In ‘twenty50,’ identity politics at center stage

The Denver Center world premiere by Tony Meneses explores a future where Latinos join the ‘white club’

How much does the color of our skin determine our fate, our place in society, our perceived value as citizens?

Not long ago, when we elected our first black president, it seemed like those questions, even just posing them, were destined for history’s dustbin. Maybe not overnight, but hope was ignited that maybe, just maybe, we were taking our first real steps toward a less racially biased country.

The election of a bigoted, racist president skewed all that, leading playwright Tony Meneses to wonder what things would look like in the future given the landscape of today. His play twenty50, which just opened in a world premiere at the Denver Center, imagines how Latinos 30 years from now have become mostly assimilated as whites — much in the way previous minorities from places like Italy and Ireland eventually blended in.

Listen to the OnStage Colorado podcast interview with ‘twenty50’ playwright Tony Meneses

The question posed repeatedly in twenty50 is whether this is a good thing or not. The answer, unsurprisingly, is “yes and no.” For political operator Sebastian (Frankie J. Alvarez), it’s a no-brainer. Being able to be “in the club” rather than on the outside being insulted, scapegoated and stuck in shitty jobs is clearly the place to be, and he has no desire to look back.

For congressional candidate Andres Salazar (Zeus Mendoza), the answer is not so clear. Unlike many Latinos in 2050 (or people who might previously have identified as such), he still speaks Spanish, although his light skin and unaccented English allows him to easily assimilate into the white club. Sebastian doesn’t want to hear his Spanish version of his stump speech, telling Andres (or, better yet, “Andy”) in forceful terms that it’s better left behind.

For Andy’s daughter Jenny (Valentina Guerra), these questions are mostly moot. She doesn’t speak Spanish, identifies as white and claims never to have experienced any kind of racial discrimination. Her grandmother Irene (Blanca Camacho) is on the other end of the spectrum, peppering her chatter with Spanish to Jenny’s annoyance and critical of her son’s merge into the white lane.

And by the way, she demands at one point, what kind of name is “Jenny” for a Latina?! (Jenny’s later unaccented pronunciation of “abuela” is both hilarious and indicative of the gap between the generations.)

An unexpected guest

Andy is a good-looking guy, well-spoken and with a great political story: He’s a farmer, still running the operation his father built up and yes, still rolling up his sleeves to work the land. With the bulldog Sebastian advising him, it seems he may well win the race. The arguments over who’s Latino or not would presumably fade into the background at some point, and the Salazars would join all the other former Latinos north of the wall (yes, it got built) in the march to assimilation.

But then Oscar shows up.

A Mexican on his way to Canada, he achieves what the Salazars thought wasn’t even possible by making it over (or perhaps under) the wall. In 2050, this makes him a criminal, and potential kryptonite to Andy’s political future. When Oscar (Peter Pasco) stumbles onto the farm, hiding and stealing tomatoes before finally getting outed during a scrape with Sebastian, it sends the family into a tailspin as they grapple with what to do with Oscar: turn him in or … what?

In the middle of all this are two other characters: One is Lydia, the local sheriff (Tania Verafield) who’s also a recovering Latino and perhaps interested in the widower Andy. She’s investigating a possible escaped prisoner and also responding to the Salazars’ report of stolen crops and perhaps an intruder. The other is Monty (Matthew CL Orduña), the black farm foreman who becomes an unwilling accomplice when Andy decides to shelter Oscar.

Since Oscar doesn’t speak English, the back-and-forth translations by Andy and Irene make for a handy device to incorporate two languages central to the characters’ identity. For Sebastian, Spanish is a joke (he mockingly channels the old “Speedy Gonzales cartoon” — ¡Arriba, arriba! ¡Ándale, ándale! — without even knowing the source). It’s Greek to Jenny, central to Irene and only of occasional interest to Andy — like knowing all the state capitols or something.

Much of twenty50 is centered on the question of just how white or Latino Andy should act, and he ends up stuck between what Sebastian thinks he should be, what his mother believes and even the words of his opponent, who accuses him of abandoning his identity. This conflict is established in the very first scene, but it’s hammered over and over in the script to the point of being heavy-handed. Leaving out some of that explicit dialog in favor of more subtle or implied consequences alongside other action may have proven a more convincing tactic.

But it’s still a fascinating exploration of race, color and identity.

Colors

While the Latino and Latino-ish characters work through their issues, the character of Monty proves an interesting side story. Meneses seems to say that, while brown and light brown people have a shot at white assimilation, black people have a much less viable path to being part of that club. When Jenny quizzes Monty about his life as part of a school project, she asks him about any regrets. He says not finishing college set him back, but we also gather that simply being black is part of the equation — especially as he watches people like Andy move into the mainstream.

Monty gets into this in a scene close to the end of the play, indicating to Andy outright his bitterness about where things stand. Colorism is as real as racism, and more insidious since, unlike Andy, no one will ever take him for any flavor of “white.” If that is truly the ticket to reaching any level of the American dream, Monty suggests, he and his family will always be on the outside looking in.

twenty50 is about 90 minutes, presented without intermission using a number of short scenes. Director Henry Godinez makes good use of the in-the-round pentagon of the Space Theatre, with most of the action set in the Salazars’ living room. While the set is nothing so dramatic as the last show in this space (Twelfth Night), the stalks of wheat surrounding the stage make for an interesting visual, while some of the props and costume pieces establish the futuristic setting without going over the top. Of particular note is the sound design by Rob Milburn and Michael Bodeen, employing Southwestern-themed hits of music to great effect to ease the many scene transitions.

This show was originally heard during last year’s Colorado New Play Summit at the Denver Center, and the script is largely intact from that reading (plot-wise, at least). It’s the kind of play that we can never get enough of — a piece of theatre that helps us discuss, describe and even decry some of the terrible bullshit endemic to the American experience. That things are different but not appreciably better in the future should come as no surprise, but this sobering assessment by Meneses is welcome food for thought as we contemplate how we move forward — and who we choose to lead us there.