When we’re little, we’re usually asked what we want to be when we grow up. The answer can change many times in the trajectory of our lives, but the question offers us a moment to dream and imagine what life could be like according to our plan. We create a potential reality that’s as sweet as pan dulce (sweet bread)...

Still, it’s a big question to ask a child who barely knows anything about the world. It gives them permission to make an early decision about their life that can eventually lead to heartbreak if those dreams don’t come into fruition. As children, we don’t have the foresight to understand that, as we get older and confront a world of limitations, the dreams that once motivated us can taunt us like we’re bulls in a ring. Some kids understand the assignment from the very beginning, finding an array of accomplishments as adults. But others end up struggling, having to choose different life paths, because what they once dreamt of charges at them with red flags. In Monet Hurst-Mendoza’s play, Torera, now at WP Theater, we witness a child’s dream ultimately locked in with fate, perhaps even a karmic one.

Fearless and sharp-witted Elena, played by the poignant powerhouse Jacqueline Guillén, understands her place in the world as a young girl, quickly recognizing how class and privilege looks different for others, like Tanok (Jared Machado), her best friend, and the son of her mother’s employer. By the time she’s 12 years old, she’s already been taught that her place is in the kitchen, the same one where her grandmother mixed masa and where her mother, Pastora (Elena Hurst), bakes an irresistible pan dulce. The kitchen becomes a metaphor of Elena’s inheritance, a safety-net identified by gender roles and ancestral lineage, but one that gives her “splinters”. As Elena fantasizes about parading the Plaza de Toros in Mexico City, she’s  bombarded by the echoes emanating from her kitchen’s wooden table, dancing around her like ghosts from a nostalgic past. Under the gorgeous direction of Tatiana Pandiani (who also serves as choreographer), these echoes convert into visual manifestations embodied by the dance duo, Andrea Soto and Christian Galvis.

Soto and Galvis masterfully shapeshift into horses, bulls, and transcendental entities– elevated by the immaculate and traditional Mexican costume design created by Rodrigo Muñoz. Their movement on stage, paired with the scores of powerful sound design by G. Clausen, transforms simple moments into impactful storytelling. The stage magic of dance, sound, and translucent lighting (design by Yuki Link) turns Pastora’s lonely sewing of a button into a deep trance of an aching memory. Much of this can also be  credited to Hurst’s visceral longing, and is painfully beautiful to watch. These elements of theatrical design and choreography bend the rules of time, space, and memory throughout the entire play. They remind us that all of what existed in our past, still exists in the present, and will continue to exist in the future.

In spite of Pastora’s lectures to her daughter, Elena’s dream of becoming a famous bullfighter is something she’s not easily willing to let go of. She and Tanok share this dream, just like how they share the same household. Although the privileged Tanok dines from a different table, Elena and Tanok’s statuses in life are never a secret between them as they dutifully practice cape moves in their imaginary bullring. It’s deeply moving how they don’t let the outside noise get in the way of their shared dreams to dominate the corrida (bullfight). There’s a dramatic irony to it that Hurst-Mendoza crafts so well in these early moments, showing us how two kids at play are also playing out an inevitable destiny.

Tanok gets a leg up in his dreams because he is the son of a victorious master of the ring, Don Rafael — dominatingly performed by Jorge Cardova. But defying the audience’s expectations for a wealthy young man of prestige, Tanok never loses sight of Elena’s natural talents and abilities in the ring.

Machado’s brilliant interpretation of sensitive and thoughtful Tanok beats a consistent pulse from beginning to end.  What Hurst-Mendoza does here is teach us what it truly looks like when someone uses their privilege to lift someone out of the patriarchal system of oppression and poverty. Don Rafael pressures Tanok into being ruthless by preaching that the rule of the corrida is “matar o morir,” a haunting motif that we’re never allowed to forget. As Don Rafael is preoccupied in training his son to become a champion, his obliviousness to Tanok’s intentions later prove that there are some things money can’t solve.  

Meanwhile, Elena knows more than anyone that her torera dreams are also her mother’s biggest nightmares. Both Don Rafael and Pastora try their best at parenthood, but when secrets are unveiled behind their intent, we begin to question if their actions were meant to protect their children or more geared towards the preservation of their own image. As audience members, we all know that parents are only humans too, and their impulse to control what happens in their child’s life often comes from a place of love. But how much should parents prioritize their personal goals over their children's dreams? How should things unfold when a parent's error has already caused irreparable suffering? The unfortunate reality always affects the innocent more, because no matter what has been intended for them, they will always have an individual relationship to the world around them. When their autonomy is compromised, so is their happiness.

As Tanok and Elena grow older, they demonstrate the resilience that we possess when we  are properly supported by our loved ones. The childhood promises Elena and Tanok made to each other are sealed by la sangre of the unbreakable bond they formed playing  among the intimate orange groves of their past (a luscious depiction by scenic designer Emmie Finckel). Regardless of the evolving circumstances in their lives, they are committed to ensuring that the starry-eyed children within them do not feel defeated. They prove time and time again that they’re willing to make sacrifices for each other, even if it requires them to risk everything they have.

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Torera is extended at the WP Theater through October 26.

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