The following will appear in the October issue of "The Arts District Citizen" in Los Angeles. A monthly arts & culture magazine here in L.A. ("Culture Clash" is a 3-member Latino theatre group that has gained international fame & fortune these past 20 years. They recently ended another sold-out, well-received production at the Mark Taper Theatre in Downtown Los Angeles.
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'Water & Power' 'Culture Clash
by Jim Marquez
Yeah, I paid for my own ticket before you get all huffy and shit. $42 plus $4 for 'service charge'. Christ, that's 7 shots of Jameson I won't be having this month, but, well worth it. The boys of Culture Clash, Richard Montoya (a figure in the local art scene), Herbert Siguenza, and Slick Ric Salinas cranked it out high & hard at the Mark Taper last Sunday night (9/17) for their last performance of 'Water & Power'. Theatre Noir at its best.
A cautionary tale, really, for the up and coming Latinos of the 21st century. Those educated, well dressed, have all the gadgets, and can now stroll into the white man's house through the front door without a rake in their hands but are increasingly forgetting where the hell they come from in an attempt to coalesce with every other yahoo out there in order to liked and God forbid, NOT stand out. Fuck 'em.
The Garcia Brothers, 'Power', an LAPD Lieutenant played by Siguenza & 'Water', a state's senator (Montoya), meet at a seedy Sunset Boulevard motel during the middle of a nasty storm. Something very bad has happened, and, 'Water', born minutes before his brother and therefore according to unofficial Latino law, must always be his keeper, needs to figure how to get out the jackpot that his 'hermano' has created.
The brothers grew up in the rough & tumble eastside but with one big advantage, and I can personally attest to this: They had an actual father in the house to teach them right & wrong, administer discipline, and inspire them to not rob liquor stores and shoot babies, but to get educated, respect themselves, their family, and become looked upon as gentlemen in this city of Angels. Second-Generation men who can make a difference.
But there has been a crime, and the evening is spent, along with a 'Homeboy' (Salinas) from the old neighborhood, plotting & planning an escape. Much soul searching goes on. How could they have gotten themselves into so much trouble? Strayed so far from their father's dreams & teachings? A path laid out for the greatness that their father did not get the opportunity to traverse himself has now become irrevocably blocked.
Written by Montoya for Culture Clash and directed by Lisa Peterson, the stage's saving grace that orchestrated the magic for the boys' last Taper excursion, 'Chavez Ravine', has put together a much more intimate piece this time around. As always, they have incorporated their snarling social, political, and pop commentary, which illicit hoots, hollers and playful groans from audience members who recognize their unique neighborhood-specific references, but no mistake; this is a dark, brooding, foul and wicked walk behind the shed for the boys. Long gone are the days of beans & fart jokes and pratfalls in grandma's dress to get laughs. Although that shit's still pretty funny to me. Oh well.
A small cast, mostly the boys on stage, do share one notable scene with 'The Fixer' (Dankin Matthews), a 'Chinatown'-John Huston-type mover & shaker who 'Water' must go to for help with his brother. And it will cost him dearly. A more powerful, tightly scripted, and unnerving scene I have not seen in years. Sent shivers down my 'cazones' let me tell you. Jesus!
And this IS noir theatre: the use of window blind shadows cut across a dirty motel room floor scattered with drug paraphernalia, crushed smokes, and empty bottles of Thunder Bird, ominous music cues, tinted lighting, and the hard boiled banter of the streets where crime & politics meet are used to great affect.
Rachel Hauk, set design, Alex Nicols, lighting, and Paul Predergast, sound, offer up a spare setting and add wonderfully to the stark atmosphere by using the whoosh of a hovering police helicopter, the incessant pounding of the rain, and the delicate cling-cling-cling of a 'paleta' (ice cream) cart pushed past the periphery of the motel by a strolling man drenched in shabby rain gear.
Sticking close to its noir roots flashbacks are also utilized, having the main characters step into the darkness as they watch recreations of their younger selves and their father in more innocent times played humorously yet with lasting poignancy by real life brothers Moises & Mateo Arias and El Senor by Winston Rocha.
Nostalgia washes over you as you take in this slice of L.A. life, and of course that sense of foreboding & dread is not far behind. A stage experience so film-like that the boys have decided to put it before the cameras and produce a feature film out of it. But not before they head down to the La Jolla Playhouse for their month long engagement with their new comedy 'Zorro in Hell', which, thankfully, will also play here in L.A early next year.
Since this was the last performance of 'Water & Power', some time was taken on stage afterwards by Montoya to thank the audience and the city for their support, and ,to welcome the first lady of Los Angeles, Mrs. Corrine Villaraigosa, who presented the boys with a proclamation honoring them for their 20 years in the arts.
A raucous after party then ensued out on the patio between the Taper & the Chandler. Relief and joy filled the faces of the boys, and most of their guests from up north were entertained by grooving tunes, horribly overpriced cocktails, and non stop laughter. I was lucky enough to have been given a few private moments with each of the lads by a friend who knows them and I was as giddy as a school boy when they actually accepted copies of my new book 'East L.A. Collage'. We drank into the wee hours. It was fuckin' cool, man!
Interestingly enough, some of the folks from San Francisco did not know that such a ballsy and kick ass art scene thrived in our neck of the woods, and I was more than happy to fill them in. One 'Hispanic' from up north was particularly taken when I let it be known that I was from East L.A.
This person said, 'Really? YOU'RE from East L.A? And you're educated too? Oh my god!'
I didn't know weather to scream, laugh, or punch them in the face. I did neither, but simply tipped my sombrero, unhitched my donkey, and trotted off into the mean streets of L.A.
Books by Jim Marquez can be found @
www.LuLu.Com/JimMarquez
