destroy them 28 times.
He called this a serious threat to our national security.
This "madness" is typical of the Administration currently in
office: Reagan's "window of vulnerability" is a real variation on the
same unfortunate theme.
Too often, however, the diction of "The Illegal Atom" lapses
into simplistic didacticism. Thus rather than allowing dialogue to
create a point intrinsically, the words of A La Brava often literally
announce critical perspectives:
Chris tine: This s tory again? Don11 you think the
public's getting tired of it?
Cameraman: Tired of it? Frightened of it (ha, ha!).
And that's what we pay you for, to sensa
tionalize the events.
Christine: Well, we all know it was the Professor and
not that unfortunate Spic who was actually
at fault.
Jerry: Yes, Christ, but we can't let the public
know that, why they'd lose faith in this
country's ability to deal with our energy
problems, and that's our responsibility as
newspeople, to keep a balance and to defend
our institutions. So many people want to
knock them down.
Christine: Yes, that's true.
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The above passage is all too typical of the flat and preachy
use of language often found in "The Illegal Atom." Ultimately the
overall effect of such pamphleteering is static theater; rather than
subject the audience to such sermonizing, the characters themselves
must implicitly convey any "message" rather than serve as the author's
mouthpiece.
In a few cases the language does exhibit subtlety. For in
stance, rather than blatantly announcing, "We newspeople are redundant
and don't care about or listen to anyone on the staff." The following
exchange intrinsically demonstrates such behavior:
Makeup Artist: Good evening, Christine.
How are you?
Christine: Good evening, Merle.
How are you?
Makeup Artist: I'm fine. How are you?
Christine: I'm fine. How are you?
More diction like the above— more circular dialogue for effect
(in this case to underscore the blandness and/or banality of the per
sonalities)— could have significantly enhanced the farcical impact of
the work. But it is all too rare to find the language organically
informing the audience of the traits of the characters. There is some
scatalogical use of language; at one point Jerry Dummy asks how to pro
nounce the name of a California senator:
Jerry: Is this Hay-a-kawa? of Hi-ya-caca?
Although the above is decidedly a cheap shot, it nonetheless
manages to reflect the harsh criticism which many people have voiced
against this controversial senator. Without a doubt, however, the
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diction of "The Illegal Atom" is most effective when it aspires towards
the grotesque, when its exaggerations belie a serious charge.
I believe the following example aptly functions in precisely
that way (exaggeration to make a point):
Christine: In Los Angeles, Mary Rhinehart was acci
dentally shot to death in her front yard
this morning when four L.A.P.D. officers
answering a burglary call in South Central
L.A. pumped 28 bullets into her head. The
officers said she responded by pulling a
knife. One of the officers was acciden
tally shot in the buttocks when a bullet
ricocheted off the pavement, striking him
in the ass. He's reported to be suffering
from brain damage at Cedars of Lebanon.
(By the way, it was the wrong address.)
The above speech offers a grotesque indictment of the kind of
law enforcement in Los Angeles with which the audience might easily
relate, and which regrettably appears in the news all too often. How
ever, the account is really askew of the story at hand, and the authors
fail to use the "report" to further expose the illegal alien situation.
All in all the diction flounders in "The Illegal Atom," losing
its potential for satire and usually narrating action and character
(rather than allowing an organic point of view to emerge).
Performance: "The Illegal Atom"
Setting
"The Illegal Atom" was previewed only once, at Teatro Urbano,
before internal dissension in A La Brava made further performances im
possible. The setting was essentially the bare platform stage: the
fluidity of empty space. There were no backdrops or painted flats;
there was simply ample room in which the performers could move. Sense
161
of place was established by dialogue; minimal costumes and personal
properties also cued the audience to changes in character and place.
The only additional properties included a few chairs, one table,
and a fake microphone. Therefore "The Illegal Atom" relied almost en
tirely on the actors' ability to create, through words and movement,
a sense of who, what, where, when, and why.
Performers
The twenty-five roles in "The Illegal Atom" were handled by
only four cast members: Ron Rodarte, Ginger Garrido, Gregorio Barba,
and Anne Whatley. This implies that a rollicking form of quick-change
artistry was the norm in performance. Actually, one felt as if one
[were watching a nearly chaotic series of "Saturday Night Live" type
skits as the four actors continued evolving into so many characters.
On the one hand the parade of different personalities contributed
favorably to the farcical tone of the piece; on the other hand, it so
diminished the formulation of believable people that continuity was
lost and the production appeared more seams than substance.
The author, Ron Rodarte, simply chose to experiment wildly in
"The Illegal Atom" and admits that "'Atom' is a hairy play, as far as
29
accommodating so many characters is concerned." During the preview
performance actors had great difficulty staying in character and tended
to allow sloppy role definition throughout.
In particular, however, Ron Rodarte did show a comical penchant
for embodying the crazy Professor as well as Jerry Dummy. Ginger Gar
rido attempted to bring a forceful determination to Theresa as counter
162
point to Gregario Barba's passive but sympathetic Roberto. And Anne
Whatley was generally satisfactory in her battery of secondary roles.
Yet while there were humorous moments, the overwhelmingly ama
teurish look of the production as a whole (after three and a half
months of rehearsal) made it clear that "The Illegal Atom" would not
be ready for a local run at Teatro Urbano, or anywhere else for that
matter. The group was so demoralized after the preview performance
that "The Illegal Atom" was instantly retired from the boards and writ
ten off as needing more work than the Teatro was willing to put into
it. As a viable theater piece, it had failed.
Ron Rodarte has not, it should be noted, personally abandoned
"The Illegal Atom" to obscurity; privately he feels that after he has
successfully done a few more productions he will probably return to
the piece. This future version will actually require a very large
cast, thus eliminating the ridiculous burden carried by the four actors
of A La Brava.
Music
There were only two uses of music in the production of "The
Illegal Atom." The first appeared in Scene Four, the bar scene, which
opens with a song by The Rolling Stones ("Faraway Eyes"). It was used
as background only to supply atmosphere; it was supposedly coming from
the bar jukebox (which was not seen onstage). However, the tune seemed
out of sync with the atmosphere of a working-class Chicano bar.
The second and final instance of music in "The Illegal Atom"
occurred in the following scene, Scene Five, which takes place in jail.
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The jailer is leaning back against the wall as he sits in a chair
strumming on his guitar; he is singing "You Win Again," by Hank Wil
liams. The idea was to establish that the jailer is a red neck, but
the tune was not particularly effective.
All in all the two songs were not at all crucial to the action
and did little to enhance the scenes in which they were used. Both
selections seem to have been chosen without any real thought to their
implications to the scenes at hand.
Spectacle
Given our Aristotelian definition of this aspect of drama, "The
Illegal Atom" can be said to have had very little spectacle at all.
The lighting was extremely crude and without any mystifying effects
whatsoever. The minimal costuming generally suggested the occupations
of the characters, but it was in no wise extraordinary or evocative.
Makeup was close to nonexistent and therefore did nothing to contribute
to spectacle. Of all the areas under study, spectacle was the least
explored or exploited in "The Illegal Atom."
Audience
The audience attending the previous performance, July 10, 1979,
at Teatro Urbano was small, consisting primarily of other Teatro mem
bers. It was an informal, invited audience whose feedback was expected
to help decide the viability of "The Illegal Atom." Therefore this
rather atypical audience functioned like a roundtable of critics, more
an in-house discussion panel than a group of working-class people out
for an evening's entertainment. The critical consensus was that "The
164
Illegal Atom" was not ready for general audiences.
After the performance the cast listened attentively as various
audience members frankly but respectfully critiqued the production.
There was free interaction not only between cast and audience, but
also among audience members themselves. All who were present (except
the researcher) were veterans of Los Angeles based Teatro troupes;
there was a friendly and non-competitive feeling generated throughout
the postmortem. The cast of "The Illegal Atom" expressed agreement
with the work's detractors, and it was officially decided then and
there to curtail any plans for rescheduling "The Illegal Atom" at
Teatro Urbano.
It is important to note that while this particular invited
audience was atypical (given the two audiences described for Teatro
Urbano's productions), the process of audience critiquing is very
common for Teatros. Most Teatros consider their productions to be
works in progress, and therefore may ask any audience to evaluate a
performance. However, here the appraisals came from fellow Teatro
members only who were invited specifically to test the scuttlebutt
that "The Illegal Atom" was in trouble.
To summarize the script areas: The plot is unduly crowded
with political issues and therefore lacks any clear storyline. The
result is that several stories are presented in fragmented fashion;
not one of them is satisfactorily followed through in "The Illegal
Atom." Additionally, the tone of the plot is inconsistent; at times
it is farce, at other times pure naturalism, and at moments almost
165
satire. This lack of coherence significantly limits the aesthetic
potential of "The Illegal Atom."
Character development is equally unbalanced and fragmented.
There is no real protagonist in the work, and while there is an
antagonist (the Professor), his evil actions go unchecked and are
never avenged. And even the Professor, although malevolent, lacks
any believable personality traits which would communicate serious
danger. He is literally his namesake: a "Nurd Von Automaton."
The supporting characters are drawn without any real inter
locking implications to the central characters. Overall, then, char
acter development is weak and disjointed; one can never really empa
thize with anyone onstage.
The thought in "The Illegal Atom" is convoluted and offers
little to no evidence in support of its positions. There are also
too many issues in the work, with the result that no single topic is
explored or persuasively presented.
Diction in this work does offer some comedic variety, but it
seldom enhances any authorial point of view. Furthermore, the diction
typically becomes didactic, its language flat, literal, and usually
without metaphoric impact.
The areas of performance may be summarized as follows: The
setting for "The Illegal Atom" was essentially open space. There was
nothing imaginative or visually provocative in this area of the pro
duction.
The performers were generally mediocre, unable to develop truly
farcical characters, and helpless to effectively communicate the 24
166
roles in "The Illegal Atom." Roles were generally mugged, not engag
ingly detailed.
Music used in the show was minimal and neither intensified the
mood nor underscored the point of view. As it was, the two examples
of music in "The Illegal Atom” were not memorable in the context in
which they were used.
Of all the performance areas, spectacle was the least evident
in "The Illegal Atom." Thus all visual adornments were muted and
bland.
Last, the audience members were summoned from the ranks of
Los Angeles Teatro troupes. They were in attendance to offer candid
views on Teatro A La Brava's work. Their critical consensus was that
"The Illegal Atom" was not yet ready for the public, and A La Brava
concurred.
The next artifact to be studied from Teatro A La Brava is
"Justice for Hall."
Script: "Justice for Hall"
Dramatis Personae
As has been the case thus far, no roster of characters per se
is presented in the script of "Justice for Hall." Hence I have derived
such information contextually.
Sleepy: A young Chicano vato. A real joker, he is also
a friend of the protagonist Gordon Hall. His
real name is Juan Ramirez. He is present at
the crucial party which is raided by the police.
167
Oscar:
Peewee:
Shirley
Martinez:
Gordon Hall:
Maria:
Jack Hunt:
John:
Mr. Lara:
Mel:
Captain:
John
Van de Camp:
Judge:
Another young Chicano vato attending the party.
He is, however, the murderer of one of the Lara
brothers. He is described as "a real locote ...
you know, he's really crazy."
Another party guest, his real name is Ralph
Cortez. He is, as his name implies, the short
est of the group.
A ruca ("fine looking woman") at the party.
Sleepy is very interested in Shirley, though
she rebuffs him.
The protagonist, a sixteen-year-old of mixed
heritage (Mexican mother, Anglo father). He
is wrongly accused of Murder in the First
Degree.
Another ruca at the party; she is questioned
by the police.
A patrol officer of the Temple City Police Force.
He is both racist and violent.
Assistant Officer to Jack Hunt. John has only
been on the force for six months. Jack describes
him as "just plain dumb."
The brother of the victim; he is the one who
fingers Gordon as the killer.
The Booking Officer at the police station.
An extremely violent man.
The racist Police Captain who is looking to
scapegoat any Chicanos he can get his hands
on. He is in on the conspiracy to convict
Gordon Hall.
The Pasadena District Attorney. He is presently
campaigning for an unspecified higher office
(possibly Governor). He is the Kingpin behind
the judicial conspiracy to convict Gordon Hall
of murder.
A close friend of both Van de Camp and the
Prosecuting Attorney. He assures the District
Attorney of Hall's conviction even before the
trial begins.
168
Mr. Jones: The fourth member of the conspiracy, he is work
ing on Van de Camp's behalf; he is also the
Prosecuting Attorney.
Charles: An obsequious fundraiser for Van de Camp,
Jacqueline: Wife of Charles, she also works as a Van de Camp
fundraiser.
John Whyte: The fifth and final member of the conspiracy.
He is Gordon Hall's Defense Lawyer. His real
interest in Law is securing real estate from
clients.
Secretary: Unnamed secretary to Mr. Whyte, she is both
inefficient and bored with her job.
Bertha: Gordon's mother, also called Mrs. Alaniz. She
fights hard to free her son.
Charlene: Gordon's sister; she helps in her mother's
attempt to free Gordon.
Waitress: An unnamed worker at the Country Club that is
frequented by Van de Camp and his co-conspira
tors .
The above Dramatis Personae were performed by the following
members of Teatro A La Brava;
Ron Rodarte:
Ginger Garrido:
Teresa Reyes:
Mario Flores:
Debbie Carmona:
Gregorio Barba:
The Prosecuting Attorney, Mr. Jones;
the Police Officer Jack.
Jacqueline in Country Club with blonde wig;
one of girls in first (party) scene;
Secretary; the Police Officer with no name.
Bertha and Waitress.
Guy in party scene; the Captain (who does
the interrogating) in the jail scene;
the Judge in the Country Club and else
where .
Police Officer (male officer "John" changed
to female officer "Sharon") in first scene;
Charlene (Gordon’s sister).
Van de Camp; Guy in party scene; occasion
ally played Gordon Hall.
169
Carlos Diaz: Gordon Hall
Orlando Terrazes: Guy in party scene; Interrogation Officer
Mel (Booking Officer); Charles in Country
Club; Mr. Whyte.
Plot Synopsis
"Justice for Hall" is a one-act work in six scenes. Scene One
opens with a group of young vatos and cholos "partying down" at a
friend's house. Oscar enters in a wild state and brashly boasts to
Peewee, "Hey wan, I just shot some vato, ese." Momentarily police
raid the party and line up five "suspects" outside the house: Sleepy,
Shirley, Peewee, Maria, and Gordon. The two Police Officers John and
Jack are investigating a murder which was committed two blocks away.
Shortly Mr. Lara, the brother of the victim and eyewitness
to the crime, is brought to the lineup (a procedure that the Senior
Officer, Jack, admits is illegal). Mr. Lara is then placed in a centra]
position, while Jack systematically flashes a light upon each suspect
as John reads aloud their prior arrest records. One by one, Mr. Lara
starts to reject each suspect, and as he does so the police put more
and more pressure on Mr. Lara to identify the killer from among those
still standing.
Finally only Gordon is left, and though he has no prior ar
rests, Jack makes him out to be a criminal: "As you can see, he has
no shirt" (Gordon tore it on the fence trying to escape the raid).
"It seems quite obvious to me ... that this is our man," etc. Mr. Lara
initially states that the killer was "taller, and his hair was curly
and a little darker," but soon he is coerced into identifying Gordon
as the killer.
170
Scene Two takes place at the Temple City Jail where Gordon is
to be booked for homicide. As Officers Jack and John enter with
Gordon, Mel the Booking Officer is viciously beating up a prisoner.
Mel then shifts his attention to Gordon: "Empty your pockets, you
little greaseball murderer I" As Mel begins to type out his report,
he tells Gordon, "Have a seat. The Captain will be in shortly to take
your confession."
Officers Jack and John are dismissed by the Captain, but Mel
joins in on the horrifying interrogation of Gordon:
Mel: (As he pounds nightstick into his hand), Captain,
you want me to get a confession outta this boy?
Captain: Did you hear that, boy? We'll get it outta you
one way or another.
Gordon maintains his innocence as the Captain intones, "If we
don't get the real murderer, then you're our man." The Captain then
turns over the "interrogation" to Mel as we black out to Gordon's
screams.
Scene Three offers a stark contrast to the previous two scenes,
for we are now at a posh country club. The scene opens with Charles
and Jacqueline debating whether Australia, the French Riviera or Spain
should be the location of their next vacation. The waitress takes
their gourmet order and moves to the next table (which is presided
over by the Prosecuting Attorney and the Judge, and is now joined by
John Van de Camp).
Van de Camp tells his two friends regarding the Gordon Hall
case to "get a conviction so that the people know I'm cracking down
on gang violence." The Judge replies, "With Mr. Jones handling the
171
prosecution and with me presiding over the trial, I think justice will
be served. So don't worry." Van de Gamp is pleased and moves to the
adjoining table to ask how the fundraising is going. Charles and
Jacqueline assure him all is well.
The focus shifts back to Mr. Jones and the Judge as they plan
their strategy to ensure Gordon's conviction. They agree that the
Defense Lawyer Mr. Whyte poses no problem: "Everything should go our
way," guarantees the Judge.
John Van de Camp now reassures Charles and Jacqueline that
"convictions are going up" (since the upper crust is concerned that
the "savagery going on in the lowlands" is "getting dangerously close")
John then points out Jones and the Judge: "These two gentlemen are
working on a homicide conviction for me, and it's in the bag."
The focus returns to the Jones/Judge table as we learn that
Jones will get Mr. Whyte to eliminate all of Hall's witnesses: "I
will not have any of those hoodlums in my courtroom," says the Judge,
and Jones agrees. The scene closes with mutual goodbyes as the Prose
cuting Attorney and the Judge prepare to tee off at golf, and Charles
and Jacqueline go play tennis.
Scene Four is set on the porch of Sleepy*s house. Bertha and
Charlene have come to ask Sleepy to testify in court to help clear
Gordon. Sleepy says he did not know that Gordon was even in jail.
He admits he saw the real killer waving a gun at the party, but says
he will not name him for fear of reprisal. However, Sleepy does
promise to testify in court that Gordon was partying with him at the
time of the murder, and therefore could not have committed the crime.
172
Bertha leaves, thankful for Gordon's newly found alibi.
The site of Scene Five is the Law Office of John Whyte. We
are introduced to a yawning secretary who is so weary of the tedium
of her job that she has stopped doing it and reads magazines instead.
Soon we meet the equally unprofessional Whyte, who is staring at a
Playboy centerfold as his secretary buzzes him on the intercom. We
learn that an old crony of Van de Camp's, named Carney, is telling
Whyte by phone that the District Attorney wants no witnesses to appear
on Hall's behalf. Whyte agrees and happily accepts an invitation to
chat further with Carney at the Country Club: "Just remember that
you'll owe me one," he avers.
Gordon's mother and sister then arrive at the office with a
list of more than 20 witnesses who will testify that Gordon was not
at the scene of the crime when the murder occurred. Whyte accepts
the list but informs Bertha that the District Attorney's office has
requested that Gordon be tried as an adult. "But he's only 161"
Bertha exclaims; yet Whyte declares positively that "Being tried as an
adult gives us a lot more options in trying to free him ... if I'm
going to represent your son, you're going to have to trust me."
Bertha answers Mr. Whyte: She trusts his judgment.
Whyte quickly induces Bertha to sign a contract that designates
her house as collateral for his fees; he remarks that his services
"... shouldn't be over $20,000." He then hastily ushers his client
out the door and as soon as mother and daughter have gone, Mr. Whyte
"picks up the list of witnesses, wads it up and throws it away."
173
Whyte then, cancels all further appointments and is off for a round at
the Country Club.
The sixth and final scene is set in the courtroom. Before the
summations by the two attorneys begin, the Judge pompously intones:
"I've learned how to weed out the criminal elements in my courtroom."
He closes his boastful speech by lamenting the one and only drawback
to his profession: "The gross display of emotion on the part of the
guilty defendants and their loved ones."
The focus now shifts to the concluding arguments made by the
Prosecuting Attorney. He launches into a distorted and vicious attack,
alleging that Gordon Hall is guilty on three counts: Murder in the
First Degree, Assault with Intent to Commit Murder, and Assault with
a Deadly Weapon. As the Prosecuting Attorney presents his "evidence,"
Bertha (standing in a spotlight left of center stage) systematically
refutes his ’’facts" in direct address to the audience. For instance:
As the Prosecuting Attorney maintains that Gordon is a gang member
who had to murder someone as a rite of initiation into formal leader
ship, Bertha tells the audience that Gordon's having been tattooed and
the fact that he wears a certain style of clothes emblematic of Chi-
canismo does not make him a gang member, that in fact he has never
been a gang member, etc.
The Defense Attorney then takes the stage: "I'll try to keep
my remarks as brief as possible." "He's worse than the Prosecutor,"
says Bertha. Thus the same counterpoint established by Bertha with
the Prosecution continues with the opposing side, the Defense. Whyte
claims that only two witnesses provided Gordon with an alibi; Bertha
angrily counters with "Two witnesses? I gave him a list of 23
witnesses 1 And he did not use any of them!" Needless to say, how
ever, the Defense rests without having persuasively argued a single
point in Gordon Hall's favor.
After the Judge presents the usual legal admonition to the
jury, there is a blackout. When the lights come up again the jury
has reached its verdict: "We find the defendant, Gordon Castillo Hall,
guilty of all charges." Chaos breaks out in the courtroom as "Justice
for Hall" comes to a close with a slow fade to black (symbolically
bringing down the curtain).
Plot Analysis
"Justice for Hall” differs in an elemental way from all five
of the other Teatro works under study. This is because its plot is
directly derived from a real incident ("The Illegal Atom," of course,
does cite the Three Mile Island nuclear accident, but in no way builds
its plot upon the actual facts).
