Children are warned not to play with their food, so it should go without saying that they shouldn’t play with the deceased. Yet The Garage Theatre teleports audiences to 2008 Miami where four teenage girls prepare to summon their newest idol, Pablo Escobar in their season opener “Our Dear Dead Drug Lord.” This journey into the occult is an adventure of teenage introspection, politics and of course, death.
Pipe, Zoom, Kit, and Squeeze. These aren’t their real names, of course, because where is the fun in exploring witchcraft if you can’t have an alias? These are the girls who run the “Dead Leaders Club,” a club not taken seriously by the higher-ups at their private school.
The club originally began in 1964 to research people from the likes of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. Over time, the group shifted their focus onto the more disgraced leaders of history, like Adolf Hitler —which did come with repercussions — and now Escobar.
Every Tuesday, they meet up for a club meeting in a treehouse, but this Tuesday is different – they are initiating their newest member, Kit. After the initiation seance, the girls theorize how Escobar is Kit’s dad as a way to show how they are obsessed with power and distracting themselves from their personal lives.
Pipe (Sam Farfán) is a headstrong and passionate group leader who challenges anyone in her way with a witty response and a fierce stare. Farfán’s authoritativeness has a sensitive side that, at times, will have you subconsciously rooting for her.
Kit (Alejandra Peñaloza), whose name is chosen via Ouija board, is the epitome of laid-back as she glides through all the teenage mind games with ease. Peñaloza pulls off Kit’s coolness with an effortlessly collected, yet passionate attitude.
Zoom (Ryan Hollon) is the youngest of the bunch (15) and is Pipe’s quirky next-door neighbor. Hollon’s portrayal of Zoom is an overflow of charisma and occasional outbursts of singing that only add to Zoom’s charm.
Squeeze (Jenilee Flowers) is a comical girl who is more emotionally aware than the others underneath the surface. Flowers smoothly balances Squeeze’s fun side and her pragmatic mentality.
Alexis Scheer’s script is a journey through teenage torment, sexuality and politics. Director Skylar Alexis and the rest of the cast personified these elements with a simple yet solid approach – just go with the flow, but also dramatize it because it’s really hard to be a teenager.
The set design felt like an extension of how teenage girls in 2008 decorated their rooms, with chalk-drawn hearts, collectible trinkets, a fuzzy carpet and a Nirvana poster.
The lighting played a pivotal part in setting the scene, but at times fell short of realistic. The daylight tones for lighting were a warm yellow, which made the illusion of sunshine peeking in a bit unnatural.
The costumes for Pipe, Zoom, and Squeeze were a combination of plaids and solid navy atop pleated skirts. Kit’s outfit went down a tomboy-ish route as Peñaloza wore pants and darker colors for a more suave look.
Given that the stage space was limited, the theatre cleverly utilized the first two rows of audience as an expansion of the treehouse. Even more clever was the decision to not have the cast acknowledge the audience in any aspect – especially when Pipe practiced a speech to the “empty” treehouse while facing the audience.
At times, the tonal shifts between scenes felt unnatural, flipping rapidly between emotions and circumstances. Scenes would leave off with intense tension then pick up with the characters feeling a different way than it left off.
Other developments simply arise with seemingly no development, like when did the club shift from simply choosing a political figure to study versus straight-up worshipping them? And why is Squeeze affiliated with the crew if she feels they don’t share the same beliefs?
The impending Obama McCain election, for instance, felt like it was introduced just to transition to the next “big topic.” Despite this, the argument between Pipe, a Republican Latina, and Squeeze, a Puerto Rican and Haitian liberal, is interesting to watch because you can’t predict if the characters will fall stereotypical to their political parties.
“Our Dear Dead Drug Lord” does create a new space to discuss the oddities that come with being a teenage girl, but stumbles quickly because it tries to balance too much at once. We’re never sure how we’re supposed to feel about the girls because the topics will bounce from discussing how sexy Escobar is to making out in the treehouse to pulling out knives, and so forth.
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The play intensifies after a second seance is initiated, but the intensity fades away for about five minutes when the denouement takes place in Spanish. While there is no live translation, there is a handout available at the end, but by that time the suspense had faded.
In the end, you realize that your teenage emotions weren’t too different from theirs. The actions of teenage girls are often made into the butt of jokes in the media, but this play felt like a comforting representation of the various aspects of insanity that girlhood entails.
“Our Dear Dead Drug Lord” leaves its ending semi-ambiguous to the point where viewers may leave the theater with more questions than answers. Regardless of the ambiguity, it is a captivating portrayal of how complex being a girl can be.
“Our Dear Dead Drug Lord” is playing at The Garage Theatre, (251 E Seventh St.) through April 4 Thursdays through Saturdays at 8 p.m. Running time is 90 minutes with no intermission. Tickets are $28 for general admission and $23 for students, teachers, seniors and military. Tickets can be purchased at a two-for-one discount on Thursdays with the code TWOFER. For tickets and additional information, visit the theater’s website.
