What are these twenty-somethings supposed to do with their lives? In Danny Tejera’s Toros (2023), these young adults in Madrid whinge, whine, and moan when not doing drugs or drinking themselves into a stupor. They don’t know what else to do.
Friends since high school, the three have history. Toro (Rolando Chusan) loves Andrea (Gigi Chavez) from afar; Juan (Andrew Chavez) wants what Toro wants; and Andrea, so she believes, is “young and free” to do whatever she wants with either of them. They have jobs: Juan and Toro work in the real estate office of Juan’s father, while Andrea teaches kindergarten. So why such angst? This is the story of Gen Z.
Although specific in its anger and rage, Tejera’s play lands just this side of nebulous. There are many unanswered questions, like the opening silhouette image of Juan and Toro, leaning ever closer, leaning in for a kiss? That might say volumes later on, but never does, not outright, of course. Is this why Juan is so contemptuous and vile toward him and then makes a blatant sexual play for Andrea? Toro is soft and lovable, Juan brittle as shale. Andrea ping pongs between them, one time with Juan then, soon, longer lasting with Toro.
Juan, living in his family’s basement garage (realized by Stefän Azizi with a photo-realist style that would salivate David Belasco), obsesses over being an A-list DJ at one of Madrid’s premiere clubs. He plays his mix tapes at full level-11 volume (that never seems to bother his parents upstairs) and hoverboards around the saltillo tile floor, rocking to the beat. He knows he could be the best DJ around, if only the club masters would give him a chance.
Toro, back from a job in New York City, disillusioned and keeping his suicide attempt secret until the right moment to disclose it in the play, is so sweet and innocent, devoid of guile, that Juan’s constant harping throws the play to him.
Even though this is Juan’s play, for sure. Juan is coarse and rude, bombastic, caustic, evil as Iago, and mesmerizing with his little-boy-lost routine. Unfortunately, we never find out what drives him. We can guess: love lost, ambition thwarted, perhaps unrequited longing for Toro, a quick mention of his brother being gay, which is soon glossed over and forgotten. He puts down everybody who crosses him, criticizes him, or questions his taste in mix tapes. At one point he even kicks his old dog. What a character we love to hate, and Chavez plays him without restraint or apology. He’s repellent, powerful, and exciting.
Oh, yes, I forgot. There’s Tica, Juan’s ailing old dog who scratches and whimpers on his bed in the corner of the garage. Toro will scratch his belly and call him to attention with doggie talk, but Juan will remind us that in a former drunken or drug-hazed fog after a night of clubbing Toro tried to make love to the grizzled old Labrador. Whether this is true or not – Toro adamantly denies it – it’s another insidious weapon Juan holds over Toro.
Houston pro Greg Dean eats up this role like fine Alpo. Near the end, he approaches the footlights and we anxiously wait for him to speak. He lets out a primal scream instead. Poor Tica, after the next scene he is seen no more.
Azizi’s set is masterful in detail; Robert Leslie Meek’s sound work is over the top with ear-piercing disco mixes of Prokofiev, Vivaldi, and Beethoven; and Cassidy Stanley’s lighting works overtime with pulsating color to set the ever-changing mood. Director Lily Wolff (who impressively led Rec Room’s Hurricane Diane and Wolf Play) knows when to switch gears and give us a bit of magic realism or a shot of old-fashioned theatricality.
The four actors are superb in defining their characters, whether finely etched by Tejera or not. There are so many “like”s and “you know”s peppered throughout, we’re trapped in Valley Girl speak. They manage to make this sound natural, which is fine praise.
There’s a scene with Andrea and Toros in the middle of this intermission-less one hour-and-forty-minute play where they debate “what is reality,” which halts the flow like a traffic spike strip. I don’t think these clueless characters would ever talk like a ‘60s self-help book. But, really, who can compete with a dying dog? As W.C. Fields once said, Never work with animals or children.
We leave these angst-filled young bulls – searching desperately for maturity and a place in this world – with a profound respect for the ASPCA.
Toros continues through June 14 at 7:30 pm. Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays at Rec Room Arts, 100 Jackson. For more information, call 713-588-9403 or visit info@recroomhtx.com. $26.50 – $51.50.