The primary source upon which "Justice for Hall" is based is
a sixteen-page legal brief entitled "The Case of Gordon Castillo Hall:
30
A Compilation of Facts and Events" which was prepared by the Justice
for Gordon Castillo Hall Committee in 1980. This document contains an
opening statement of facts; presents the legal status of the case as
of February 7, 1980; offers a legal chronology of post-conviction
hearings and motions; and concludes with information regarding the
legal fees accrued by the family and offset by the Committee's fund
raising activities.
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The secondary sources used for the plot in "Justice for Hall"
31
include a major article appearing in the Los Angeles Times and an
32
article in the San Gabriel Valley Daily Tribune. Hence the facts
pertaining to the arrest and conviction of one Gordon Castillo Hall
are very well documented. They provide the Teatro with a clear se
quence of events and action with which to dramatize Hall's story in
the A La Brava production.
From a critical standpoint, however, the plot of "Justice for
Hall" is best considered as an independent entity entirely divorced
from the "real" incident; for irrespective of any factual basis of
the script, the story presented onstage must work as a theatrically
plausible one. Such an idea of plausibility dates to the Poetics:
The poet's job is not to report what has happened . . . the
historian speaks of what has happened, the poet speaks of the
kind of thing that can happen . . . according to the rule of
probability or necessity . . . for poetry speaks more of uni-
versals, history of particulars.33
The essential defect of the plot in "Justice for Hall" is
its implausibility: it is one matter to reveal a conspiracy against
our protagonist, but without presenting counter forces to the con
spiracy there is no suspense, no real conflict, and simply an account
of an uninhibited railroading— in short, a one-sided story. It is
just too contrived and unsatisfying to see virtually everybody against
Gordon: the two arresting officers, the booking officer, the police
Captain, the District Attorney and his two fund-raisers, the Deputy
District Attorney, the Prosecuting Attorney, and the Defense Attorney
as well as the Judge I Now one might remark that Kafka's "The Trial"
is just as unilateral, that everybody here is certainly against the
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protagonist; but Kafka gives us a highly articulate protagonist whose
words and behavior constantly war against the enclosing nightmare.
Moreover, Kafka universalizes the experience so completely that the
forces are merely letters representing abstract structures of menace
conspiring against innocence.
Sadly, in "Justice for Hall" the innocent protagonist appears
only in the first scene, where his protests consist of variations on
one dull sentence: "I didn't do nothing," "We didn't do nothing,"
"None of us did anything," "Hey, man, I didn't do nothing," "I didn't
kill nobody," "But I didn't do nothing!" etc. Such dialogue hardly
allows the audience to gain a sense of Gordon's personality, so that
there is nothing going on to add poignancy to his incarceration (in
fact, we don't ever learn if he is a gang member or not).
Theoretically at least, Gordon's mother and sister are fighting
for his freedom. Yet Bertha is so easily duped by her lawyer that she
passively signs her house away, and, from a misguided childlike trust,
agrees to have her son tried as an adult; therefore any "help" that
she can offer never seens real. Meanwhile Gordon's sister simply
observes the proceedings, appearing to be the charlatan lawyer's
silent accomplice. Gordon's mother and sister then demurely return
home, never to confront Mr. Whyte again!
Throughout the story, then, Gordon (after Scene One) is totally
mute (he never even takes the witness stand); his "help" on the out
side, his mother and sister, are also portrayed as quite helpless.
His "friends" at the party and in the lineup, with the exception of
Sleepy, are never heard from again (even Sleepy hadn't taken the time
177
to find out what happened to Gordon!). So who is there for the audi
ence to root for? How is suspense created? The answer is ancient:
no conflict, no drama.
The entire action of the work consists of a conspiracy that
continues to gain in power and momentum until, without having encoun
tered a single impediment, it totally succeeds. Thus "Justice for
Hall" suffers from a major structural flaw (the absence of conflict).
Additionally, the story is weakened by a continual reliance on cliche
in form and substance.
"Justice for Hall" often unfolds in a manner reminiscent of a
1940's crime melodrama. Take for instance the entire Country Club
scene: We do not see a realistic, high-level collision between the
Powers That Be. Instead, it is a burlesque--a cartoon account of the
moneyed elite socializing with the watchdogs of The System. This is
a broad show which serves no dramatic function whatsoever (except to
a nondiscriminating audience) and which in fact robs the story of its
potential impact. Here the villains of capitalism are played strictly
for laughs: "Oh, Charles, I so much wanted to go to Australia this
year. I’m becoming quite bored with the French Riviera, and Sydney's
so much warmer in the spring." Perhaps the overblown style, so glar
ingly out of touch with the proposed tenor of the piece, is a cover
for authorial insecurity and lack of faith in the intended audience.
The Booking Scene is handled like an old gangster film as well:
(Enter Officers Jack and John with suspect Gordon ....
As they enter, Booking Officer is beating up prisoner--
Prisoner is yelling in pain.)
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Jack: What's he in here for?
Mel: Warrants'. They never learn ....
What choo got here, Jack?
Jack: We got AP3119H— Homicide.
Mel: Has he confessed yet?
(As he pounds nightstick into his hand.)
Here again we have an excessive formula that seems out of
place. It breaks the flow of the story, and while in the first case
it simply makes the audience laugh, in the jail scene the high camp
destroys all hope of expressing a meaningful indictment against the
police (The System). There is no tension here, no discovery of brutal
ity .
Ironically, the idea of a conspiracy based in the District
Attorney's Office, the use of the Country Club for illicit meetings
and the theme of police brutality are all examples of the license
taken by A La Brava with the facts of the true incident. In not one
of the briefs and articles previously cited are the above charges ever
made (so the flaws in the plot are not even remotely attributed to the
events of the Gordon Hall case). It should be pointed out, however,
that creating a campaign for reelecting Van de Camp does serve the
useful plot function of creating a unifying motive for the conspira
tors . However, as will be seen in the following analysis of character,
there are many inconsistencies of behavior that mar even the effective
ness of the campaign concept.
Character
It may surprise the reader to find that the real life charac
ters in the Gordon Hall case are as follows: District Attorney of
179
Pasadena, John Van de Kamp; the Trial Prosecutor, Deputy District
Attorney Robert Carney; Arresting Officers from the Temple City Sta
tion; the two brothers identifying Gordon Hall as the murderer, Victor
and Daniel Lara; Gordon Hall's mother, Bertha Alaniz (she remarried in
1970 following the death of her husband Alfred Hall); Gordon's sister,
Charlyne; and of course Gordon Castillo Hall, age 16 (arrested Febru
ary 25, 1978 after a raid of a Duarte party; he was sentenced to life
imprisonment for murder on August 23, 1978).
One quickly recognizes that most of the names throughout the
work correspond to the actual participants in the real Gordon Hall
affair. But, as was the case with plot analysis, characters must
be viewed independently from their real life counterparts.
The overriding problem with character development in "Justice
for Hall" is a lack of sufficient motivation justifying the characters'
actions. The result is often what appears to be rather inconsistent
and atypical behavior. An early example may be found in Scene One.
Senior arresting officer Jack Hunt is portrayed as highly authori
tarian and extremely anxious to "nail the suspect." Yet his very
behavior inhibits this goal; furthermore there is no irony intended
in his placing the objective in jeopardy. First he announces on a
walkie talkie: "We gotta lineup here. What does it matter if we're
not following procedure?" Such an admission of irregular, if not
illegal, procedure (spoken in front of the suspects) provides certain
grounds for nulling any arrest. Why would a self-styled martinet be
so sloppy?
But Jack Hunt's indiscretion is followed up by a truly con-
180
spicuous error. John asks* "What did the Captain say?" Jack replies
as "he looks at all the suspects": "Captain says he wants a murderer,
nowI" Again Jack has himself provided blatant grounds for dismissing
an arrest. This is hardly believable, that such a hard-nosed authori
tarian would provide the technicality through which a suspect might
slip by him.
Also, if Jack is so superior in his attitude, why would he
bother to respond to Peewee's remark about John ("Hey, that marano
["pig"3 is stupid, ay1 .") when Jack says, "He ain't stupid, he's just
plain dumb'." Even if John were "dumb," another police officer would
not validate an insult from a "punk."
As noted earlier, the problem with Gordon Hall's character is
that there is no personality revealed onstage. We never know his feel
ings before the arrest, so the audience never has a chance to really
care for the character. Ironically, during the raid and lineup the
only person we do get to like and empathize with is not Gordon, but
Sleepy. From Sleepy's first line, "Calmate, Peewee" ("Calm down,
Peewee) spoken while they are dancing and "cool" to Peewee's "hot"
temperamental remarks, the audience becomes interested in his unique
character.
When the police enter the party "Sleepy begins to tiptoe off."
Jack yells out "You! Where do you think you're going?" Sleepy's reply
is indicative of his offbeat, impish personality: "Well, ah, I told
my mom I'd be home early to help her make some menudo, Officer!"
Sleepy's sexual interest in Shirley also creates a definite focus for
the audience, a counterpoint of comedy in the midst of a most serious
181
situation. John announces to the lineup, "Alright, I want all of you
to spread your legs and spread 'em wide!" Sleepy turns to Shirley and
says, "Alright, Shirley, spread 'em!"
Importantly, it is Sleepy and Sleepy alone who is "awake" to
the policeman's maneuvering; he says without deference to Jack, "This
is an illegal lineup." During all this time Gordon is either silent
or repeating the same line ("I didn't do nothing"). There is no bra
vura or defiance in Gordon's manner, only vague confusion; therefore
the audience has nothing remarkable to associate with Gordon as they
do with Sleepy.
The fact that Gordon never returns after the first scene (and
in truth never even establishes his character during his sole appear
ance) is another major weakness of "Justice for Hall." Thus the
work's title, which professes that the work is about Gordon Hall,
creates an unfulfilled expectation; for in any practical sense, there
is no Gordon Hall appearing in the work.
There is yet another problem with the character of the District
Attorney. If we accept John Van de Camp's wealth (which seems in
flated) , then we expect a corresponding savoir faire in his deportment,
a high gloss to his demeanor to illustrate success. That is, we would
think his dealings at the Country Club would be much more discreet,
in keeping with the man's shrewd and ambitious nature. However, it
is likely that the Country Club would be a meeting place for enemies
as well as friends; thus it makes little sense that Van de Camp would
openly announce to campaign fundraisers that the Judge and Prosecuting
Attorney "are working on a homicide conviction for me, and it's in the
182
bag") (and this statement made before the trial is even underway!).
Mr. Whyte is portrayed as absolutely unprofessional: Appar
ently his only interest in Law is that it affords him many opportuni
ties to secure real estate. He quickly decides to do what Carney asks
so that he may "collect" on a favor in the future from the District
Attorney's Office. Such a flat personage adds little to "Justice for
Hall"; he is simply another cartoon character in the work. (It is
interesting to note that Teatro A La Brava chose to ignore the fact
that there was a much more ominous motivation for the real defense
lawyer's shabby behavior. He was afraid of the actual killer's re-
34
prisal. If the audience realized that Whyte knew for certain that
Gordon was innocent, but was too cowardly to chance proving it, a
deeper and more human drama might have been achieved).
The only person who speaks the truth in "Justice for Hall"
is Gordon's mother Bertha. But even Bertha's legitimate passion to
free her son is subverted by the way her character has been developed.
Though she personally compiles a list of 23 witnesses, she never checks
to see if Mr. Whyte intends to use any of them. Her protests in court
are stylized, so that we never actually experience Bertha's outrage
interrupting the proceedings or causing the Judge to warn her of con
tempt . She becomes a disembodied voice of conscience, but never a
real person. What the audience does see in Bertha’s deportment, as
well as in Charlene's, is passive acceptance of authority. Whyte
easily walks all over Bertha as Charlene merely witnesses the obvious
sham of justice without voicing one forceful protest.
The character of Bertha might have been used to augment our
183
identification with Gordon. For instance, if Bertha had (in dialogue
with either Mr. Whyte or Charlene) revealed Gordon's personality
traits, his needs, and fears, the audience could feel closer to him.
But sadly the audience remains estranged from Gordon throughout "Jus
tice for Hall," which is a dramatic injustice.
Thought
The locus of thought in a stage work is found within the dia
logue between characters, and, perhaps most powerfully, in individual
monologues. While "Justice for Hall" has a significant theme (injus
tice as the result of racial stereotyping and political payola) , the
thought in the work is mediocre, the dialogue throughout is forced and
didactic. The audience does not have to unravel a subtle scheme against
Gordon; it does not have to think, and audiences love to figure things
out. On the contrary, the role of the audience is diminished as view
ers are subjected to the lopsided Conspiracy in capital cartoon letters.
Even if the facts of the real incident justified such a choice (which
they do not), the conspiracy would remain implausible in a theatrical
sense. The thought of injustice is treated in entirely too heavy-
handed a manner, the audience spoon-fed sensationalistic and melo
dramatic interpretations- (rather than ideas rooted to reality).
There are no monologues in "Justice for Hall," so none of the
characters have an opportunity to elaborate or reflect on the events
taking place. This is particularly deplorable, for such a speech from
Gordon before, during, or after his arrest might significantly improve
the expression of thought in the work. Bertha's "counterpoint" dia-
184
logue in the courtroom scene is but a mechanical checklist of wrong
doing by the Defense Attorney (and therefore does not enlighten us
from one person’s unique perspective).
Thus a one-dimensional portrayal of Evil in "Justice for Hall"
lowers the caliber of thought in the work, the comic strip characters
significantly undermining an intended portrait of a decadent, topsy
turvy society. Witness the portrayal of the Police Captain:
Jack: (To the Booking Officer):
How's the Captain?
Mel: Oh, not too good. He's been really upset ever
since his daughter got pregnant from that cholo
boyfriend of hers.
By making the Captain's fascistic behavior stem from so un
likely a circumstance, the impact of his brutality is diluted at its
source. We do not gain insight into the real origin of police scape
goating of Chicanos, but rather are given hackneyed and trite situa
tions . The result in "Justice for Hall" is an impoverished expression
of thought.
Diction
It is inevitable that a work fraught with shallow delineations
of personality, implausible plot, and a general superficiality should
feature dialogue that is often literal and simplistic. For instance,
the Police Captain says to Gordon, "You're in big trouble, boy." "I
iidn't do nothing," replies Gordon; this is hardly an engaging repar
tee. Throughout "Justice for Hall," the action is diminished by a com
parable absence of invention, the only exception being occasional lines
from Sleepy that are wry, comical, and aptly suited to character.
185
As has been previously documented, the dialogue and behavior
of many characters in "Justice for Hall" are fragmentary and inconsis
tent. Thus although we are told that John, one of the arresting of
ficers, is "dumb," we also hear Jack (the senior officer and presumably
the smart one) stumble and falter from impotent self-expression. For
instance, after the Booking Officer tells Jack the reason for the Cap
tain's bad mood, Jack blurts out to the Captain as he enters, "Oh,
Captain Sir, sorry about your daughter, or X mean ...." Apparently
intended to provoke laughter from the audience, the line is gratuitous
and confusing.
Taken on its own merits, the intentionally inflated language
of Charles and Jacqueline is funny, and at times their conversation
at the Country Club does penetrate the facade of "aristocracy":
Jacqueline: I'll have the puffed breast of duck and
stuffed oyster tails.
Waiter: Excellent choice, Madame. And for dessert
may I suggest the Parfait de creme?
Charles: Yes, I've heard so much about itl What
exactly is it?
Wiater: Jello and whipped creme.
Too often, however, the dialogue is simply repetitive and with
out stylistic invention:
About the only problem we’ll have is a pos
sible motion for dismissal on the grounds
of an illegal lineup.
Well, what do you mean?
It seems that we had to secure the witness from
the hospital and bring him back to the party.
He was a bit shaken up and we had to line up
the suspects illegally for him to identify.
186
Prosecuting
Attorney:
Judge:
Prosecuting
Attorney:
Judge: Ummm, yeah that is illegal.
This tedious and bland delivery of information is all too
prevalent in "Justice for Hall," while overly dramatic and sensational-
istic sentences make up the difference.
Performance: "Justice for Hall"
Setting
Unlike the performance of "The Illegal Atom," which had minimal
props and no sets, "Justice for Hall" had full production values. Each
scene had specific props and appropriately painted backdrops. Before
the performance begins, and as the audience filters into the 90-seat
house, the following is visible onstage: Stage right on the wall is
a hand painted black and white canvas, twelve feet tall and four feet
wide, featuring in the foreground two Chicanos poised in a "Power to
the People" salute. Above them the canvas is dominated by a policeman
shooting into a crowd of Chicanos, with individuals scattering for
safety.
Center stage features a hand painted backdrop, in color, of a
wall with an ashcan in front of it and a tree. On the wall in Chicano
calligraphy is "Barrio Duarte." The background shows an urban setting
at night.
At the rear of the theater is an impressive display of posters,
primarily of Chicano Teatro. Represented are Teatro De La Gente (of
San Jose), Teatro Es.peranza (Santa Barbara), Teatro Urbano, Teatro A La
Brava, and Teatro Primavera. Additionally there were posters of the
San Francisco Mime Troupe, El Teatro Campesino, and a "No Nukes" poster.
187
The "look" of the stage as well as the theater In general was
decidedly Chicano. Returning now to the specific sets vised in "Justice
for Hall": The most elaborate set was the courtroom. Here a wooden
Judge's bench was built (including a California Seal that made it look
official). There was also a jury box stage left, a real stenotype
machine (for the court reporter) next to the jury box, and two attor
neys 1 tables.
The Country Club set consisted of a painted backdrop (white
lattice "woodwork," various opulent appointments and ornaments); the
tables were white and effectively conveyed a country club atmosphere.
The set for Whyte and Associates simply modified the properties
already described: Tables were covered to resemble desks, a typewriter
was used on the secretary's work area, etc. Mr. Whyte used a "real"
telephone. Once again, a clear sense of place was established.
All of the sets and properties were professionally rendered,
whether painted on large backdrops, built out of wood, or borrowed
for the production; a first-rate look was achieved in all scenes
throughout "Justice for Hall."
Performers
It is quite possible in a stage work that actors may bring
forward a level of excitement and entertainment that far exceeds the
inherent qualities of the script. This was the case February 7, 1981
when A La Brava's "Justice for Hall" opened at Teatro Urbano's theater
plant.
Ron Rodarte's interpretation of the Prosecuting Attorney
188
brought a conniving intensity to the role. Mr. Jones's closing argu
ments were delivered with a particular force and conviction. As Jack,
a smug arrogance added a color not really well developed in the script.
Together Ginger Garrido as Jacqueline and Orlando Terrazes as
Charles created a wonderfully funny burlesque of the Privileged Citi
zen. Their delivery was a joy to behold; their inspired zaniness pro
vided a memorable touch to the overall work.
Teresa Reyes as Bertha helped bring a sense of outrage and
commitment to the role even though (as pointed out earlier) the char
acter is always kept from making a real impact on the Judge or Attor
neys . Still, her visible frustration while watching her son being
framed helped compensate for the paucity of tension in the .scene.
The rest of the cast offered competent performances--nothing
especially noteworthy, but satisfying nevertheless. Carlos Diaz as
Gordon Hall managed to signal general fear and confusion; yet there
was little more he could do with the role as written. Mario Flores
as Sleepy was not able to truly maximize this well conceived and well
written role; the gamin like quality inherent in Sleepy's shenanigans
was not fully explored.
The character of John (the "dumb" police officer) had been
changed to "Sharon" and was played by Debbie Carmona. Unfortunately,
the cast did not realize that the role now appeared as disparaging to
women in general. In fact there are no positive roles for women in
"Justice for Hall." For that reason alone this change in the cast
had, in my view, negative implications.
Gregorio Barba played Van de Camp in a rather straightforward
189
manner. Thus we never felt that this man was, in fact, the fountain-
head of an evil, elaborate scheme. The performance needed a subtext
of dishonesty, secrecy, and evasiveness shrouded in the mechanism of
a bull; Van de Camp is, after all, intended as a motive power to be
reckoned with.
Considering the amateurish acting in A La Brava's "The Illegal
Atom," the general caliber of performance in "Justice for Hall" was
very high indeed. Not only did the cast generally pull together a
multiplicity of roles, but four of the actors, Ron Rodarte, Ginger
Garrido, Orlando Terrazes, and Teresa Reyes energized their roles
beyond the parameters of the script.
Mus ic
"Justice for Hall" originally was to open with all the partici
pants of the party coupled off and dancing to "Angel Baby." This rock
and roll classic was first released November 21, 1960 by Rosie and
The Originals, and even in today's barrio it is a tune vatos still
enjoy dancing to (being a favorite "oldie") .
Onstage at Teatro Urbano, however, a change was made; instead
of "Angel Baby," a Latin-style ballad filled the room ("Se Ne Pardo"
by Johnny Chingas). The slow, salsa beat of "Se Ne Pardo" added a
definite Hispanic flavor to the scene and thus made the party seem a
more complex cultural event.
"Se Ne Pardo" is cut short, however, for once it establishes a
sexy dance atmosphere, the police raid takes place .(a rude contrast
to the tone set by the music). It was an effective choice and worked
190
well; the interruption produced a desired jarring moment.
The only other music stipulated by the script appears in Scene
Two: "Country Club Scene with French Market music played throughout."
Spectacle
While "The Illegal Atom" had almost no spectacle at all,
"Justice for Hall" revealed a mature and judicious use of this aspect
of theater. To begin with, just as Scene One establishes the mellow
party mood with "Se Ne Pardo," a loud siren and flashing red lights
cut across the stage. This not only shocks the audience but aptly
mirrors the sense of chaos experienced at the party itself. In short
it is an organic application of spectacle, engaging its audience and
developing the scene at the same time.
In order to intensify the moment in which the party members
scatter for safety, A La Brava used a slow motion technique. The
actors registered fear and confusion as they seemingly moved through
mud in their attempt to escape. This little touch of choreography
added to the scene and was not unduly prolonged; just as the audience
assimilates all that has just happened, the arresting officers run in
blowing whistles and normal speed is resumed.
