El Nogalar at Fountain Theatre

You’ll get a sense of familiarity as this play unfolds. It’s intentional. El Nogalar is Spanish for pecan orchard and playwright Tanya Saracho has borrowed heavily from Chekhov’s iconic play about an aristocratic family’s efforts to save their own orchard.

But instead of cherries and early 20th Century Russia, we are in the border state of Nogales a century later, and dealing with the Mexican drug war, a war that exploded in the 1990s when the cartels, which had operated for decades in Mexico’s northern provinces, began to gain the kind of power that made them de facto rulers over vast expanses of sovereign territory.

Valeria (Isabelle Ortega) alone has kept the family estate running for fifteen years and is awaiting the return of her mother Maite (Yetta Gottesman) and her half-sister Anita (Diana Romo). The reunion is bittersweet as Valeria explains the current political climate and the dire effect it is having on the Hacienda el Nogalar.

Maite will have none of it. She remains in high spirits, oblivious to the ominous developments occurring just beyond the gates of her estate. Anita, too, can’t understand why things have changed since she was a little girl, but she is more receptive to her half-sister’s warnings.

The “mañas” (drug cartels) won’t stay outside the gates much longer, and unless the family pays them off, they will forfeit their home. Ignoring Valeria’s warnings, Maite does nothing and watches as they lose it all to their servant Lopez (Justin Huen), who’s quickly gaining acceptance into the world of the cartels.

Sanchez’s sexually charged text in English, Spanish, and Spanglish effectively suggests the family’s dilemma. Anita understands Spanish but cannot speak it; in this strange cross-border world, she is adrift. Where once the boundary berween English and Spanish-speaking worlds might have also marked a line between two cultures and two vastly different sets of economic reality, now in the violent trans-border world of the cartels the two cultures, the two languages blend together into a single malevolent underworld. What does it matter which tongue you speak when you are dealing with people who have come to take what isn’t theirs?

For people like Lopez or the housekeeper Dunia (Sabina Zuniga Varela), as it was for the Russian serfs in Chekhov’s drama, the socio-economic forces obliterating the old order present opportunity — opportunity they could miss out on entirely if they don’t act aggressively.

With one exception, Saracho has removed all men from her play. This isn’t the first time this has been done with a Chekov adaptation, but in this case, it works to its advantage rather than coming across as gimmicky. While the boys go out to play with toy guns, the women remain at home to tend to household necessities. Only, in this case, the matriarch Maite is so deeply rooted in denial she cannot or will not see that those play guns have been exchanged for real ones.

Director Laurie Woolery creates a deeply affecting universe that allows for the four talented actresses to bite into their roles. Unfortunately and perhaps because of the confines of the small stage at the Fountain Theatre, their performances at times seem restrained and some of the staging is awkward (especially for most of Huen’s monologues.) There are instances where you get the feeling that the actors want to break out and fill out the bigger-than-life roles that Saracho has created.

Still, they each manage to shine. Gottesman is perfectly suited to play the vivacious, matriarch Maite and Ortega is a comic delight when taking on the persona of the martyr. Valera is deliciously child-like and deceptive, while Romo’s not-quite petulant Anita is subtly layered. Huen is charming and sexy as he moves among the women, making it easy to believe why almost all of them have cast their eye on him at one point or another.

Performances through March 11 at The Fountain Theatre. For tickets and information, call (323) 633-1525 or please visit the theater’s website at www.FountainTheatre.com.

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Coming Home at Fountain Theatre

In 1995 audiences were introduced to Veronica Jonkers, a headstrong determined young woman from South Africa who leaves her humble farmland to pursue big city dreams of becoming a singer in Athol Fugard’s Valley Song. 14 years later we are reintroduced to her as she returns home for good with a child in tow. Fugard’s latest play is a sweet, quiet, and deeply affecting play that reflects the sentiments of the playwright about his homeland, South Africa, but told in a story about failed dreams, determination, and acceptance.

When the play’s protagonist Veronica Jonkers left for Cape Town to pursue a musical career, her action echoed the hope of a post-Apartheid South Africa. “As the years have passed,” said Fugard in an interview, “I have seen the dreams start to wither. It just seems to me, at this moment in South Africa’s history, I needed to follow up and take a look at that big dream that we had.”

And that dream is a sobering wake up call reflecting the hard truths of his homeland-a place, where even the most basic of healthcare is denied to the poor.

The play is set in 2002. Veronica (Deidrie Henry) returns to her now deceased grandfather Oupa’s (Adolphus Ward) humble shack of a home – wonderfully and realistically rendered by set designer Laura Fine Hawkes – that has been under the care of her childhood friend, Alfred (Thomas Silcott). There she hopes her five-year-old son, Mannatjie (Timothy Taylor) will warm up to the place and that she can pick up where she left off. But she carries a secret with her and a plan that involved her simpleton best friend who’s only aspiration in life is to own a red bicycle.

Jump forward four years later and the three are struggling to become a makeshift family at Veronica’s behest – though her now ten-year old Mannatjie (Matthew Elam) has much contempt for Alfred and may well have surpassed his intellectual level. Still, Veronica’s plan to secure her son’s future is the only thing that is keeping her going.

Fugard is keen on chronicling the state of his homeland in his plays. In Coming Home, the political issues brought to the fore are not imposed upon, but are clearly stated in the way they affect the daily lives of his characters. Veronica and Alfred remain stark contrasts to how dreams play out in a political context: Henry’s impressive singing attests to Veronica’s deeply rooted desire to make it on her own and the level of success she is capable of; while Alfred’s less lofty goals perhaps shielded him from the harsh realities of life. In any event, and in part by the careful and nuanced direction of Stephen Sachs, the play never becomes overwrought. It also maintains an ever-present theme of Veronica’s hope, especially with her son’s talent at writing, which acts as a symbol of her upbringing full of stories from his grandfather and her own need to keep her memory alive within her own son.

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