The result of such spectacle is that "Justice for Hall" suc
ceeds in seizing audience interest without resorting to theatrical
gimmicry. The sirens are used only once again, without the flashing
red lights, to bring ironic closure to Mr. Lara's identification of
Gordon as the murderer. Thus just at the moment that injustice is
being served, there is a blackout punctuated by loud police sirens.
191
When the lights come up we see a prophecy of Gordon's fate: Mel beat
ing up an innocent prisoner. Scene One closes with another blackout;
only now instead of police sirens filling the darkness, a black pic
ture is filled with "screams of pain from Gordon." Therefore spectacle
once again is used to convey the intense irony of "justice" in action.
The next use of spectacle is derived from the costumes of
Charles and Jacqueline in Scene Two. Charles is dressed in overly
trendy tennis attire (blue shorts, white towel around neck, large
white sun visor, etc.), while Jacqueline sports an extremely gaudy
yachting outfit topped by a truly ridiculous blonde wig. This spec
tacle is emotionally disconcerting, for it falls on the heels of
Gordon's screams from a moment earlier. Yet once the audience accepts
the melodramatic tone of the work, the startling transition into a
scene of comic relief should do nothing but rekindle their interest.
There are no other examples of special effects which warrant
description beyond the uses of spectacle already outlined. It is pos
sible (though not entirely accurate) to view Bertha's counterpoint
dialogue in the courtroom as spectacle. Admittedly a spot is used
every time she speaks in count (which further breaks the otherwise
undeviating legal procedure). But onstage it is not any "visual
adornment" that is engaging, so much as it is startling data supplied
by Bertha that captures our attention.
In any event, "Justice for Hall" does make discreet use of
spectacle and shows a significant improvement in this area over "The
Illegal Atom."
192
Audience
In Teatro Chicano a performance of a work is often preceded by
musical entertainment. In the case of "Justice for Hall," a four-
person combo named "Los Amigos" played a twenty-minute set that had
the audience clapping and yelling their approval. It should also be
noted that the audience had access to a full bar throughout the "Los
Amigos" set, so people were constantly getting drinks and taking them
to their seats.
During plot analysis it was established that A La Brava's
"Justice for Hall" was in fact based on a legal brief compiled by the
Justice for Gordon Hall Committee. The researcher was informed, how
ever, on the day of performance, that major complications had arisen
allegedly from Gordon Hall's post-conviction attorneys, Richard V. Cruz
and Richard Siggins of Cruz and Associates of East Los Angeles. Ac-
coring to A La Brava, even though the Justice for Gordon Hall Committee
and the Hall family had approved their script, Richard Cruz would not.
The demoralized Teatro members subsequently chose to begin their
premiere performance, as well as all performances to follow, with a
reading of the following series of caveats written by Richard Cruz:
"Justice for Hall" is presented as a fictional work of Chicano
Teatro. Any similarities to people living or dead is purely
coincidental. Teatro A La Brava does not intend to defame or
otherwise detract from the good reputation of any person living
or dead who might bear superficial resemblance to characters
portrayed by Teatro A La Brava.
Due to the legal and political ramifications concerning the
relationship between the play and a case pending before the
California Supreme Court, the name has been changed to "Jus
tice for All."
193
Needless to say this dry little speech takes all the immediate
relevance out of "Justice for Hall." It is alleged that Richard Cruz
35
demanded credit for the work and physically assaulted Ron Rodarte.
Whatever happened, one thing is certain: A La Brava did agree to read
the above caveat.
Interestingly I believe the audience was not particularly
affected by the Cruz communication; most did not seem to be listening
very closely (sitting in the afterglow of "Los Amigos" and perhaps
the inner glow of alcohol). Still it is unfortunate indeed that the
conscious point of "Justice for Hall" had to be underscored by this
special pleading before the work had even started.
Audience response to "Justice for Hall" was extremely positive
(beginning with whistles and cheers as the lights fell). During the
dramatic highlights of Scene One, the audience was attentive and quiet.
But howls of laughter were elicited in Scene Two and throughout the
comedic passages of the work. The fact that "Justice for Hall" never
found a consistent and unifying voice for maximum impact never damp
ened audience enthusiasm; misplaced and misguided comic relief only
served to increase it.
The actors received an extended standing ovation which con
tinued even as each cast member was singled out by name. The audience
was encouraged to mingle with the cast innnediately after the show.
All in all from an audience standpoint, "Justice for Hall" was effec
tive and enjoyable.
Audience demography again reveals a wide distribution in age
(from young children to senior citizens); however, the majority were
194
between 18 and 25. Vociferous applause indicated that all truly en
joyed the performance.
The next work to be studied is "Angel Death" by Teatro Prima-
vera. As has been the case thus far, the script does not contain a
separate roster of characters; therefore, such information has been
derived from the full text.
Dramatis Personae
Introduction:
Cholo:
Actor #1:
Actor #2:
Actor #3:
/
The Family:
Mrs . Ramirez:
Huero Ramirez:
Joe Ramirez:
Script: "Angel Death"
An unnamed narrator who directly addresses
the audience in order to announce the name
of the show and introduce its theme.
An unidentified male who presents a first-
person case history of PCP use.
Another unspecified male who presents a
general warning regarding PCP use.
An unnamed female who presents further
notice of danger regarding the use of PCP.
The matriarch of the family (her husband
died ten years earlier). She works at a
factory where her son Huero is also em
ployed. Because of the double duty of
factory and housework, Mrs. Ramirez is
near physical and emotional collapse.
A light skinned young cholo. He is using
PCP on a daily basis and is unaware of its
accumulative effects on his personality
(he, in fact, deals "wack").
The older brother of Huero and Lucy, Joe
is on crutches (the result of former gang
membership and activities) and has been
in physical therapy; thus he hopes to some
day walk again. He wants to help Huero
with his drug problem.
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Lucy Ramirez: A senior in high school on the verge of
dropping out, she spends her time at home
watching television. She is resentful of
Huero's drug problem, insensitive to Joe's
fight to regain the use of his legs, and the
victim of her mother's slavish toil.
Chola: A new girlfriend of Huero's, also a heavy
user of PCP.
The Work Place:
Foreman: A completely insensitive and authoritarian
taskmaster. He is anxious to fire both
Huero and his mother.
Factory Worker: An unnamed co-worker of Mrs. Ramirez and
Huero. He is merely an obsequious sup
porter of the boss.
The above eleven roles were performed by the following players
of Teatro Primavera:
Ray Serna: The Cholo of the Introduction
and Huero Ramirez.
Rosemary Ramos: The mother and Chola.
Carlos Garcia: Joe, Actor #1, and Foreman.
Cristina Garcia: Lucy, Actor #3, and Younger Worker.
Plot Synopsis
"Angel Death" is a theatrical work with an Introduction and
four scenes.
The Introduction of the play is handled by Cholo. He appears,
striking various bold poses in rapid succession and then states:
"Orale, gente, what's happening? Hey, check this out, we have a firme
show for you tonight. The name of the play is 'Angel Death,' so just
kick back and relax."
Then Actor #1 offers a short personal testimony regarding his
196
use of PCP: "I couldn't remember. I smoked it every day for a year,"
etc. Actor #2 follows with a completely clinical report of PCP's
effects: "PCP's widespread use is causing concern in many circles ...
because it has the potential to induce severe toxic reactions," etc.
Actor #3 offers what sounds like a horrifying news report: "Angel
dust has been linked to hundreds of murders, suicides, and accidental
deaths--2l4 last year in the Detroit area alone."
The Cholo then appropriates the spotlight once again in a
monologue that summarizes and elaborates upon the three preceding
reports:
Sabes que, check these people out real good ... 'cause one mom
ent they could be calm ... and then all of a sudden they could
be in an uncontrollable rage I Phenocycledine, for short you
call it PCP or Angel Dust, pero I call it "wack" 'cause the
vatos that smoke it are wackos ... they have problems with
loss of memory, stuttering, depression, and anxiety ... they
get paranoid and violent, which can lead to Angel Death ...
Angel Death ... Angel Death.
Scene One takes place in a garment factory. We see the Fore
man driving his workers mercilessly, and we hear the lamentations of
Mrs. Ramirez:
Hay dios--como se puede pensar bien, vivir bien nuestro papel
de madre si se vive pensando en sobre vivir desde que sale el
sol hasta que uno se acuesta?
(Oh, Lord--how can you think straight, live the role of mother
if you're living, thinking of survival from sunrise until bed
time?)
Soon Mrs. Ramirex is informed by the Foreman: "I'm dissatis
fied with your son's work. He's slowing down production." The Fore
man strongly intimates that Huero will be fired if he does not pick up
his pace. Mrs. Ramirex then pleads with him: "He's a good boy. He
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works hard, he really does. Maybe he's sick." In desperation she
promises the Foreman that Huero will keep up with the others.
During the work break Mrs. Ramirez goes over to Huero and in
forms him of the Foreman's displeasure. Huero is highly defensive:
"Sabes que, he thinks he's bad (He jumps on a box and starts shadow
boxing) . Fero, let him try to touch me'." He sends his mother back to
her machine and as the Foreman walks past him, "Huero flips him off.
He then gets off of the box, pulls out a joint of dust and smokes it."
Not long after the break Mrs. Ramirez collapses from exhaus
tion. A callous worker sneers (to the Foreman), "Look at her, she's
too old." And then: "You ought to get a replacement." Huero, in a
drug daze, stands semi-frozen by his machine, simply watching as his
mother struggles to return to her work area, pleading for her liveli
hood: "I need this job. Please give me another chance (starts work
ing on her machine very fast). Please don't fire met" She is granted
one last chance, but Huero's catatonia, now quite obvious to the Fore
man, enrages him. "Ramirez'. You're firedJ" Mrs. Ramire:z tried to
intervene, but the Foreman barks at her: "Get back to work or I’ll
fire you tool"
Scene Two takes place in the Ramirez home. Lucy watches tele
vision as Joe enters. He's just returned from counseling several
gangs, and he expresses the conviction "that gang life has no future."
"What did they say?" asks Lucy. He responds emphatically, "They
laughed at me. It's useless talking to them."
Presently Huero enters; he turns on the radio and starts danc
ing. Lucy turns the television volume up as Huero (not noticing or
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caring) just keeps on dancing: "Orale, you didn't know I was the disco
king in my neighborhood, huh?" When their mother enters, "Huero sud
denly turns off the TV and sits, acting like he's sick." Huero in
stantly receives all his mother's attention and sympathy, whereas Lucy
is brutally attacked by her mother:
Mira esta casa, que en hecho, mientra yo y Huero hemnos traba-
haron como burros? (grabs Lucy by the hair.) Estoy hablando
a ti, muchacha (pulls Lucy offstage).
(Look at this house, what's been done while Huero and I have
been working like burros? I'm talking to you, little girl.)
Joe, looking at the news on television, yells to Huero, "Hey,
some guys are getting busted'." Huero runs over and excitedly dis
covers, "Hey, these are my homeboys'." As Huero and Joe continue watch
ing television, Lucy and her mother clean up the living room. When
their mother goes into another room, however, Huero insults Lucy, who
promptly grabs a broom and hits him with it. Huero then cries out
"Ma! Look at Lucy! She's hitting me!" Their mother runs in and
threatens Lucy: "Me lo vas a mater!" ("You want me to hit you?")
Then: "(She grabs Lucy by the hair and sits her down.)"
Huero's only concern is that his drug dealing must now be tem
porarily suspended. He calls a friend and informs him, "I can't sell
the wack for awhile ... it's hot in the neighborhood." Huero then
exits. His mother enters, still ranting at Lucy; their arguing esca
lates until the older woman "takes off her shoe and begins to beat
Lucy." Lucy grabs the shoe and threatens her mother, "Don't ever
hit me again ... I can't take it any more.... Me quiero morir." ("I
want to die.")
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Lucy attempts to point out that her mother is scapegoating her
out of rage against the factory, but her mother first denies that her
job is stressful, and then fatalistically observes, , r We have to suffer
in this life." There is a cease-fire between Lucy and her mother as
both try to calm down and reflect on their problems. Her mother feels
old and helpless; she is also afraid that her daughter's comeliness
will only serve to attract men with so-called dishonorable intentions.
Her reverie is cut short when she realizes, "Hay dios mio, ya estoy
tarde y me esta esperando tu tia" ("Oh my God, I'm late already and
your Aunt is waiting for me.") She then quickly exits.
Joe asks Lucy to help him with his leg exercises, but Lucy is
too angry and frustrated to be of much use. Then Huero enters "des
perately looking for his smoke." He wildly pushes furniture around,
ignoring the anguished protests of both Joe and Lucy. Joe screams,
"Are you crazy or what? Mom's going to kill you!" Huero finds his
stash and leaves again.
After hearing a police helicopter hovering nearby, Lucy in
vites Joe to pretend that they are flying. Both are in a real need
of an emotional escape from the pressures around them, so they throw
themselves wholeheartedly into the shared fantasy. Just as they are
both lost in the game, however, Huero reenters to effectively destroy
their illusion: "What are you doing, stupids?" In the aftermath Joe,
without first realizing what is happening, actually walks without his
crutches. Lucy and Joe then rejoice in his seemingly miraculous
achievement.
In typical self-absorption, Huero is angered by the attention
200
Joe is receiving, so he mocks and belittles him. "Orale, mira al
chuecos is walking" ("Hey, look, the crooked one is walking"), "let's
go jogging (he jogs to the door"). Joe yells at him: "Huero, what's
wrong with you? Always on your own trip!" Lucy then takes Joe's arm
and escorts him off.
Scene Three: Huero gleefully prepares to have his girlfriend
over for a tryst. He sprays deodorant under his arms, combs his hair,
fusses with his clothes, etc. When he feels he is "looking good,"
he waves her over from outside. Momentarily his girlfriend arrives
at the door. Before she enters he tells her, "Wipe your feet before
you come in my chante [my pad}. I work hard to keep this place clean,
you know." (She is duly impressed.)
Huero checks to see if Joe or Lucy are home; they are not.
The Chola pulls out a PCP joint, much to Huero's delight, and they
begin smoking. Huero moves right'into the subject of sex: "Sabes
que, you ever smoke dust and screw at the same time?" "Chale [noj,
just one at a time," she replies. Huero removes his shirt and they
begin making out. Huero mimes being an airplane and "lands" on his
girlfriend. They are now so stoned out, however, that soon they both
collapse, knocked cold, lying on the floor with arms around each
other.
Joe enters and is shocked: "What's wrong with you? Put on
your clothes, you know mom is coining home soon!" Huero is too drugged
to dress himself properly, so Joe does his best to make Huero and his
Chola appear presentable. Huero is slowly aroused to consciousness.
At first Huero embraces Joe and starts to cry, but he instantly
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flies into a rage; he hits Joe and knocks him to the ground. Joe
rises and attempts to get through Huero's stoned, intractable state:
"Why did you hit me? Try to think what you're doing! The police can
come and take you away," etc. Huero appears dazed but then viciously
kicks Joe to the ground once again. Pained and angry, Joe stands up
slowly and desperately attempts to penetrate Huero's clouded mind:
"Do you understand me? You're my brother. I love you." But Joe's
valiant attempt is thwarted as Huero "grabs Joe's leg and bites him
on the foot. Joe lets out a scream of pain ... Joe begs Huero to
stop."
Huero's untoward behavior and his unrelenting assault continue
as he picks up his brother's crutch and tries to stab Joe with it.
Joe is hit and hurled about and finally dragged about by the stoned
Chola.
Scene Four is set in the Ramirez home a short while later.
Huero sits sobbing and hitting his head against the couch. His mother
enters and runs over to see what is wrong. Huero hits her in the face
and she falls to the floor. Lucy runs in and screams. Huero is still
unaware of his actions, but slowly he comes to a vague recognition of
his behavior. As reality starts to settle in, he calls out "Help me,
ma! Don't leave me! Please!"
For a moment his mother suspiciously watches him; then she
runs over and embraces him. Huero "then slowly looks up at the audi
ence and raises his left arm, reaching out." He cries out in torment:
"Somebody help me!"... (they freeze for five seconds and then a black
out) .
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Plot Analysis
Of all the works documented thus far, "Angel Death" has had
the most experimental approach to the telling of a story. First the
work consciously presents an Introduction that precedes the action of
Scene One. But even the Introduction is unique in that it combines
an abstract, stylized, and choreographed "Cholo" with mini-monologues
revealing the hard facts of PCP use. This Cholo is highly reminiscent
of Zoot Suit’s El Pachuco; both are graceful, mannered characters
whose actions appear simultaneously real and imagined. The author
of "Angel Death," the collective Primavera, evokes El Pachuco right
from the opening beats:
The play opens with a drum roll (all stage lights are off);
drum roll stops (spotlight IJR): Cholo enters, stops (RC);
drapes (spot follows); looks around then backs up (URC);
stands on a box, poses, then greets the audience.
The Cholo's actions become even more intriguing after his
greeting:
He then jumps down (general lights come on), looks around, then
moves (SR) behind boxes; looks out the right side, then over the
top, then out the left, then climbs up boxes (C); sits, looks
around at audience, climbs down (LC), jumps behind boxes (SL);
walks to front of boxes, sits and looks at audience; then does
a cartwheel (SR), backs up to RC and does a roll (DL); slowly
stands up and backs up to (C), grabs top box and sets it down
on floor (DC) and then points to Actor #1 (C).
Taken in the context of Chicano Teatro, the above mime is ex
tremely daring in its theatricality and degree of experimentation
(particularly as the monologues that follow serve a purely didactic
purpose) . This unique combination of theater as ritual and theater as
sociopolitical tool is certainly fresh and compelling. Most emphat
ically young Chicanos are able to reduce their innate defensiveness
203
when they hear its message clothed in such acceptably "hip" language
and attire.
In any traditional sense, the plot proper (Scenes One through
Four) is not well developed. It appears excessively violent and almost
unbearably persistent in its howling pain and frustration. Yet I be
lieve that traditional critical approaches are not appropriate for
analyzing "Angel Death." The reason is that "Angel Death" succeeds
as John Millington Synge's Riders to the Sea does, as "a tragic idyl,
36
almost a tragic epigram . . . a tone poem." After all is it not
excessive, even ridiculous, that Synge expects us to accept Maurya's
grief? As the play opens she has not only lost her husband to the
sea, but his father and five of her six sons, and we must participate
as her last son joins those already claimed by death. Yet Synge's
structure, flawed by traditional dramatic standards, nonetheless grips
the audience.
"Angel Death" shows without apology "La Familia" on the verge
of a complete and collective breakdown. The mother's life-lamentations
are rooted to the cruel borders of her experience; her unwitting trans
ference of rage onto Lucy is equally real. Thus even as she savagely
pulls on her daughter's hair, she mourns the source of her suffering:
"Dios de mi vida, Tu me haces la vida miserable" ("God of my life,
You make my life miserable"). When Lucy tries to get her mother to
admit that her unyielding distress is not a sentence from God, she
fails to get through. .Therefore as Lucy yells, "What do they do to
you at work?" her mother retorts, "Y porque le tomas tanta importancia
de como traten de un de repente?" ("So why do you suddenly give so
204
much importance to how they treat me?") And then, "They treat me good
at work!"
Joe's indifference to the violence his mother constantly wages
on Lucy is quite understandable and makes sense; it was the violence
of his own people against each other that crippled him. But this por
trait of the Chicano family in turmoil finds its overarching symbol in
Huero. Primavera maximizes the potency of Huero by making him so vul
nerable and funny on the one hand and so dangerous and destructive on
the other, that the result is an intense and complex portrait of one
of life's casualities. Thus structurally the plot can be viewed as a
series of interlocking neuroses with the action paced along the single
fuse of Huero's continuing and inevitable PCP high; this high is ac
companied by an uncontrollable rage that gains momentum as the boy's
disintegration rushes towards the climax. So as Maurya "becomes a
37
symbol of the sorrowing mother of all mankind," Huero becomes a
symbol of the disintegration of all Chicano families in the grip of
barrio drug abuse. The harshness of the story is valid; no one person
is to blame, yet each is caught by a complex of destructive forces
that together create the crisis of the Chicano family unit.
It is important to realize that only "Angel Death" has dared
to deal with the ugly truths of La Familia. Primavera, however, does
not tell us a story of utter hopelessness, for the family members (de
spite individual dilemmas) ultimately love one another. Lucy may com
plain ("Shit!") when Joe asks her to help with his physical therapy,
but she does help him. The mother may initially repress her sense of
being mistreated at the factory, but she does eventually own up to Lucy:
205
"Pues si, me tratan mal en esa fabrica." ("Well, yes, they treat me
badly in that factory.") "But what can I do?"
Joe really wants to help Huero and accepts brutal punishment
in his attempts to do so. And Huero, once the drug induced psychosis
subsides, cries out despairingly for help. Thus "Angel Death" does
not conform to plot structures that provide an integrated beginning,
middle and end. It is closer to lyrical poetry where a single speaker
38
"expresses a state of mind or a process of thought and feeling."
"Angel Death" is an elaborated moment of crisis ("crisis"
39
literally means "discrimination, to decide"). But Guillermo Loo
and his troupe do not ruin this drama by offering us any answers.
Huero reaches out to the audience and we, on our own and in reflecting
on the work, decide how to help ourselves.
Character
One of the staples in theater is the monologue and, for the
most part, Chicano Teatro is bereft of its use. Yet "Angel Death"
has found the monologue's unique power to unlock and reflect character.
The mother, who serves as a limited omniscient narrator, opens
the work with an extended monologue. Her character is very well es
tablished through this stylistic device. We learn of her love for
Huero as well as her fear that Huero is losing respect for her. But
most importantly, the opening monologue provides the mother an oppor
tunity to muse on the pain of her life: "Ay Dios mio, ya no me
siento como se fuera de came y hueso. Me siento como si ya soy parte
de esta maquina." ("Oh, my God, I no longer feel like I'm made of
206
flesh and bone. I feel as if I'm part of this machine.")
The mother's physical exhaustion is compounded by the young
Foreman's continual harassment of her; and once again, the monologue
provides a forum for her frustration:
Yo se lo que tengo que hacer! No hay razon para que esta, este
joven me tengan que gritar. Es que es pecado ser vieja! Pero
parece que estoy condenada segir sufriendo estos insultos1
(I know what I have to do! There's no reason for this youth
to have to holler at me. It's a sin to be old! But it seems
I'm condemned to continue suffering these insults!)
The revelation of the insidious stress poisoning the mother's
welfare at the work place foreshadows her lashing out at Lucy. In
short there is considerable subtlety in the delineation of her char
acter.
Lucy's apparent apathy regarding the plight of her mother and
brothers is not a flaw in character construction. Lucy's ennui is a
defense mechanism which enables her to deal with the incessant abuse
she receives from Huero and her mother. Thus she is becoming paralyzed
or numbed by constant unfair treatment as well as by the distorting
double messages of her mother.
For instance, the mother yells at Lucy: "Debas buscarte ...
casarte ... como los hombres de tu edad." ("You should look to get
married like men of your age.") Yet when Lucy did bring a boyfriend
home once, she relates to Joe how "Huero picked a fight with David"
and "mother said I'm too young to have boyfriends!" (A completely con
tradictory message.) Later her mother's repressed sexuality adds more
distortion to Lucy's normal interest in young men:
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Te acuerdas de la vez que el perrito de Johnny se te acero . . .
te mardio la colita? Pues, ya los perritos son hombres, y por
eso no quiero que tengas amigos.
(Remember the time the little dog of Johnny's got near you and
bit your rear? Well, the little dogs are now men, and that's
why I don't want you to have friends.)
Thus her mother attempts to taint Lucy’s life with her own
sexual neuroses and continually uses Lucy as an object for misplaced
aggression. It makes sense then that Lucy would finally threaten her
mother with physical violence and want to leave the stranglehold of
living at home.
The character of Huero is by far the most complex of all the
roles in "Angel Death." Here the protagonist, by dint of a drug, be
comes the antagonist (an effective updating of the classic character
Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde). Huero's character is not just full of vulnera
bility and humor, but also contains an inarticulate rebellion that
draws him to PCP. Thus Huero is both the hero and the villain of
"Angel Death."
We applaud Huero's righteous indignation with the slave driver
at the factory. Huero does not passively submit to his verbal abuse:
"Sabes que, he thinks he's bad (jumps on box and starts to shadow
box). Pero, let him try to touch me." We cheer when Huero "flips
off" the Foreman, for his mother has only meekly accepted mistreatment,
while Huero manifests the courage and conviction to reject it.
Huero's self-sealed personality, however, is evidence of his
being in deep psychological trouble. He is a high school dropout with
no future, so drug dealing gives him the illusion of success; he knows
there are people who depend on him. Huero's love of disco dancing is
208
another fortification or front against the world. The audience em
pathizes with Huero because we recognize a frantic desolation behind
his elaborate, self-protective facade.
Huero’s innocence is most apparent in the love scene. Here he
desires companionship but is so afraid of intimacy that he uses a drug
to conquer fear; the result is a grotesque impotence and unconscionable
aggression which threatens to destroy all that is important to Huero.
Of all the characters studied thus far (in Teatro Urbano,
Teatro A La Brava, and Teatro Primavera), Huero in "Angel Death" is
the singularly most arresting and theatrically provocative.
Thought
As "Angel Death" made an experimental breakthrough in plot and
offered an enduring portrait in character, so too it achieved the
highest level of thought. The previous works studied have often
fallen into transparently didactic sermons and overt pamphleteering.
"Beto’s Dream," for instance, offered its audience some vague and frag
mented form of Marxism. "The Illegal Atom" never was able to define a
coherent point of view behind its wild, inconsistent burlesque. "Jus
tice for Hall" diluted its thought by over-kill and an absence of
subtlety.
"Angel Death," on the other hand, differs from the above works
in that its characters express feelings only, and therefore the audi
ence must draw its own conclusions from the organic action they have
witnessed. There are no simplistic answers offered in the monologues,
no self-conscious musing regarding behavior--just behavior itself.
209
One might indict the Introduction, however, as being the worst
kind of didacticism: it is, after all, a moral admonishment to the
audience. Yet I assert that such an indictment would be inaccurate,
for the four scenes that form the body of ’"Angel Death" contain such
violence, and build to such a devastating breaking point of brutality,
that the Introduction is, in my view, required.
The Introduction thus simply reports certain facts in an un
compromising way, prefacing the drama that follows. Here is an
excerpt:
Under the influence of the drug, a man in San Jose, California
tore out both of his eyes with his bare hands. A user in Cali
fornia walked into a house that he had picked at random, killed
a baby and stabbed a pregnant woman in the stomach.
The impersonal delivery of these lines only adds to this horror (re
flected through actual reports of PCP reactions).
There is an underlying reason that "Angel Death" was committed
to expose the naked truth of PCP use. For one particular news report
was not stated onstage: A Chicano youth, twenty-one years of age,
while under the influence of PCP, hung himself from a telephone pole
in East Los Angeles. The youth was the cousin of Ray Serna, the actor
who played Huero; and "Angel Death" was conceived to help prevent
other Chicanos from suffering a similar fate.
Diction
"Angel Death" is a testimony to the successful application of a
rather difficult approach to playwriting— the collective voice. That
is, all the scenes (structure as well as dialogue) are the result of
improvisation from all the members of Teatro Primavera. In fact, it
210
took close to a year of very intensive improvisational work on "Angel
Death" to produce the script under study.
The use of language in "Angel Death" is highly naturalistic
and therefore rooted to Chicano working-class idioms and rhythms. As
the reader has seen repeatedly, even in the English version of "Angel
Death" almost all of the mother's dialogue is in Spanish. This ac
curately makes apparent the Mexican legacy of the first- and second-
generation Chicano. It also allows the work to have a character
literally speaking the language of a good number of its audience mem
bers .
"Angel Death" excels in the use of simple, unadorned language.
There are no calculated uses of metaphor per se, nothing either dense
or .difficult in level of vocabulary. The diction is always aimed at
the common ear, the popular ear, so that no audience member is alien
ated from the story due to confusing words or phrases.
The result is that the diction always has an immediacy. For
example, the Foreman says "Ramirez! Look at me! What the hell are
you doing?" Or the mother pleads, "Please don't fire me. I have
children. I need this job!" In similar fashion the humor is just as
direct. When Huero feigns sickness and his concerned mother runs
over to him crying "Mi hijo, mi hi jo (my son, my son), are you OK?"
Huero replies complacently, "I’m OK. I think it’s those huevos (eggs)
Lucy made this morning!"
Throughout "Angel Death" barrio slang, called cal6, is used
quite effectively. This also helps anchor the text to a diction with
which the audience is wholly familiar. Thus Joe reproves Huero:
211
"You shouldn't treat Lucy like that." And Huero scoffs "Why, her?
Ah, she's just a dumb chavala." ("Chavala" has no English equivalent,
but it is a term of derogation.) Lucy's insults to Huero are most
pointed when cal6 is employed: "Why did you have to sit, menso!"
("You idiot").
While the diction is simple, it nonetheless remains evocative
in context. This is not to say that such street talk, or blue-collar
diction, cannot be raised to a higher plane without losing its sa-
liency. Ntozake Shange's For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Sui
cide When the Rainbow Is Enuf brought black ghetto speech to an ex
tremely metaphoric level. So far, certainly in the works presently
studied, Chicano Teatro has not handsomely progressed in that direc
tion. And "Angel Death" is limited to a diction which lacks metaphoric
potency; however, because of the impact the work still achieves, this
should not be viewed as a strict liability.
Performance: "Angel Death"
Setting
We have seen Teatro Chicano productions with a full and realis
tic single set ("The Silver Dollar"); with several backdrops and par
tial sets ("Justice for Hall"); and with only the bare stage ("The
Illegal Atom"). Now we document a production with an experimental set
whose gestalt is motivated by the actors themselves.
"Angel Death" used no backdrop or realistic prop of any kind,
but rather changed the look of a scene by an ingenious use of modular
black cubes. These lightweight boxes were approximately two feet
212
square and were moved by the actors in full sight of the audience.
Therefore a scene never resembled a living room or factory, but merely
a fluid abstraction of one; the actors were permitted movable, malle
able space in which to create the illusion. In this way the setting
eerily echoed or reinforced the subjective reality induced by a drug
experience.
In the factory scene, patterned boxes suggested an assembly
line. One box set atop another became a sewing machine. The living
room setting lined up boxes for a "couch” and several other boxes for
a television, etc.
The most arresting use of the black cubes occurred during the
Introduction. Here only pillars of varying heights and widths filled
the stage, thus allowing the solitary Cholo a labyrinth to disappear
behind and suddenly emerge from darkness like a jack-in-the-box.
Initially one might regard such a clever and inventive approach
to set design as incompatible with the downbeat, earthbound quality of
"Angel Death." Yet upon reflection (of plot analysis in particular),
this non-representational and constantly changing physical set uniquely
enhances the lyrical core of the work. In short, "Angel Death" focuses
on the inner experience of its characters; thus watching the boxes
metamorphose onstage approximates the action of the mind itself (the
transforming of the world via the imagination, made visible).
The most startling transfiguration onstage is the creation of
a large airplane from the living room furniture in Scene Two. This
high point in terms of set design illustrates a fanciful moment in the
script; Lucy and Joe are both trying to create a magical escape from
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the world, and their childlike attempt to physicalize their escape in
a game is quite poignant. The freedom of flying (a perennial literary
metaphor recently used in a brilliant and unifying manner in The World
According to Garp by John Irving) is pure make-believe in "Angel
Death." Here the metaphor is not so much linguistic as it is visual
(followed through with Huero's "crash landing" on his girlfriend).
When Huero's entrance breaks this fantastical moment the airplane is
actually broken up onstage, a synchronistic move which visually under
scores the metaphoric action at hand.
In sum, the set of black cubes (which serves, of course, as a
reminder of Death throughout by essentially surrounding the characters
in darkness) is the finest example of design and execution in Teatro
Chicano.
Performers
Given the ambitiousness of "Angel Death," it would be very
disappointing indeed if, due to a mediocre cast, the actual performance
was beneath the inherent qualities of the work. However just the op
posite was the case on November 17, 1979, at the Teatro Urbano facility.
"Angel Death" featured the singularly most engaging performer
this researcher has witnessed on a Teatro stage--Ray Serna as both
Huero and the Cholo. To begin with, Serna's comedic ability added the
dimension of persistent physical mishap (pratfall) to Huero, humanizing
the character and making him more endearing than pathetic. Serna was
fiery and feisty; his verve and passion correspondingly fueled Huero's
stoned rage and his pleas for help.
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Not to be overlooked as an element that made both Huero and
the Cholo accessible and attractive are Mr. Serna's own striking good
looks. Taken together, then, Ray Serna's considerable talent and hand
someness, his comfort onstage and that certain charisma he exudes,
the requirements of Huero and the Cholo were more than adequately ful
filled; the roles were touched by magic.
Serna's performance is of the caliber that endures in the mem
ory; in fact, "Angel Death" onstage becomes synonymous with Serna as
Huero. This, of course, is as it should be; for the work hinges on
our caring for Huero and fearing his fate in the chokehold of PCP.
Serna's riveting performance allows the theme of "Angel Death" to re
main long after the theater is dark.
The older brother Joe as played by Carlos Garcia was not only
believable, but evinced a surprising range of character attributes.
Thus Joe's affliction (the result of another killer, gang violence)
was, in performance, made into far more than a potentially maudlin
formula. Bathos was avoided; we did feel that it was Unfair that some
one with such an essentially good heart was crippled (when he was too
young to realize the dangers of gang membership) .
Carlos Garcia also brought a vulnerability and tenderness to
the airplane sequence which revealed Joe's love for his sister. By
far, however, Joe's strongest family connection is with Huero, so it
was important that Garcia's role be filled by a strong performer. The
role is the outstanding secondary or supporting character in "Angel
Death."
Cristina Garcia played Lucy, and she turned in an eye-catching
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performance that deftly avoided the sentimental and commonplace in
favor of wit and heart. Ms. Garcia brought to her role a tension and
deep frustration that let the audience know two essential facts: that
Lucy was at her breaking point, and that she was also the most percep
tive persona in ’’ Angel Death.” Therefore it was vital that the char
acter was not diminished onstage; but because Ms. Garcia’s stage pres
ence was second only to Serna’s, she conferred a valuable dimension
and sense of worth upon Lucy which made us care for her even when
Serna's magnetism threatened to render her invisible. Thus to this
point all the principal roles had performers who enriched the scope
and style of their characters.
The major weakness in performance was Rosemary Ramos as the
mother. To a significant degree, however, the source of Ramos’s in
credibly affected and overly flamboyant delivery may be attributable
to direction rather than to an inherent limitation on her part, As
it appeared onstage at any rate, Ramos’s portrayal of the mother was
an exact and painful duplication of a Mexican soap opera matron; the
outrageous wig she wore fit snugly onto her ridiculously severe inter
pretation .
Needless to say the mother’s extremely melodramatic quality
of being clashed with virtually every other character onstage and
would have altogether destroyed the work's verisimilitude had the
other actors not been as outstanding as they were.
All the minor roles, i.e., the Foreman (Carlos Garcia) and
the worker (Lucy Garcia) were handled effectively and contributed to
the overall power of the work.
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Music
The music in "Angel Death" was minimal, and, in fact, consisted
mainly of an obscure piece entitled "Angel Death," the credits for
which remain an enigma (Carlos Contreras recorded the piece and took
the recording with him; there is no documentation). The song was
never played more than as a momentary transition before opening curtain
and between end of Introduction and Scene One. The choice of music
was apt; the repetition of the title's slow refrain added a profes
sional touch to the show.
It should be noted here that the incidental disco music Huero
hears on the radio also remains unretrievable.
Spectacle
This area of theater has been, for the most part, documented
under "setting." For it was "Angel Death's" intriguing use of the
black cubes which provided that work's most powerful use of spectacle.
As was pointed out earlier, the making and breaking of the airplane
in Scene Two was the highlight of this novel set design.
Contributing to spectacle in a secondary but integrated sense
was the use of sound effects. The recorded drum roll that heralds
the Cholo's entrance added panache to the Introduction. But the fac
tory is where the most unusual special sound effects were used.
The sounds of the various machines used in the factory were
all made by the actors onstage. It initially catches the audience
totally off guard to hear this exhibition of highly evocative sound
coming out of the performers themselves. The strange puffing, grunt
ing, wheezing, and hissing sounds helped bring the pain and pressure
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of the sweatshop into high relief by making it aural. Also the preci
sion with which these sounds were produced made them all seem linked
together (as if they were literally part of one massive machine).
The whistle signaling the coffee break was also produced by
the actors, and, once again, surprised the audience with its novelty
and authenticity. With the "sets" and factory sounds a sense of spec
tacle was solidly created.
Finally, it was the incidental vise of mime that rounded out
this aspect of the production. The machine-like moves of the workers
in the factory, Huero's mimicry of the lover putting on cologne and
using breath and underarm dedorant sprays, etc. all contributed to a
performance style that brought selective yet unobtrusive and imagina
tive effects to "Angel Death."
Audience
Even though it has been well documented that audiences of
Teatro Chicano were usually extremely responsive and overt in their
appreciation, "Angel Death" still received the most audience accolades
of all the productions studied. Also it should be pointed out that Ray
Serna received more "star" treatment than any other single performer;
he was swamped for autographs and showered with handshakes and claps
on the back.
It makes sense that "Angel Death," which successfully welded
together so many inherently theatrical elements into a potent drama,
would particularly move its audience. (If the researcher may add a
personal footnote revealing the extent of audience reaction: when
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work was being done at home the laborers, all Chicanos, noticed the
"Angel Death" poster on the wall and reacted strongly. "Hey, that was
really a hot play and that actor was baadl" This spontaneous, unso
licited praise came close to three years after they had seen "Angel
Death." The work stayed with them, and Ray Serna had left an indelible
impression).
The audience at Teatro Urbano, November 17, 1979, was typical in
terms of the demography established for previous Teatro productions.
Young and old alike sat together, captivated by "Angel Death." The
laughter was loud and punctuated by individualized hoots of approba
tion. The "love scene" raised the roof, whereas the prolonged battle
of Huero attacking Joe and his mother so gripped the audience that
only anxious silence filled the room.
The ovation at the work's conclusion united everyone in the
house; it was the longest and loudest commendation witnessed by the
res earcher.
In summary, then, the plot of "Angel Death" was lyrical in
structure and therefore quite experimental by Chicano Teatro standards.
It really elaborated a complex moment of crisis, rather than following
a traditional sequence of action.
The character development was sophisticated and subtle in its
psychology. It differed from the previous approaches to character by
its extensive employment of the monologue and by having expression of
feeling dominate actions of characters. Also, all action was consis
tent with the personalities onstage; and ultimately all action was
linked to the single moment of crisis in the plot.
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Thought was found to be the most refined, for it eschewed the
didactic in favor of allowing the audience to arrive at its own con
clusions; realistic questions were raised, but answers were pointedly
avoided.
Diction throughout "Angel Death" was said to be quite simple
but effective. The working-class idioms of Chicanos formed a staple
of phrases in "Angel Death." While metaphoric levels of language were
absent, visual and aural metaphore compensated for this area. Also
the potency of the tale told was not hindered by its calculated sim
plicity.
The sets were highly novel, but neither pretentious not extrav
agant. Through imaginative patterning of black boxes, all environments
were successfully suggested while the audience's own creativity was
maximized.
The performers of "Angel Death" achieved a caliber of excel
lence unprecedented in this study. In particular, lead actor Ray
Serna, full of charm and assurance, commanded a presence quite note
worthy for its verve and diversity.
Music was minimal, but aided the total production. Always the
music enhanced action.
Spectacle was in evidence primarily through the use of the
experimental "sets" and secondarily through sound effects. Spectacle
was also created by the judicious use of mime.
Finally, the audience response was overwhelmingly positive and,
once again, unprecedented in this study. A sense of celebrity status
was conferred by the Chicano community on Ray Serna, and the entire
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cast could likewise bask in audience approval.
From here we progress to the final work to be studied, Teatro
Primavera's "El Cuento del Hombre Timido" ("The Story of the Shy Man").
Script: "The Story of the Shy Man"
Dramatis Personae
As has consistently been the case, the script of "The Story
of the Shy Man" does not have a dramatis personae or character descrip
tions . Hence the following has been derived contextually.
The "Shy Man," a completely withdrawn and
cowardly person. He is an undocumented
worker from "el rancho."
He functions as an omniscient narrator.
He has the ability to transform himself
into different people— specifically El
Patron ("The Boss" of the rancho) and
The Friend (of Jose, a character without
a name).
A "Calavera" is a skeleton, but the popular
image of the Calavera is also used in Mexico
in various religious rites and secular fes
tivals (often appearing in the form of a
Calavera doll or else worn by celebrants as
a full-length costume with a skull mask).
Jose:
Don Diablo
("Mr. Devil"):
Calaveras 1,2,
& 3:
In this work the Calaveras have the power to
transform themselves into people, animals,
and trees. Calavera Number 1 is also known
as Flaco: A bumbling Clown; and La Fama:
"Vain Fame." Calavera Number 2 is also
La Riquesa ("Filthy Lucre"), while Calavera
Number 3 is also La Union ("Union").
All three Calaveras become farm animals at
one point, and two of them become La Union's
"tree" in her garden.
El Angel: A brief appearance of an unnamed Angel
occurs in the work; she is not described.
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The above roles were performed by the following members of
El Teatro Primavera:
Ray Serna: Don Diablo, El Patr6n, and Jose’s friend
Arturo Jiminez: The Shy Man (Jose)
Josefina Gonzales
(AKA Tina Luna): Calavera #1 (Flaco)
Cuca Sosa: Calavera #2 and Calavera #3
A special note should be made that the role of The Angel did not appear
in performance, yet was designated in the text.
Plot Synopsis
Calaveras 1, 2, and 3 enter carrying a coffin. Don Diablo
takes center stage and announces, "El Teatro Primavera presents 'The
Story of the Shy Man.'" At this point the coffin (now standing on
end) opens up to reveal Jose, who exits from his portable home "ready
to go to work."
Jose walks forward in a daze. "He doesn't know where he's
at," says Don Diablo. Jose's disorientation is heightened by the
taunts of Don Diablo and the Calaveras (the latter being invisible to
Jose). Jose laments that only in the home from which he has just
emerged can he "live in total security," whereupon he quickly returns
to the coffin. As he reaches the door, however, a Calavera walks out
of the coffin. Jose is frightened and confused but nonetheless slowly
opens the door himself. This time there is a woman inside who screams.
Jose instantly slams the door in fear.
Don Diablo intervenes and offers the audience some background
information about Jose; it seems that Jose is a young man in love.
He's said to seldom leave his house (and therefore, as Diablo explains,
Jose does not travel to tourist attractions or anything else). Diablo
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further explains that Jose does not read, think, participate in athlet
ics, nor paint. What Jose does do is sing (and particularly when he is
sad) .
Don Diablo asserts that Jose believes in the American Dream
(though "he didn't think that he was an American"). Even though Jose
is so withdrawn, Don Diablo claims that Jose "secretly hoped that one
day he might make it to the top."
At this moment an Angel enters and tells Don Diablo that Jose
is going to heaven, and therefore people should treat him well and not
try to corrupt him (since Jose is supposedly a good man). As abruptly
as the Angel appeared she now exits (never to return). Don Diablo,
not at all affected by the phenomenon of the Angel, continues to nar
rate for us: "Anyways, this hombre Titnido ("Timid Man") dreamt a lot,
and he judged life from what he saw on TV." Jose is from "el rancho,"
Diablo says, "and very proud."
The Calaveras turn into "animals from el rancho" to tease and
abuse Jose, "who runs them out through the curtain." Then Jose faces
the audience and sings a song about his abandoned ranch "behind the
mountain." After the song ends Don Diablo consoles Jose. Jose thinks
he sees a Calavera, but then dismisses it: "God! I'm getting old!"
Don Diablo returns to his narrator role to inform us that "now •
Jose was getting old and had desires to triumph.” Don Diablo explains
that there are three sisters Jose admires but has been too shy to
approach.
Instantly the scene changes to "a burlesque night club" setting.
Don Diablo presents the oldest sister to Jose; her name is Fame. She
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dances for Jose and drops her garter belt seductively, whereupon Jose
dashes to pick it up and pursue Fame.
The second sister is Filthy Lucre, and she also wins Jose's
attention by dancing for him. Jose is simply "flabbergasted." Fi
nally the youngest sister, Union, who is said to be shy like Jose and
who also loves him, enters and waits for some acknowledgment. The two
older sisters "trash her" with insults. Jose then asks Union to dance
with him, but she demurely declines.
After a brief moment "stripper music" is heard again and now
all three sisters start to dance. Don Diablo takes the stage and
makes it known that because Jose is so shy, and in spite of Jose's
desperate interest in the sisters, "he wouldn't go to their house,
ever." Yet Jose says to himself that he would like to marry one of
the sisters, or better yet, all three of the sisters at the same time.
Jose, apparently in an attempt to implement his courage,
dresses himself up as a vato loco ("a street dude"). But when he sees
himself in the mirror he feels foolish, so he once again assumes his
"peasant" attire. As "Besame Mucho" is heard Fame makes an ostenta
tious entrance, preening as she descends the stairs. Jose is quite
dazzled by this calculated display. Then Don Diablo extols Fame:
"She is celebrated, notorious, distinguished etc. Fame then
sings "Besame Mucho" to Jose. When the song is completed, a tango
("Tu") is heard, and Fame begins to dance with Jose. As Fame dips
low to the ground in the tango, she asks Don Diablo about Jose (who
simultaneously registers that he does hear their conversation): "Is
4
he an artist?" asks Fame. "Actor? Does he have papers?" Diablo
224
answers "no" to all of Fame's questions. Fame then asks Don Diablo,
"Then what has he?" The Devil's reply is simple; "He dreams and
dreams
All of this attention has temporarily made Jose feel very im
portant, and all at once Jose climbs on top of the shoulders of Cala
vera #1 (but mimes as if he had just climbed a telephone pole). The
Devil steps forward to make the audience aware that "One day when he
was broke, he climbed on top of a telephone pole to watch a football
game." We hear a telephone ring as Vain Fame hands a phone to Jose
(who still sits atop Calavera #l's shoulders). We are told it is
Jose's mother calling: "What are you doing on top of that telephone
pole— giving me much embarrassment?" "I'm famous," Jose yells into
the phone.
El Diablo intervenes, stating that because the crowd below
began singing to Jose, Jose assumed he was being honored. "The Star
Spangled Banner" is sung to Jose by the Calaveras, with an obvious
lyric change;
Jose, can you see
By the dawn's early light
That so proudly we hail
For you to work here’s your right.
Calavera #1 then drops Jose; and Vain Fame snubs him. The
Devil changes into the Patr6n (the boss of the ranch) and asks Jose,
"What hurts?" Jose sadly reveals it is his courtship of Fame that has
depressed him. The Patr6n and Jose discuss Fame for awhile; then the
Patr6n eagerly suggests "What you need is to learn how to enjoy your
self." The Patr6n-Devil then whisks Jose to a bar. Soon Jose is
225
carousing and singing a drinking song, "The Drunken Boy." The Cala
veras (who are also patrons of the bar) have been joining in on the
drinking. Shortly all concerned are quite drunk; Jose in fact is
barely able to sing another song ("For One Love"), and just as he
completes the tune, he passes out.
Jose is left alone on the stage until the Devil (as the Devil)
reenters and dances to a bongo beat. Jose gets up and reenters his
coffin-home. El Diablo takes center stage and announces to the audi
ence: "The next day it was the other sister he wanted to visit" (this
being Filthy Lucre). Jose leaves his home and notices Filthy Lucre off
In the distance; the Devil is showing her off to Jose as she walks
downstage right and sits.
El Diablo runs over to Jose to admonish him: "You can't go
looking like that,ese. You got to show some class." The Calaveras
then carry the coffin (horizontally) downstage in what migjit be de
scribed as a conversion from "coffin" to "Porsche." Jose immediately
climbs into his "Porsche" and "drives" up to Filthy Lucre. She acts
very cool and removed, summarily ignoring Jose; Jose is quite disap
pointed. He turns to the Devil on the spot and confesses that he must
be stupid and ugly, and that that is why Filthy Lucre rebuffs him.
Jose attempts one more time to get Filthy Lucre's attention.
This time she sings a song to Jose:
You may be ugly, as ugly as sin
The biggest coward, a triple has-been
I'll buy you beauty, I'll buy you brave men
Buy you a nation where you'll be
Worshipped in ...
As the song progresses Filthy Lucre "strips in an act of pure
226
degeneracy. She pops her balloon breasts and exits."
Don Diablo, who has again become El Patr6n, approaches Jose
and earnestly enquires, "Well, what's the matter, Jose, didn't that
fancy car help you none? He then soothes Jose with the home truth:
"Well, I guess we just have to learn to be happy with what we got,
huh? Somebody's got to be poor." Jose returns to the bar with the
Calaveras and they all get drunk once again. After Jose indulges in
another alcoholic bout of song, he passes out and is dragged offstage
by the Calaveras.
Don Diablo now transforms himself into a mythic Owl named "El
Tecolote." El Tecolote apprises Jose, and thus the audience as well,
that Jose has merely fantasized the episodes with Vain Fame and Filthy
Lucre. The Owl then directs Jose's attention to the third sister,
whose name is Union. The Devil-Owl offers both Jose and the audience
a description of Union:
She was gentle ... indulgent and selfless ... she preferred poor
people to the rich, because she felt needed and useful with them
... but she had one weakness— sometimes she rushed into things
without thinking ....
Shortly we hear Union singing as the Calaveras enter dressed
in "Zapatista outfits" (that is, the makeshift military garb used by
Emiliano Zapata's army). The Calavera-Zapatistas are shooting off
guns as they sing a song of military victory.
After the song Jose musters up enough courage to speak to Union
and she, unlike the other two sisters, actually responds to him. But
Jose instantly freezes from a bad case of nerves and asks a rather
pointless question about a tree in Union's garden: "How many leaves
227
does your tree have?" In a moment Jose is totally defeated by his shy
ness and abruptly leaves Union.
The Calaveras enter and dance with Jose in a circle. Calavera
#1 moves forward and asks Jose "And what will you gain with a Union?"
Jose's reply has nothing to do with the s is ter Union, but rather a
labor union. He states emphatically that a union "would fulfill his
responsibility to his fellow workers" and also provide a better salary
scale, insurance benefits, etc.
The Calaveras then ask Jose whatever happened to Vain Fame and
Filthy Lucre. Jose simply evades their question as Don Diablo enters.
The Devil now explains that a week has gone by, and we witness Jose's
newest attempt to talk to Union. Just as before, however, Jose's
nervousness renders him paralyzed, and he stammers out the same exact
question regarding the number of leaves on Union's tree. Union becomes
angry at the pointless repetition of petty conversation and taunts
Jose: "Now, how many is it? Two, three, four times that you came to
me with the same story .... If you want to say something, why don't
you just say it?"
Don Diablo steps into the scene and informs us that Jose lacked
the firmness of character and determination to admit that he cared for
Union. Jose is dejected and wanders off downstage to sing to himself.
The Devil (as the Patr6n) comes over to Jose and artfully enquires,
"What's the matter?" Jose tells the Patr6n that he is in love with
Union, but that he cannot make any progress with her. El Patr6n
smiles and offers Jose the following advice: "Well, you've got to
learn the big three F's of life, Jose. Find 'em, fun 'em, forget 'em.
228
Forget this Union business; a young lady like Vain Fame or Filthy Lucre
is better suited to your aspirations."
El Patr6n turns back into Don Diablo and counsels Jose to buy
Union "something nice. Impress her a little. That’s what they like."
Jose appreciates the idea, but is nonetheless at a loss to decide on
an appropriate gift. Don Diablo alleviates Jose's anxiety with this
ironic suggestion: "Well, you have to think for yourself. How about
a silver ring?" Jose is elated by this recommendation and promptly
sings a song.
The Devil (as El Patr6n) approaches Jose at the conclusion of
his song. He offers to sell Jose a silver ring for $500. It is in
scribed, El Patr<5n tells him, "with the Union of workers and bosses."
Jose agrees to buy the ring, but he instantly panics at the prospect of
actually presenting it to Union. Jose decides that a friend could pro-
/ide a liaison; that is, his friend could give Union the ring and
explain Jose’s love for her, and then report back to him. (The "friend"
instantly "appears" onstage as another Don Diablo incarnation).
The Devil-Friend takes the ring and first approaches Vain Fame,
not Union (as he has been instructed). Furthermore this "friend" does
not even try to give the ring as a present, but rather appears at the
door as a salesman. The sales pitch to Vain Fame is as follows: "What
is a woman worth but the value of the jewels on her body?" Fame lis
tens but decides not to purchase the ring. Vain Fame then calls her
sister over to look at the ring.
The Devil-friend-salesman now attempts to interest Filthy Lucre
in his merchandise. She examines the piece of jewelry and states, "It
229
is pretty, but it doesn't fit me. If it did I would buy it. I'll call
my younger sister." In a moment Union enters the room and the Devil
launches into a final sales pitch. Union tries on the ring, finding
to her delight that it fits perfectly; and upon closer examination she
discovers that it is even inscribed to her.
The Devil sidles up to Union and tantalizes her: "It is made
for you and you for it. Buy it." Although enchanted by the ring,
Union tells the Devil that she has no money to pay for it. The Devil
then turns to the audience and says derisively that Union "didn't sus
pect anything, that it was the Waldo who had sent it. And he believed
in his friend ... and that friend might even have been the Devil him
self Union reiterates her interest to our "salesman": "I have not
the pocket change or I'd buy it imnediately without hesitation (you
bloody capitalist plot)."
Don Diablo, now alone in the room with Union, changes his sell
ing tactic to one of seduction: "If you give me a kiss, you keep the
ring." She easily accepts; "they embrace and kiss and begin to play."
Calavera #1 steps forward and narrates the action: "She gives him a
kiss, and before long they got frisky. He wanted both the profit and
the pie. Don't you see he wasn't humble or shy?" The "love scene" is
played in silhouette until we hear Union scream; we are told that "Don
Diablo is violating her. He takes off her exterior clothes and they
fight. She escapes out of the room and rims with Don Diablo on her
tail."
The Calaveras trip Don Diablo in his pursuit of Union; he gives
up the chase. He then returns to Jose and grandly boasts that all went
230
as planned, and that Union awaits his arrival for a romantic tryst.
Jose is elated and quickly goes to see Union. When he arrives, however,
tie behaves precisely the same as before; as if he were emotionally
paralyzed. He even asks the same question regarding the tree! In fact,
although Jose notices the ring on Union's finger, he does not even
bother to ask her about it.
Union becomes quite impatient with Jose and leaves him in his
arrested, forzen state. Jose returns to the Cantina, as he had done
twice before, to brood and drink. Fame enters and strips to the music
as Don Diablo closes the show:
We’d like to thank Jose for being with us and sharing a few reve
lations about the nature of being timid, and we would like to
leave you with a moral: "For when in love, one must be bold."
Plot Analysis
"The Story of the Shy Man" is the most incoherent, mediocre
jumble of ideas and dialogue that the researcher has ever witnessed
on a stage. In reading the plot synopsis one might have suspected
that the researcher was describing an hallucination or delusion rather
than any kind of play or theatrical artifact. It is almost humorous
how misapplied all of the elements of plot construction and point of
view are within the boundaries of this work; but the result is not
funny, just hopeless tedium and disbelief at the chaos taking place.
The problem with the plot of "Shy Man" begins with the original
short story upon which this "musical" travesty was based. "El Hombre
40
Timido" is a six-page short story written by Paulo de Carvalho-Neto.
The plot synopsis of this tale is provided in its own Introduction:
231
This is the story of a shy man. So shy was he, that when he saw
himself in front of his lover, no words would come out. But she
loved him anyways and waited in vain for his declaration of love.
This is the story of an unhappy man who went for help to a false
friend, and of the price he paid for so much shyness. Moral:
in matters of love it is better to be bold.
The original tale has the unnamed Shy Man meet each of three
sisters, but after he is ignored by the first two he focuses his "love"
on the youngest. He freezes, however, with each encounter with her,
and the tale ends in mid-stammerI Hence the original story offers no
depth, no verisimilitude, no real characters, no unity, and no inten
sity or complexity.
Apparently Guillermo Loo thought that there was some valuable
message here. But as the main character has no concept of love, suf
fering perhaps from infantile infatuation only, and as the woman of
his dreams demonstrates no admirable ethic (she will dally with a
stranger for a mere bauble), there is no point being made about bold
ness or "love” in this miserly story. What promises to be a fairy tale
with a message proves to be an irrelevant exercise totally lacking in
cohesion and orderly continuity.
It is problematical, therefore, to use as a foundation for
adaptation a story of such little intrinsic value. This inherent prob
lem is greatly compounded, however, by Guillermo Loo's great misunder
standing of four genres: the fable, the allegory, the morality play,
and the musical. For in fact Loo attempts, rather unsuccessfully, to
graft onto the original story all of the above four genres at once!
This overly ambitious structuring of a completely pedestrian plot pro
duces the amorphous creation known as "The Story of the Shy Man."
232
The traditional Aesopian fable "is a short story . . . calcu
lated to convey instruction, advice or proof . . . animals are usually
41
the actors in the fable and it always contains a moral truth."
Though animals are most often used, they are not strictly necessary to
the form. Abrams eliminates the animal component in his definition,
for he views the fable essentially as "a short story that exemplifies
a moral thesis or a principle of human behavior; usually in its con
clusion either the narrator or one of the characters states the moral
42
in the form of an epigram.1'
"El Hombre Timido," by Paulo de Carvalho-Neto, is thus a true
fable, and Guillermo Loo could well have avoided many confusing ele
ments in his adaptation had he been faithful to the fable form and
simply reinforced the relationships so as to really demonstrate a
principle of human behavior, i.e., "shyness."
Unfortunately Loo attempted to add complexity to the original
fable by making all of its characters, and therefore its plot, allegor
ical. An allegory "is a narrative wherein abstractions (such as vir
tue, fear, love) are made concrete (Mr. Virtue, etc.), for the purpose
of effectively communicating a moral. The characters and their actions
43
interest us, and we absorb the moral ideas they embody." But Loo's
plot is totally confusing; Jose's actions are not integrated to any
point of view, nor do they embody moral ideas. By definition "an alle
gory is thus a narrative wherein a moral significance stands behind
the visible presentation." Yet in Loo's "Shy Man" there is no moral
significance in the narrative as nothing is learned by the unconscious
233
protagonist; the sequence of events does not illuminate any moral
perspective, etc.
Thus Loo's choice to create (where none existed) allegorical
characters and action results in only one thing: the addition of a
significant layer of distraction over the basic storyline. Most prob
ably Loo thought his adaptation would somehow produce a morality play--
45
an "allegorical dramatization of the conflict between good and evil."
Yet though the Devil and three minions are present, the story contains
no one preeminently "good" figure; certainly Union is frivolous and
hardly representative of love, and she is ostensibly the respectable
one in the tale.. Hence "The Story of the Shy Man," though fraught
with allegorical characters, has no spiritual story per se to tell.
The ornately allegorical "look" of the piece does not change the fact
that the work simply narrates an inconclusive and redundant encounter
of Jose and three sisters .
As if the convolutions of the above mishmash of fable, allegory,
and morality play were not enough to utterly destroy any semblance of
coherent action in the work, Loo adds still another genre in this
cauldron of utter confusion: the musical. The musical, a predomi
nantly American theatrical invention, is simply a story "set to or
46
accompanied by music." The most necessary aspect to the musical is
that the songs must enhance and elaborate the action of the work. But
the eight songs in "The Story of the Shy Man" only add tedium and al
most always take the audience on a tangent (rather than penetrate a
moment of experience).
It is now possible to precisely locate the faulty foundations
234
upon which "The Story of the Shy Man" rests. First, its banal plot
structure, bereft of integrity or point of view, comes directly from
the insipid short story "El Hombre Timido." (Hence the entire adapta
tion is virtually constructed on quicksand.) Second, Guillermo Loo's
honorable impulse to add depth to the original storyline fails because
Loo capriciously mixes four distinct genres (with no understanding as
to the aesthetic properties of each genre, much less knowledge enough
to fuse the four into one unified presentation).
Character
The particulars of the creative confusion of Guillermo Loo's
adaptation of "El Hombre Timido" are most clearly analyzed through
character. For it is through the consistently shallow and illogical
behaviors of the work's characters that the ultimate irrelevance of
the plot is established.
The most rudimentary requirement of character consistency is
continually violated in the work. As Abrams states of character:
"Whether he remains stable or changes, we require 'consistency'--he
should not suddenly break off and act in a way not plausibly grounded
47
in his temperament as we already have come to know it." Yet that is
exactly what all the characters do in "The Story of the Shy Man."
Jose's "shyness" is totally inconsistent. We are initially
told by Don Diablo that Jose never leaves the house; yet in the work
he often ventures out to burlesque nightclubs and carouses in bars!
His "love" is never established for Union. for he wishes he could have
any sister and, in fact, Jose quite boldly declares he would like "all
three of the sisters at once!" Jose dancing the tango and climbing a
235
telephone pole is exhibitionism; and whether "fantasized" or not, such
"dreams" do not illustrate either timidity or diffidence, but rather
subject the audience to wild and absolutely unbashful behavior;
Jose's alleged "shyness" is never illuminated.
How an undocumented worker affords a $500 ring, or why he has
an intimate relationship with his former Patr6n is never explained
either. (This latter situation is particularly ironic, given the
legacy of El Teatro Chicano's consistently vitriolic portrayal of "El
Patr6n" starting with Valdez's "Los Dos Caros del Patroncito," 1965.)
Since Loo chooses to make all the character names allegorical,
is Jose (as the "Shy Man") meant to represent an idea of Mexican pas
sivity? If so, why doesn't Jose ever have a moment of self-revelation
where the passitivity is confronted? Why isn't the idea even clarified
or truly explored?
All the three sisters, because they are literally played by
Calaveras, become undeniable death symbols. Ironically then, Union
projects as much of a death image as does either Filthy Lucre or Vain
Fame (which completely subverts those positive attributes which Union
is supposed to have). Furthermore, using allegorical names for the
sisters adds nothing but more implausibility to the work; so why use
them?
Examples abound; to begin with, how would Jose, an unsophisti
cated migrant laborer, ever chance to meet Lucre or Fame in the first
place? Why would Lucre and Fame continually show interest in Jose, a
pusillanimous and asexual person? (They are always expending such
energy enticing Jose with personalized stripteases, etc., which makes
236
no sense at all.) Why are Lucre and Fame even living in the same house
as their impoverished sister? And in what way precisely does "Union"
represent labor unions? (After all, Union's sole activity is garden
ing, which is hardly a visual metaphor for "bosses and workers") . How
does Union therefore represent a "union" of anything, i.e., of heart
and soul?
None of the above questions are answered in "The Story of the
Shy Man." Guillermo Loo just blithely allows all such implausibilities
to stand. This ludicrous situation is probably most centralized in the
permutations of Don Diablo.
First of all, having the work's narration carried entirely by
the "Devil” clearly sets up the expectation of a story of Good Against
Evil (though of course the Jose-Diablo conflict is never followed
through on any level). What, pray tell, is Loo's reasoning, then,
behind the allegorical choice of Devil as narrator? Certainly one can
see that Diablo-Patr6n-Friend all offer advice to Jose that is facile;
but Jose is free to choose or refuse, and the advice alone does not
demonstrate "evil" per se. As Jose has no conscience working as a
"power of God," there is no tension to qualify the Devil's bad example.
More importantly, by using such a mythically diabolical character as
the Devil, Loo both undermines and overshadows Jose's responsibility
for his own choices (i.e., "The Devil make him do it," etc.). In ad
dition, the fleeting appearance of "El Angel" is particularly strange
and implausible. For one would expect direct confrontation between
the "Fallen Angel" and God's "Holy" Messenger, but the Angel arrives
only to briefly address the audience. The Angel actually contributes
237
further confusion by confiding to the audience that God wants "all the
public to know that Jose is a good example!" (What example does Jose
ever set, except that of a grotesquely passive person and a completely
irresponsible one?)
Given the enormous problems generic to "The Story of the Shy
Man," bizarre and inconsistent characterizations only ensure that the
work fails totally as a theatrical artifact. "Shy Man" is an example
of overly zealous experimentation (without a clear goal), coupled with
poorly drawn characters whose non-integrated personalities are adrift
in a sea of unmotivated behavior.
Thought
Technically "The Story of the Shy Man" does have an idea to
espouse: "When in love one must be bold." However the work itself
fails to provide honest relationships between any of the characters.
Thus the tale cannot build even a semblance of a "love story." Neither
is there an example of "boldness" to justify the maxim tagged onto the
end of the work. (All of the Devil's advice is blatantly sexist, with
Jose blindly following the banal counsel without question or reflec
tion .)
Of all the works studied thus far, only "The Story of the Shy
Man" can be said to have no thought at all in any practical sense.
The closest the work ever comes to elaborating a view on the nature of
Jose's "shyness" is Union's outburst ("If you want to say something,
why don't you just say it?"), but Jose "couldn't say nothing" and the
moment is lost. Thus we never learn the sources, the underpinnings of
238
Jose's alleged problem. His low self-esteem is never dealt with in
the script; his chauvinism is also ignored; his childish infatuations
are never confronted; and as far as the story goes, Jose's shyness
seems more genetic than alterable.
Thus while the so-called moral of the story is explicitly
stated, nowhere in the dialogue is there a disputation of it; and all
the notions regarding wealth and fame (tangential to the moral anyway)
are in themselves simplistic and negative. And yet no character ever
challenges this one-sided view of wealth or fame (or how they might
connect to "boldness" or "love" is never established either) .
The caliber of thought in "The Story of the Shy Man" has there
fore been found to be the lowest and least developed of all the works
tinder study.
Diction
Since the language of a theatrical work is formed from charac
ter, plot, and thought, it is not at all surprising to find that the
least effective diction under study is in "The Story of the Shy Man."
For instance, there is no malevolence in the Devil's words, no hidden
agenda or evil. In fact, if we were not told it was the "Devil"
speaking, there would be no way to discern such from the flat and
literal language he employs.
Just as the characters of this work are unfocused and inconsis
tent, so too is the quality of their dialogue thin and unconvincing.
Following up on the Devil for a moment, he says "Pyramid ... I played
the pyramid and lost 2000 bolas [dollars]." A line like the above is
239
gratuitous to both story and character; it also negates any supernatu
ral power the "Devil" might possess. Another even more jarring example
of confusing diction may be found in the Devil's sudden use of street
slang (when in the immediate context he has not been using it at all):
"So he [Jose] jacked it up again." Then the Devil says "He couldn't
go to the store and buy a book on how not to be shy . . . There is,
of course, no reason why Jose could not buy one of the many books on
"how not to be shy," so the words truly make no sense at all.
Throughout "Shy Man" the language is juvenile, without any
metaphoric level, and often grammatically incorrect: "Well, what's
the matter, Jose, didn't that fancy car help you none? Maybe you
ought to go see a therapist. Well no, that might not help you none,
anyhow." Ironically, the concept of therapy could have been skillfully
used to prod Jose towards confronting his problems, but the lines sum
marily dismiss psychotherapy as handily as the text itself nullifies
any real chance of conflict.
It is clear that the language of "The Story of the Shy Man"
lives down to the same low standards exercised in plot, character,
and thought. The diction also suggests that while Guillermo Loo can
contribute successfully to a well-wrought collective creation like
"Angel Death" (as director and writer), he seemingly cannot impose
needed boundaries when left to his own devices. The language remains
sloppy and uninventive; it neither illuminates character nor deepens
our response to the storyline.
240
Performance: "The Story of the Shy Man"
Setting
As was the case with "Angel Death," the use of many black cubes
created an abstract and mobile set design for "The Story of the Shy
Man." Prominent onstage, however, was a full-sized ebony coffin (the
coffin stood upright and could be entered from the front or back).
Though the wooden cubes could easily be moved to alter the
stage picture, there was little inventive use of those cubes (in con
trast with their effective employment in "Angel Death"). Lighting and
music essentially established the setting here, rather than physical
stage properties.
The physical plant used to house "The Story of the Shy Man"
was the Stormy Weather Cafe on the third floor of the Los Angeles
(formerly Inner City) Cultural Center. The playing area was satisfac
tory; the house held approximately 90 seats.
In keeping with the extravagantly tentative form of the work,
all action was staged in a self-consciously stylized and staccato man
ner. To establish atmosphere, the director relied upon the actors'
abilities to move and hold attitudes and offbeat angular positions.
Unfortunately, while the look of the playing area was somewhat evoca
tive (dark and moody), the blocking and attempted choreography did not
add any coherence to the jumble of dialogue and action performed before
the heavy black curtains.
The one provocative component to the set was the staircase
(created, of course, out of the black cubes). This often provided
visual variety to the action (the three sisters usually paraded down
241
the stairs in varying seductive steps when it came time to torment
Jose).
All in all the set was not inherently creative as such, but
did provide plenty of possibility (which sadly was not realized in
the production).
Performers
It is hard to imagine any actor creating substance from the
mediocre script at hand and the chaotic staging of "Shy Man." Ray
Serna, whose performance of Huero in "Angel Death" was found to be so
extraordinary, is again the star of "The Story of the Shy Man." Serna
plays Don Diablo-El Patron-The Friend (a composite of characters that
dominates the alleged protagonist Jose).
Under Guillermo Loo's direction, Serna creates a stylish Devil
that is highly reminiscent of Commedia dell'Arte's outlandish Zanni.
That is, the character has a hyperbolic, clownish manner, a bawdy de
livery style, and a penchant for the sight gag (the humor derived pri
marily from physical mishap rather than cleverness of language). While
all of his "zany" behavior is intriguing and shows Serna's malleability
as an actor and talent for buffoonery, it does nothing to clarify his
role as the Devil. In fact, it reduces Don Diablo— supposedly the in
carnation of Evil--to a bumbling idiot (thus again undermining any
function the Devil might fulfill as antagonist).
The wildly ludicrous posturing of Serna's Don Diablo continues
throughout the work, and what begins as a novelty soon becomes redun
dancy in terms of characterization. And if Serna creates a loud, some-
242
what dippy and surrealistic but non-malevolent Devil, Arturo Jiminez
produces a sniveling, jelly-legged, passive Jose. The combination and
contrast is silly to no purpose: Serna lopes, sneers, and whoops
across the stage while Jose remains withdrawn and yellow bellied.
Jiminez's portrait of Jose is almost unrelenting, in fact, in its gut
lessness. All that his alleged passivity produces are exaggerated
sighs and salivating in the presence of the sisters. The way the
character is drawn and interpreted, there is no way Jose can win one's
empathy. Furthermore, just as Serna’s Devil becomes predictable (los
ing whatever charm his performance initially had to offer), Arturo
Jiminez's Jose quickly subsides into a monochromatic, monotonous
whimper.
Jiminez has double duty here, for he performs six songs as
Jose in "Shy Man." While these "corridos" (Mexican narrative folk
songs) and "rancheras" (robustly emotional songs derived from rural
life on a cattle ranch) are authentic, melodic, and well-articulated,
Jiminez's delineation of them included facial expressions and body
contortions which reduced the songs to banal artificiality. (The re
searcher notes that this overly effulgent style is common in Mexico,
but here it appears strained and ineffectual .)
In effect, what Jose produces onstage is a clumsy and emotional
Jekyll and Hyde parody throughout "Shy Man." In real life and in fan
tasy Jose is frozen with fear, but when he sings he chews up the scen
ery 1 It is a jarring transition that never quite comes off.
Cuca Sosa and Tina Luna as the Calavera-Sisters are little
more than grotesque cardboard figures onstage. The Calaveras often
243
provide cackles of laughter (never motivated), whoops, and hollers
while Jose sings, and the Sisters generally offer mere burlesques of
emotion.
For example, Tina Luna as Vain Fame offers a talking rendition
(a la Marilyn Monroe) of the song "Besame Mucho" (a 1943 hit for
Jimmy Dorsey and Orchestra). But are we as the unwitting audience
expected to believe that a skeleton, aping sensuality with forced
breathy delivery, is sexually alluring to poor Jose? Such is typical
of performance of the Calavera-Sister. The "stripper" scenes are
embarrassing travesties of eroticism.
It must be reiterated that the bewildered performers were ex
tremely limited by a completely perplexing and convoluted script which
the direction, as noted, failed to unwind. It is not surprising that
the level of performance was so poor.
Music
"The Story of the Shy Man" includes far more music than any
other production studied. The work is, in fact, subtitled "A Chicano
Theater Musical Comedy." As has been previously pointed out, however
(in plot analysis), the music does not illuminate the script; the songs
instead render the story even more indistinct.
To begin with, what could be more inappropriate to open the
"Shy Man" than a blasting version of George Gershwin's "Rhapsody in
Blue"? This brilliant music is well suited for Woody Allen's "Man
hattan," but absurdly out of place for the work at hand. (We are not
just given a brief introduction of Gershwin, but a substantial excerpt,
and all while dialogue continues onstage.)
244
If Gershwin throws a monkey wrench into the establishing of
tone for "Shy Man," the extract from Gustav Mahler’s 8th Symphony
(heralding the appearance of the "Angel") jars it even further. With
the glorious passage from Mahler comes the inglorious Angel (whose
momentary arrival in the script was apparently deemed so superfluous
that the night of performance both she and Mahler were eliminated).
The use of Henry Mancini's "The Stripper" is also problematic.
Here the music evokes the panache and flash of a striptease act, but
all the stage has to offer us is a skeleton with balloon breasts with
a nearby Jose panting along.
Apparently Guillermo Loo thought that by throwing in various
corridos like "Mi Ranchito" ("My Little Ranch") and "El Muchacho
Alegre" ("The Joyful Boy") along with an authentic tango like "Tu"
("Your" or "Thy"), some legitimate Latin American musical tradition
would be magically infused into the work. But this is not the case,
for these songs--in spite of their "authentic" origin--are obtrusive
to the text, serving merely as protracted fillers. Thus the storyline,
such as it is, simply stops short as Jose sings a song (while the
Calaveras, for no apparent reason, join in the chorus). Therefore
whatever flow might be developed in the dialogue is halted either by
inappropriate instrumental music, the incidental music (i.e., string
instruments in melodramatic crescendos), or the corridos themselves.
The Musical usually incorporates original songs to open up
character and add potency to highlights of story, but in the present
case the audience is treated to a boisterous round of "La Cucaracha"
by the entire cast--hardly a remarkable and integrated use of music.
245
Once more the production of the "Shy Man" becomes heavily burdened
with excess, empty baggage. The result is dead weight, or nothing
much at all.
Spectacle
Though Teatro Chicano began with the use of extravagant masks
in performance, only "The Story of the Shy Man"--of all the works stu
died— employs this well established device. For Don Diablo wears a
grotesque demonic half mask of Commedia dell'Arte, and its visual ef
fect is quite astonishing. (The mask boasted ten-inch curvatious
horns, flared nostrils, and was blood red.) If Guillermo Loo had used
this aspect of spectacle in an unified way, something very special and
refreshing might have emerged.
The same applies to the costumes of the Calaveras. Here we
had bright white skeletons painted onto black fabric (with black and
white makeup to create the illusion of the skull). As was found with
Don Diablo's mask, the look of these characters was initially quite
theatrical and pleasingly startling. With such spectacle provided
from the opening beats, "The Story of the Shy Man" got off to a fine
s tart.
Very quickly, however, the spectacular effects of the masks,
makeup, and costumes became an end in themselves. Or put another way,
they distracted from the story and in fact upstaged and distorted the
action of the simple fable being told. Teatro Primavera, nonetheless,
should be applauded for their technical prowess in being able to create
such inherently engaging embellishment.
246
Audience
"The Story of the Shy Man" opened on November 7, 1980. There
was a small audience for this premiere, approximately 25 people.
In general this audience was by far the least vociferous and
vocal in its feedback of all audiences documented in this study. In
fact, this "comedy" received very few audible laughs (I counted six
or seven during the entire evening). Still, given all of the problems
with the work, nobody walked out; and for the most part the audience
appeared attentive.
At the conclusion of the show the cast received a subdued (by
Chicano standards) round of applause. There were no ovations or
cheers. It is likely that most of the audience had some connection
to the production (the tickets, at $7.50, were the highest any of the
Teatros studied ever charged; and oddly there was little publicity to
draw attendance from the barrio).
There is no doubt, however, that if this production had been
viewed by a mainstream audience, the response would have been neither
courteous nor amiable.
To summarize script analysis, the underlying plot was found to
be shallow and rather pointless. Furthermore, this meager storyline
was then subjected to a rambling and unruly adaptation as a fable-cum-
allegory-cum-morality play-cum-musical. The result, structurally, was
chaos.
The characterizations were highly inconsistent, changing temp
eraments at a whim and violating the most rudimentary rules of develop-
247
ment. The result was the construction of flat characters with vir
tually no depth or point of view.
Thought was all but nonexistent. No ideas were truly presented
as either implicit or explicit argument.
Diction was puerile, ungrammatical, and bereft of any meta
phoric level. The dialogue also did not come from character, but was
sloppily devised and often contradicted itself.
To summarize performance aspects: The setting was potentially
evocative in its reliance on sound cues and physical movement of ac
tors rather than stage properties per se. But in production the pat
terning of movement and the show's aural cues did not provide an
adequate sense of scene.
The performers were unable to break out of the inherent limi
tations of script and direction. Whatever talent they might have
possessed was certainly not featured in any significant way.
The music, almost ubiquitous in the production, was neverthe
less tangential to the storyline. Also the bizarre musical choices
themselves (representing an inordinately wide range of musical genres)
only added more confusion to an already ambitiously ambiguous text.
Spectacle was noteworthy only insofar as costumes, masks, and
makeup design demonstrated creativity and professionalism. Unfortu
nately, these visual elements (successful out of context in their
execution) only proved distracting to the story and upstaged the
action.
The audience was generally polite and attentive. Feedback,
however, was quite subdued given the boisterous legacy of other
248
currently witnessed Teatro Chicano productions.
Chapter III has analyzed two works from six Los Angeles based
Teatros in order to establish an accurate cross section of the phenome
non known as El Teatro Chicano.
The following chapter will make conclusions regarding Teatro
Chicano as a genre vis a vis mainstream American theater.
249
NOTES
^Ezra Pound, "A Retrospect," Modern Poets on Modern Poetry,
ed. James Scully (London: Fontana/Collins, 1973), p. 31.
2
Dr. Richard Santillan, "Are Chicano Gangs the Consequence of
an Unequal Society?" Somos. 1, No. 6 (November 1978), 14-16.
3
Santillan, p. 14.
4
Aristotle, Poetics. trans. Gerald F. Else (Ann Arbor: Uni.
of Michigan Press, 1976), p. 28.
~*Karl Marx, and Friedrich Engels, The Communist Manifesto
(New York: Penguin Books, 1980), p. 121.
g
Morris Weitz, "Truth in Literature," Introductory Readings in
Aesthetics (New York: The Free Press, 1969), p. 213.
^Weitz, p. 218.
g
Quoted from a theatrical promotional flyer for El Fin Del Mundo
by Luis Valdez (distributed October 1979).
g
Aristotle, p. 29.
^Aristotle, p. 29.
^S. H. Butcher, Aristotle’s Theory of Poetry and Fine Art
(New York: Dover Publications, 1951), p. 207.
^Butcher, p. 208.
13
Arthur Flemming and Stephen Horn, Window Dressing on the Set:
Women and Minorities in Television (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government
Printing Office, 1977) .
^Quoted from a personal interview with Rosemary Rodriguez,
6 July 1982.
■^Quoted from a personal interview with Rosemary Rodriguez,
19 July 1982.
■^Butcher, p. 209.
*^From a personal interview with Rene Rodriguez at People's
College of Law, Los Angeles, 19 July 1982.
250
18
Terry Eagleton, Marxism and Literary Criticism (Berkeley: Univ.
of California Press, 1976), p. 46.
19
R. G. Collingwood, "Art as Imaginative Expression: From The
Principles of Art." Aesthetics: A Critical Anthology, ed. George
Dickie and R. J. Sclafani (New York: St. Martins Press, 1977), p. 119.
20
Collingwood, p. 119.
21
Collingwood, p. 119.
22
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "Occasion of the 'Lyrical Ballads,"1
Criticism: The Foundations of Modern Literary Judgment, ed. Mark
Schorer, Josephine Miles, and Gordon McKenzie (New York: Harcourt,
Brace and World, 1958), p. 250.
23
A Dictionary of Literary. Dramatic and Cinematic Terms. ed.
Sylvan Barnet, Morton Berman, and William Burto (Boston: Little,
Brown and Company, 1971), p. 22.
24
M. H. Abrams, A Glossary of Literary Terms (New York: Holt,
Rinehart and Winston, 1971), p. 27.
25
Abrams, p. 15 3.
26
Quoted from a personal interview with Ron Rodarte, January
1980.
27
Rodarte, January 1980.
28Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman, You Can11 Take It With You
(New York: Dramatists Play Service, 1964), pp. 74-75.
29
From a personal interview with Ron Rodarte, 10 July 1980.
30
Juanita Castillo, Georgina Castro Castillo, and Armando
Jiminez, "The Case of Gordon Castillo Hall: A Compilation of Facts
and Events." This document was reproduced by the Justice for Gordon
Castillo Hall Committee and freely circulated among the Hispanic com
munity in Los Angeles.
31
Frank Del Olmo, "Racist Case or a System Gone Awry?" Los
Angeles Times. 10 Oct. 1976, pp. 25-27.
32
Kay Cooperman, "Duartean Loses Bid for New Trial," San Gabriel
Valley Daily Tribune. 13 Dec. 1979, Vol. 25, No. 347, p. 6.
33
Aristotle, p. 32.
251
^Castillo, p. 9.
35
Personal interview conducted with Ron Rodarte, 7 Feb. 1981.
36
John Millington Synge, The Playboy of the Western World and
Riders to the Sea, ed. William Hart (Northbrook, 111.: AHM Publishing
Corporation, 1966), p. 81.
37
Synge, p. 80.
38
Abrams, p. 89.
39
The Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary, Vol. I
(New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1971), p. 1178.
40
Paulo de Carvalho-Neto, Decameron Equatoriano (Pu, Mexico:
Marzo Press, 1975), pp. 1-6.
41
Thomas Newbigging, Fables and Fabulists Ancient and Modern
(Ann Arbor: Gryphon Books, 1971), p. 5. (Originally published, 1895.)
^Abrams , p. 5 .
43
Barnet, Berman, and Burto, p. 3.
44
Barnet, Berman, and Burto, p. 3.
45
Barnet, Berman, and Burto, p. 38.
46
The Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford:
Oxford Univ. Press, 1971), p. 784.
47
Abrams, p. 21.
252
CHAPTER IV
TEATRO CHICANO VIS A VIS MAINSTREAM AMERICAN
AND WORLD THEATER
Thus far the researcher has intentionally forestalled making
any large-scale judgment regarding the overall quality, purpose, and
generic constituents of Teatro Chicano. The reason is simple: Rather
than forcing Teatro Chicano into a comparison to mainstream American
theater from the beginning of this study, it was felt that six repre
sentative works of Teatro should first be individually analyzed without
preconceptions. This approach allows the artifacts to essentially
define themselves (or at least to demonstrate the actual range of
styles and presentation inherent in the phenomenon of Teatro Chicano).
The reader undoubtedly noticed that even such terms as "play"
and "acto" were avoided, because those terms offer implicit assumptions
about the artifact, and until now there has been no way to verify if
the works indeed can be accurately termed "plays" or "actos." Further
more, it has also been impossible to establish if Teatro Chicano inher
ently forms a new genre in American theater or if its productions are
explainable within the bounds of traditional dramaturgy.
Finally, the researcher has not yet attempted to state if
Teatro Chicano generally constitutes good drama or not. This chapter
will provide answers to all the above questions, and because this
253
chapter, more than any other, ultimately reflects the author's own
point of view, the researcher's evaluation will henceforth be offi
cially stated in the first person ("I").
To begin with, X believe the concept of "acto" can now be sum
marily dismissed as a term that offers no valid insight into contempo
rary Teatro Chicano. The sole use of the term "acto" is within an
historical context, referring to El Teatro Campesino's early work,
primarily between 1965-1970. Valdez himself stated in his essay "The
Acto" that "Actos are not written; they are created collectively,
through improvisation."'*' But we have seen that, for example, "Beto's
Dream" and "The Silver Dollar" were indeed "written" by one author,
Alejandro Nanyalli (AKA Rene Rodriguez). Furthermore, Paulo de
Carvalho4-Neto's published story was the foundation upon which Guillermo
Loo fashioned "The Story of the Shy Man."
Valdez also admitted that originally "actos” could have simply
2
been called "skits," but that El Teatro Campesino wanted a Spanish
3
name so "we began to call them actos for lack of a better word." The
works in this study, however, are decidedly not "skits" either (with
the possible exception of "The Illegal Atom"); they are actually one-
act plays, usually in four to five scenes.
In fact, none of the works studied ever contained the word
"acto" as part of a subtitle, either within the script or on a play
bill. The term "play" was always used. Therefore I see no reason to
retain the term "acto" as valid nomenclature when discussing contempo
rary Teatro Chicano.
254
X can now also assert that the six examples of Teatro Chicano
do not, in any way, constitute a new genre in American theater. "The
Silver Dollar," for instance, is conventional in every aspect of its
writing and production. "Angel Death," though unconventional in its
staging and point of view, is still eminently discussable as lyric
drama (and examples in world drama, i.e., Synge's Riders to the Sea,
invalidate "Angel Death" as being elementally "new").
Certainly an out-of-control experiment like "The Shy Man" is
atypical of Teatro Chicano at large (and its stuttering aesthetics
too tangled and ambiguous to constitute a new genre). "The Illegal
Atom" is best described as a series of topically linked skits, all
with a heavy-handed, burlesqued point of view. In short, it is merely
a specific case of agitation propaganda, hardly "new," but certainly
poorly conceived and executed.
While it is clear that Teatro Chicano, based in Los Angeles,
does not form a new genre in drama, there are certain conspicuous com
monalities that are shared by its practitioners. I maintain that the
following commonalities truly define, in a practical way, the form
and function of El Teatro Chicano:
I. Teatro Chicano is identifiable by its self-imposed limitation of
subject matter to that of its own ethnic group.
A. The usual focus of Teatro Chicano is upon sociopolitical
problems experienced by the Chicano family living in the
barrio. The goal of most Teatros' plays is thus
consciousness-raising regarding:
1. Gang violence ("Beto's Dream," "Angel Death,"
"Justice for Hall")
255
2. Drug abuse ("Angel Death," "Shy Man,"
"Silver Dollar")
3. Political involvement
a. Support of specific Chicano
boycotts ("Illegal Atom")
b. General support of Chicano
politics ("Silver Dollar")
c. Awareness of institutional injustice
against Chicanos ("Justice for Hall,"
"Beto's Dream," "Illegal Atom,"
"Silver Dollar," "Angel Death")
4. Family unity (nuclear family as well as ethnic
family) ("Beto's Dream," "Angel Death," "Illegal
Atom," "Silver Dollar," "Justice for Hall")
II. Teatro Chicano is identifiable by its self-imposed limitation
to a Popular approach to drama.
A. The target audience is always working-class, barrio-based
Chicanos. Thus Teatro calculates all of its dialogue,
themes, and action to the level deemed accessible to
an audience that is both economically disadvantaged
and largely uneducated. Plays of Teatro Chicano,
therefore, are designed not to confuse or alienate
the factory workers, the vato locos and the Mexican
nationals in the audience. To achieve this end,
Chicano Popular drama utilizes:
1. Trilinguality. By using all three languages/
dialects that are spoken by the working class
(English, Spanish, and Calo), the plays liter
ally speak to their audience. (In fact, all
six plays studied are trilingual.)
2. Barrio environs are used, both in the plays
themselves ("Beto's Dream," "Silver Dollar,"
"Angel Death," "Justice for Hall") as well
as in the actual performance sites chosen.
256
3. Working-class characters are always used (all
six plays).
III. Teatro Chicano is identifiable by its nonprofessional, "learn
by doing" status. Even though the founders of Teatro Urbano,
Teatro A La Brava, and Teatro Primavera have either* had some
college theater experiences, have attended professional work
shops, or both, not one Teatro member under study is a pro
fessional in either the technical or evaluative sense of the
term. First, none of the actors or technicians in the Teatros
studied belong to any mainstream professional union (i.e.,
Actors Equity), nor have any members ever worked in mainstream
professional productions. It must be noted that the general
level of acting ability is at this point not of professional
caliber.
A. In actuality, most Teatro Chicano members enter
their respective groups with virtually no acting
or technical experience in theater whatsoever.
Furthermore, the acting and technical experience
they develop is "incestuous" in that it is usually
limited solely to Teatro productions themselves.
IV. Teatro Chicano is identifiable by its self-imposed limita
tion of performing either its own plays or other examples
of Chicano/Latino Popular works (thus Teatros never per
form works from the classical or contemporary repertory
of world drama). Of course, all six works under study
are original creations and not productions engineered
by outside groups. (It should be pointed out, however,
that Chapter II documented a rare example of two Los
Angeles TeatrOs, Urbano and Primavera, performing the
work of another Teatro, La Candelaria. This 1979 pro
duction of "Guadalupe Ano Cincuenta" occurred because
La Candelaria, from Colombia, is admired as a true
example of a theater collective producing Popular
Drama).
257
V. Teatro Chicano is identifiable by its implicit and explicit
invidious contempt for mainstream American values.
A. Upward mobility, individuality, belief in the
capitalist system, trust in the American ju
dicial system, commitment to the nuclear family,
etc. are all attacked, lampooned, and otherwise
discarded as faulty concepts.
VI. Teatro Chicano is identifiable by its implicit and explicit
forwarding of Ethnocentric Nationalist (racist) and politi
cally Marxist values.
A. Rechanneling one's resources back into the barrio,
attaining an ethnic "corporate" identity, belief in
a socialist/Marxist system, maintaining an extended
family, etc. are all admired, supported, and other
wise embraced as healthy concepts.
1. Teatro's racism takes the form of scapegoating
and simplistically indicting "the Anglo" (the
"Gavacho") for all the ills suffered by the
Chicanada. "Them" against "us" is the deeply
embedded message of Teatro Chicano ("Beto's
Dream," "Illegal Atom," "Justice for'Hall").
It is important to realize that the above six definitional
tenets of Teatro Chicano are interlocking, not discrete. For example,
Chicanos' racist hatred against the "white" mainstream has created a
voluntary form of segregation both in its audience and in its ability
to absorb non-Chicano influences: "Our rejection of white western
European (gavacho) proscenium theater makes the birth of new Chicano
4
forms necessary," wrote Luis Valdez in 1970. That one should "reject"
all Western dramatic art because it is "gavacho" is pure racism; and yet
Teatros today still work from such a premise.
258
Furthermore, the Nationalist/Marxist underpinnings of Teatro
dictate that plays must "inspire the audience to social action,"'* so
Chicanos almost never explore the interior of a character, the psychol
ogy of behavior; rather they attempt to expose a politically visible
action.
Now that Teatro Chicano has been defined, based upon its own
artifacts, an important question remains: Is Teatro Chicano good
drama? Before an answer can be presented, a formal statement of "What
is Good Drama?" must be offered. (The reader is likely aware that no
such formal statement about drama has yet been presented, for the
reason that such a pronouncement would prejudice the study.)
The first prerequisite of good drama is a complex I call "emo
tional engagement for an aesthetic and dramatic end." This interaction
subsumes many concepts, so I will elaborate in detail.
First, I feel a play should not draw an audience's attention
essentially by dint of its surface spectacle or novelty, but primarily
from a deep emotive quality. Implicit in this element is that good
drama is audience-centered.
To further refine the idea of emotional engagement, I stipu
lated it must be directed "for an aesthetic and dramatic end." I will
now discuss the aesthetic component.
Richard Kostelanetz in commenting on contemporary American
aesthetics emphasizes that aesthetic (or "esthetic") pronouncements
to a significant degree are locked into an historical context. For
instance, in discussing American aesthetic conceptions between the
World Wars, Kostelanetz stated that three themes emerged: "The eternal
259
characteristics of realized art, the nature of subjective processes
in artistic creation, and art's social relevance."**
The point is that while these three remain today, they are no
longer the central aesthetic concepts; times and values have altered.
Large-scale changes in society and intellectual world currents will
continually goad us to redefine what "art" consists of (Susanne Langer
in Philosophy in a New Key (1942) and Feeling and Form (1953) forwarded
"symbols" and "symbolism" as her dominant aesthetic concept). Koste
lanetz reported, however, that "the most significant art since 1960,
in America and elsewhere, is by contrast so consciously constructionist
and non-referential that no symbolic translations are intended."^
Speaking on the so-called avant garde additions to art, he stated,
"New art, in contrast, customarily denies platitude and previous
standards of excellence; it challenges accepted esthetic assumptions
8
(particularly those separating art from non-art)."
Returning directly to the question "What is good drama?”
we must, in light of contemporary aesthetic thinking, realize that
good is a "value," an "ought to have," and that values "both artistic
9
and humane do indeed change in time." However, this knowledge of the
flux of aesthetic apprehension does not, in my mind, provide a negative
or pessimistic view, for emotions in a good play must first be consid
ered aesthetically valid by the play's immediate audience. The given
style or vehicle for engaging emotions, from a conventional stage, is
defined by the play's genre and historical/intellectual contexts of
the time. Hence, the advent of classicism, realism, naturalism, ex
pressionism, etc. in drama reveals aesthetically changing values that
260
theater audiences have accepted. The general rejection of surrealism
and Dada on die stage implies that emotional engagement through these
two aesthetics was insufficient to satisfy audiences' needs.
A good play must have an artistic or aesthetic end that is
authentic. We must admit that "authentic" is pluralistic, not unitary,
for some "valid" aesthetic ends include very diverse ideas. Using a
play as propaganda, for example--whether to reveal a dialectic, to
integrate, or to agitate— may form a valid end for drama. Yet it must
be quickly qualified that a play that only seeks to propagandize is
vapid as drama.
Perhaps the realism of Ibsen best typifies a playwriting
aesthetic in which dramatic works artfully integrate critical commen
tary on social issues. For instance, Ibsen's A Doll's House (1879) is
considered (aside from being "good drama") an important feminist play.
In fact, so well stated are Ibsen's statements on sexist society that
reflections upon them have recently appeared in Bosmajian's This Great
Argument: The Rights of Women (1972) . Nora's final slamming of the
door is described by Bosmajian as "one of the great symbolic gestures
of the Nineteenth Century
Yet other playwrights feel realism should be used in larger
part to reveal subterranean motives of characters, rather than as
a byline to social injustice. A case in point is The Gin Game,
D. L. Coburn's 1978 Pulitzer Prize winning play (which I attended in
its premiere run on Broadway). Here human emotions are not scored
through overt action that allows them to first engage and then enlarge
our empathy; instead, what moves us is the unspoken, covert action of
261
these characters between the card plays which stand for patterns of
life. The two-character cast (two elderly persons at an old folks'
home) shares the primary and ostensibly flimsy action of playing a gin
game onstage. The game itself is therefore clearly meant to be analo
gous to the art of communicating with one's fellows; placed in the
hands of Mr. Coburn, the audience perceives a certain depth attributed
to this "game." The stakes are necessarily high.
Another category of "ends" of drama is the dramatically con
structed non-thesis play; or perhaps the "anti-theater, anti-play" end
best summarizes this approach. As Ionesco asserted in reference to
Rhinoceros (1960), "It seems to me absurd to ask a dramatist to pro
duce a Bible, a way to salvation; it is absurd to think for a whole
world and give it some automatic philosophy. . . . A play-wright
poses problems."^ Ionesco's aesthetics are often radical; yet his
work has consistently engaged our emotions in a manner which playfully
(no pun intended) and pleasingly maximizes the range of experiential
possibilities in the theater. His intuitive understanding of the
dynamics of theater allows him to induce in his audience reactions as
wide in scope, and as contradictory, as their experience of life itself.
In short, the "dramatic" end of emotion implies to me a senso
rial, auditive experience— a complete aesthetic which escalates emo
tional energy by the theatricality of the script, the resourcefulness
of the actors, and the mise-en-scene--and all to "dramatize" a point,
to forward a story of import and provocation, to structure "life" in
front of people in order to alter their collective and individual
reality.
262
A second key element involved in the interaction of emotions
for aesthetic and dramatic ends is the use of heightened language.
Note the following five examples:
1. Romeo: If I profane my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Juliet: Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this:
For saints have hands that pilgrims hands
do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss
2. Estragon: All the dead voices.
Vladimir: They make a noise like wings.
Estragon: Like leaves
Vladimir: Like sand
Estragon: Like leaves
Silence
Vladimir: They all speak at once
Estragon: Each one to itself.
Silence
Vladimir: Rather they whisper
Estragon: They rustle
Vladimir: They murmur^
Estragon: They rustle
3. Thomas:
In the thistle-down, but the rough-hand thistle comes.
Rest in that riddle. I can pass to you
generations of roses in this wrinkled berry.
There: Now you hold in your hand a race
of summer gardens, it lies under centuries
of petals. What is not, you have in your palm.
Rest in the riddle, rest; why not? This evening
is a ridiculous wisp of down
blowing in the air as disconsolately as dust ...
Jennet:
You've cast your fishing-net
of eccentricity, your seine of insanity
caugiht me when I was already lost
and landed me with despairing gills on your own
s trange beach....^
263
4. Martha: You were never in the goddam
Mediterranean at all, ever ...
Nick: Jesus !
George: Hah I
Nick: Damn you.
George: Truth and illusion. Who knows the
difference, eh, toots? Eh?
Nick: Oh for God's ...
Martha: Truth or illusion, George. Doesn't
it matter to you at all?
George: Snap! (Silence) You got your answer,
baby? .^
Martha: Got it.
5. Dys£.:t:
With one particular horse, called Nugget,
he embraces. The animal dips its sweaty brow
into his cheek, and they stand in the dark for
an hour— like a necking couple. And of all
nonsensical things— I keep thinking about the
horse! Not the boy: the horse, and what it may
be trying to do. I keep seeing that huge head
kissing him with its chained mouth nudging
through the metal some desire absolutely ir
relevant to filling its belly or propagating
its own kind. What desire could that be?
Not to stay a horse any longer? Not to remain
reined up forever in those particular genetic
strings?'^
From the above excerpts one may witness some of the range and
variety of heightened language in drama.
First, in the Romeo and Juliet (1595) excerpt we taste the
bounty of Shakespearian eloquence, language poetically sculptured and
precisely measured in metrics and structure. (The quote continues to
form a sonnet.) The resulting lyricism is built upon a lush use of
metaphor and rhetorical devices.
From the sixteenth century we jump to Waiting for Godot (1952).
Here is dialogue that is another form of poetry: free verse. The
images are simple (many of the words are monosyllabic), and silence
is used as an integral "beat," a different way to modulate rhythm.
264
Beckett's methods for heightening language effects are drastic depar
tures from Shakespeare's, but they serve the identical dramatic func
tion.
The third selection sounds Elizabethan because of its Shake-
spearianesque turn of phrase; yet Christopher Fry wrote The Lady's Not
for Burning in 1950. It reveals that one can "imitate" a preexisting
language style while retaining a genuine heightening of effect.
The fourth excerpt is from Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of
Virginia Woolf? (1962). We have learned from Albee, and from others
like David Mamet in American Buffalo (1975), that so-called "obscenity"
has valid artistic application. In order to heighten language one need
not use traditionally sanctified poetic forms. Instead one can draw
on the commonplace phrase from the "low-lifer's" vocabulary and still
achieve a theatricality or emotional boost from the language.
The fifth excerpt, from Peter Shaffer's Equus. marks a modem
return to a caliber of articulateness and eloquence more akin to past
ages, in that it is through the use of rarified and high-level language
that the heightening is achieved.
The next major requirement for good drama is that the play
either satisfy structurally the requirements of its genre or, in the
alternative, successfully create a new genre.
The historical genres of the miracle play, morality play, the
masque, the anti-masque, comedy, tragedy, farce, melodrama, and the
problem play, while stylistically in flux, still essentially retain an
identifiable generic structure. For instance, Arthur Miller's own
forceful defense of his play Death of a Salesman (1949) as "tragedy in
265
the highest sense"^ has served not to undermine Elizabethan tragedy,
but to reorient tragedy to the Twentieth Century concept of life.
Hence in my opinion a new and dramatically viable "tragic" pattern
has emerged; whether we call it "modern tragedy" in praise or deroga
tion, it is tragedy nonetheless.
Aside from generic variations like Miller's, there have sur
faced plays so avant garde and so anti-Aristotelian in structure as
to warrant a new generic title. The so-called "Theatre of the Absurd"
has its locus from the late 1940s (with Ionesco's The Bald Soprano.
1948) to the present. According to Martin Esslin, the plays of Jean
Genet, Samuel Beckett, Eugene Ionesco, and Arthur Adamov (and to a
lesser extent Harold Pinter, Edward Albee, and Jack Gelber) "pursue
ends quite different from those of the conventional play and therefore
18
use quite different methods."
The point to be made here is that a play is conceptually weak
if it does not follow the contours of its genre. That is, an audience
expects certain things from certain dramatic genres, and the dramatic
impact will become dissipated, and the audience confused, by a flawed
structure. Ezra Pound, speaking of prose and poetry, stated. "Do not
retell in mediocre verse what has already been done in good prose.
Don't think any intelligent person is going to be deceived when you
try to shirk all the difficulties of the unspeakably difficult art of
19
good prose by chopping your composition into line lengths.”
This applies to drama as well, to wit: Don't choose the struc
ture of a play for a story or message better suited to another art
form. A short story or epic poem adapted as a play should have
266
aesthetic warrants for the change; otherwise, as Ezra Pound stated,
no "intelligent person is going to be deceived" by the artistic
sleight of hand.
The fourth major requirement for good drama is a mise-en-scene
that organically forwards the key of the play. The mise-en-scene en
compasses the physical staging of the drama, including scenery and
properties as well as the blocked action and gestures of the actors.
A drama is not the reading of a script, but entails a three-dimensional
recreation of the script in visual terms. Crucial to good drama is
the production's use of effective lighting, makeup, costuming, and set
design.
The result of these four most essential requirements, thus,
would be as follows:
1. Emotional engagement for an aesthetic and dramatic end.
2. Heightened language in the script.
3. Structural integrity of the genre.
4. A mise-en-scene that organically forwards the key of the
play.
Respect for certain guideposts, then, may aid the dramatist in
producing good dram that is satisfying emotionally, intellectually,
and. which works onstage to produce an aesthetic entity or work of art.
Teatro Chicano is (by my definition) in primary opposition to
the above tenets of good drama. First, it seeks a decidedly political
and social end, not an aesthetic and dramatic one. Even "The Silver
Dollar," which is very well-crafted and effectively devised as a con
ventional one-act, suffers from a didactic purpose: the recruitment
267
of its audience into the Chicano political movement. (Thus the inher
ently dramatic relationships are glossed over in order to "bring home"
the political message.)
Of course "The Shy Man" has no aesthetic or dramatic end what
soever; and neither does "The Illegal Atom." "Justice for Hall" and
"Beto’s Dream" at least attempt to embody real drama (and succeed to
an extent, although neither play comes to an aesthetically satisfying
conclusion).
"Angel Death," while arguably the most effective play studied,
still adheres to a didactic end (but its novel and integrated treat
ment of the theme achieves a high level of dramatic impact despite its
pedagogy).
Because Teatro Chicano is self-consciously Popular, its ability
to explore the range of language is greatly curtailed. As long as Chi
cano playwrights remain afraid of alienating their uneducated audiences
(instead of seeking to take a risk and raise the audiences' vocabulary
and stimulate the imagination through metaphoric levels of language),
they will not produce good drama from a linguistic/aesthetic perspec
tive. At its best, Teatro Chicano produces cogent, linear speech,
but it never soars or uses the colorful palate available to its play
wrights. Teatro Chicano has enjoyed its greatest success in expressing
comedic points of view through the use of Cal6; however, much more work
is needed in raising the level of language to raise Teatro itself to
higher caliber drama.
Since Teatro Chicano intentionally isolates itself from all
mainstream theater, its knowledge of dramatic structures and production
268
values is highly restricted. Thus the accomplishments of such artists
as Shakespeare, Moliere, Wilde, Pinter, Beckett, Albee, O'Neill,
Ionesco, etc. have no impact or influence on Teatro. Therefore we
witness, time and again, a juvenile struggle with form, sloppy and
shallow dialogue, and semi-skilled performances.
In short, Teatro Chicano is not generally good drama (by any
of the standards articulated in this chapter). This is not to say,
however, that Teatro Chicano is not important or that it cannot even
tually affect, in a positive way, the American mainstream. The final
decision on the present state (and future prognosis) of Teatro Chicano
is presented in the next and concluding chapter.
269
NOTES
^Luis Valdez, "Actos," Actos: El Teatro Campesino (San Juan
Bautista, Calif.: Cucaracha Press, 1971), p. 6.
^Valdez, p. 5.
Valdez, p. 5.
4
Valdez, p. 5.
^Valdez, p. 6.
g
Richard Kostelanetz, "Contemporary American Esthetics,"
Esthetics Contemporary (New York: Prometheus Books, 1978), p. 21.
^Kostelanetz, p. 23.
g
Kostelanetz, p. 24.
9
Kos telanetz, p. 24.
^Hamida B.osmajian, and Haig Bosmajian, This Great Argument: The
Rights of Women (Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley, 1972), p. 75.
^Eugene Ionesco, Notes and Counter Notes (New York: Grove
Press, 1964), p. 210.
12William Shakespeare, The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet in The
Riverside Shakespeare (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1974), p. 1066.
13
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot in Seven Plays of the Modem
Theater (New York: Grove Press, 1962), p. 51.
14
Christopher Fry, The Lady's Not for Burning (New York: Oxford
Univ. Press, 1952), p. 55.
^Edward Albee, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (New York:
Pocket Books, 1969), pp. 200-4 (excerpts).
16
Peter Shaffer, Equus (New York: Atheneum Publishers, 1975),
p. 21.
17
Arthur Miller, "Tragedy and the Common Man," European Theories
of the Drama, ed. Barrett H. Clark (New York: Crown Publishers,
1975), p. 537.
■^Martin Esslin, The Theatre of the Absurd (New York: Doubleday,
1969), p. 4.
270
19Ezra Pound, "A Few Don'ts," Modern Poets on Modern Poetry, ed.
James Scully (London: Fontana/Collins, 1973), p. 32.
271
CHAPTER V
SUMMARY, CONCLUSIONS, AND SUGGESTIONS
FOR FURTHER RESEARCH
Summary
Chapter I of this study established the need to investigate
Teatro Chicano in general as well as the specific value of focusing
on Los Angeles as the logical center of the phenomenon. Furthermore,
a review of the literature revealed that a substantial, though eso
teric, body of documentation does exist for the topic area.
Chapter II traced the history of El Teatro Chicano from its
inception in 1965 to the present. Additionally, this chapter pre
sented individual histories of Teatro Urbano, Teatro A La Brava, and
Teatro Primavera. It was found that all the Teatros under study were
the result of collegiate political activity, 1969-1970, and that all
Teatros were beholden to El Teatro Campesino. It was deemed that all
three Teatros being studied were part of the second major stage of
development in Teatro.
Chapter III, easily the most formidable chapter of this study,
evaluated two works from each group: "Beto's Dream" and "The Silver
Dollar" from Teatro Urbano; "The Illegal Atom" and "Justice for Hall"
from Teatro A La Brava; and "Angel Death" and "The Story of the Shy
Man" from Teatro Primavera.
272
Each of the above works was analyzed under two headings:
Script and Performance. Script consisted of Dramatis Personae, Plot
(Synopsis and Analysis), Character, Thought, and Diction. Performance
consisted of Performers, Music, Spectacle, and Audience.
It was found that the six works varied from highly conventional
("The Silver Dollar") to extremely surreal ("The Story of the Shy Man")
Also it was discovered that generally the works suffered from a lack of
unity (though the audiences hardly minded any of the weaknesses articu
lated in analysis).
Chapter IV sought to place Teatro Chicano in perspective vis a
vis "mainstream" drama. It was ascertained that "acto" is not relevant
nomenclature for contemporary Teatro works and that "one-act play" is,
in fact, more accurate. Furthermore, Teatro Chicano was defined and
schematized, based upon the six plays studied. The most important
conclusion drawn from this chapter was the fact that the plays did
not constitute "good drama."
Conclusions
This study has documented the existence of what may qualify as
the best-kept secret in America: that for seventeen years a bona fide
dramatic movement has been developing in this country. Sadly, even
today, few people are aware of the history or present significance of
El Teatro Chicano. Sadder still is the fact that Los Angeles, the
city hosting and fostering the most Chicano theater in the country,
remains oblivious to its "hidden" asset.
There are many reasons why Teatro Chicano remains anonymous.
273
First, with the exception of Zoot Suit, none of its productions has
ever made it to a mainstream American stage. (It has been close to
five years since Zoot Suit was housed at the Mark Taper Forum, and
neither Los Angeles nor any other major city has sought another example
of Teatro Chicano.)
Second, few of its scripts have ever been published in any
form (all six scripts under the present study were the personal manu
script copies used by the Teatros themselves). Ironically, not even
Zoot Suit has been published (Samuel French has refused the play on
several occasions). ^
Third, the locations of Teatro Chicano productions are in the
barrio, and neither theater critics nor the general public has the
interest or motivation to attend shows in the Chicano conmunity.
Now the reader, remembering the pronouncement of Chapter IV
which stated that the plays studied are not "good drama" in a strictly
aesthetic sense, may say "but Teatro Chicano is not important or sig
nificant enough to warrant any more attention than it has already
received." Yet I assert that such a position is faulty, for while
Teatro Chicano does have obvious deficiencies in its dramaturgy, it
remains nonetheless both important and significant.
"Angel Death," "The Silver Dollar," "Beto's Dream," and "Justice
for Hall" are the successful results of an honest impulse to create
theater that is meaningful for its audience. The topics of the above
plays are all truly significant (there are no flippant exercises in
crass commercialism here, as with so many "mainstage" plays. Even "The
Illegal Atom" and "The Story of the Shy Man," though unsuccessfully
rendered, are attempts to express matters of consequence).
Sweeney Todd may garner Tony Awards, but behind its commercial
viability is the insignificant story of a flagrant mass-murderer.
However, through the story's incarnation in musical comedy, the audi
ence leaves to laugh about and "enjoy" Sweeney's diabolical behavior!
Dracula may draw in the crowds on Broadway or in Los Angeles, but again
All the audience can perceive is polished escapism.
The point to be made is that El Teatro Chicano consists of
nonprofessionals, all of whom work at low paying jobs to survive, and
then on their "free time" write plays, make sets, design and sew cos
tumes, construct lighting grids, rehearse for months, create and dis
tribute fliers and posters, etc., all for the love of theater. That
this love is in combination with the desire to correct negative images
of Chicanos makes it all the more notable and humanitarian, Teatro
has not whined about racial stereotypes; it has shown the fortitude
and responsibility to produce positive self-images on the stage. And
Teatro is not some juvenile, intermittent experience, either. TENAZ
is now an international organization that helps direct all of the ac
tivities of Teatros throughout the country. Teatro practitioners
mean business; and it is correct to say that against nearly impossible
odds, El Teatro Chicano has not just survived but actually flourished
as a potent theatrical movement.
Still, I believe that now, after a decade of struggle and
growth, Teatro Chicano is facing the most crucial moment in its his
tory. If it does not free itself of the self-imposed limitations to
which it has tenaciously held, it will falter and eventually crumble.
275
For I strongly believe that the plays of Teatro are suffocating from
a claustrophobia of their own making. It is not that the actors and
writers of El Teatro Chicano lack talent; they lack training and
vision. The accumulated weight of racist oppression upon Chicanos
has caused them, unconsciously, to counter their feelings of humilia
tion with a racist strategy of their own. In short, Chicanos are
acutely aware that American history has been one of hatred of the
Mexican/Chicano, but La Raza, through its Teatro, has blindly and
wrongfully indicted the "gavacho" for this situation; in truth it is
an all too human (and not "white" or "Anglo") propensity to scapegoat
those who are different (whether by color or culture). Therefore it
is the individual, and not some identifiable group or class, who is
indictable; the "oppressor" is an attitude in us all.
The restriction of subjects in Teatro to one's own ethnic
group, and the denial of the artistic value of American and European
plays on the basis that they are "white" and "bourgeois" is racist,
pure and simple. But more importantly, these are some of the main
reasons Teatro is not progressing. Dr. James Sauceda, in his recent
article "Chicano Ethnicity: A Concept in Search of a Content," aptly
summarizes my position regarding the present problems with El Teatro
Chicano:
Unfortunately, I assert that many trends of Chicano/a ethnicity
are primarily dysfunctional because they are motivated by an
invidious intent and because they are hypercatheeted. That
there are justifiable reasons for the anger and the urge to
permit ethnic identity "to engulf one's other class identities,
whose unduplicable accumulation is . . . the very basis of an
authentic identity," I do not deny. But accepting the above
explanation gives one a new tool for better understanding cer
tain facts of Chicano/a contributions to America.
276
For instance, it explains why it took almost one-and-a-half
centuries before a Luis Valdez attempted to commercially utilize
a conventional theatre, and also why his work Zoot Suit failed
on Broadway. It failed because of its implicit invidious state
ment against all audience members who were not Hispanic or
Chicano/a. In short, Chicano/a artists have historically been
propelled by an aesthetic impulse that is dissociative, intro
verted, and not integrative. Its overriding disdain for the
dominant society has significantly impeded the Chicano/a's abil
ity to creatively borrow and incorporate aspects from the main
stream. Typically, any Chicano/a who attempts to grow through
direct transaction with "Anglo" culture is indicted as an ethnic
sellout.
But this kind of closed-system approach in Chicano/a ethnicity is
not limited to "Anglo" influences. Recently I was with the leader
of a band in Los Angeles who dubbed his band's music "Chicano."
I asked him why it was "Chicano," and his response was that it
was not at all influenced by "foreign" sources (he included jazz
as being "Black" and rock as being "White") . A similar closed
system is Chicano/a Teatro (which generally will not perform
before a mainstream audience).
The dream behind such incestuous art is that it retain and re
fine some "pure" ethnic vision. The reality is that its growth
is stunted; such art will remain in a state of malnutrition £
until it becomes integrated into a fuller context of art proper.
There is hope that El Teatro Chicano will let go of its racism
and begin to embody universal themes, while still retaining the Chicano
referent. "The Silver Dollar" hints at such a direction, and, iron
ically, "The Illegal Atom" is, in fact, the most free of ethnic limita
tion.
An important contemporary development in El Teatro Chicano is
the startling and voluntary dissociation of El Teatro Campesino from
the annual TENAZ festivals. As Jorge Huerta recalled recently, from
L965 until 1981 all other Teatros have always counted on "Teatro
Campesino to lead the way technically and aesthetically, and to lead
ill those political and aesthetic debates. . . . Campesino stopped
being involved in the Festival, and we [at the Eleventh TENAZ Teatro
277
Festival, 1981] did not have them to look to for that artistic s e n s e .
This dissociation I take as a positive step, for as El Teatro
Campesino had to leave Delano to become a full-fledged theater, so too
it had to leave the TENAZ Festival so that other Teatros would take
responsibility for future leadership. Teatro must grow up and broaden
its base, not only to merely survive, but to eventually fuse new life
into American drama per se.
Another healthy index for the prospect of Teatro Chicano is
the fact that specific Los Angeles playwrights (such as Guillermo Loo
and Alejandro Nanyalli) are consciously seeking to improve their craft
and widen their range of artistic influences. Mr. Loo, for instance,
is presently entering the PhD program in Dramatic Arts at the Univer-
sity of California at Los Angeles; Nanyalli has been quite responsive
to the critiques of "Beto's Dream" and "The Silver Dollar" contained
in this study. Also Nanyalli's forthcoming plays promise to be his
most "universal" in presentation.
In our age when all the arts are becoming more and more "tele
visionary" (routine, repetitive, and without mediumistic uniqueness),
El Teatro Chicano is striving to connect its community with itself.
In order for Teatro, however, to find its latent power and forge a
way into mainstream America, it must connect (for the first time) to
the elemental purpose of drama. Thus I feel that to truly conclude
this study, a formal statement is required regarding the purpose of
drama, as this will place Teatro within a world perspective and not
merely a local one.
Many scholars date the dawn of modern civilization as coinci-
278
dental with the birth of the drama, and visually assign to the Greeks
the theater's first great flowering. To look into the purpose of
drama, then, it seems reasonable to briefly probe its raison d'etre
during the Greek theater's great creative period. A widely accepted
theory argues "the circular stone-paved threshing floor, to this day
a familiar sight in any Greek village . . . suggests a primitive
origin for the choral performances in the natural seasonal activities
of the people. Around these threshing floors the community would
gather the harvest and enliven the tedium of their work with song
which would also placate the fertility gods whose patronage they
4
sought." Granted, any excursion into the drama's origins are hy
pothetical; we may yet imagine, however, some gradual transition from
spontaneous outpourings to a formal art. The important idea to grasp
is that it is a formal art today ... and it still embodies the commu
nity spirit, as it must have done when performances first became or
ganized at the civic level in Fifth Century Greece. Drama has ever
formulated the thoughts and feelings of the people of its time; it has
ever been the fourth dimension of our lives, the arena in which right
action has not only been made to seem sympathetic, but exhilarating.
Witness the evolution of the actor proper: Whoever was re
sponsible for this vital step which made drama out of semi-dramatic
narrative is not known, but the Greeks attributed the innovation to
Thespis "who, in some versions, was an inspired chorister who took it
upon himself to assume an individual part and respond to the chorus
Whether he separated himself thusly from the chorus or was an exponent
of an independent dramatic non-choral tradition, a breaking away from
279
drama as choral song into drama as acted scenes, one thing is of vital
interest here: the Greeks honor him as the founder of their drama, as
the first actor, and the word they give him is hypokrites, "answerer."
X believe the purpose and function of drama is as it was then,
to enable man to "answer" as best he can what remain the unanswerable
riddles of existence--and to do so communally, in an act of faith, to
assure ourselves that we are not alone.
And how is man to answer? By separating himself from other
men and becoming responsible ... by accepting the human condition of
all of us being alone, but together, united as one race in our separate
ness. And does that not support the image of the thrashing-floor
celebration as it ritualized human existence for all to see? Man’s
work being done, he seeks to know if life (God, the future, fate,
whatever) will be good to him, or whether he has failed. Trusting
not to any one individual to "yay or nay" him, man turns to the tri
bunal of drama for an existential vote in his behalf. He is resting,
his work done; he is celebrating the close of a cycle but needs to see
it and feel it in human terms. He needs to have commerce with the
mysteries of nature and life and death and rebirth around him and
within him. He needs to know. He needs to ask, to answer, to be af
firmed individually and collectively: through rhythm, hooking him
into the inexorable ebb and flow of life; the rhythm of words, wresting
order out of chaos; the rhythm of music, the strangely compelling lan
guage man cannot duplicate with his voice, but which nonetheless speaks
to him and calms him and urges him to feel.
Significant that drama may have begun after the harvest, for
280
when man is working, struggling to survive, he does not have the
energy or the time to think self-reflexively. Only after work, after
the "harvest," do those questions arise from the soul--and man needs
to put those questions face forward and address himself to them. Eric
Bentley has told us "only theatre thrusts at its audience the supreme
6
object of sensual thoughts— the human body," which after all is the
spirit's envelope. And, addressing his questions to this mirror of
himself, to "the other," man asks his questions, hoping to reap the
additional benefit of arousing any spirits-that-be to take pity on the
human condition and react with kindness to man's constant efforts to
be alright, to move forward, to maintain that equilibrium of "X being
of sound body and good mind.” That is our legacy to the world even
as we are living.
This is the purpose of drama. To let us answer ourselves as
best we can. To allow us to formulate answers which move us, to which
we can respond freshly every time we share in them, every time we
experience the dramatic event.
God's heroic deed was to give existence to man; "the drama
tist's heroic deed is to give existence to characters."^ By partici
pating in the life that is the stage, "a world within a world— a ter-
g
ritory with laws of its own," man has a spokesman; man finds his
collective voice; man cheers on a representative of humanness who
shall ask the questions and receive the answers. And man is the prime
mover of this little scheme to "get a handle on things," for man is
the playwright and the actor and the audience— man is all of life,
impersonator and spectator— and thus man takes both the human and the
281
godly role, increasing his sense of duty and honor a thousandfold.
In and through drama man sees himself move and change, grow
and die and become bom again— in ways that make life not only palata
ble, but divinely appropriate. Han asks and answers himself, and in
that profound movement that is drama, thought and feeling are reunited
and a return to grace is achieved. It is Phaedra who loses her rea
son, if that be the case, and not Racine. The playwright may either
be felt as separate from his work, or as one with his work--good drama
is always experienced as exhilarating--just as God seems to weave in
and out of our lives with vigorous agility, first seemingly with us,
then against us, then indifferent. In other words, we may know who
the prime mover is (G. B. Shaw is ever recognizable) or merely wonder
(what is Peter Shaffer like, anyway?), but in all cases, we identify
with the writer and as such are united with our fellow man in the
theatrical experience).
In conclusion, then, I maintain that drama unifies: solidi
fies for man what was amorphous, and loosens for man what was all too
concrete. Thus drama can be seen as a transformation of experience,
and I believe this is its primary purpose. It gives us an answer to
life through the magical medium of life itself, represented in its
fixed fluidity on the stage. Thus drama democratizes existence for
us, attempting to formulate the best we can come up with when explor
ing ageless questions and problems, and filtering our answers through
our imagination, allowing us to experience through our feelings and to
order our feelings with our mind. Drama answers, "It is."
282
Suggestions for Further Research
There are many areas of scholarly research that need to be
explored in the future in order to more thoroughly document and under
stand the phenomenon of El Teatro Chicano.
A good place to begin would be with a critical biography of
Luis Valdez. An in-depth biography could add important deta: is to
our knowledge of the formation and development of El Teatro Campesino.
Furthermore, a contemporary biography could allow Valdez a rare oppor
tunity to comment at length upon the evolution of Teatro, as well as
to present his views on the future of Teatro.
Another area of Valdezian research would be a comprehensive
analysis of all his actos and plays: an aesthetic study rather than
a biography. This could chronicle the dramaturgy of Valdez, both
before and during El Teatro Campesino (as well as his works for the
stage which do not use Campesino). Such a study would provide a thor
ough probe into the aesthetics of Teatro's most prominent practitioner.
A third approach to further research would be the longitudinal
study of one or more Teatros (any troupes excluding El Teatro Campe
sino) . The focus might extend over the practical realities of general
survival as a theater group in America, while including documentation
of the specific lifestyle of Teatro members. (As Campesino is a spe
cial case, a self-sufficient Teatro with its own building complexes,
etc., it would not provide an accurate reflection of the myriad small,
urban Teatros of which TENAZ is comprised.)
Though the above proposals would certainly extend our under
standing of the phenomenon of El Teatro Chicano, the most fecund areas
283
of research have to do with cross-regional and cross-cultural studies.
The present study informed the reader of the Los Angeles experience
of Teatro and served to provide a springboard for deriving a compre
hensive definition of the phenomenon of Teatro. What is needed now
is a study which tests the definition presented in Chapter IV--by com
paring the artifacts of different regions to see if the definition
holds (or needs modification). Cross-regional studies should include
"Los Angeles Teatro vis h vis the Teatros of San Antonio/Denver/
Seattle/Chicago/Santa Fe and Tucson," etc. A variation of the cross-
regional study would be the comparison, within the same state, of dif
ferent major regions, i.e., "Los Angeles Teatro vis A vis Teatros of
San Diego, Santa Barbara/San Francisco," etc. It would be quite valu
able to gain a perspective on the national and statewide diversity of
El Teatro Chicano.
Perhaps a comparably fruitful venture would be the cross-
cultural and inter-ethnic study. In the former case one would seek to
discover the governing aesthetics of Latin American Teatros compared
to their American counterparts. A likely candidate for such an inter
national comparison would be Colombia's La Candelaria (vis a vis El
Teatro Campesino. Such a choice would be particularly apt, as each
Teatro represents the longest running examples of Teatro in its re
spective country). Other helpful comparisons could be Chicano Teatro
vis a vis Cuban/Chilean/Venezuelan/Brazilian, etc. Teatros. Such
studies could clarify the political underpinnings and influences of
Latin American Teatros upon American troupes, as well as document the
perceptions of Latin Americans regarding Chicano Teatro.
284
Another cross-cultural study, and one which 1 admit initially
sounds rather strained, is Teatro Chicano vis a vis the Irish National
ist Theater Movement. With very little study, however, it soon becomes
apparent that the Irish Nationalist Theater Movement does indeed pro
vide a meaningful historical context quite relevant to the better un-r
derstanding of Chicano Theater. From my own interest in this area, I
can provide more than a hint of the important correspondences between
the two cultural movements:
Irish Dramatic Movement
1. Irish people were conquered
by a foreign power (England)
which historically treated
them as a subservient group
who should assimilate English
culture.
2. Fight for national identity
as "Celtic."
3. Fight to retain mother tongue
(Gaelic) as essential for
Celtic identity.
4. The setting up of Abbey Theater
to direct and monitor the Irish
Theater Movement.
5. Fight for accurate and positive
(non-stereotypic) portrayal of
Irish people on the s tage.
6. An emphasis on the Irish peas
antry and lower class in plays.
7. An attempt to make the Irish,
Scotch, and other Celts recog
nize their solidarity.
Chicano Dramatic Movement
1. Mexican people were conquered
by a foreign power (America)
which historically treated
them as a subservient group
who should assimilate Ameri
can culture.
2. Fight for ethnic identity
as "Chicano."
3. Fight to retain mother tongue
(Spanish) as essential for
Chicano identity.
4. The setting up of TENAZ (El
Teatro National de AtzlAn)
to direct and monitor the
Chicano Theater Movement.
5. Fight for accurate and posi
tive (non-stereotypic) por
trayal of Chicanos on the
s tage.
6. An emphasis on the Chicano
barrio experience in plays.
7. An attempt to make the Chi
cano, Mexican, and other
Latins recognize their soli
darity .
285
Irish Dramatic Movement Chicano Dramatic Movement
8. A national resurgence of novel- 8. A national resurgence of
ists, poets, playwrights, and novelists, poets, play-
artists of all kinds exploring wrights, and artists of all
Celtic consciousness. kinds exploring Chicano con
sciousness .
9. Founder of Irish Theater Move- 9. Founder of Chicano Dramatic
ment, W. B. Yeats (1899), was Movement, Luis Valdez (1965),
also responsible for writing was also responsible for
its first plays. writing its first plays.
In addition to the above commonalities, the plays born of the
Irish Nationalist Theater Movement provide, I believe, a canon of work
that is uniquely "close to home" to Teatro in theme and dramatic pur
pose (and whose artistic excellence has been acknowledged worldwide).
Thus a comparison of Yeats' Cathleen ni Hoolihan (1902), Sean O'Casey's
Juno and the Paycock (1924), and The Plough and the Stars (1926) or
Brendan Behan's The Quare Fellow (1956), and The Hostage (1958) with
Teatro plays could be both stimulating and inspiring for emerging
Chicano playwrights.
A logical variation of the cross-cultural study is the inter
ethnic study. Here one would retain the American locale, but focus
on the similarities and differences of Teatro Chicano vis a vis Puerto
Rican, Black, and Asian theater. Of course, there are obvious corres
pondences apparent within this type of study in that all these ethnic
groups mus.t transact in the same mainstream cultural context (and all
share in the historically racist legacy of life in America).
The most basic area of further research on the subject matter,
however, has yet to be mentioned. This would be the book-length. anno
tated Bibliography on Teatro Chicano. Such a work would subsume all
286
existing bibliographies and be the most up-to-date research tool of
its kind on the subject. Such a comprehensive bibliography would not
only offer citations of all primary and secondary materials published
on Teatro, but would also provide an exhaustive list of all works pub
lished (and wherever possible, performed but unpublished works as well).
From the above six categories of further research (Biography,
Longitudinal Study, Aesthetic Study, Cross-Regional--including inter-
state--Study, Cross-Cultural--including inter-ethnic— Study and fi
nally Bibiographic Study), there looms a veritable frontier of scholar
ship. It is hoped that other researchers will explore such areas in
order to better document and appraise the important phenomenon of El
Teatro Chicano.
287
NOTES
^"Personal interview with Jorge Huerta, 10 July 1982.
2
James Sauceda, "Chicano Ethnicity: A Concept in Search of a
Content," Intercultural Conr .unication: A Reader, ed. Larry A. Samover
and Richard E. Porter (Be’jont, Calif.: Wadsworth Publishing, 1982),
p. 192.
3
Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano, "Interview with Jorge Huerta," Revista
Literaria De El Tecolte, 2, Nos. 3-4 (December 1981), p. 6.
4
Peter D. Arnott, The Ancient Greek and Roman Theatre (New York:
Random House, 1971), p. 10.
^Arnott, p. 12.
^Eric Bentley, The Life of the Drama (New York: Atheneum, 1967),
p. 153.
^Bentley, p. 171.
O
Bentley, p. 150.
288
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